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ode2rin · 1 year ago

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JUST MAYBE .ೃ

pairing. isagi yoichi x gn!reader

genre. strangers to .. hopefully something more? | slow burn | chance encounter

in which: a cafe encounter with a stranger shows you exactly how well fate intervenes

💭 thank you for the request anon!

this is it. this is the last straw.

this is the last time you’re ever allowing yourself to be vain and believe empty words from a man.

sitting in a café, self-pity takes hold of you as regret washes over your being. the nagging feeling, the hollowness in your gut that you should have paid attention to, now mocks you with its undeniable presence. how could you have ignored it, brushing it off as if it were insignificant?

the bustling café seemed oblivious to your disappointment, the air thick with the laughter and whispers of couples lost in their own bliss. their happiness, a stark contrast to your own melancholic state.

you glance at your phone, the screen displaying a conversation that adds salt to the wound.

you: let me know if you’re on your way! [2:06 pm] you: hey, i’m already here :) is everything fine? [2:43 pm]

a heavy sigh escapes your lips, the weight of anger and embarrassment settling upon your shoulders.

dating in your early twenties has proven to be far more challenging than you ever imagined. while your friends effortlessly navigate the labyrinth of love, you find yourself trapped in a cycle of dashed hopes and unfulfilled connections.

here you are, once again left sitting alone at a table meant for two.

and you know it's destructive to point fingers at directions pointing to you, but for goodness sake, can anyone just tell you what's wrong with you? or can fate simply provide apparent signs, allowing both you and the divine to save precious time?

because it's becoming increasingly draining.

the cycle repeats itself relentlessly: falling in love, only for it to unravel into a cacophony of screams and tears. your heart shattered, you gather the pieces and muster the courage to try again, only to wonder what awaits in the next stage of this never-ending cycle.

and you can’t help but to wonder, when will it ever be your turn? if other people could experience a love so kind, why can’t you? why can't you have what they have? what makes you any less deserving?

is it really too much to ask for a love that doesn't demand a piece of your soul as collateral? can't there exist a love where vulnerability isn't met with heartache?

and coming from someone who has been gravely hurt in the name of so-called love, it’s impossible not to wonder if such love even exists in this world or if it's merely a figment of your imagination born from those contemporary romance books you read on your lonely nights.

well, there's no use crying over spilled milk. he wasn't all that anyway. besides, you had only agreed to this supposed date due to your friend's persistent nagging, urging you to break your self-imposed “man ban” streak and venture back into the world of romance. “why not?” you had thought at the time, only to be reminded why you even imposed such a ban in the first place.

“excuse me, is this seat taken? the place is kinda packed, so if you don’t mind..”

lost in your thoughts, you're momentarily startled as a soft voice interrupts your reverie. the stranger before you stumbles over his words, shyness coloring his demeanor.

you take a moment to truly see him— this man who has unexpectedly entered your sphere. and heavens, he is gorgeous.

“no, it’s not taken. please, feel free.”

with your response, the stranger settles into the seat across from you. as he takes a sip from his cup, your nose takes a whiff of the inviting aroma of his latte, which fills the air, adding another layer of warmth to the already vibrant café atmosphere.

taking a contemplative sip of your own drink, you savor the flavors that dance on your tongue. the comforting embrace of the warm liquid spreads through your body, soothing your senses.

his blue-eyed gaze drifts toward your own drink, curiosity evident within those pools. “what drink is that? it looks intriguing.”

you can't help but internally chuckle at his attempts at small talk. your drink is nothing spectacular, let alone intriguing, but the fact that he wants to make something out of it gives you a glimpse of his endearing shyness.

still, you smile, pleased by his interest. “it's actually their signature drink. i find it quite enjoyable. and your latte? it looks divine.”

well, you’re not any better than his attempts. seriously? what looks exceptionally divine about a latte?

the man in front of you nods appreciatively, taking another sip from his cup. “nothing grand, just a decaf latte. i find it soothing and energizing, especially on slow days like this one.”

you hum in response, seemingly out of attempts for small talk. but the lack of a coherent response from you doesn’t elicit an uncomfortable silence, but rather the opposite. a cozy silence settles between you, the ambient sounds of the café serving as a gentle backdrop to your now shared sphere.

after a few minutes of sitting in silence, you notice from your peripheral vision that he steals a few glances your way, as if waiting for the right moment to strike up another conversation.

cute.

it's an understatement, as a matter of fact. the guy before you is downright mesmerizing. if you could gaze at his face for more than two seconds without being called weird, you could map the entirety of how blessed this man’s face is — the way his eyes crinkle at the corners when he speaks, the subtle strength in his jawline, and the way his hair falls in a perfectly disheveled manner.

and his eyes. damn, his eyes. such a beautiful shade of blue must have taken the hand of god some time to create.

“so –”

“what –”

the two of you speak simultaneously, your voices overlapping in the air, prompting you both to take a moment and stare at each other before laughing at the coincidence.

“you first,” you offered.

“no, you go first.”

you offer a warm smile and motion for him to go first. “i insist.” the truth is, after seeing him laugh, you momentarily forgot what you were even about to ask.

it’s just a laugh. get it together.

were you this deprived of someone’s company to melt at their laugh? or is this stranger just so painfully beautiful that it’s now affecting your memory and ability to converse?

his lips curl into a shy smile as he hesitates for a brief moment. his eyes flicker with a mix of curiosity and intrigue. “alright, well, i was wondering... do you come here often? i don’t think i’ve seen you here before.”

you shook your head, a soft laugh escaping your lips. “not really. i'm actually a newcomer here. i work at a bookstore nearby, and i stumbled upon this place by chance.”

it was two truths and one lie. and as apparent as it was, you sure as hell didn’t “stumbled upon this place,” where in truth and fact, you were invited here by your supposed-to-be date who might have forgotten to reply to you two hours after your last message.

