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goblinpuppy35 · 1 year ago

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Paw Prints in Fresh Soil

(Previous Chapter) - Part 3 - (Next Chapter)

Professor Remus x Male Reader

Summary: While teaching at Hogwarts Professor Lupin tries his best to conceal his strong crush for the green fingered grounds keeper Y/N but soon a strong friendship blooms into something more.

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Despite getting little to no sleep the previous night Remus had an energetic step in him which he had not felt in a decade. In the centre of his palm he could still feel the pressure from Y/N's thumb when they briefly held hands the night before. Remus was still replaying Y/N's story in his head as he approached the great hall for breakfast, he had a huge amount of respect for Y/N, as a muggle bravely working here against the prejudice of other teachers. Sitting down he ignored his plate of food and eagerly looked around for Y/N. After scanning over the tops of hundreds of heads however Remus was unable to locate Y/N anywhere. He had wanted to catch Y/Ns eye and give him a smile and a morning wave, alas after breakfast Remus went to his classroom still with the groundskeeper in his mind.

Remus' last class didn't finish until the sun was beginning to set behind the clouds. Teaching all day meant he had no free moment to journey to the courtyard and Remus was again disheartened at lunch when Y/N had not shown himself for a second time. The next morning Remus could only make it half way through breakfast and Y/N not showing for a third time for him to rise from the table and venture out into the grounds. Promptly Remus was able to locate Y/N outside the greenhouse nodding along to the herbology Professor, a short stout man with a bushy moustache, seemingly being given instructions while holding a number of heavy looking plant pots stacked in one another.

Remus admired the handsome man from afar, he enjoyed how Y/N always wore a smart shirt, tie and sweater vest under his worn in overall's and worker gloves, visible from the top half of the overalls which Y/N kept un-bottomed. Eventually the herbology Professor left Y/N, leaving him to gingerly carry the heavy pots towards the greenhouse entrance at which point Remus made his approach. The tower of pots reached up above Y/N's nose so he was startled when Remus made his presents known causing Y/N's hands to fumble and the pots slipped out of his grasp. Both men shot down in an attempt to save them, reaching the bottom base at the same time they looked up at one another in relief. "I swear your just doing this now to torment me" Y/N said with a smirk, Remus was going to respond but as they both rose still holding the pots he became aware their hands were on top of one another on the base. Remus could feel his chest flutter.

"Can you help me get them inside please" Y/N asked and they both shuffled through the greenhouse door, placing the pots on the table with an exhaling sigh. Instantly Y/N began to pull the pots out and place them around the table, then he started to pour soil into each one. "I hope your doing okay" Remus said after watching Y/N for a moment "I haven't seen you at any of the meals in the hall this week". Y/N paused half way through pouring soil into a pot and grinned at Remus "Oh have you been missing me that much?" making the Professor chuckle. "Honestly. Yes" Remus bashfully admitted "I like talking to you Y/N". The groundskeeper looked flattered and embarrassed as he walked to a shelf of seeds and started looking through the packets. "I wish I could attend, I've heard the food is amazing! But with a mixture of the work needing to be done around the castle, errands I help Hagrid with and class prep for the herbology lessons I don't get time for a break. Plus now the herbology Professor just told me he's going away on a sabbatical soon meaning double the amount of work needs to be done around the greenhouse." Looking up at Remus Y/N suddenly paused, realising he had been rambling. "Of course I'm not complaining! Genuinely I love with job, there is just a lot to it" and with a tired smile he began to sew the seeds he'd found in the freshly potted soil. Remus carried on watching Y/N, his head tilted and hands in his pockets before he spoke. "Okay this is what we are going to do. At lunch time I will bring us both some food from the hall and I will help you with your work in the greenhouse... I don't know much about" and Remus waved his hands vaguely in the direction of all the hanging plants "but if I can be of assistance to you I would gratefully like to help". "You don't have to Remus" Y/N said awkwardly playing with his gloves straps, "I don't have to" Remus said moving closer to Y/N and leaning in slightly "I want to."

Y/N and Remus were resting against the table, their hands on its side, gently lifting his ring finger Remus placed it on top of Y/N's pinkie. "Is that okay with you?" he asked, the smaller man eyes were fixed on Remus'. "Yes, id really like that" Y/N responded, quickly looking up as the morning bell rang out and a wave of students could be heard making their way to the courtyard. "I'll see you at lunch then" Remus said in a charming tone as he parted from Y/N and exited the greenhouse.

For the next two weeks every lunch time Remus would make a brief appearance at the great hall to collect some food and then make his way to Y/N who began to use Remus' arrival as an indication in his busy schedule to what time in the day it was. Some days Y/N was still not able to eat much but Remus would happily sit nearby and observe him at work, asking questions and making pleasant conversation. Soon Remus learnt Y/N could never say no warm herbal tea or the never ending variety of desert pastries the great hall alway had to offer. As Y/N worked they would talk about each others lives, Y/N greatly enjoyed hearing about Remus' time at Hogwarts as a student and how his chaotic friends always found themselves in trouble. Equally Remus enjoyed Y/N explaining to him all he'd learnt from books of mythical creatures and plants. Later in the week they were thrilled to discover their shared love of Muggle music resulting in Remus bringing down his gramophone into the greenhouse from them to enjoy the melancholy beauty of David Bowie, The Cult and Joy Division.

While listening to 'Disorder' one warm Friday lunchtime Remus asked if he could help and Y/N began to show him how to repot the plants. While assisting Remus noticed several students walking passed and staring at them. A group of girls whispered to one another before giggling as they passed. Remus imagined students must have noticed how often they were in each others company and he was sure rumours must be flying around yet Remus didn't care. Being in Y/N's presents was so comforting for him all he wanted was for it to carry on even if both men were too nervous to go any further then light flirting and fleeting hands brushing over one another.

After two weeks of consistent lunch dates Remus was extremely frustrated when an unexpectedly large stack of essays to mark caused him to arrive at the courtyard late. He was rather baffled by the large amount of students piled in the courtyard along with the sound of raised voices. "Give it back!" cried out an upset sounding student, looking through the archway Remus could now visible see poor Neville Longbottom standing a few paces away from Draco Malfoy, a truly vile student in Remus' eyes. The young Malfoy had his wand high up and following its direction Remus saw the glint of a silver necklace flouting in the sky above them. It was a charm necklace Neville's parents had given to him when we was born. Remus had been members of the first Order of Phoenix with the Longbottoms, their demise still pained him to this day, along with all the others Remus had lost. Malfoy had maliciously suspended the necklace just out of Neville's reach and was certainly enjoying watching his classmate suffer. Remus was not going to take any of this.

While Remus was attempting his wade his way through the crowd of students he heard the familiar sound of work boots on the gravel. Y/N, who like Remus had walked upon this cruel demonstration of bullying, walked right up to Neville with his long steel digging fork in hand. Without saying a word he lifted up his tool and was able to hook the necklaces chain through one of the prongs, quickly pulling it down and returning it to Neville. "Just because you come from a self righteous egotistical family of privileged fools does not give you the right to belittle your fellow students Mr Malfoy. Please find another part of the castle to waste your pompous efforts on" and Y/N began to guide Neville out of the courtyard.

"How dare you speak to me like that! Who do you think you are?" spat Draco but Y/N continued to walk on ignoring him. "Actually I know exactly who you are" called out Draco which made Y/N holt and gradually turn around. "I think it's pathetic that Dumbeldore would allow someone like you in the school. It's an absolute embarrassment". The students around them mumbled in confusion which excited Draco, "Oh do you not know?" he asked spinning around in the courtyard, attracting everyone's attention before pointing viscously at Y/N. "He's a Muggle!", an uproar of gasps washed over everyone, some students were in disbelief others were shocked and they were all staring at Y/N. The groundskeeper for a moment looked as if he was about to run away but as Remus watched he saw Y/N take a deep breath and stand up straight. "Yes I am a Muggle. Your wanting to out me In front of everyone to make me feel ashamed Mr Malfoy but I am not. I know who I am and though I've walked a different path of life compared to all of you I have a right to be here and your feeble attempts to ostracize me will not hinder me from helping to provide the education to those here who actually deserve it". Draco's top lip was quivering with anger but he said nothing as Y/N continued to walk away. Remus watched in amazement with the other students, a mixture of tension and pure pride danced in his stomach.

Clutching his charm tightly to his chest Neville himself seemed to be filled with a new found confidence calling out to Draco, "your nothing but an empty family name". With this last remark Draco snapped, his pupils turning small and wild. Swinging his wand forward Draco screamed out a spell and many other students cried out in fear and fled. A sharp cold beam shot out of Draco's wand and cascaded towards the terrified Neville, standing still in fear. It wasn't until the spell was over that Remus was able to replay the sight of Y/N turning around and pulling Neville out of the beam's direction in enough time to save him but resulting in his own shoulder taking the impact of the blast. Y/N fell down hard onto the floor and Remus rushed through the archway, simultaneously disarming Draco, sending his wand flying into the crowd. "Someone get the nurse" Remus bellowed out as he tried to hold Y/N but upon placing his hand on Y/N's cheek it was freezing to the touch. All of the groundskeeper's body had a thin layer of frost and while Y/N lay there unconscious his limbs shivered. Draco and his fellow Slytherin students took this opportunity to cowardly run away from the scene as Remus anxiously waited, crawling Y/N in his arms.

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the-bad-batch-baroness · 5 months ago

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Honestly, I don't know why I'm still on Tumblr at this point. I feel like my blog has become a "reblog station," but none of it is my content.

I know Tumblr is the reblog site, but when you get over a hundred notifications a day of people reblogging other people's content from your blog and none of it is your own content, it becomes disheartening.

I feel... lost in the crowd. Like I've been shelved and am collecting dust. I know the fandom space is tough right now, but this doesn't even feel like a lack of interaction but rather an invisibility. Like I see everyone, but no one sees me. Even though my follower account continues to increase, I've never felt more alone in the fandom. Even the hate-anons haven't come knocking (wild).

I know I'm slow with content. I know I struggle with my health. I know I'm busy at work. So, maybe this is my own dang fault.

I just don't think Tumblr needs me anymore. I'll never delete my blog, but I still question its existence. I have AO3 where I can post my fics, and my friends live in Discord, so what is there to gain from me being here? Why go through all the effort for so little reward?

I'm not looking for pity or attention. I just like being real and honest about my feelings. I still love y'all 💚

#tbbb rants #will probably delete later

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owlespresso · 1 year ago

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pollen, chapter 6 tags: fem!reader, reader has a personality, mind-fuckery, non-consensual kissing a/n: it's about 8.5k words. thank you all for your patience. read 1-5 HERE.

The thickets of the Eastern Shroud are labyrinthine. Tangles of bramble and clusters of thistle seem to dog your every move as you stumble through the brush. Whatever path you had been following is lost to you now. You’re not sure how long or how far you have wandered.

The thick canopy makes it nearly impossible to tell whether it is day or not. You have to squint to catch a few thin, silvery beams of moonlight, and they don’t even reach the forest floor. Instead, the ground is illuminated by large bulbous flowers and mushrooms which sport an unearthly glow. Some of them even seem to breathe, exhaling clouds of spores which you’re careful to keep your distance from.

The noises of the forest are suddenly cut through by a round of loud, whooping cheers. You rush towards the sound, past bundles of giant flowers, under and over stray branches and thick vines. Your heart thrums in your ears as you break through the treeline, stepping foot into a wide open clearing.

What first draws your attention is the long table, nearly large enough to touch both sides. It's draped in white, pearlescent cloth. Plentiful platters stacked sumptuously with scrumptious seeming snacks line the surface from end to end. Puffy pastries are unceremoniously snatched by Sylphs and Moogles. It’s a massive gathering of them, more than you have ever seen at once. Yet, most seem to pay you no mind, even as you gawp openly. They’re more interested in each other, their chatter already rising to a dull roar. They pour tea into mismatched cups and down olive-colored bottles of swill, lost to their own revelry.

You can’t entirely recall your reason for being here, but you are almost certain it has nothing to do with this mysterious trouvaille.

Just as you turn to exit, however, a soft voice calls out from close by.

“Wait!” A Sylph of pinkish hue floats frantically towards you, looking awfully haggard. The disheartened slump of their posture makes them look like a puppet on limp strings. “Don’t go! This one cannot remember the last time we entertained a human guest!” They plead. “This one’s name is Lixio—delighted to make your acquaintance!

You frown. “My apologies, but I have business elsewhere.”

“And it can’t wait? Even for a few moments?” Lixio pleads. You hesitate. “Only a few seconds, even! Mixia and Xixia will not believe this one if this one tells them a human attended the party! Stay long enough for others to witness your presence, at least!”

Mixia and Xixia are this sylph’s friends, you hazard a guess. As desperately as you would like to get back on track and accomplish whatever you had come here to do, fostering amicable relations with the sylphs is crucial to keeping them peaceful. Gridania is already beset by the Ixal and the constant, looming threat of Garlemald’s invasion. You frown.

“I won’t be a very entertaining guest,” you inform them.

“It is the host’s humble duty to entertain,” Lixio chirps. “And you have already captured this one’s most vested interest!”

“You’re putting me on.” You accuse them flatly. They give a mock-gasp, pressing their hands to their cheeks in faux-astonishment.

“This one would never lie about something so important! You would have been shown the door without so much as a toodaloo if you were not so interesting!” they scold, turning around and beckoning you. “Come, come! This one spies an open seat just for you!”

For a reason beyond you, you stumble in tow, through the dark purple grasses and glowing patches of fungi. Lixio leads you to the tail end of the table, where another sylph is facing down two moogles, body shaking with rage as she shrieks.