“the bookstore on the main street? it’s a huge place, that’s so cool. my friend, chigiri, has been meaning to visit there. maybe i’ll try to tag along some time.”

a blush crept up your cheeks, touched by his admiration. it was a stark contrast to the belittlement toward your job you had encountered in past dating experiences, and this wasn’t even a date. “thank you. i’ll be happy to help you and your friend when you drop by.”

“so, what do you do, mr…?” you asked, trying to delve deeper into the conversation.

“oh, pardon me for not introducing myself properly. i’m isagi yoichi, and i, uhm, play soccer for a living. it's not as impressive as being surrounded by books all day, though.”

isagi yoichi. soccer player.

so that explains the hint of a lean physique beneath his clothes – not that you were checking him out. anyone with eyesight could detect that this gorgeous stranger, isagi, is in great shape. yup, definitely not checking him out.

“and yours?”

“hmm? sorry, what were you saying?”

a soft smile tugs at isagi's lips as he repeats his question, “i was just asking about your name.”

you bring your attention back to the present, realizing you've momentarily lost yourself in his gaze. “oh. it’s l/n y/n.”

as the words of your name hang in the air, a sense of familiarity begins to settle between you. you and isagi engage in a comfortable conversation, effortlessly weaving in and out of topics. each exchange reveals more about your respective lives, forging a connection that feels too genuine for people who just met not even an hour ago.

isagi shares stories from his soccer career, the highs and lows, the challenges and triumphs. his passion for the sport shines through in every word, and you find yourself captivated by how animated he is in sharing his tales. it's a pleasant break from your previous experiences, where self-importance seemed to be the common thread among your dates.

with isagi, there's no trace of conceit hanging in every word.

in turn, you open up about your love for literature and the joy you find in sharing stories with others. isagi listens attentively, his eyes sparkling with interest as you speak about the power of words and the magic that exists within the pages of books.

while it becomes evident that he may not be an avid reader himself, there's a beautiful acceptance and respect in the way isagi listens. he never once made you feel as though your love for literature is any less significant than his passion for soccer.

amidst the lively exchange, you catch glimpses of isagi's gentle nature, his ability to make you feel at ease, and his genuine curiosity about your thoughts and experiences. it's a refreshing change from the superficial interactions you've had in the past, and you're left wondering if the man in front of you is even real.

you can't help but laugh at the thought of men being able to hold a conversation like isagi. and while that proves that the bar may be in hell, but damn, it is as if isagi raised it above his own head.

time seems to slip away as the conversation flows effortlessly, punctuated by laughter and genuine moments of connection. there are no awkward silences, no need for pretense or guardedness. it's as if you've known each other for much longer than a chance encounter in a café.

just when you think the moment might stretch into eternity, isagi’s ringing phone slices through the air, abruptly breaking the spell.

his eyes widen, a touch of regret flickering across his face as he retrieves his phone from his pocket. “ah, it's my teammate. i'm afraid i have to head out first,” he says with a tinge of disappointment.

your heart sinks a little at the prospect of parting ways so soon. “oh, it's okay. i had a nice time, isagi,” you reply, attempting to mask your disappointment.

“me too,” isagi responds, his voice filled with a hint of tone you’re feigning ignorance too. “i wish we could talk more.”

you can sense the hesitance in his words, the unspoken desire to extend the encounter. it's an opening, a moment of curiosity lingering between you. seizing the opportunity, you decide to tease him ever so slightly. “hmm, well, that call seemed important,” you remark, raising an eyebrow playfully.

you’re not dense, but you were curious to see how he would try.

isagi fidgets, shyly rubbing the back of his neck. “yeah, i think so. we have an upcoming match next weekend,” he stumbles over his words, clearly struggling with the invitation he's about to extend. “speaking of the match, would it be too forward of me to invite you to watch?”

wouldn’t it?

your heart flutters at the invitation, and for a brief moment, you contemplate the possibilities.

this day had been a rollercoaster ride of emotions. one moment, you were nursing the wounds of being stood up, wallowing in self-pity and contemplating the challenges of dating. and now, here you were, being invited by a complete stranger — a stranger who also happened to be the most captivating person you've ever laid eyes upon.

fate be damned, because it seems to have a wicked sense of humor, toying with your emotions from one extreme to another.

glancing down at your cup, you swirl the remaining liquid, feigning nonchalance to mask the racing thoughts in your mind. “depends on who you want me to attend as,” you tease, curious to see how he responds.

you raise your eyes, locking eyes with isagi, only to find him wearing a boyish grin that could rival the sun and staring at you with those damn blue eyes that put the oceans to shame.