“Such indolence! This one should banish you to the bogs! A hundred years of the mossy ones sneezing upon you!” they seethe.

“Our deepest apologies!” the moogle clad in a black, pointed hat shouts back above the noise. Several of his fellows at the table’s other end clink their bottles together. “We will replace it at the earliest convenience!”

“Meaningless! The party is happening now!” the sylph cried back in dismay. The moogles offered no response, another coming to tug the both of them into the dense crowd. Staring at where they had once been, you can’t help but take note of the way the black edges seem fuzzy and writhing in ways most mysterious.

Towering pitcher plants of violet hue spit sparkling pollen clouds into the air above the side of the clearing where you’re seated. You’re not familiar with the species, but you know enough to not trust any of the region’s mysterious flora. You should move, but a steaming cup of tea is unceremoniously shoved in front of you.

“Made from the best milkroot in all the Shroud!” Lixio crows with no small amount of pride. You swallow, observing the deep rosen liquid with no small amount of skepticism. Pink petals float on the liquid's surface.

“I appreciate it, but I’m not thirsty.” The corners of your lips twitch into what you hope is an appeasing smile. Is not being thirsty a good enough excuse to turn down a drink from your self-declared host? Should you have said you’re allergic? Lixio doesn’t seem to appreciate your refusal, little face scrunching up.

“It is most impolite to refuse your host’s hospitality,” Lixio fumes. Your lips press into a thin, straight line at the shrill pitch of their voice. With each moment, your tolerance rapidly dwindles. The cute charm of the sylph wares off with their newfound brattiness. It is one thing to be patronized by primals and Garlean commanding officers. It is entirely another to have this brussel sprout of a creature attempting to scold you. Why did you humor them at all? The voices around you grate your sensitive ears more with every passing moment, nose growing expeditiously agitating when combined with the bright luminescent colors which crowd every corner of your vision.

“I apologize,” you reply tersely. “But I am not comfortable—”

“Not comfortable!? What else must be done to please you?” Lixio inquires. They lean forward, into your space. One of their little arms knocks into the teacup they dropped before you. Several drops of the rosen liquid splatter onto the tablecloth.

A shriek splits the air.

“You have ruined this one’s precious dining cloth!” the sylph who was tussling with the moogles mere moments ago turns their attention to your gracious host. They descend upon your gracious host, seizing and pushing Lixio by the shoulders. If not for their innate ability to float, they would have toppled out of their chair and onto the ground. “Ungrateful! Ungrateful, all of you are!”

“Fixia!” Lixio cries. “This one is sorry! This one will clean it—make it look all new and shiny! This one swears!”

“No! This one has had it with lies!” Fixia snaps, curling their tiny, leaflike fingers into the stained cloth. “No more! No! More!” With a strength belied by their slight frame, they pull at the cloth’s edge—and the entire table is upended. Porcelain flies into the air and shatters, drinkware clanging into sterling silver forks and spoons. Pale pastry cream slaps onto dry earth and dark dark grass, tea of scalding temperatures soaking the earth and splashing onto several, unfortunate bystanders.

They shriek and howl, the crowd thrown into immediate disarray. The fae folk dash and fly in all different directions. You slip away in the height of the panic, grateful to be seated so close to the thick treeline. The sounds of the chaos are soon in the far distance. The bright lights halo your silhouette in a smattering of kaleidoscopic color, fading in intensity the further you stray, diving back into the wood with less certainty than you had before the disastrous party. You hadn’t known Sylphs and moogles to mingle so freely. Perhaps they’ve been driven to cooperate by recent threats to the Shroud?

A matter to contemplate later, you decide. You can’t stray from your goal—which happens to be remembering what’s driven you out here in the first place.

In the distance, a river rumbles underneath a curved, wooden bridge. Vines of ivy and purplish leaves intertwine over the suspiciously thin railings. This is the deepest you’ve ever delved into the Eastern Shroud, often put off exploring by the hostile, tempered Sylphs which inhabit the wilds in great abundance. Whatever brought you here was deemed worth the trouble, but your memory remains out of your grasp. Perhaps Meteor would—

You freeze. Hardwood gives way to soft, loamy grass.

Meteor. Ardbert. Where are your teammates? How could you have forgotten them? Revulsion and white hot alarm begin to churn your stomach as you comb through the possibilities, but your thoughts come slow as molasses. Think—think, god dammit! You tap your fist into your temple as if trying to knock your head clear of whatever clogs it. It doesn’t work, of course, leaving you with a sore spot and the paralyzing dread of knowing something is amiss.

You stumble forward, rib cage throbbing dully as one urgent breath shudders out of the next. The air feels thick, like you can’t get enough of it at once—and soon you’re grasping in the dark, struggling to keep yourself upright.

It’s not a horrible place to collapse, you think through the haze. Maybe resting for a while will do you some good, maybe you’re too tired to think.

You don’t realize you’re sliding down until your knees knock into the dirt. Surely, that too is fine. Surely, no bandit or other neerdowell would venture this deep into the Sylphlands, too terrified of fae magic and ferocious flora. From here, though, it's not too terrible. What you can see from underneath lowering eyelids is all beautiful in a strange, otherworldly manner. Dark purples coalesce with bright, pink petals and white shroom caps which glow soft in the peaceful dark. Yes, there will be plenty of light when you wake.

Someone calls your name. You huff and burrow yourself between the roots of the tree, bark scratching the thick fibre of your robes. You hardly mind the cold, damp bark on your cheek. Just a few minutes. Just a few—

Another shout, closer this time.

Mere a few winks of peace—

A broad pair of hands seizes your shoulders and shakes, nearly throttling you against the trunk. When your eyes snap open, it's Ardbert’s concerned countenance which greets you.

“Are you with me?” he asks, leaning close. You can count his every eyelash. Relief crashes over you, nearly hard enough to render you breathless. Ardbert. You blink several times, just to make doubly sure that this is no cruel illusion borne of Sylph magic. But you reopen your eyes and he is still crouched in front of you, familiar face wound deep with concern.

“I’m up, I’m up—” you stagger to your feet, if only to avoid another jostling. His gloved hand wraps around your forearm, carrying an alarming majority of your weight. Too often, you forget just how strong your teammates are, just how easily they could snap bone if so prompted. “Are you alright? Where have you been, this whole time?” you gather your wits enough to ask. The adrenaline shakes away the worst of your weariness.

Ardbert releases you with a haggard sigh, dragging his hand down his face.

“I should be asking you all that,” he begins, exasperated. “Do you have any idea what would have happened to you had you actually fallen asleep?”

“No, do you?” you rub a hand down your face, bleary eyes peering over your fingers as a beat of silence passes. And then another. And then—

“Well, no—but knowing the beasts which skulk around here, it would have been nothing good!” Ardbert blusters. “Now, come on. We have to find my brother.”

“You haven’t seen him?” you inquire. You have to jog a few paces to reach his side before he mellows into a slower stride, exhaling a long suffering sigh. You’ve known him long enough to peer beneath the hardened veneer he wears in the face of all challenges. He’s playing tough, but he’s just as lost as you are. The purple under his eyes is more pronounced than usual. He hasn’t been getting enough sleep. After all of this is over and solved, you’ll procure a tea or tonic to help. And maybe something for his flushed complexion.

His cheeks are a ruddy red, a thin sheen of sweat gracing his visible skin. You could have dismissed it as exertion, likely from roaming wild and reckless around the whispering wood, but the blush has only deepened since you began walking. Petal pink lips part around semi labored breaths.

“No. I haven’t,” Ardbert admits.

“Do you know how long ago you were separated? Did you come in together? I can’t remember a thing.” you confess. You’d not admit it aloud, but having another at your side—having someone to confide in and question is a reassurance you didn’t know you would miss. He’s firm and warm at your side, not as tall as some but still made steep by his warrior’s armor.

He doesn’t answer. You glance over at him a second time. Still flushed. Feverish. Perhaps he’s allergic to some of the local flora? All manner of suspicious plant and flower populates the darkened boughs of the Twelveswood—each bearing their own fruits and pollen. Gods only know what those spores will do to a person.

“Ardbert? Are you alright?” you press gently.

“I’m fine. I just want to get out of this hellhole,” Ardbert insists brusquely, frown deepening. “Worry about yourself, for once.”

“I’m not the one who’s red as a tomato right now,” you huff, but otherwise keep careful to curb your sass. Quarreling will serve you no purpose in a place so hostile, you remind yourself.

“It’s as humid as Ifrit’s arse out here,” Ardbert replies in kind, face twisted into a scowl. “And you were about to pass out before I found you—that’s worth more concern than a little bit of heat.” He argues, and you feel a near nauseating wave of deja vu was over you. It’s the beginning of a familiar dance, the steps of which only you two know. You don’t have the energy for it, right now.

“If you say so. But if you start feeling off—”

Ardbert makes a rough, irritated sound. “You always do this,” he says, exasperated and angry, voice gravelly with the intensity of the emotion.

“Do what?”

“You always get after both of us for not licking our wounds enough—but you never take proper care of yourself!” It’s an abrupt frustration that comes out of nowhere, like a flame jolting to life on a match. It reaches beyond the routine arguments you’re so used to. It weaves into the surrounding aether, not unlike the potent rage he involves on the battlefield. Pain cracks through the passion, the bottom of his lip beginning to wobble. He stops and turns on you abruptly.

“What!? Where is this coming from!?” You stumble backwards, nearly tripping over your own coattails in the process. “You can nag me all you want, but let’s just focus on getting out here for now!”

He scoffs. “Really? Going to lecture me on focus when I just found you curled up in the dirt?”

“Oh, come off it! I was exhausted! I’ve been through a lot today, Ardbert, I don’t need you adding onto it—”

“Why not? You seem to have no problem adding everyone else’s rubbish onto your plate!” he snaps.

Your eyes go wide as his shadow envelops you. “How do you think that makes us feel!?” Sticks and deadened grass crunches underneath his heavy leather boots as he approaches. “We watch you wring the near life out of yourself! Constantly! You forget to eat! You refuse to sleep!” He looms close. You don’t even realize you’re backing up until you bump into a gnarled trunk.

“Useless! It makes us feel useless!” he nearly snarls, fist pummeling into the trunk. You flinch, withering backwards. The wood splinters beneath his gauntlet, pieces spat out onto your cloak. “We can’t ever help you because you keep letting your goddamn pride get in the way!”

“I’ve never asked for your help!” you splutter, fists clenching at your sides. Animal fear and righteous anger wrestle for dominance in your churning gut.

“And that’s the entire problem! Your head is so far up your arse that you can’t even see when you need help!” he continues, voice pitching into a desperate shout. His chest is an iron wall, heaving with each labored breath. A wall in front of you, his arms bars. He’s right, you realize, and that’s the most irritating part of it.

You can’t muster up an adequate reply, too busy searching for an opening. This has gone too far, beyond your typical quarreling. He’s not even a film away, face close enough to note each fine indent of his scowl. The warmth of his body seeps through his armor, even though it really shouldn’t—defying all reason to your muddled senses. The cloying heat that makes it harder to think, harder to wriggle away.

Broad palms cup your jaw. His fingers spread across your cheeks as he forces you to look up—up into glowing, pink eyes. Something in you shatters, then, utterly jarred by the unnatural neon you’re faced with. Only now do you clock how wrong all of him is, how the actors of this play aren’t quite fitting their roles. You open your mouth—to say what you do not know, but the words never quite come. They die on your tongue, because—

He’s kissing you. With warm, soft lips, pressing in and drinking deep of you. A hot tongue pushes into your gasping mouth, chases your own even as you writhe and push at his chest. Faintly, you’re aware of your hand around his wrist. You claw and scramble for purchase on his leathers, attempting to pry away from him.

The difference in strength is too great, and the air is growing too thin. You’re making noise, little whimpers and whines which he swallows, steals them alongside each dwindling breath. Your consciousness begins to fade, black crackling at the edges—and it’s that which jolts you back into shocking awareness.

You cannot fall here. This is not your Ardbert.

Blind panic surges through your veins, levin crackling underneath your skin. The atmosphere trembles, the very fabric of the cosmos beckoned to your aid. A silvery sphere of raw aether sparks into existence behind him. The nearby foliage pulses, and is drawn into it alongside your companion’s devious duplicate. The fake is torn from you with an enraged animal sound.

You turn on foot and dash madly into the woods before the spell fully triggers, blowing everything it's drawn within to smithereens. You fumble over jutting roots and fallen branches, pulling lungfuls of precious air into your howling lungs. The world flies by in shadows of green and purple and brown, fluorescent mushrooms and flowers puffing clouds of suspicious spores. Only when you are alone do you at last come to a pause—bending over to gasp for much needed air. Your sweaty palm presses up against bark, wincing at the coarse bark against your slicked skin.

The situation is more severe and incomprehensible than it initially appeared. Something in the wood plays cruel tricks on you, to wear the faces of your companions. You’ll never forgive who is responsible, whether it be the Sylphs, the Moogles or any other manner of frivolous forest creature. You’ll slay them yourself, you decide.

With that vow made, you regain your breath and stomp back into the thickets, heading towards the gaping mouth of another treeline. Halfway, you pause, a sudden thought striking you.

If Ardbert had been a doppelganger, were either of your partners ever truly here in the first place?

The panic cooled into listless paranoia as you continued to roam. Desperately, you comb through every corner of your mind for some clue, some context as to why you arrived here in the first place. Your probing turns up frighteningly little. You can recall disembarking an airship and meeting with an official at the Adders Nest. The air was tinged with ripe lilac and honeysuckle until you took the ferry east, over murky waters and through verdant masses of algae. The skiff’s bow cut through the tranquil lake like a knife through warm butter.

That’s all you’re able to discern. The finer details pull away when you reach for them. Something, or someone, has purposefully obfuscated your memories. And all you can do is lumber exhaustedly through their crafted labyrinth, out of options and tools and sapped of every after casting impulsively and without a focus.

A flicker of familiar scarlet teases at the edge of your vision. You snap your head towards it, fears temporarily forgotten. Your gaze darts around in the dark, only to find more of what surrounds you. Deadened trunks and berry purple leaves.

Your shoulders slump, more exasperated with your own eyes for playing tricks on you than affected by the vision itself. A Warrior of Light can’t quake and crumble at the slightest of provocations. You’ve dealt with worse than this, fought stranger foes and outwitted politicians and enemy generals and gods alike. If you can’t surmount this—

A bell-like laugh echoes up and down the wood, a sound you never thought you would hear again.

“Come now, hero! Are you really going to let me run off a third time?”

Familiar agitation sweeps through you at his mocking lilt. It feels nostalgic, in a way, but you know better than to chase a dismembered voice off in the distance. No matter how achingly familiar. You turn away, and you keep on walking—

“Really? You would ignore me after all we had together?” his voice is in your head, now, flat and disappointed. You whirl around, trembling fist clenched, but your dulled reflexes are but a moment too late. You’ev shoved backwards, and where you swore there had existed solid should is instead a slope covered in sticks which snag and leaves which crunch loud underneath your tumbling body. A pained shout wrenches from your chapped lips, flank landing hard on the dirt.

You scrape your hands on bark and stone as you pull yourself to your feet. A mere film away is a tangle of bristling brambles. Count your blessings where you can find them, you suppose. Your hands raise to brush the clumped soil off your person. They never get that far.

The dark, still edge of a familiar blade tucks underneath your chin. You can’t remember seeing or hearing anyone approach, but you have often noticed that Meteor moves quieter and more discreetly than anyone in armor has any right to. But he’s keenly aware of that, too. He always makes noise on purpose, just to let you know he’s coming. To not scare you.

But not this time. His eyes are wide and wild, hair knocked into tangles, dirt and blood smudged across his face. The crimson is slick with its freshness. He’s a terrifying vision, hunched above you like a wolf looms over a wounded lamb.

“Meteor,” you rasp, quietest you have ever been, “It’s me—” you find the stones to continue after a long moment, spent in sheer disbelief that he would raise his weapon at you. His face twitches, but the eerie stillness there remains. There’s something anguished in his eyes.

“I’ve heard that, before,” he says ruefully, breathing heavily. “You won’t fool me. Not again.”

“You—what are you talking about—” you stammer. Realization crashes into you a moment later, fast and brutal as a Coerthan gale. “How many of me have you seen?” you can’t help but ask, swallowing against the pinprick of his blade.

He licks a bead of sweat from his lips. Mindlessly, you track the movement.

“Two, now. Ran them both through,” he admits, equal part confession and threat. There’s no wobble in his voice, though. No regret. Sympathy juts through the haze of your fear.

“I’m sorry,” you murmur. “That you had to—”

“No. Don’t even start.” he mutters, shifts closer.

“I’m real, Meteor. I can prove that I’m real,” you fumble backwards, pulse rumbling in your ears. Your back meets the unyielding stone of a nearby ledgeface, trapped between it and his unforgiving steel. “Ask me something only I would know!”

Meteor’s jaw ticks. “The second one said the same—and they were right,” he swallows. “—when they answered.”

“Then—Then I can just leave!” you exclaim, unable to keep the panic from your voice. You can’t even begin to fathom the implications of what he’s disclosed to you, not while the edge of his blade inches forward, kissing the column of your throat. “I won’t show my face again. I swear it!”

The space between his thick brows scrunches, for the first time breaching his glazed, wild expression. The sword wobbles against your skin, threatening to break it, before he heaves a great sigh and lowers it. You slump against the craggy wall, erupting into a series of sputtering, shaky breaths. You must make a pitiful picture, but the relief is so palpable that you can’t bring yourself to much care.

He remains there, looming and still as a statue, deadly weapon still clutched in his hand.

“I’ll—I’ll just be doing, then,” you assure him once you’ve regained your breath. It kills you to leave him here, distressed and alone, but you can’t solve this conundrum if you’re dead. You’ll have to come back for him, and in the meantime hope he isn’t visited by any other spectors wearing your face.

Though, maybe you should worry more for yourself. The phantom feeling of Ardbert’s hands sticks cold to your skin, a poignant reminder of the danger that lurks.

“There’s an Ardbert imposter running around,” you inform him, wincing as you pull yourself to your feet. A piercing ache throbs in your left side. No doubt it’ll be a nasty bruise, later. “I know you don’t believe me I’m real. I just thought you should—”

His hand cups the underside of your jaw, the cool metal of his gauntlets firm against your overheated skin. The clawed tips prick your cheeks. You blink stupidly, numbly as he seizes you, lifts your head to meet his imposing, keen gaze. He’s analyzing you, you think, searching for something you cannot quite name. Your pulse thrums against his forearm, in your throat, skin brushing against the metal with each throb of blood through the vein.

“Meteor—” you rasp, frozen in place by the weight of his attention alone. A beast brays somewhere in the far distance. The forest squirms and shivers despite a lack of wind.

His eyes shut. He exhales, trembling. He’s testing your measure, yet to what parameters you do not know. You can only linger in the space between the seconds, awaiting his judgment.

He opens his eyes. “You’re real,” he murmurs. His thumb strokes across your lower lip, careful to mind his claw. His eyes flutter shut, brown lashes tucking against pale cheeks. “I’m sorry—”

“It’s fine,” you reply automatically, rising to your feet. You know full well that he would never raise arms against you unless under significant duress, unless out of his mind.

“It isn’t,” Meteor replies coolly, raking a hand through his hair. “But now isn’t the time.”

You don’t reply nor do you give into the sweet relief his presence brings. He looks like he’s struggling with what else to say, lips pulled into a straight line.

“So, let’s pool our information,” you speak up, just to spare him the agony of his own thoughts. There’ll be plenty of time to wallow in his guilt later. You don’t need any more platitudes or pleas for forgiveness—the moment has passed and neither of you should live in it.

Meteor heaves a sigh, “After we arrived in the Shroud, a fog settled over the entire area. I could hardly see my own hands—”

“Forgive me, but why did we come to the Shroud in the first place? I…” you chew on the inside of your cheek, warmth rising to your cheeks. The idea of you forgetting the specifics of a mission is completely out of character, and horribly humiliating. The question gets stuck in your throat, stubborn pride warring with your own rampant need for context, for information. “I can’t seem to remember.”

“We…” Meteor pauses, blinking. His gaze crawls from you, eyes glazing as he stares across the empty clearing. “Came to gather milkroot.”

“...Milkroot?” your eyes narrow. This is a poor time for jokes—the notion that the Scions would send you here to do chores is laughable, but Meteor nods. Dead serious as he’s ever been.

“Over the past moon, it’s grown out of proportion. It’s making the tempered Sylphs come out from deeper in the wood.”

“Alright. So you happen to know where this particularly intrusive patch of milkroot is?” You’re still not sure if you believe him. And if you do happen to believe him, you’re still miffed at being deployed for pest control, of all things. You’ve felled three primals and beasts of equal strength. You are above getting on your knees in the dirt to clean up some random mess.

“I do,” Meteor nods. “But the thicket… It's hard to navigate. I’ve already been lost twice.”

“I can only imagine,” you mumble, sympathetic. “Well, given it's our only lead, we can head there first. Does that sound alright?”

And Meteor nods, by far the most well-behaved tank you have ever met, both in and outside of battle.

He does, taking you through winding pathways, skirting along the very edges of the darkened deepwood. In the distance, you spy purple sylphs and tall plants with wide, spikes maws. Their broad stems rise and fall as if breathing. Clouds of poison expel into the air with each breath.

“Meteor—” you say, and then swallow. The ambient aether pulses around you—and suddenly you are in that far off distance, surrounded by them on all sides. The air is sickly sweet and sparkling ripples of bright purple glisten through the gloom in undulating waves. You stagger, boots scuffing on the dark dirt. Everything seems to breathe now. Thick trunks and brambled branches, expanding and shrinking. Your gaze lifts to the canopy.

Meteor says your name. A firm hand clasps your wrist, firm and grounding. Your lungs feel tight, throat constricted. Dazed and unfocused as you are, you manage to find his gaze among the swimming dark. Have his eyes always been so bright?

But it’s not enough. You feel yourself crumple, not all at once. one part of the body after the other. Mere moments feel stretched into minutes, your world condensing to stuttered snapshots. Meteor, distraught. An oversized log up top the slope. A lone sylph, faced away from you. Strands of green and stiff purple grass, which tickles your cheek.

And then, the eerie black.

There is no time between when you shut your eyes and reopen them. A fraction of a moment at most. Your eyelids pry open and you are back on your feet, mid-step.

“Drowsing on the job again, are we?” G’raha Tia says. Your brain stutters, struggling to piece together his presence. It’s beyond jarring. It’s like seeing your smallclothes laid out on the Rising Stones’s Bar. A piece of you, something so close and intimate, dragged out and misplaced for all to see.

He looks different then the last time you saw him. Both of his eyes are blue. His hair is longer, fastened into a thick but wild braid. A greatbow slung across his back is emblazoned with golden accents and striking blue gemstones. One half of his shirt is blue, the other black. The neckline hangs low, the fabric bunched by a red and black sash wound around his waist. Sheathed daggers and miscellaneous pouches hang off two belts slung underneath it. Another is fastened around his thigh. Some of the gold bangles tied round his arm gloves and thigh high boots sport beads in the shape of the sun and stars. A bard, you think.

“I…” you begin, tongue heavy in your mouth. What had he asked of you, again? You blink, attempting to clear away the lingering haze.

“You know how that old saying goes—sleep late and you lose the worm and all that,” he says, eyes glimmering. Playful. “And if I’m not mistaken, this will be the third such occasion in which you’ve missed the goal.”

“The third?” your lips peel into a frown, familiar agitation sparking within you. “What are you counting as the first two?”

“If it truly mattered to you, you would have remembered by now,” his smile turns wry, blue eyes so bright and bitter. Your jaw locks, awareness washing over you like grains broken from an hourglass, sands of time settling heavy and suffocating atop your chest. The anger, the pain, the loss—it tastes coppery.

“It wasn’t my fault,” you protest.

His gaze softens. “You don’t believe that.”

“How would you know? You’re the one who left without so much as a word! You couldn’t even be bothered to leave a note behind, G’raha!” The anger erupts from you all at once, typical restraint worn by the day’s events—the day’s events, you realize.

This isn’t real. G’raha Tia is long gone. This is another cruel illusion conjured specifically to waste your time and demoralize you. You need to leave.

“Why would I write a note to someone who clearly couldn’t stand me? From the moment we met, you made it painfully clear that you wanted no part of me. You only tolerated my presence, as though I were a coworker’s child getting underfoot. You despised me, but you despised the fact that you needed me even more.” Every word drives into you like a rusty prong of steel, wounds just begun to close reopened and stung, skin split and stitches burst. All at once, you feel speechless and small, no better than a child.

“And you never bothered to examine why I behaved in the manner that I did! Did you not once consider that I only wanted to impress the vaunted Warriors of Light!? To prove that I was worthy to stand at your side!?”

“Stop,” you gasp, and it feels like getting sick, the back of your throat for some reason rubbed raw—like you’ve been running a marathon or screaming out your bedraggled soul.

“Perhaps, if I felt I could confide in you, I would have told you. Perhaps you could have convinced me to stay.” G’raha continues, voice soft again. The anger and agony is gone, now. Only the stillness of a soul lost or given up, looking out across the short tale of his life in pensive reflection.

“Perhaps I could have gone on to be an adventurer, too.” His voice is nearly smothered by the sound of wildlife, groans and chirps and howls and clicks erupting around you. The shadows reach out like spindly fingers. Every hair on your body stands on end. Your instincts scream for you to rush forward and shield him from the malignant presence which haunts this horrible, wild place.

Not this time, though. Not for this delusion. Your jaw clenches as the bleak, empty dark encloses on him like a flower’s petals. You stand there, and comfort yourself with the knowledge that this is too a phantasm, a vision spun for the sole sake of your distress.

You blink, and the murky depths disappear. Meteor is standing in front of you, eyes bright and face hard with concern.

“I’m alright,” the words are out of your mouth before you can even think. Automatic, at this point. “We can keep going.”

“I can carry you, if you’re tired.” he informs you. His barely flat delivery makes you wonder whether he’s offering or simply telling you a fun fact.

“You don’t have to. I’m fine,” you sound weaker than you would like, reedier. “And we should both be concerned about the doppelgangers running around. They’re likely Sylph illusions, but simple magicks cannot explain how they knew such intimate details about us.” And about your relationships. The illusory Ardbert’s words had been weighed by honest, clear agony.

“Perhaps the culprit is no mere Sylph,” he suggests.

“Who would it be, then?” you scoff, kicking a large brand off the path, which has started to thin. Up ahead lay another dark bridge, the river churning below. The area leading up to it is no larger than three films across, and populated by several tangles of bramble. It’s little wonder that the tempered Sylphs of the deepwood don’t make their own fortresses. Nature is more than willing to supply it for them.