“anything you can offer to be, right now.”

fuck it.

with a surge of boldness, you decide to take a leap of faith. “then i would love to be there.”

the energy shifts as isagi beams at your acceptance of his invitation. he bids you goodbye, only to hesitate and return to you with an endearing awkwardness. he offers his number, tripping over his own words as he suggests you can call him whenever you want. you can't help but laugh at his adorable awkwardness, finding it endearing beyond measure. you hand him your phone, and with hurried movements, he inputs his number before bidding you goodbye once more.

with a smile lingering on your lips, you watch isagi's retreating figure, feeling a warmth radiate through you. your gaze then shifts to the phone in your hand, where you see the contact name you've set for him.

maybe: isagi yoichi

why not, right? you're down to take the chance.

because maybe, just maybe, one more try wouldn’t hurt this time.

note. welcome to isagi mimi debut omg i kinda do not like it but huhu this trope is so hard for me to write, i’m not gonna lie. but i surprisingly had fun making this hehe. and i’m not really a fan of instant love soooo, here’s the best i could do ._. i think i would rather opt to make a sequel than a time skip so let’s leave it at that :>

thanks for reaching this far!

💭 back to: milestone event

#☁️ my ode to you #first milestone event!#writing: 002 #isagi yoichi #yoichi isagi #isagi yoichi x reader #yoichi isagi x reader #isagi yoichi fluff #isagi yoichi x y/n #blue lock imagines #blue lock x reader #bllk imagines #bllk x reader #blue lock fluff

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doumadono · 6 months ago

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Warnings: DEAD DOVE DO NOT EAT!, original female character, non-con, bondage, forced orgasm, unprotected & rough p in v, mentions of alcohol abuse, breeding, name calling, creampie

Synopsis: Hoshiko is assigned to guard Shinjuro and help with his alcohol addiction, but he resists her efforts. One night, he decides to assert his dominance in the Rengoku mansion, proving that despite being a former Hashira, he remains a dangerous man

A/N: this original story was commissioned by my lovely @serenesaku on my Ko-fi page. Thank you once again for trusting me with your request ♥

DEMON SLAYER KO-FI COMMISSIONS CHAPTER 2

CHAPTER 1 - THE HAPPENING

The night was thick with an oppressive silence, the kind that blankets the world just before a storm.

Within the Rengoku estate, the air was stifling, filled with an unspoken tension that seeped into every corner. The household, once filled with laughter and the sounds of training, had succumbed to a heavy stillness, its vitality drained away by the despair that had taken root within its walls.

Shinjuro Rengoku, former Flame Hashira, sat slumped in his chair, a half-empty bottle of sake clutched in his hand. The room reeked of alcohol, a stark testament to his descent into self-destruction. His once fiery eyes were now clouded, the flame of his spirit dimmed by years of pure grief and regret. The loss of his wife, the pressures of his position, and the weight of his own failures had driven him to this sorry state.

He took another swig from the bottle, the liquid burning down his throat, but it did little to numb the ache in his heart.

The knock on the door was an unwelcome intrusion, cutting through the fog of his inebriation.

Shinjuro scowled, ignoring it at first, hoping whoever it was would take the hint and leave him in peace.

But the knocking persisted, growing more insistent. With a growl of frustration, he heaved himself out of the chair and staggered to the door, sliding it open with more force than necessary. He squinted at the figure standing before him, his vision swimming.

A woman stood there, with long, silver hair cascading down her back. She wore a dark, form-fitting uniform, a white cloak draped over her shoulders, and her hand rested on the hilt of a katana at her side. Her eyes, cold and piercing, met his with an intensity that cut through the haze of his drunkenness.

"What do you want?" Shinjuro barked, his voice slurred and rough. "Can't you see I'm busy, woman?”

The woman did not flinch. "Shinjuro Rengoku, I am Hoshiko. I have been assigned to ensure your protection and to assist you."

Shinjuro's eyes widened in disbelief, then narrowed in anger. "Assigned? By whom?" he demanded, his grip tightening on the bottle. "And why would I need protection? I am no longer a Hashira. I am nothing."

Hoshiko's expression remained impassive. "Regardless of your current status, the higher-ups have deemed it necessary. Your life is still valuable, and there are those who would seek to exploit your weakness."

"Weakness?" Shinjuro roared, his face flushing with a mixture of rage and humiliation. "You dare speak to me of weakness? You know nothing of what I have endured, what I have lost."

Hoshiko's gaze did not waver. "Perhaps not. But I do know that drowning in sake will not bring back what you have lost, nor will it protect those who still depend on you."

Shinjuro's breath came in ragged gasps, his fury battling with a deep, gnawing despair. He wanted to lash out, to drive her away, but something in her unyielding demeanor held him back. "Why a woman?" he spat finally. "Do they think I am so far gone that I need a babysitter?"

Hoshiko's gaze hardened. "I am not here to coddle you, Rengoku-sama. I am here to fulfill my duty. Whether you accept my presence or not is irrelevant."

Shinjuro staggered back, the room spinning around him. He slumped into his chair, clutching the bottle like a lifeline. "Fine," he muttered, his voice heavy with defeat. "Stay if you must. But do not expect me to be grateful."

Hoshiko inclined her head slightly, a gesture of acknowledgment. "I expect nothing from you," she replied. "My duty is clear, and I will see it through."

Hoshiko stepped across the threshold of the Rengoku mansion, her boots making a soft thud against the wooden floor.

The air inside was thick and stagnant, a stark contrast to the crisp night outside. Her keen eyes scanned the surroundings, taking in the scene of disarray that greeted her.

The grandeur of the mansion’s past was still visible beneath the layers of neglect, but it was a faint echo of what once had been.

Empty bottles were strewn about the floor, some still upright but many toppled, their contents long since evaporated or soaked into the wood. The acrid scent of stale alcohol clung to the air, mingling with the musty odor of dust and decay. Shards of broken glass glinted menacingly in the dim light, a silent testimony to the fits of rage and despair that had evidently taken place here.

Furniture was upturned, cushions and blankets tossed carelessly, creating an obstacle course of clutter and chaos. Papers and scrolls lay scattered, their edges curling with age and neglect. The remnants of what might have been meals were abandoned on tables, now a haven for flies. The once meticulously kept home of the Rengoku family was now a desolate, almost sleazy, space.

Hoshiko's gaze flicked over to Shinjuro, who had collapsed back into his chair, the half-empty bottle of sake still clutched tightly in his hand. His eyes, bloodshot and bleary, barely registered her presence as he took another swig, the liquid dribbling down his chin. His appearance mirrored the state of his surroundings — disheveled, broken, and completely lost.

She took a deep breath, suppressing the urge to comment on the squalor. There was no point in voicing her thoughts; the evidence of his downfall was all around them, and Shinjuro was undoubtedly aware of it. Instead, she steeled herself, allowing her eyes to convey her disapproval as she surveyed the room with a calm, detached air.

Moving deliberately, Hoshiko stepped over a pile of discarded clothing and made her way deeper into the mansion. She would need to clear a path, at the very least, to ensure there were no hazards for her charge — or herself. The sooner she could bring some semblance of order to this chaos, the better.

As she began to right some of the upturned furniture, Hoshiko cast another glance at Shinjuro.

He seemed oblivious to her efforts, lost in his own world of misery and self-pity.

She would not pity him, she decided. Pity was useless. What he needed was someone strong enough to drag him out of the abyss he had fallen into, someone who would not coddle or enable his self-destruction.

"Stay out of my way," Shinjuro muttered, his voice slurred, though the anger in it was unmistakable as he repeated himself yet again. "I don’t need your help."

Hoshiko paused, straightening a chair with a measured calm. She met his gaze, her eyes unwavering. "Whether you think you need it or not is irrelevant," she replied evenly. "I distinctly remember saying I am here to fulfill my duty."

Shinjuro scoffed, turning his head away, but not before Hoshiko caught a glimpse of the torment that flickered in his eyes. She continued her work, silently vowing to herself that she would not be swayed by his resistance. There was too much at stake to allow his pride and despair to thwart her mission.

As the night wore on, Hoshiko methodically cleared away the detritus, creating a semblance of order amidst the chaos. She worked silently, her movements efficient and precise.

As she cleaned, Shinjuro watched her from his chair, a strange mix of emotions churning within him. Resentment, shame, and something else – a glimmer of hope, buried deep beneath the layers of his self-imposed misery. His gaze occasionally lingered on her with a flicker of curiosity as well.

The mansion, though still far from its former glory, began to look less like a ruin and more like a home in desperate need of care.

Hoshiko knew that the physical mess was only a symptom of a deeper rot, one that would take far more effort to cleanse. But it was a start, and in this grim, forsaken place, even the smallest step towards order felt like a victory.

As dawn approached, Hoshiko finally paused, wiping a bead of sweat from her brow. She looked around, assessing her progress. It was far from perfect, but it was better.

She glanced at Shinjuro, who had fallen into a restless sleep, the bottle finally slipping from his grasp.

For the first time since she had entered the mansion, Hoshiko allowed herself a moment of hope. The path ahead would be long and arduous, but she was determined to see it through.

Shinjuro Rengoku might have been a broken man, but within him still burned the embers of the warrior he once was. And she would not rest until those embers were rekindled into a roaring flame.

The days that followed were a grueling test of endurance, both for Hoshiko and for Shinjuro.

He made no effort to hide his contempt, his behavior a mix of belligerence and self-pity.

Yet, Hoshiko remained steadfast, her presence a constant, unyielding force in the household. She shadowed him with a quiet resolve, ensuring he ate, rested, and did not completely succumb to his vices.

Each morning, Shinjuro would awaken to find Hoshiko already up and about, methodically cleaning the mansion and preparing a simple breakfast. He would scowl at the sight of her, muttering under his breath about her intrusion. "You don't need to do this," he'd snap, pushing the bowl of rice away. "I'm perfectly capable of taking care of myself."

Hoshiko would simply raise an eyebrow, her expression remaining impassive. "Clearly," she'd reply dryly, her tone never wavering. "And yet, here we are."

One particularly rough morning, Shinjuro stumbled into the dining room, his eyes bloodshot and his movements unsteady. The previous night had been a haze of sake and bitter memories, and now, the light of day was a harsh and unforgiving reminder of his failures. He saw Hoshiko setting the table and felt a surge of irrational anger. "Why are you still here?" he growled, his voice rough and strained. "I told you I don't need your help, woman!"

Hoshiko paused, her eyes meeting his with that same unwavering intensity. "And I told you I am not here for your approval," she said calmly. "I am here to ensure your well-being, whether you like it or not, Rengoku-sama."

Shinjuro's hands clenched into fists, his body trembling with rage. He wanted to throw something, to break the suffocating calm that she exuded. Instead, he swiped the bowl off the table, sending it crashing to the floor. "Damn you, woman!" he shouted, his voice echoing through the empty halls. "Do you think you're better than me? That you can just waltz in here and fix everything?! Get out of my fucking kitchen! I don't need your damn pity," he snarled, his voice slurring as he swayed on unsteady feet.