Meteor provides you with an informative shrug, leaving you to stew with the possibilities. Frankly, you cannot name a single person who would be privy to the innermost workings of your troublesome trio. Most enemies don’t get close enough for a chance at conversation, and most allies are kept at a strict arm’s length. By you, at least.

You shut your eyes for a moment as your mounting headache returns full force, but a moment is all it takes for you to stub your toe on a stray root. You curse, voice echoing up and down the misty boughs.

Meteor looks at you pointedly, head tilting. You glare.

“No.” you say.

He takes a step closer. Into your personal space. It takes all of your healer’s patience not to unleash a volley of crass curses directly into his face.

“No, I’m fine,” you firmly insist. “I don’t need any coddling.”

Meteor looks remarkably unimpressed. “What’s your plan, then? Please, enlighten me.” he says, completely flat. “Wander aimlessly through the woods until you twist your ankle on another vine?”

Your face crinkles like you’ve just eaten a serving of Archon Loaf. Since when has he been… so sassy? So prone to backtalk?

No—it makes sense. Being forced to slay even an illusion wearing his face and speaking in his voice would shake you, likely leave you rattled for weeks. So of course he’s on edge, snappier than usual. You take in another deep breath, count to three, and exhale, willing your tempestuous temper away.

“I won’t lie. I am… unsure of the specifics of our situation. However, I have a few theories,” you lean up against the closest tree trunk and roll your head back, shutting your tired eyes. G’raha Tia comes to you in flashes, blue eyes deep and haunted. You settle for staring at the dark canopy instead.

“We could be inside a sealed space which repeats itself, where elements of terrain are randomly placed to give the illusion that we are genuinely traversing the forest. Such a complex spell requires a skilled caster and a bevy of aether at their disposal. The Sylphs are, for the most part, natural born casters and obtaining the crystals required could be as simple as leading a few unlucky merchants astray from the trodden path.” you finished with a grimace. “A likelier theory is that we’ve been trapped in some kind of dream.

“All three of us together?” Meteor inquires, placid mien betraying no skepticism. It’s a relief that your hypothesis hasn’t been met with immediate disbelief. Some of the tension melts from your body as you open your mouth.

Before you can speak, someone calls to you from across the clearing.

Meteor shifts into a defensive stance, clean steel of his greatsword aimed at the approaching, darkly dressed figure. It takes you a moment to see it, to genuinely sew the embellished black plate, the eyes deep and wide and hauntingly blue. The tips of his ruffled hair kisses the space where his stubble begins.

No, oh gods, no—the forest fades into black nothingness, silent but it must be laughing. Laughing, because you were foolish enough to not anticipate this. The air struggles to stay in your lungs. Your ears pound, your chest thuds with white hot panic, rolling up your spine and forking into the base of your skull. You can’t handle this, right now. You stare numbly at the approaching form of a second Meteor.

You should have expected this. If the mastermind was able to so seamlessly replicate Ardbert, then it is only reasonable to expect the same of Meteor.

“Stay behind me,” Meteor says, quiet yet uncompromising. As if you plan to step in front of the hulking slab of metal he calls a sword. “Leave us alone. We know you’re an imposter.”

His doppelganger, rather than responding to him directly, looks at you instead, concern writ plain across his furrowed brow. Meteor stands taller to block his view of you, black pauldon sheltering you from that pained, beseeching stare.

“You’re as bold as I expected a Sylph-borne simulacrum to be,” the doppelganger begins. He calls your name, then.

“Bold accusations from a shade with no proof.” Meteor rebuffs. “I’ll not warn you a second time. Leave, or your Sylph masters will receive what remains of you in hand baskets.”

Traveling together begets familiarity. Yet, you would never claim to know Meteor’s every facet. Yet, you cannot suppress the wave of wrongness that sweeps through you. It’s a sudden chill. In all the times he has stood firm between you and the enemy, he has never been so verbose. No, he cuts down the enemy before they can even spit a word. The sprout of dread burgeons within you, renders you near breathless as you stare at his back, desperate to get a closer look at his eyes.

The other Meteor calls your name a second time.

“I lack the time to bother with paltry words. You know that.” he says, desperate to be known, to be believed. And it’s true. It’s completely true. An idiosyncrasy that only he would be aware of. You step back, instinctively reaching for a weapon that isn’t there. Your boots scuff the dark dirt, and the Meteor who you’ve been accompanying whirls around. He looks like you’ve knocked the wind out of him, staring at you in disbelief.

“Don’t tell me you believe him,” he says. His eyes are wild and wide with horror.

“I—I—” It’s much more difficult to defend your position when he’s looking at you like that. It’s a look he only fixes you with on the rare occasions that you get a scrape or cut in battle. Scrutinizing and perhaps annoyed, but feral with concern. Like he’d reach his hands inside of you to fix any misaligned inners. Like he’d sink his teeth into the throat of those responsible. All gnashing fangs and frayed bangs, blood and soot and dirt smudged on his cheeks.

You take another step back. Where there was once a blank dirt road, there is—something, something which slithers around your ankle and pulls, sending you tumbling to the earth. You wince at the initial impact, earlier injuries sent spasming.

A few fulms away, you can see him start in your direction, outline of a curse on his lips. He’s lowered his greatsword by a hair, head craned to snatch a brief look at you. But that’s all it takes.

Sabled steel slices clean through his middle. Blood gushes onto the ground. His armor dents where it’s been cut through, gnarled metal groaning as he crashes to the floor—spasming. Bile rises in the back of your throat as you watch his lips open around strained wheezes. Here, in the dim dark, you are forced to confront your worst fear. The life bleeds out of him, the wound too gaping for your feeble aether to mend. You try, anyway, crawling over dirt and twigs to reach him. A clammy palm presses against the cold, cold curve of his chestplate.

The aether sparks feebly at your fingertips. The skin stings and burns but you push through—it is a mere fraction of the rest of the pain you have been put through today, after all. Beaten and bruised, you try and pour everything which remains into his shuddering body. His torso twitches like a fish brought to land. Fervent even now, in the throes of death.

His eyes glaze. He stops moving. He’s looking at you, still.

You choke back a scream.

The body explodes into a sparkling cloud of purple aether, before vanishing altogether. Another imposter, this entire time. Twice now, you have been so thoroughly fooled. You cannot claim to be close friends of either brother, but you know them. You know Ardbert leaves extra tips for bar keepers and inn maids and checks the doors and windows twice each before retiring to bed. You know Meteor only ever haggles in Ul’dah, and that he runs errands for the folk of every settlement and city which you visit. You know when Ardbert is close to lashing out because his jaw locks and he gets this little line on his chin. You know when something is troubling Meteor because he fidgets, most often with his gauntlet straps.

All of that, and still you readily believed their imposters, even made excuses for them! Your hands curl into fists, strands of grass crushed between them. Your eyes stay wide open, the imposter’s last few moments ingrained in your mind’s eye. You will see it every time you blink.

It was a fake, sure, but it still wore his face. It looked at you with his eyes and called out to you in his voice.

Much like the voice that calls to you know. Meteor is wearing a grimace as he makes his way over to you, no doubt disconcerted at having to bring his own doppelganger to the sword.

“I’m sorry,” he says, lips pulled into a disgusted frown. “You shouldn’t have had to see that.” He doesn’t bother asking if you’re alright, because you’re not and you know that much is obvious. You have faith that you look as much of a wreck as you feel.

You swallow, and do not take his hand, because even this too feels wrong. If you were an ilm less wise, you would reason that paranoia from today’s ordeals has set in. But you now know that nothing in this horrible, labyrinthine place adheres to reason or empathy.

A nearby cluster of tall, bulbous flowers glows bright yellow. The light catches on his armor, his sword and his eyes—which gleam that horrible, acidic violet.

“Stay away from me!” you push yourself to your feet and scramble backwards. “I know what you are, now! Stop hiding behind someone else’s face, you spineless wretch!”

It inhales deeply. Patiently.

“You’re afraid, and it’s affecting how you see things,” he coaxes, raising his hands in a gesture of surrender. “There’s no need to be afraid. If you would just let me—” His eyes flash a hot pink. He goes silent, arms dropping back to his sides. His expression loses his desperate candor, glazed and empty. You don’t stick around to wonder why. A searing ache burns at your walk-weary legs, exhausted muscles crying out for sweet reprieve. You heave yourself to your feet regardless, ignoring the stubborn pain. The myriad cuts and bruises you’ve amassed since this all began sting and throb.

You still don’t know what “this” is. You’re still at square one, without a clue or a hope to get you by. All that matters now is getting as far from this newfound imposter as possible. You rush across the clearing, gritting your teeth through the agony.

The imposter says something, then. You’re too distracted to hear, but you can clearly make out the sound of his boots thudding as he gives chase. Animal fear sets your body aflame, bolts of levin dancing up and down your spine. Every heaving gasp burns the back of your dry throat, eyes watering against a sudden gust of wind. You cannot die here.If you were in better shape, if you hadn’t been run so ragged, perhaps you’d be able to claw your way out of this. But he bridges the distance between you with pathetic ease.

“This a terrible shame to lose someone so skilled,” he says. He shoves an elbow into your mid-back, harsh plate slamming into your spine. “You could have served on His Majesty’s court.”

You crash to the ground for what feels like the thirtieth time today, shuddering and clawing at the dirt, feet kicking out as you attempt to delay the inevitable. Oh god, you realize belatedly, deliriously, that this is where you die. In the dark and alone, covered in sweat and grime, last moments spent wriggling in filth like a pig. This is how they will find you—if anyone even does, rumpled and beaten and bloody—no partners to lend you aid or shield you. No one to fret over your wounds or nag you to rest.

Ardbert was right. Black spots swim at the edges of your vision. Behind you, the whoosh of a blade winds through the air. May it be swift, you pray, and shut your eyes.

The blow never reaches you.

The sound of a thousand windows shattering nearly blows out your eardrums. The noise is almost a physical force, erupting from the space only a few fulms ahead of you. Tendrils of blinding daylight reach in as the darkened skies seem to fall to pieces, starlit canopy cracking and crumbling to the earth in crystalline shards.

A blur of brown streaks past your left side, but the enraged roar it makes is familiar enough to make your eyes water with tears unshed. Steel screams against steel. In that instant, you drop. All fight leaves your body, head thunking into the soil. You turn your face to the side to avoid a mouthful of dirt.

You cannot see the full scope of the fight, because a pair of arms circle around your prone body. You’re lifted fast enough to make your head spin, nausea churning in your gut. All you can do is swallow down the acid bile, lest you stain Meteor’s dark plate and leathers.

Instead you let loose a dry, rasping sob. The nightmare is over. You have nothing else to fear. All of the mysteries you have agonized over will be explained in due time.

You fall to pieces. Above you, Meteor’s lips are moving, but you can’t make out a word over the shattering and screaming and thrumming of your traitorous heart. He looks down at you, and you would feel guilty at the abject horror and concern written plain across his face if you were not so, so relieved. You cry, and cry, and cry, not even caring when the points and hard flats of his armor jostle your wounds because he is here and he is real. He is so achingly, endlessly and utterly real.

It is relief, not fear, which blurs your vision and runs down your cheeks. Relief deeper than you ever thought you could feel. So deep that you submerge into it, sinking into the merciful empty of a well-deserved sleep.

#pollen tag #ardbert/reader #meteor/reader

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my-intrusive-stories · 1 year ago

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Vampire! Engen x Female! Reader: Holding On To You Part 2

Word Count ~ 5313 Warnings: Canon-Typical Violence and Death Notes: I'm so sorry for the delay with this chapter. I wanted to give it the ending it deserved but kept rewriting parts. Anyway, I hope you enjoy it! I'll try to have my next work done at some point on Monday, but pls bear with me since I have midterms this week.

Hours? Days? Weeks? It was hard to keep track of time when everything was pitch black. After getting shot by the Hunter, Cyrus, you’d been in this strange place for god knows how long. Either this was the afterlife, or you got stuck in a bizarre limbo between life and death. Hopefully, it was the latter.

Another indeterminate period passed before you got tired of staying in place. If something was going to happen, it would have already happened. So you picked a direction and walked. The dark abyss seemed endless. No matter how far you walked or looked, there was only inky darkness.

More time passed, and you were beginning to feel disheartened. Nevertheless, you pressed on. Dying wasn’t an option. People were waiting on the other side. Suddenly, there was a small glimmer of light in the distance. You blinked, thinking it was a hallucination, but no, there was something there. Excited by the prospect of a way out, you started to run toward the light.

Meanwhile, three days had passed in the real world. Everyone in the castle was becoming more worried. You were still unconscious and running a high fever. Even the doctor, Vector, was nervous. Usually, patients would have some semblance of consciousness after several days.

“I’ve never seen a case like this,” the pumpkin-headed man told the anxious onlookers. “(Y/N)’s wounds healed at a rate faster than an average Supernatural, yet she won’t wake up. Her current condition may have something to do with her memory loss.”

“She isn’t in danger of dying, though, right?” Rachel asked apprehensively. If another one of her loved ones died, she wouldn’t know what to do.

“Luckily, (Y/N) seems stable, minus the fever. The best I can do now is put a cold towel on her head.”

“Thank goodness,” Baekji breathed out. You’d risked your life to save hers by getting animal blood in Hunter-infested woods. If you died, she’d feel unbearably guilty.

“Alright,” Vector clapped. “Everyone get out. Crowding in this room is bringing up the temperature. Especially you, Bagna.” He shot a look at the fire spirit. “If you want (Y/N) to recover, give her space to breathe.”

There was some grumbling from the masses, but who were they to disobey the doctor’s orders? Slowly, the Supernaturals filed out of the room. All except for two.