Hoshiko did not flinch. She bent down, picking up the shattered pieces with a steady hand. "No," she said quietly. "I do not think I am better than you. I am not here out of pity as well. I do think, however, that you can be better than this."

Her words hung in the air, a quiet challenge that cut through his fury.

Shinjuro turned away, his breath coming in ragged gasps. He wanted to lash out, to drive her away, but deep down, he knew she was right. The fight left him as quickly as it had come, leaving behind a hollow ache.

There were other moments, too, where Shinjuro's brash behavior tested Hoshiko's patience.

One evening, after a particularly heavy bout of drinking, the former Hashira confronted her in the courtyard.

Despite the bleak circumstances, Hoshiko's discipline never wavered. She trained in the courtyard, her movements precise and deadly, a silent reminder of the strength she possessed. She was practicing her forms, the fluidity and grace of her movements a stark contrast to his stumbling gait.

"Why do you bother?" he slurred, leaning heavily against the wall. "Why waste your time on a broken man?"

Hoshiko did not pause in her practice, her katana slicing through the air with deadly precision. "Because you are not broken," she replied evenly. "You are wounded, yes. But wounds can heal."

Shinjuro laughed bitterly, the sound harsh and grating. "You speak as if you know what it's like," he sneered. "But you don't. You have no idea what I've been through."

Hoshiko finally stopped, lowering her katana. She turned to face him, her dark blue eyes cold and unyielding. "You are right," she said softly. "I do not know your pain. But I do know that wallowing in it will not bring you peace."

Shinjuro stared at her, his anger simmering beneath the surface. "And what would you know of peace?" he asked, his voice tinged with vexation.

Hoshiko's gaze did not falter. "I know that it is not found at the bottom of a bottle," she stated simply. "And I know that you will never find it if you do not at least try."

Without warning, he lunged at her, his movements fueled by rage and desperation. Even in his drunken state, his speed and strength were formidable, remnants of the Hashira he once was. His hand shot out, aiming to grab her by the collar and throw her off balance.

Hoshiko reacted instinctively, her training kicking in. She sidestepped his initial attack, her body moving with a fluid grace that belied the tension of the moment.

But Shinjuro was relentless, his fury driving him to press the assault. He swung wildly, a powerful backhand that she narrowly avoided by ducking low and rolling to the side.

"You think you're better than me?!" he roared, his voice a guttural snarl. "You think you can save me?! No one fucking can!"

Hoshiko's response was calm, almost maddeningly so. "I think you are worth saving."

Her words only seemed to enrage him further. With a roar, he charged at her, using his full weight to try and overpower her.

Hoshiko danced out of reach, her movements precise and measured, but even she couldn't avoid him forever.

Shinjuro managed to catch her off guard, grabbing her wrist and twisting it painfully, forcing her to the ground.

Pinned beneath him, Hoshiko looked up into his wild, tormented eyes. She could feel the strength in his grip, the raw power that still resided in him despite his years of self-destruction. But she did not flinch. Instead, she allowed herself a small, knowing smile.

Shinjuro's eyes widened in confusion and anger as he felt a cold, sharp pressure against his side. Glancing down, he saw the tip of Hoshiko's katana pressed against his ribs, the blade angled perfectly to pierce him if she so chose.

"Even in your current state," she said softly, her voice steady despite the intensity of the situation, "you are still a force to be reckoned with. But strength without control is meaningless, and you of all people should know that."

He stared at her, breathing heavily, his mind a whirlwind of conflicting emotions. He had her pinned, yet she had him at her mercy. The realization of his predicament, the futility of his rage, hit him like a physical blow. Slowly, the fire in his eyes began to dim, replaced by a flicker of something else — shame, perhaps, or recognition. “Why?" he rasped, his voice cracking. "Why do you care?"

Hoshiko's smile softened, but her grip on the katana did not waver. "Because, Rengoku Shinjuro, you are not beyond redemption. You still have a purpose. You just need to find it again."

For a moment, the courtyard was silent except for the sound of their breathing. Shinjuro's grip on her wrist loosened, and he pulled back, his shoulders slumping as the fight drained out of him. He stumbled to his feet, looking more defeated than ever.

Hoshiko rose gracefully, sheathing her katana with a fluid motion. She stepped closer, her expression a mixture of determination and empathy. "Let me help you, Shinjuro," she said softly. "You do not have to do this alone."

He looked at her, his eyes haunted and filled with a deep, abiding pain. "I don't know how," he admitted, his voice barely a whisper.

"You don't have to know how," Hoshiko replied. "You just have to be willing to try."

Shinjuro's gaze dropped to the ground, his shoulders trembling. The journey ahead was daunting, and the shadows of his past loomed large. But for the first time in a long while, he felt a tiny spark of hope — a fragile, flickering flame that Hoshiko had ignited within him.

He nodded slowly, the smallest of gestures, but it was enough.

Hoshiko inclined her head, a silent acknowledgment of his first step towards healing.

The days dragged on, a relentless cycle of anger, despair, and fleeting moments of clarity.

Hoshiko remained a steady presence, her resolve unbroken by Shinjuro's brash behavior.

Slowly, painfully, he began to see glimpses of the man he once was, buried beneath the rubble of his grief.

It was a long, arduous journey, fraught with setbacks and moments of darkness. But with each passing day, Hoshiko's unwavering dedication began to chip away at the walls Shinjuro had built around himself.

And though he would never admit it, even to himself, a part of him began to hope that maybe, just maybe, there was a way out of the shadows.