“When I said everyone, I did mean everyone, Engen,” Vector said sternly. His tone softened when he continued, though. “I know you’re worried, but standing over her body won’t do any good for either of you.”

The brown-haired vampire remained silent as he looked at your unconscious figure. Had it not been for the sheen of sweat covering your body, he’d think you were sleeping peacefully. Engen preferred the serene expression on your face to the one he’d witnessed when the Hunter put a bullet through your chest. Guilt tugged at his chest as he remembered how he couldn’t do anything to prevent this. Giving one last glance toward you, Engen retreated to his room to stew in his emotions.

Nearly a hundred years had passed since everyone he loved died. Engen thought he had moved on, but then you showed up. Everything about you was practically identical to his first love. From looks to personality, you were the spitting image of his (Y/N). The only solace was that your eyes were (Y/E/C) and not golden. Still, when he heard Rachel call you (Y/N), Engen nearly punched a hole in the wall. It was as if the world was playing tricks on him.

Bringing you back to the castle was a selfish decision he instantly regretted. Associating with Supernaturals as a human was a death sentence. Still, he clung to the ghost of his (Y/N). Now, you were suffering for his choices. As he lay sleeplessly on his bed, Engen decided he’d do anything possible to keep you safe. No one would touch you again.

Back in the strange, dark world, you were still running. Little by little, the light got brighter. It spurred you on. Had this been the real world, you’d have collapsed from exhaustion, but things functioned differently here. One step at a time, the finish neared. After what felt like an eternity, the end was right in front of you. Right before you could pass through, though, the brilliant glare blinded you. It caused you to fall through. Instead of bracing for impact, every muscle went limp.

When you tried to open your eyes and get up, nothing happened. There was only a stinging pain in your knees and the feeling of grass on your face. Where the hell was this?

“What did you do this time, (Y/N)?” a voice suddenly asked. It sounded like a young boy– a very exasperated young boy.

“Well, I tripped on a rock.” That was your voice? Why did it sound so childish? And who was it that asked the question? Only the Supernaturals at the castle knew of the temporary name Rachel gave you.

That query didn’t last long since you glanced upwards and saw a brown-haired boy with blue-grey eyes. He looked uncannily similar to Engen. Even the slight frown was the same, though the child didn’t have a scar.

As abruptly as he showed up, the Engen look-alike turned to leave. An arm reached out toward his back.

“Don’t leave me again,” you whined involuntarily. It was as if you were a passenger in your own body while someone made decisions for you.

The boy let out a sound of annoyance but turned around anyway. He wasted no time putting you on his back and walking toward a house. Apparently, you shrank because there was no way a child could carry you. This situation was like a strange hallucination.

After carrying you silently for a few minutes, the boy arrived at the house. Before he could knock on the door, it swung open, revealing a cheerful woman and someone you assumed to be her husband. They looked just like you.

“Hello, Engen,” the woman exclaimed cheerfully. “It’s nice to see you. What brings you here?”

“Hello, Mrs. (L/N). (Y/N) fell again, so I brought her back.”

“Again?” she sighed. “Thank you for bringing my clumsy daughter home.”

The woman scooped you up and placed you on a chair. A light flick landed on your forehead, but all you could think about was the information you’d just hear. According to Rachel, Engen was close to one hundred years old. Why would this weird dream involve both of you as children? You weren’t even alive back then, right?

Bandages wrapping around your knee snapped you out of your thoughts. You watched as the woman who claimed to be your mother tenderly wrapped your knees. Her eyebrows furrowed as if she was doing the most delicate of tasks. It made your heart swell. If this was a dream, it wasn’t a bad one.

Suddenly, everything began to blur. The scenery changed from inside your home to a tree near a lake. Sitting near the edge of the water was a slightly older Engen. He stared into the shimmering expanse of liquid with a serene expression. In all your time at the castle, you’d never seen such a peaceful expression on the vampire’s face. You honestly didn’t want to disturb him, but that wasn’t your choice to make at the moment.

“Hey, Engen,” you shouted while sprinting up to him. The boy turned toward you. From behind your back, you produced a book. Engen’s eyes lit up ever so slightly when he recognized the cover. How cute.

“Happy birthday!” you panted out. “Just wanted to give you this. I’ll get going now.”

Once you handed him the book, you turned to leave, but a grip on your wrist stopped you. Engen’s demeanor seemed softer than before.

“I don’t mind if you stay for a bit,” he mumbled while avoiding your eyes. A bright smile spread across your face. Together, you admired the sparkling lake. As you looked into the reflective water, you realized with a start that instead of (Y/E/C), your eyes appeared to be golden.

With that discovery, the world blurred out once again. Another scene played through. And another. And another. Each scenario felt nostalgic for some reason. You dismissed those thoughts every time, though. The gap between your childhood and Engen’s spanned decades. Whoever’s eyes you were seeing through must have been your ancestor or something. If these were real memories, you were simply a spectator in someone else’s body.

Slowly, you let yourself be immersed in this girl’s memories. Using the recollections, you pieced together her life. The golden-eyed girl’s father was an apothecary, and her mother bounded books. They were best friends with Engen’s parents. As it turns out, only Engen’s father, Davon, was a vampire. He’d wandered around before falling in love with a human and settling down.

Using his status as an apothecary, (Y/N)’s father helped explain away Davon’s strange habits as a result of an illness. Instead of human blood, Engen and his father consumed animal blood. They also filed their canine teeth. Since the Supernatural panic hadn’t begun yet, no one in the village suspected a thing.

(Y/N)’s life was actually quite happy. There was never a dull moment, as she constantly sought new things. Learning medicine? Done. Swimming? Been there. Knife-throwing? That was just a Friday. And through it all, she dragged Engen, much to his chagrin. Even though he pretended to be uninterested, the young vampire never declined your invitations. He was obviously smitten with (Y/N) but oblivious that she reciprocated his feelings.

Everything seemed great until you were transported into a new scene. (Y/N) was dragging Engen into her home. Just as she opened the door, Davon’s voice resonated through the living room.

“They’re going to kill us, dammit. And if they discover that you’ve been helping us, you’ll die, too.”

(Y/N)’s eyes widened. Her father’s and Davon’s heads whipped toward their children. They hadn’t expected their early arrival.

“What’s this about?” Engen demanded. Of the two teens, he was the calmest. (Y/N) tried to mask her concern, but she was still trembling slightly.

The two fathers tried to shrug it off by saying, “It was nothing” and “Don’t worry about it,” but (Y/N) was having none of it. A frown slipped onto her face.

“Don’t say you’ll die, then tell us it’s nothing. Engen is already nineteen, and I’m about to turn eighteen. We have a right to know. You can’t keep us sheltered forever.”

Silence filled the room. Frustrated by the lack of communication, (Y/N) spun around and left the house. She didn’t know where she was going, but anywhere away from that situation was good enough. Engen followed her until she sat down near the lake. He saw the shake of (Y/N)’s shoulders as she tried to conceal her crying. Not knowing what to do, the vampire sat next to her and offered (Y/N) his shoulder until her tears ran out. Silence followed as the two watched the sunset on the lake.

“Hey, Engen,” (Y/N) murmured. The young man let out a quiet hum. “I love you.”

Wasting no time, Engen tilted her head upward and pressed his lips to hers. The kiss was filled with years of unspoken feelings. It was so raw and emotional that you felt guilty for intruding by watching through (Y/N)’s perspective.

When the two finally pulled apart, they looked into each other’s eyes. Gold bore into blue, and blue bore into gold. Engen then stood up slowly and offered his hand to (Y/N).

“Let’s go back. Our fathers should be ready to talk now.”

(Y/N) reached out and grabbed Engen’s hand. “Sounds good,” she agreed while standing up. Before she could stand up fully, though, Engen pulled her into a hug.

“I love you, too,” the vampire whispered in her ear. Heat filled (Y/N)’s face while goosebumps covered her skin. Engen wasn’t usually one to verbalize his feelings. Her heart felt like it was trying to escape its confines.

A dazed look was plastered on (Y/N)’s face. How was she supposed to function properly after that? Seeing the flustered look on her face, Engen smirked mischievously. That only served to make (Y/N) even more embarrassed. He was too damn attractive. Using her mental state to his advantage, Engen swept her off her feet and carried her back home.

When they arrived, their mothers had joined the meeting as well. The women noticed Engen and (Y/N)’s slightly swollen lips and began to snicker despite the grave atmosphere. It helped relieve some of the tension.

“So,” your father began, “I’d like to start by apologizing for not telling you this as soon as we learned about it. You deserved to know sooner, but we didn’t want you to worry. In the end, it made you worry more.”

(Y/N) nodded as if to say she accepted the apology.

“With that, let’s get down to the issue at hand,” Davon said seriously. “There’s this new group of people who call themselves Hunters. They hate all Supernaturals and want to eradicate them. Your father,” he looked at (Y/N), “has heard from some patients that some will be coming to this village. If they catch wind that Engen and I are vampires and you helped keep us concealed, they may kill us all.”

“On whose authority?” (Y/N) questioned. “There isn’t a single law stating that you can’t associate with Supernaturals.”

Engen’s mother chimed in. “They have connections and money. Most places turn a blind eye to their actions.”

“So what can we do? Move somewhere else? If they’re as well connected as you say, they’ll probably have stations in other villages.”

“We’ll just have to carry on as we usually have. Any sudden changes to our behavior may arouse suspicion. A Hunter won’t stick around if there are no signs of a Supernatural.”

The idea of passively waiting for the Hunters to leave wasn’t optimal, but there weren’t any other reasonable options. Everyone in the room looked grim. How could they not? Their lives were being threatened by strangers with a hatred for people they’d never met.

“That settles it then,” (Y/N)’s mother concluded. “We’ll have to prepare before the Hunters arrive, but I’m sure everyone here is getting tired. Tomorrow morning, we can sort out the finer details.”

Nods of agreement were shared. With that, the meeting was adjourned. Engen’s parents said their goodbyes and left, but Engen lingered around the door. He seemed to be waiting for (Y/N).

She quietly slipped out of the house and looped her arms around the vampire’s neck. In response, he wrapped his arms around her waist and pulled her into a kiss. (Y/N) pulled away breathlessly but was brought back into another kiss almost immediately.

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” Engen whispered against her lips. One of her arms unwrapped from her lover’s neck as she cupped one of his cheeks.

“I’ll be waiting,” (Y/N) smiled. The two released each other from their embrace slowly. Neither wanted to go. After lingering glances, Engen turned and started back to his home.

Despite the grave situation, (Y/N) felt giddy. After years of pining, she and Engen were lovers. The lovestruck expression on her face didn’t leave as she went back inside. Unexpectedly, her mother was waiting for her.

“Did you have fun?” Heat flooded (Y/N)’s face. “Don’t answer that. I’m just teasing you. What your father and I really wanted to do is give you this. If you find yourself in a dire situation, follow the instructions here.”

She handed her daughter a notebook. When you saw it, shock ripped you from your immersion in (Y/N)’s memories. That was your notebook. Why was it here? An uneasy feeling filled your chest at the sight of the familiar item. Before you could question it too deeply, the world blurred, and you were thrust into a new memory.

This time, (Y/N) was in the forest. She seemed to be looking for a specific plant, but it was nowhere to be found. Sticks cut at her knees as she crawled around. A groan of frustration left her lips as the plant evaded her.

“Is this the right plant?” Engen questioned as he crouched next to (Y/N). The plant in his hand had bright red berries and thorns along the stem. You recognized it as hellebore.

“Yes, it is,” (Y/N) exclaimed happily. She pecked her lover’s cheek. “You’re brilliant. Once we get home, my dad and I can make the extract you use to dull your eyes. It’s sad, honestly. Your eyes are so pretty when they glow, but we wouldn’t want any Hunters to see them.”

What? Your notebook said hellebore extract was supposed to be used once a week to relieve stress. What’s this about it being used to reduce the eye glow of Supernaturals? Something was wrong either with your notebook or these memories. These slight idiosyncrasies were becoming more and more unnerving.

Once again, the scene shifted. (Y/N) was at the marketplace buying groceries. Nothing seemed significant about the memory until a Hunter approached her. He was trying to flirt with her but would not take the hint.

Done with hinting, she dropped premises of subtlety and stated, “I already have a lover. Leave me alone.”

“Wouldn’t you prefer a Hunter? We’re quite powerful, you know.”

She’d prefer to retch on his shoes. Had (Y/N) not wanted to arouse suspicion, she’d have caved the bastard’s nose in. As she attempted to walk away, Engen appeared out of the corner of her eye. He looked downright murderous. (Y/N) tried to signal to him to not intervene, but when the sleazy Hunter grabbed her arm, the sound of a fist connecting to a cheek filled the street. Even in the daylight, Engen’s strength was nothing to scoff at.

“How dare you touch a Hunter,” the man screamed. His cheek was already swelling.

“How dare you touch my lover,” Engen countered. He’d wrapped his arms protectively around (Y/N)’s waist. She was trying desperately not to laugh. “Let’s go home.”

The Hunter’s screams of “I won’t forget this” faded as they walked away. You had a sinking feeling that he wouldn’t.

That festering feeling followed you into the next memory. In your experience, a Hunter only left a grudge alone once it was paid back tenfold. You could only hope the following memory was a happy one.

The beginning of the memory gave you hope. (Y/N) and Engen were on a walk through the forest. (Y/N) would spew facts about plants while Engen simply listened. Every few minutes, he’d press a light kiss to her knuckles. Each time, without fail, the vampire’s actions caused (Y/N)’s face to heat up. It made him chuckle.

“You’re such a jerk. Constantly teasing me. How would you feel if I just–” (Y/N) grabbed his collar and pulled him into a kiss. When they pulled away, Engen paused to think for a second.

“I think you need to do that again, so I know how I really feel.” A teasing grin was plastered on his face.

Unable to look at her lover, (Y/N) smacked him lightly with her bag and stepped out of the forest. Right before she made a witty comeback, the young woman looked toward her house. All coherent thoughts disappeared from her head as two familiar figures were being dragged out of the building. Those were her parents. Following closely behind were Engen’s. The silver shackle on Davon’s ankle gleamed in the sunlight.

As they were hauled outside, the older vampire’s booming voice could be heard across the field. He yelled at the Hunters not to touch his wife or (Y/N)’s parents. His pleas were all for naught, though. Four gunshots rang through the air.

(Y/N)’s knees gave out. Everything went fuzzy. This couldn’t be happening. Bile rose in her throat. Dull pounding filled her ears. Nothing was processing correctly.

Meanwhile, Engen was shaking (Y/N) to snap her out of her daze, but it was futile. The shock of watching her parents die was too strong. With no other options left, the vampire picked up his lover and ran back into the cover of the forest. One of the Hunters spotted them, so it was only a matter of time before they’d catch up.

Engen ran for several hours before he found a cave to rest in. He gently set (Y/N) down, then leaned against the cold stone walls. Reality set in and filled his eyes with pain. Next to him, tears streamed down (Y/N)’s face. Their parents had been ripped away from them in mere minutes.

“I’m sorry for freezing back there,” (Y/N) croaked. “I just… I don’t know. What do we do now?”

Engen absentmindedly stroked his lover’s knuckles. “Let’s just rest for now.”

“Okay,” she murmured. “Love you.” Almost instantly, (Y/N) dozed off, but not before feeling Engen pull her close and kiss her forehead.

Hours later, they were on the move again. The Hunters were undoubtedly on their trail. It put the couple on edge. Every rustle in the bushes made them jump. Every shadow looked like an enemy.

“I feel paranoid,” (Y/N) whispered. “Like at any moment, a bunch of Hunters could jump out.”

No response. Engen had a faraway look in his eyes. So (Y/N) poked him.

“What’s wrong? You seem distracted.”

“I need blood. It’s been too long since I’ve eaten.”

Not hesitating, (Y/N) presented her neck toward the vampire. Engen looked conflicted, but before he could do anything, a bullet flew dangerously close to his head. The Hunters had found them. Wasting no time, they ran as fast as their legs would take them.

Escape seemed attainable, but as fate would have it, they came across a cliff. There was nowhere else to run.

One of the Hunters stepped into the clearing. It was the man from the market. A sick grin spread across his face as he said, “I told you I wouldn’t forget.” Three other Hunters appeared in quick succession. They moved to subdue Engen. Usually, three humans would be no match for him, but the sunlight and his weakened state were disadvantageous. (Y/N) tried to move toward Engen and assist him, but the sleazy Hunter had other plans for her.

“Eyes on me, sweetheart, or else I’ll blow that bloodsucker’s brain out.” (Y/N) complied. “See, that’s not so hard. Now,” he slid behind her and pointed the gun at Engen’s head, “I want you to watch him suffer.”

(Y/N) watched in horror as a Hunter poured holy water on their hand, then gripped Engen’s face. Holy water burned the skin of Supernaturals. Horror turned to rage. Like hell were these bastards going to kill someone she held dear.

Using his temporary distraction to her advantage, (Y/N) grabbed the hand that held the gun and tried to wrestle it away. At the same time, Engen bit the hand that covered his mouth and didn’t let go until he ripped off a chunk of the hand. Lingering holy water burned his tongue, but the blood he consumed gave him the strength to shake off the assailants. The once cocky Hunters were scared now.

(Y/N) continued to fight for control of the gun. Every second, the edge of the cliff got closer. One particularly forceful pull nearly sent them both over the ridge. It gave (Y/N) an idea.

“Let go,” the Hunter snarled as he reared up for another tug.

“If you say so.” She let go of the gun. Not expecting the lack of resistance, the Hunter stumbled toward the cliff’s edge, but not before grabbing the strap of (Y/N)’s bag in a flailing panic.

Together, they careened over the rocky overhang. Engen dove to grab (Y/N)’s outstretched hand, but he was too late.

The memory cut out. You thought that was the end. Few people could survive a fall of that magnitude. Much to your surprise, things didn’t stop there. Instead, (Y/N) woke up at the bottom of the cliff. She was unscathed, other than some rips in her clothing and a missing shoe. How was that possible? If the mangled Hunter to her right was any indication of what she should like, there was no way she should have survived.

Well, since she survived, finding Engen was the first priority. That would be difficult considering the size of the forest. For now, gathering supplies would be essential. The notebook her parents gave her was filled with advice on survival. Soon enough (Y/N) had a shelter. She flipped to the next page and saw a drawing of a flower labeled “Sleeper’s Azolla.” Underneath, it said, “Pollen from the Sleeper’s Azolla can be used to clear your head. Seal it in a vial and use it once every ten years, but never in your village.” Strange instructions, but if her parents had written them, it was good advice.

While looking for food, (Y/N) came across a small patch of flowers resembling the Sleeper’s Azolla. Using the tools in her bag, she tried to extract pollen from the flowers without smelling them. She was successful in bottling and labeling the powder, but some of it had unknowingly gotten on her hands. One slight rub to her nose was all it took to accidentally ingest the pollen.

“What the hell?” (Y/N) muttered as her consciousness faded. Even though she passed out, the scene didn’t change. This had never happened before.

Hours later, (Y/N) woke up, but something was wrong. She couldn’t remember a thing. The uneasy feeling you’d been suppressing came back stronger. This was what had happened to you: waking up with no knowledge of who you were or where you were.

Everything went black.

Back at the castle, Vector was doing research. Your quick recovery from the bullet wound was suspicious. Humans don’t heal that swiftly or that well. There wasn’t even a scar where you were pierced. He had to inform Engen about this.

“What is it?” Engen grumbled. From a distance, the vampire looked put together, but Vector knew better. Deep bags had formed underneath his eyes, and he constantly lingered around the medical room. The fearsome Engen was worried.

“It’s about (Y/N).” Now, that caught his attention. “I don’t think she’s a human. Her healing rate is abnormal in every sense of the word. I overlooked it before because I was worried, but I can’t do that anymore.”

Engen gripped the armrest of his chair so hard that it broke. “So then what is she?” he asked lowly. His eyes were glowing a dangerous shade of blue. It made Vector nervous.

“I-I don’t know,” the pumpkin-headed man stuttered out. “That’s the problem. There are plenty of Supernaturals who can pass as humans. (Y/N) would have to be awake for us to check.”

“Then you need t–”

Without warning, Rachel ran in and accosted the doctor. “Vector, I found stuff in (Y/N)’s notebook that may help you.” She glanced at Engen, whom she’d interrupted. “Sorry, but this is important. Look at these pages.” The dryad presented the pages on hellebore and polkweed.

“Rachel, those are drawings and descriptions of plants.”

“They’re incorrect descriptions, though. It says here that hellebore and polkweed extract is used to relieve stress, but that’s not the case. Hellebore stops our eyes from glowing, and polkweed changes eye color. I talked to Bagna and Ihwa, and they confirmed that (Y/N) was drinking it weekly.”

“That would corroborate my theory that (Y/N) is a Supernatural,” Vector mumbled.

“Wait, there’s more. I also found this,” Rachel exclaimed as she produced a vial full of pollen. “It’s Sleeper’s Azolla. One whiff of this, and you’ll forget everything you’ve ever known. This damn notebook says it’s for ‘clearing your head.’”

Everyone went silent. Who would benefit from creating a notebook with false information, and why did you have it? A wail from the medical room yanked them out of their thoughts. All three Supernaturals ran to check on you, but Engen was the fastest by far.

Inside the room, Engen found you curling into a ball as you sobbed. The screech of the door made you turn toward him. Instead of (Y/E/C), your teary eyes were bright gold. It took all of his self-control to stay standing.

“(Y/N),” he whispered. There was no longer any doubt in his mind. You were the same (Y/N) he fell in love with many years ago. Unable to hold himself back, Engen pulled you into a comforting hug.

You cried into your old lover’s chest. You cried over your dead parents. You cried over the loss of Engen’s parents. You cried over the memories that had been repressed for so long. Every emotion crashed over you in an overwhelming wave.

Engen hated seeing you in so much pain, but what could he do? Even after all these years, he still didn’t know how to comfort you. After half an hour, you passed out. Vector was waiting outside the room when Engen left. The scarred vampire wanted to stay, but for the sake of your health, he allowed Vector to do his job and retreated to his room.

Three hours later, Vector rushed into Engen’s room. “After I confirmed that she’s an Immortal, (Y/N) went missing.” Panic surged through his veins. In an instant, he’d descended the stairs, where he was stopped by Baekji.

“(Y/N) is at the lake,” the female vampire stated. Nodding in acknowledgment, Engen rushed to the lake, where he found you staring at the stars.

“Why did my parents want me to forget? I’ve lived so many lives not knowing who I really am. Each time, I wandered aimlessly, trying to find a purpose. I hoped that one day I would remember who I was, then I could see them again. But it was false hope.” You turned to Engen with melancholy eyes. “It hurts, Engen. It hurts so damn much.”

The vampire sat next to you. He gazed at the gleaming stars and remembered the silver shackle on his father’s ankle.

“I might not seem like it, but I’ve been mourning you and my parents for almost a century. The pain of losing someone never completely goes away. You just learn how to manage the hurt until it doesn’t bother you. Honestly, I was never able to do that for you. When I saw you again for the first time in that forest, I thought my heart was going to burst. I don’t want you to deal with that kind of pain by yourself. Everyone in the castle is happy to be there for you, especially me.” Engen said the last part a little quieter, but you still heard it. Almost one hundred years, and he was the same man you’d fallen in love with.

“Hey, Engen,” you murmured. The man let out a quiet hum. “I love you.”

Wasting no time, Engen tilted your head upward and pressed his lips to yours. The kiss was filled with years of longing and desperation, but most of all, it was filled with pure love.

Engen had spent so long clinging to the ghost of you, but now that you were actually here, he’d spend the rest of his life holding on to you.

Thank you for reading! Hopefully, I'll post again in a timely manner soon!

- Mis

#engen #engen x reader #hero killer webtoon #hero killer #hero killer x reader #vampire engen #hero killer oneshots #spooktober

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sophieswundergarten · 2 years ago

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Alright, alright, I know everybody and their pet peregrine falcon The fastest animal on Earth. When diving. has come up with ideas about the kids switching places some how, but I was consumed with the idea of SQ and Constance being switched.

Because. It would be fascinating to see, in my opinion. Especially with the concept of SQ being more coherent/traditionally visibly intelligent before Curtain brainsweeping him fifteen hundred times.

SO BUCKLE UP BECAUSE I AM APPARENTLY GETTING MORE DERANGED BY THE DAY AND MY SELF-CONTROL HAS SLIPPED A CONCERNING AMOUNT

First thing's first: We're staying mostly in the Show Universe for this, with a few book elements. Child Acquiring Methods are also switched, so SQ would have been adopted by Nicholas as a baby, and Constance got enrolled kidnapped at the Institute. Other than that, ages/appearances/personalities for the most part are staying the same

Now, since SQ's considerably older than Constance/the Core Four, his story starts first.

Also, since we're approximating that SQ is only a few years younger than Rhonda, she's not there yet

A short time after Number Two joined the Benedicts, Nicholas was alerted to a baby entering the childcare system. One of his old classmates, a scientist whom he had been fairly close to (up until he took a mysterious job opportunity and somewhat disappeared...), had passed away, and his only son was being held for processing because this colleague had named Nicholas the inheritor of his entire estate and also his child

(I can't remember the proper legal jargon at this time of night I'm sorry)

Nicholas is, of course, super surprised, because he hasn't seen this friend in years, but when he gets to look at some of this guy's papers he notices that things at his job are sounding super suspicious

He also notes that this guy has nobody to take his kid, and when he wrote the stuff about SQ in his will, he also wrote a note begging Nicholas to take him because he doesn't want his child to get thrown into an orphanage because with the Emergency and everything he knows they aren't being run well

(Although it would be really neat to see how it would have gone if SQ'd been friends with Reynie from the get-go)

So, Nicholas of course goes and signs whatever papers needed to take SQ home, and he kind of forgets to double-check with the others

Luckily, they knew there was no way he was coming home without the kid, and were taking bets on how long it would take him

(Number Two won because she said it was only going to take the minimal time for paperwork. Milligan thought it might take a few hours longer, but he was being generous)

So, the crew now has a baby!!

They call him "Shep" just like. So much. He goes by that as much as "SQ" and he's got so many other nicknames because his name is perfect for them

He grows up so well loved, and he has bunches more confidence. He's still very quiet, but he knows how to use it to his advantage and blend in when he wants to. He does art all of the time, and there is tons of his stuff hung up everywhere

(This does also mean he has a relationship with Violet Hopefield because I still really want that to happen)

He doesn't really call Nicholas "dad", just because there was a lot going on and they never had the time to really work out a parental title, and also Nicholas Does Not feel qualified to be a dad

SQ just calls him either Mr. Benedict like the girls or maybe Uncle Nick or something

He helps with the tests!! When they get everything set up and SQ is around the age of most of the kids who try he's the Pencil Kid!!

Or, at least he tries

He's great at the pencil part of it, and though he's a bit disheartened by the sheer number of kids who don't stop and help, he does his best.