Weeks after Hoshiko first arrived at the Rengoku mansion, the atmosphere had begun to change.

The once pervading scent of stale alcohol had lessened, and the mansion, though still showing signs of neglect, had started to regain a semblance of order.

Shinjuro had seemingly limited his drinking, his temper had cooled, and there were even days when he participated in the training sessions with a renewed, albeit tentative, vigor.

That evening, Hoshiko decided to prepare a simple yet thoughtful dinner. She hoped it would be an opportunity to foster a more constructive conversation with Shinjuro, to delve deeper into the pain that had driven him to such depths of despair. She spent the afternoon in the kitchen, her movements purposeful and serene as she prepared the meal. The aroma of simmering miso soup, grilled fish, and freshly steamed rice filled the air, a comforting contrast to the mansion’s usual gloom.

As the sun set, casting a warm, golden light through the windows, Hoshiko set the table. She arranged the dishes with care, creating an inviting space that spoke of normalcy and hope. She called for Shinjuro, who had been in his study, a room that had seen more use in recent days as he slowly reconnected with his old scrolls and writings.

Shinjuro appeared in the doorway, his face a mix of curiosity and apprehension. "What’s this?" he asked, his voice gruff but not unkind.

"A meal," Hoshiko replied, her tone gentle. "I thought we could enjoy it together."

He hesitated, his eyes scanning the table, then nodded slowly. "Alright."

They sat down, and for a while, they ate in silence.

Hoshiko had learned not to push too hard, to let the conversation flow naturally. She watched Shinjuro as he ate, noting the way he seemed more present, more engaged with the simple act of sharing a meal. It was a small victory, but a victory nonetheless.

As they finished their meal, Shinjuro set down his chopsticks and looked at Hoshiko. "Thank you," he said quietly. "For this."

She smiled, a rare and genuine expression that softened her usually stoic features. "You’re welcome."

He paused, then asked, almost hesitantly, "Would you share a cup of sake with me?"

The request caught her off guard. She felt a surge of anger, a sharp reminder of the battles they had fought against his addiction. But as she looked into his eyes, she saw no defiance, only a tentative plea for companionship. Hoshiko took a deep breath, reigning in her initial impulse to snap. "One drink," she said, her voice firm but not unkind. "Just one."

Shinjuro nodded, a flicker of relief crossing his face. He fetched a small bottle of sake and two cups, pouring the clear liquid with a steady hand.

They raised their cups, and for a moment, they simply sat in silence, the sake warming their throats and loosening their tongues.

"To small victories," Shinjuro said, raising his cup.

"To small victories," Hoshiko echoed, clinking her cup against his.

One drink turned into another, and then another.

The conversation flowed more freely with each cup, their words mingling with the night air.

Shinjuro opened up and spoke of his past, of his lost wife and the burden of living up to the Rengoku name. He spoke of his failures, his grief, and the crushing weight of expectations that had driven him to the brink.

Hoshiko listened, her heart aching for the broken man before her. She shared pieces of her own story, fragments of a life dedicated to duty and honor, and the sacrifices she had made along the way.

It was the most honest and open conversation they had ever had, a raw and unfiltered exchange that brought them closer than they had ever been.

But as the night wore on, the sake dulled their senses, and the constructive conversation they had hoped for began to slip away.

Shinjuro’s words grew slurred, his movements less coordinated.

Hoshiko felt a familiar sense of dread creeping in, knowing they had crossed a line. “We should stop,” she said, her voice laced with concern.

Shinjuro shook his head, his eyes bleary but determined. “Just one more,” he mumbled, pouring another cup for each of them.

Hoshiko hesitated, but the momentary bond they had forged made it difficult to refuse. She took the cup, her resolve weakening.

They drank, the sake blurring the edges of their conversation, turning it into a hazy recollection of shared sorrows and fleeting laughter.

By the time the bottle was empty, Shinjuro was slumped in his chair, his head resting on the table.

Hoshiko felt a wave of disappointment and regret wash over her. She had allowed herself to hope, to believe that this night might mark a turning point. Instead, it had become another reminder of the long, arduous journey ahead. She rose from her seat, her steps unsteady. Carefully, she lifted Shinjuro, guiding him to his room.

He mumbled incoherently, his body heavy and uncooperative.

As Hoshiko guided Shinjuro to his room, she felt the alcohol beginning to exert a stronger influence over her senses. Each step grew increasingly difficult to control, the hallways of the mansion seeming to blur and shift around her. She watched Shinjuro collapse onto his bed, his breathing already deepening into the heavy rhythm of sleep. For a moment, she stood there, gripping the doorframe, trying to steady herself. "Rest well, Shinjuro," she murmured, her voice sounding distant even to her own ears. With a final glance to ensure he was settled, she turned and began the long, unsteady journey back to her own chambers.

The corridors seemed to stretch endlessly, the walls closing in and then expanding again in an unsettling dance. Hoshiko's steps were slow and deliberate, each one requiring a concerted effort to maintain balance. She had consumed alcohol before, even in significant amounts, but never had she felt its effects so profoundly. Her mind buzzed with confusion and a growing sense of unease.

By the time she reached her room, her vision was swimming, the edges of her sight tinged with a strange, almost dreamlike quality. She pushed the door open and stumbled inside, the room spinning around her. Her usually sharp, disciplined mind felt clouded, detached. It was as if she were merely an observer within her own body, watching herself move without truly controlling her actions.