But, the issue comes up with the "Offering to Help Cheat" part. Even as a ten/eleven year old, he can't get over the fact that he's tempting a child to cheat and lie about something, and he tries to be brave but the first time he gets so nervous he starts crying and Milligan has to pop in to save him

So, the cheating part gets put on hold for a bit, until Rhonda comes along :) She helps him, and he's older at that point, so by the time Reynie and everyone get there he can do the whole thing on his own

(They'd have done it with Number Two, but I get the feeling she can't lie very well. This could be totally off, but this is not vitally important to the altered plot so I am going to stop getting hung up on it now)

Once Rhonda shows up, she and SQ are thick as thieves, and since I think Number Two isn't that much older than Rhonda herself, they're their own little group of chaotic siblings

As they all get older, Number Two and Rhonda get more protective of SQ because it becomes apparent that unless no kids at all come along for the next several years, SQ will have to go to the island without them because he's the only one still young enough

Constance's story relies more on the books, and she ends up at the Institute because she isn't able to escape from the Recruiters who come after her

So, she gets dumped at the Institute as a kidnapping victim

(This is maybe six months to a year or two before Nicholas' team gets there, since we're mixing book and show and trying to keep a somewhat consistent timeline)

Curtain isn't sure about trying to brainsweep her, because she's a tiny young child, but after he gets a chance to actually speak to her, he decides he needs to at least try it because she's so obstinate

However, Constance somehow breaks the Brainsweeper

It manages to cover up some of her memories, and it actually hides even the beginnings of her psychic ability from her, but Curtain is so freaked out that he doesn't try again

While her brain is trying to adjust, he gets her to agree to stay for a bit because she is obviously super confused, and because her powers have been muted she feels like something vitally important to her is missing

So, Constance stays

And one day, despite her being. Just. Super bad at classes and all of the students/teachers being like "Why is he keeping her around she does literally nothing but nap in class and scare the older kids"

Curtain sticks her in the Whisperer to see what happens

(He's been paranoidly improving it since Constance arrived and is now fairly confident that it'll be fine. Or he can get Garrison to fix it)

And, lo and behold, something happens

The Whisperer is suddenly boosted really well

There aren't really any messages being sent out, but that just motivates Curtain to work on recording the messages so he can use the students who actually learned the lessons and then distribute them using Constance like a battery

Constance, for her part, feels closer to finding that missing piece of her than she has for weeks

Because the Brainsweeper buried her psychic powers, she doesn't immediately destroy the Whisperer, but they're still there, so she recognises that there's something in it that speaks to her

So, Constance is successfully persuaded to stay, because she wants to use the Whisperer sessions to figure out what she's missing, and Curtain is happy to let her do pretty much whatever she wants as long as she'll cooperate

About this time she meets the Executive Trio!!

Martina is not super fond of Constance initially, because she's a chaotic little gremlin who doesn't really care about tetherball

But, Constance comes to respect Martina for her ferocity and determined nature, and so they strike up a tenuous relationship of mutual respect and staying out of each other's business for the most part

Jackson and Jillson Are Not Fans of Constance because she Does Not Respect Them

However, J&J are not able to bust her on breaking any rules or anything because Curtain needs her, so all of the small stuff they try and report he just dismisses, and any of the bigger stuff like trespassing and snooping she's smart enough to get away with anyway

(She also doesn't do too much of it because she doesn't have a goal yet, she's just poking her nose into some "Employee Only" hallways and things)

By the time the other kids show up she's made herself queen of the school between Curtain's special treatment and her own personality

She doesn't rely on Curtain very much, because he's suspicious as all get out, but she isn't exactly sure what's going on either

Reynie, Sticky, and Kate show up about now!!

It goes much the same for their tests, except SQ is playing Rhonda's part

He does a great job, and they are all thoroughly confused by him, but they stop and, of course, they all stop to help him with the Pencil Problem

He offers them the test answers, and each of them avoids cheating (Which he's very excited about)

When they meet up again at the house, SQ apologises profusely for deceiving them, just like Mr. Benedict does

(Rhonda and Number Two roll their eyes a little because the boys are so nervous about that kind of stuff, and sometimes you have to do some crime in order to get good things done)

The Benedicts explain the mission and the Sender and everything, and that SQ is going to help lead the team because he has the most information about everything

He helps them prep and learn Morse code and walk through the steps of what they're going to do, while Rhonda, Milligan, Number Two, and Mr. B do their whole falsifying papers rigmarole

When they get to the island, all three boys are immediately super successful in class, and they work with Kate to help her

Sticky still gets caught, but this time SQ panics and gets himself caught too in an attempt to get the blame off his friend

(It's kind of like a whole "I am Spartacus" bit except they're both so obviously guilty looking that the teacher doesn't even consider letting Sticky off the hook)

Reynie and Kate are in a tizzy trying to work out what on earth they're going to do, but then Kate runs into Martina

And cue the Tetherball Plot point!!

Martina tells Kate about Constance (who has been skipping class in favour of wandering around exploring) and how weird it is that Curtain keeps her around when she just kind of breaks all the rules

Meanwhile, Sticky and SQ are being interrogated by Curtain

(Since there's two of them, it goes a bit different)

He gets both of them in the office first thing, and he works out that SQ is the "leader" in this incident (Because he keeps trying to take all the blame)

So, he puts Sticky in the Waiting Room and cracks down on SQ, since the kid feels responsible for Sticky it places a lot of pressure on him, and he just keeps telling Curtain that it wasn't Sticky's fault

But he's caught now because he doesn't want to give the other two away, and if he gets sent home himself, then he won't be able to help them at all

Curtain does his super mysterious and aggressive questioning, and then he sends SQ into the Waiting Room and interrogates Sticky

Sticky also refuses to give anything up, so Curtain just sends them both out, saying that he'll probably call them back tomorrow

So, the boys get to go back to Reynie and Kate, who are overjoyed to see that they're doing alright

AND THAT'S WHERE WE'RE ENDING IT BECAUSE MY BRAIN IS SO THOROUGHLY BURNT OUT IT'S RUNNING ON EXHAUST FUMES RIGHT NOW

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moviemuncherao3 · 1 year ago

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It's been a little bit of time now since Rishi Sunak's speech in which he spouts off his transphobia, and I was waiting to see the response more than anything because I don't put much stock in conservatives or what they say anyway, but I do worry about their ability to sway the population, it's why they won the last few elections after all.

I am utterly, utterly disheartened. A multi-layered kind of disappointed.

We have had people commenting that finally Sunak says something that makes sense etc and that he's got their vote which is utterly absurd. Let's face facts here, transgenderism isn't something to be refuted, it exists and trans people deserve the same love and respect you would grant anybody else. Except, Tories aren't good at that either. Replace transgender with women, black, Asian, gay, foreign, poor, you'll see the pattern.

He is using them as a scapegoat and a smokescreen so can continue to fuck up our country without consequence.

People are so quick to indulge in their hatred that they've completely forgotten what the Tories have done in the past 4 years alone, never mind what they've done since coming in to power.

Partygate, Hancock affair, rocketing inflation (don't forget Sunak promised to halve inflation in January 2023), the persecution of immigrants and transgender people, their lacksadaisical approach to COVID-19 lockdowns and treatment which saw us seeing 27k+ deaths a day at its peak and hundred of millions of quid wasted on contracts for their old rich chums. They support Suella Braverman, a notoriously self-hating bigot who all but cackled with glee when they painted over the mural at the children's asylum centre alongside Robert Jenrick.

If you choose to forget that so you can stick it to around 0.05% (2021, census results for England and Wales- gender identity not matching sex at birth poll result) of the population then I very, very sincerely hope that it comes back to bite you in the arse. You are despicable, you are despisable, and I have nothing more to say to transphobes. Fuck all the way off.

As for the other layer of disappointment, all this sympathy seeking online where they'll stick a young Tory in front of a camera and this 18-25 year old still sucking on their platinum dummy will complain about losing friends because they revealed they were a conservative.

"Why can't we be friends if our politics are different? So much for the tolerant left 🙄".

I don't know about you, but I base my politics around my moral beliefs, so I will vote for a party that best represents those when elections come so long as I can do so tactically. So far I have only voted Labour to my chagrin as they are not any better, especially under Starmer (Tory-lite), but I live in a Labour stronghold where the competition is the Tories, and there's no chance I'm wasting my vote to shorten the gap between them.

Back to my original point, I cannot be friends with you if you support a party that is perfectly fine with its citizens starving and freezing to death whilst blaming everything on LGBT+ and "wokeness". I'd rather be woke than fast a fucking sleep you delusional, priviledged pricks. You don't get to turn around and cry about it because you cannot be bothered to give a rat's arse about anyone beyond yourself and the poor little rich people who might actually have to pay their share in taxes.

My heart bleeds for you (extremely caustic sarcasm here if you cannot tell), you can't make and keep friends but my transgender friend can't leave the house without fearing for their safety and even their life.

I'm not the tolerant left, I will very happily tell you to get lost and get fucked.

Final note, I'm not interested in hearing you defend yourself so don't bother. Just leave my blog and don't let the door hit you on the way out.

#tories out #fuck the tories #transphobia #british government #british politics #partygate #inflation uk #conservative party #labour party #rishi sunak #suella braverman

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words-etched-in-her-skin · 2 years ago

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Hello, dears! This fic was written for my sweet love for their birthday, the always wonderful @demonofpuns! It's a Pirate Captain Sal AU with a bratty Reader 👀Includes spanking, blowjobs, a hearty size kink and two cock Sal (ahem) I do hope some of you will enjoy it! ❤️At just under 4k words, most of this will go under a cut! ***

It had been three months since you first laid eyes on the famed Captain of the Eldritch Mermaid. Ninety days since you first looked into her eyes and felt your knees go a little weak. Over a hundred and thirty one thousand minutes since you took your first step onto the slightly rotted boards of her ship and swore your allegiance to her.

You remembered that day like it was yesterday, the warm hue from a slowly setting sun basking her silhouette in all the colors of a late spring. Her ashen skin sun kissed and shimmering with the day's worth of sea spray. You had heard rumors that the notorious pirate ship would dock at your town's local marina to load up on supplies and you wasted no time in packing your bags with nothing more than a hope that the Lady of the ship would take pity on you and allow you to join her crew.

The truth of the matter was, you had never really felt comfortable in your hometown. You had always been considered odd - unnatural - with no affinity to live your life the way people thought a "woman" of your standards should. To be honest, that word alone had always felt alien to you. You had never, not once, looked at yourself in the mirror and seen a "woman". You just saw, you. And when you finally found a doctor willing to help give you the body you actually felt comfortable in, the townsfolk only saw you as even more of an anomaly.

But Sal, Sal had never seen you as anything other than who you were. You still remembered how her eyes lingered over you, how the sharpness of her teeth - all too reminiscent of a shark - gleamed in the late afternoon sun when she gave you a little smirk. Your body trembling as you did your best to catch your breath. Having ran all the way from your Mother's home to see the crew loading the last bit of the supplies onto the massive ship, you almost tripped trying to catch up with it in time.

But Sal, Sal had caught you.

Though, despite the Captain’s warm greetings and curious look in her eyes (and much to your dismay) Sal rejected your initial request to join her. With the life of a pirate being challenging as it was, she explained how they were struggling just to keep the crew that she already had alive and fed. You hadn't even gotten the chance to plead your case to her before she was being swept away by her first mate. An extremely buff woman who gave you a sneer as she led Sal back towards the boat.

For a moment you only stood there - disheartened and crestfallen - staring up at the massive ship. That was it? You thought to yourself. Your very life dream so easily discarded?

But no, as you would have it, luck was on your side for once. A keen smirk coming to your lips as you spotted one final crate - completely unguarded and ready to be loaded onto the ship. Immediately you knew what you had to do… after all, when had someone telling you 'no' ever stopped you?

It was rather easy, honestly. Easier than you had expected. As if everyone within a twenty foot radius had been completely blinded to your antics. And truth be told, you could have done much worse than hiding in a crate full of fresh tobacco leaves.

But even now, even as you straightened your collar and dusted the flour off your fully flattened chest, you wouldn't have changed a single decision for anything in the world. Sure, it had taken Sal a couple days to sniff you out. And sure you were almost certain she was going to lead you directly to the plank the moment her eyes finally laid upon you. But after a few minutes of weighing out her options, she'd finally agreed to let you work off 'yer stowaway's debt', as she put it, in the kitchen.

And that's where you'd been ever since.

"Aye.. yer busy?"

You jumped at the unexpected voice behind you, smirking when you turned around. Sal's grin curled in the most devious of ways.

"Never too busy for you, Cap." You replied with a wink.

"Heh. Tha' right?"

The Captain had definitely grown more fond of you over the past couple of months. And it wasn't like you hadn't noticed how she'd always made a point to "check'n" on the kitchen each night after everyone else had gone to bed, leaving you by yourself.

"But of course! I am.. at your service, Captain."

Another wink and a bow and you had Sal chuckling. Her scent growing stronger as she came around the large carving table - subtle hints of cinnamon and sea spray that mixed oh so perfectly with her natural musk.

"Tea as usual?" You asked but she shook her head.

"'Fraid I'm not here fer tea, luv. Need ter talk ter ye 'bout sumthin'."

You set down the small cast iron pot that was in your hands and crossed your arms as you leaned back against the table, a teasing smirk still playing at the corner of your lips.

"Alright then, Cap. Talk to me."