She didn't remember crossing the room to her futon, but suddenly she was there, her fingers fumbling clumsily with the ties of her kimono. The fabric felt heavy and uncooperative, slipping through her hands as she tried to undress. Her normally precise movements were slow and uncoordinated, each task requiring an immense amount of concentration.

Hoshiko's vision blurred further, the room tilting wildly as she finally managed to shed her clothes. She couldn't recall how she had done it, only that one moment she was struggling with the ties, and the next she was lying on her futon, her body bare and exposed to the cool night air if not counting her cotton lingerie.

She felt herself drifting, the futon's soft surface barely registering through the haze that enveloped her. Her mind swam with fragments of thoughts and images, none of them clear or coherent.

The events of the evening played back in disjointed flashes, her conversation with Shinjuro, the shared drink, the vulnerable look in his eyes.

Hoshiko's eyelids grew heavier, her vision darkening as she lay there. A vague sense of alarm flickered at the edge of her consciousness, but she was too far gone to grasp it fully. The room continued to spin, her body feeling both impossibly heavy and weightless at the same time.

As she finally succumbed to the pull of unconsciousness, a single, disjointed thought lingered in her mind: something was wrong. But the thought slipped away as darkness claimed her, leaving her in a deep, dreamless sleep.

The first thing Hoshiko noticed as consciousness clawed its way back to her was the darkness.

The room was shrouded in the oppressive blackness of midnight, broken only by the faintest sliver of moonlight filtering through the shoji screen. The second thing was the rough texture of the futon beneath her, and the biting sensation of silken cords digging into her wrists and ankles. She was naked, her body splayed out and completely vulnerable.

Panic surged through her like ice water, her heart pounding violently against her ribcage. She tugged against the restraints, but they held fast, cruelly binding her to the futon beneath her. Every frantic movement only served to chafe her skin, the silken bonds cutting deeper into her flesh.

Her mind raced, piecing together fragments of memory. The sake. Shinjuro. The room spinning before everything went black. She had been assigned to watch over him, to ensure he didn’t spiral further into his drunken stupor. But now, it was she who was helpless.

As her eyes adjusted to the dim light, she scanned the room for any sign of explanation. Her own quarters, normally a sanctuary of solitude, now felt like a prison. Her clothes were in tatters on the floor, the remnants of her once pristine uniform scattered like the fragments of her dignity.

A shadow loomed above her, and Hoshiko's eyes were drawn upward, her breath catching in her throat.

Shinjuro Rengoku stood over her, his towering form bathed in the faint glow of the moonlight. The upper part of his attire was gone, revealing a muscular chest marked with the scars of countless battles. His broad shoulders and powerful arms exuded strength, yet it was the look in his eyes that sent a chill down her spine.

"Shinjuro," she whispered, her voice trembling with a mixture of fury and fear. "What are you doing?"

"Well, look who’s awake," he drawled, his voice thick with mockery. "The mighty Hoshiko, brought down to this. How the mighty have fallen."

"Shinjuro, please," she pleaded, trying to keep her voice steady. "This isn't you. You're better than this."

His eyes darkened, a predatory gleam in their depths. He knelt down, bringing his face close to hers, the heat of his alcohol-stained breath ghosting over her skin. "You think you know me, Hoshiko? You think you understand what I'm capable of?"

"Shinjuro, let me go!" she demanded, her voice a mix of anger and fear.

His hands roamed over her naked body, rough and possessive.

She shivered, a mixture of rage and helplessness flooding her senses. "You won't get away with this," she hissed, her voice breaking.

"And who's going to stop me?" he taunted, his grip tightening. "You? You're tied up like a helpless little bitch you are."

Tears of frustration welled up in her eyes as he continued his assault, her body betraying her as it responded to his touch. "Shinjuro, please..."

"Begging already?" he sneered. "How pathetic."

She turned her head away, unable to bear the sight of his face so close to hers.

His hand moved roughly to her face, gripping her jaw and forcing her to meet his gaze. "Look at you, the mighty Hashira, all tied up and naked like the helpless bitch you are."

He shifted his weight, straddling her as his hands roamed over her body. His fingers trailed over the tantalizing curves of her breasts, squeezing and fondling them with a cruel possessiveness. "So soft," he muttered, his voice thick with desire.

"Stop it," she gasped, trying to twist away from his touch.

Her protest was met with a sharp slap across her cheek, the force of it snapping her head to the side. "Shut up," he growled. "You're mine now. You'll do as I say."

Tears of frustration and fear welled up in her eyes as he continued his assault. "Rengoku-sama, please..."

Another slap, harder this time, made her vision blur. "I said shut up. You don’t get to speak unless I say so."

His hands moved to her other breast, kneading the flesh roughly, his thumbs brushing over her nipples.

The sensation sent unwanted shivers through her body, each touch a bitter reminder of her helplessness. She sobbed, her body trembling beneath him. "Please, Shinjuro, stop..."

But he didn't stop. He continued to toy with her, his hands roaming and exploring, leaving bruises and marks on her skin. Each slap silenced her cries, reducing her to a state of broken compliance. He took his time, savoring every moment of her humiliation. His hands roamed over her body, lingering obscenely on her breasts before trailing down to her thighs. He spread her legs roughly, his fingers digging into her flesh. "You think you can just walk into my life and order me around?" he sneered. "You think you're better than me?"

She tensed, her body trembling with revulsion. “You’re disgusting. Stop it!”