It was moments like this that allowed you to see the many facets of Sal's beauty. With a warm candle light flickering across her unique and unmistakingly stunning features. A luminous glow in her eyes that always seemed to have a mind of it's own, dancing over you much like the flame that reflected within it - filling you with warmth.

"Seems yer played anotha' prank on Helga? Af'er I told yer ter stop?"

I mean… it wasn't your fault the Captain's first mate had made it her daily mission to be as on your ass as possible. She'd been practically begging for retaliation.. and who were you not to give it to her? Back home you had been somewhat famous for your pranks, a regular ol' jokester as it were. But it hadn't been as warmly accepted on the Eldritch Mermaid.

Especially not by Helga.

Nervous at first you swallowed, but your inherent ability to break any tension swiftly moved in and forced you to bat your eyelashes in Sal’s direction.

“Who? Little ol’ me? I would never."

You gave Sal your most disarming smile and the pirate chuckled, taking a single step closer to where you stood.

“Heh.. yer think yer cute, eh?"

“Oh.. I know I’m cute. I thought that was rather obvious.”

The Captain shook her head, chuckling again. Another step in your direction. The low growl in her throat quickening the once calm beat of your heart.

"Aye.. an' who else wud be reckless enuf ter set off explosives in her room?"

"It was only a couple small fireworks!" You exclaimed before quickly clearing your throat and giving her a little smirk. "I mean.. no, no.. I haven't the faintest idea who would do such a thing."

The look Sal gave you next was almost predatory, a devious grin across her lips that showed far too many teeth. And maybe you had taken it a little too far this time, but the look of shock upon the pirate's face when the fireworks went off was almost all too worth it. For the first time since Sal came downstairs you broke your gaze and adverted your eyes, shifting uneasily from one foot to the other.

“Look.. alright.. maybe there’s a small.. very tiny chance that I may have gone a little too far this time, Sal. But, come on! That woman has it out for me."

Sal chuckled, taking another step forward.

"Aye.. tha' she has. Not yer fault. Her an' I gotta past, yer see? Used ter hook up 'til I broke it off. Didn't feel right with her havin' feelins an' all."

"I.. but what's that got to do with me?!"

Sal gave you a look that immediately made you blush.

"Heh.. let's jus' say she ain't too keen on how I look at yeh."

You smirked, placing your hands teasingly on your hips.

"Oh? And how is it that you look at me?"

Another step, almost closing the last bit of distance between the two of you. A single sweep of her tongue over her lips.

"Like I hadn't eat'n in weeks an' yer tha next meal."

Your smirk widened. "You calling me a snack, Cap?"

"Mmh.. more likah feast."

The low, guttural growl that rested in Sal's throat was almost enough to stop any coherent thoughts from continuing. With a supreme flush moving across your body and a slight weakness to your knees. You weren't one who was accustomed to being flustered in such a way. While you were well aware of the effect you had on some people, you had normally always been able to keep your reserve. But when it came to Sal, it was like you had no reserve at all.

Still, you gave her your trademark grin and moved in a little closer.

"Better be careful, Captain, or people might think you're flirting with me."

"Heh.. thought yer knew."

She placed a single finger nail to the base of your neck before trailing it down your sternum, forcing you to swallow.

"I.. ahem.. k-knew what?" You asked in faux innocence. As if you hadn't noticed the way her eyes lingered upon you anytime her gaze caught yours. Or the charge of sexual tension that surged between the two of you whenever she was close. But out of respect for your Captain, you had told yourself after the very first night she came to visit you in the kitchen that you were going to follow her lead in the matter and let her make the first move.

Which, honestly, was another thing you weren't quite accustomed to.

Another single step and Sal's body was pressed against yours.

“Yer know.”

The sporadic colored wraps that adorned the pirate’s otherwise inky black hair framed her face beautifully as she leaned in - her intoxicating scent quick to envelop you. You swallowed a little harder this time, feeling your pulse immediately quicken. While of course there had been quite a few times where Sal had been close in your space, her current proximity was one that made every cell in your body awaken. Like a ripple of current spreading across an evening sky. Every particle charged and at the ready. Wanting nothing more than to have her lips against yours.

The thought alone made you subconsciously wet your lips. An act that surely wasn’t lost on Sal.

“Hm.. maybe I do.. but it’d sound a hell of a lot better coming from your mouth.”

You moaned when Sal grabbed onto your hips and pulled you forward, the single action immediately making you wet.

"Heh.. sumone liked tha'."

The moment she pressed her hips against yours you could feel how hard she was.

"Seems I'm not the only one." You replied with a smirk, bringing your hand down to very gently stroke over the base of her cocks. The indulgently low moan that rattled through Sal's throat only making you wetter.

The pirate bit her bottom lip, her womanhood twitching needily against the palm of your hand with each slow stroke.

"Oi.. don' tease, luv."

"Who's teasing?"

You smirked smugly as you began to lower yourself onto your knees, unbuttoning her trousers as you did. The hue of crimson that dusted Sal's cheeks only growing deeper with each button. The long Captain's coat that she wore swiftly discarded and dropped to the floor behind her, leaving the pirate in nothing more than a sheer button-down by the time you were done with her pants. The view was exquisite, if you did say so yourself, with every inch of her toned, taut, and ready for you.

Including the two very well endowed appendages that now hung mere inches from your lips. And even though the Captain's reputation did proceed her, you still found yourself in awe of the sight - subconsciously licking your lips.

The subtle pressure from her fingers on the back of your head was the only encouragement you needed. With one hand coming to stroke over her lower cock while you slid the other eagerly into your mouth. Relishing in her moan as you took it all the way to the base, squeezing her ass with your free hand as you did.

"F-fuck, luv."

Your lips curled into a smirk around her cock, tongue swirling over the width of it as you gave it an indulgent suck. Fingers firm around the bottom one as your paces synchronized. Every bob of your head matched expertly with the strokes of your hand. Your gaze locked on - drinking in the decadent landscape of Sal's body while you looked up at her, watching as her head as it fell back - another arousing moan escaping from her throat.

"An' here I though' I was comin' down here ter punish yeh."

Such exquisite hitches woven throughout dialogue as the pirate's hips started to move in motion with your head. and even though you could spend the rest of the night pleasuring her, the brat in you forced you to smirk and pull away, earning a whimper of betrayal from Sal.

"I mean.. who's stopping you, Captain?"

You punctuated your words with a single stroke over both cocks, your smirk growing even wider.

"Heh."

A flicker of warning - a shimmer of a threat. The Captain's eyes narrowing as her fingers grew firmer in your hair, smirking at the tiny moan that slipped from your lips before she pulled you up from your knees - a deep blush across your cheeks.

"Yer lucky yer cute, sweetheart."

Another moan as she tugged your hair a little harder. And yet, still, you smirked.

"Mhm.. I know."

The next sound out of you was a single whimper when Sal forcefully bent you over. Your upper body flat against a wooden table, hands held behind your back with your ass in the air. A single slap across one cheek before the pirate leaned down, her breath warm against your ear.

"Sweet lil' brat."

You shivered, body shuddering against her own.

"Think I can' smell yeh?"

At this you swayed your hips teasingly.

"Can you now-"

Another strike against your backside before your pants were forced down past your thighs - the measure of your arousal glistening in the low candlelight. You moaned outright - needy and unhindered. Gods, how you wanted her.. wanted nothing more than for her to take you however she wanted and completely wreck you.

"Mmph- .. Sal.. please."

"Heh.. beggin' fer it, are yeh?"

Your silence only brought another strike to your backside, this time filling the small room with the delicious sound of flesh against flesh.

"Say it."

You cursed under your breath.

"Y-yes.. Please."

Sal only took a moment to position herself, with one cock teasing your entrance while the other hung directly below it, sliding exquisitely over your clit when she thrusted herself deep into you. Her fingers firm in your hair, pulling you towards her and forcing your back to arch. Each teasingly slow thrust pulled a soft whimper from your lips, feeling oh so good but still leaving you wanting more.

You bucked your hips back into her, driving the length of her cock as deep inside of you as you could. An all too arousing growl rolling across your backside like thunder as Sal's hands came to your hips, stilling them and making you whimper.

"Greedy."

You whimpered again. "H-how do you e-expect me to not be greedy w-when it comes to you?"

You felt the sweet heat of the prick of her nails seeping into the fleshy parts of your hips as they sank in a little deeper.

"Heh.. charmin', eh?"

"Honest-"

A single, forceful thrust left you with nothing but fireworks behind your eyes, as needy juices trickled down your inner thighs in heated want.

"Mmph, fuck! Sal… please."

"Yer gonna behave?"

Your inner brat immediately sparked, wanting nothing more than to give her a little smirk over your shoulder and mutter a 'make me', but the profound ache in your core and inherent need for Sal to utterly wreck you swiftly won the battle, forcing you to curse under your breath before surrendering pitifully.

"Y-yes, yes.. I'll behave, Captain. Please."

Another growl mixed with the sound of rain hitting the sea worn planks above your heads was the only sound to be heard until her cock drove roughly into you - hard and unyielding. Thrust after thrust, building your peak higher and higher with no sign of the pirate slowing down her pace. Her other cock sliding deliciously over your clit and forcing a screamless cry from your body. Adding the wet sounds of your arousal to mix before a violent orgasm spread through you like a wildfire.

"Heh.. needy luv."

"Fuck.. m-more.. please. I need more. "

Sal wrapped her fingers back in your hair, pulling you back almost flush against her. A low growl in your year before she spoke.

“An’ jus’ how much more yer think yer can take?” She leaned in a little closer, another growl leading to her tongue skating over your ear. “Hm?”

“F-fuck.. all of you-”

Roughly the Captain grabbed onto your thighs, forcefully lifting you higher before positioning your core directly in front of her - the tips of both cocks soaked in your desire and pressing against your entrance.

“Yer sure?”

You nodded, laying your upper body down as far onto the table as you could go, lower back arched back into her.

“More than.”

The initial stretch was slow, exquisite. Compelling a fevered heat to surge across your body with every inch of progress. You could feel yourself dripping for her, only making it easier for the two ample cocks to gradually make their way further into you. It was a pleasure you’d never quite tasted before - a level of bliss you didn’t know existed. It was tangible - palpable. Moving over you with the force of a rain storm swelling around the outside of a drifting ship.

The moment she finally filled you, you let out your neediest moan yet, legs immediately beginning to shake against the strength of Sal’s hands.

“Breathe, luv.”

And you did - her voice an instant balm - immediately relaxing you while your core adjusted to the full width of her.

An easy pace at first, with every heave of her hips stretching you all over again, pushing that sweet heat across your body and gifting you with the most delicious pain. A pain that only felt better with every movement. Eventually filling you with nothing but pleasure and bliss.

“Sucha good luv. Takin’ me so well.”

You weren’t generally one for praise, usually opting for a bit of degradation instead, but when it came from Sal, gods it made you weak.

Your whimper swiftly turning into a moan as the pirate steadily began to pick up her pace. Each movement, every thrust, feeling more and more pleasurable, feeling better than anything else you'd ever experienced. Ever imagined.

Fuck, this woman was going to ruin you for everyone else, but you could've cared less. You wanted it, never wanted it to stop, wanted her to force as many orgasms across your exhausted body as she possibly could.

And she did.

Wave after wave of euphoria spilling over you time and time again. Your inner thighs as well as Sal's waist and hips soaked with your arousal as she took you up and over your peak so many times that you lost cost. Until finally you felt her cocks start to twitch inside you and heard the soft moan deep in her throat.

"Fuck, yer feel so gud."

"S-speak for yourself."

Another hard thrust had your nails digging into the wood below you, the next had you panting while your whole body jerked. Your core filled beyond imagination and wanting nothing more than to have her desire inside you.

"Cum with me, luv."

"F-fuck-"

You didn't have to be told twice. The subtle order being all that you needed as an unholy scream ripped from your already hoarse voice as yet another orgasm violently took claim of you. Sal's growls mixed endlessly into the sounds of your pleasure as her hot desire poured out and filled your already dripping hole.

For a moment neither of you could move, a chorus of pants the only thing to be heard over the soft patter of rain above you.

"Fuck, Sal."

"Heh."

She gave you a tiny kiss on the back of your neck before slowly sliding out of you. Delicious wet sounds filling the small room as a blend of your desires dripped unhindered from your core. Your legs shaking slightly when she finally lowered you back to the ground, with drops of crimson seeping from the areas where her nails had dug in.

Turning around to look at her, you wrapped your arms around her neck and pulled her in for a heated kiss. One that she eagerly returned. You were about to make a joke about going again when you jumped - the tiny door to the kitchen swinging open. A wide eyed head-cook staring back at you before she shook her head.

"Really, Sal?! That.. that table was an antique!"

"Heh, not anymore."

The cook scowled at the pirate before turning to you.

"And just what do you have to say for yourself!?"

"Uh.. you see.." You paused, smirking, "I had this terrible craving for some fish sticks, and Sal, well.. Sal was more than happy to oblige."

The cook brought her fingers to the bridge of her nose and sighed.

"I swear to the gods, if my breakfast even tastes remotely of sweat and late night mistakes, you're both gonna be on the menu for lunch!"

With that the cook left, leaving the two of you to get dressed in a fit of laughter. Of course that wouldn't be the last time the two of you would be caught defiling that table. Nor the bough.. or the helm.. or the Captain's quarters.. or the.. well, you get the picture.

***

#resident evil village #genderbent sal #genderbent sal x reader #pirate au #pirate captain sal au #re8 fanfiction #resident evil fanfiction #my fanfic #demonofpuns #i will say #the smut in this was very enjoyable to write #ahem #ldkfhsldhfsdilkfjksd;#enjoy!#re8 asks

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