"You don't get to tell me what to do," he growled, his fingers parting her folds. "You're mine to use as I see fit."

He drew away a bit, teasing only the outside of her opening until he managed to lull her into a false sense of safety. As soon as she relaxed, he pushed his thick digit into her, not leaving her muscles any other choice than to yield and allow him entrance. He growled, "Fuck, how are you so tight, little Hashira?"

Her body tensed at the unwelcome intrusion, and a tear streamed down her flushed cheek. She bit her lip, trying to stifle a cry of pain and humiliation. "Please," she whispered again, tears streaming down her cheeks. "Stop."

"Not a chance," he murmured, adding another finger and curling them inside her, trying to find the sweetest spot of hers. "You're going to take everything I give you."

He moved his fingers with a cruel, practiced precision, in and out of her tight hole, while his thumb brushed against her sensitive nub.

To Hishiko’s horror, his increasingly demanding strokes on her clit made her body react and to her embarrassment, an unwelcome heat started spreading in her belly. A while later, the woman felt a trickle of wetness between her legs and her cheeks burnt in embarrassment while she whimpered softly in denial. She squeezed her eyes shut. The unwanted pleasure mixed with the pain, sending conflicting signals through her body. She hated herself for the way her body responded, the way it betrayed her.

He stopped rubbing her clit, and her closed eyes popped open.

Shinjuro was staring at her slick pussy with a hungry look in his eyes. "You are so beautiful like this, so exquisite" he claimed almost reverently. "I need to taste you now, so be a good girl and lay still for me," he chuckled darkly, as if she had any other choice.

Shinjuro then slowly lowered his mouth, all while holding her gaze.

Hoshiko started protesting, but her protests were cut off with a gasp as he sucked her clit into his mouth. An involuntary moan made its way out, but she was too shocked to feel embarrassed.

His hands stroked her thighs while his mouth attacked her core.

Hoshiko squealed quickly as she felt him release her clit and start petting her lower tummy soothingly while the other finger continued to slowly stroke in and out of her pussy, making her tremble.

He then continued his ministrations on her clit while slowly pushing another finger into her while sucking her bundle of nerves into his mouth.

She groaned and ground her teeth together as the slight burn made her pussy tense up. The stretch was harsh; he really had big hands, and she desperately tried to move her pelvis from side to side as if she could escape him.

Shinjuro just chuckled and continued to pump in and out of her pussy while licking and suckling on her clit.

Her inner muscles slowly started relaxing, and the burn turned into a firm pressure. She felt an orgasm building and was oh so desperate not to come. Hoshiko started protesting and begging him to stop yet again, but he just continued while humming softly with his mouth attached to her clit, the vibration adding to the torture.

The next thing she knew, an unexpected orgasm slammed into her without her permission, and she was left spasming around his thick fingers.

He continued to stroke her velvety walls and tease her clit, drawing out the intense waves of pleasure. As the climax gradually subsided, he stilled his movements and gently withdrew his fingers from her pussy.

She groaned at the relief from the overwhelming pressure, her entire body going slack as she tried to recover.

"So fucking beautiful, doll. Absolutely perfect, and all mine," Shinjuro murmured, his voice thick with lust. As he spoke, his other hand moved to stroke the bulge in his hakama pants, the fabric straining against his hardening dick. "I wonder, if feeling you come all over my fingers makes me feel like this, how would it feel having your pussy strangling my cock while you come all over it?"

He brought his fingers, slick with her juices, to his mouth and slipped them in, tasting her. His eyes never left hers, a dark satisfaction gleaming in their depths as he savored her essence. "Delicious," he growled, the word dripping with possessive hunger.

Rengoku’s words sank in, and she whimpered, a cold dread seeping into her bones. Her gaze drifted downward, her eyes slowly lowering to his pants, and she let out a gasp. He was clearly aroused, and the sight of the obscene bulge straining against his hakama sent a wave of terror through her. Tears trickled down her cheeks as the horrifying realization set in — he was going to take her, and by the looks of it, it was going to hurt. The anticipation of the impending violation made her shudder, her body trembling with a mix of fear and helplessness. “Leave me alone…” she begged.

He got off the futon and began undressing, peeling off layer after layer until he stood completely naked before her. His enormous cock was erect, its hefty weight counteracting its upward strain. The sheer size of him filled Hoshiko with dread.

Seeing her expression, he chuckled darkly. "Don't worry, you will take me, and you'll learn to love it before we're finished.”

He bent down and opened a bag that stood near the futon which she hadn’t noticed before.

With trepidation, she watched him lube up a large harigata.

He got on the futon again and moved towards her, and she was again reminded of her vulnerable position — completely restrained and exposed, with no chance of avoiding him or whatever he wanted to do to her.

His calloused hand pushed the head of the harigata towards her rosy opening, and she tensed. "Relax, or this will hurt more than necessary," Shinjuro warned before firmly pushing the toy past her tight entrance.

Hoshiko let out a scream, but he didn't relent until the toy was fully seated inside her, bottoming out painfully. She started shaking and panting, trying to cope with the painful stretch and the horrible cramps from the firm pressure against her cervix.

For a moment, he remained completely still, and through her whimpers, she heard him speaking.

"Good girl, such a good girl," he praised.

"It hurts," she whined pitifully.

He then started stroking her clit and withdrew the harigata before pushing it all the way inside in one long, relentless stroke.

Groaning, Hoshiko had no other choice but to take it, letting him claim her pussy with the toy.

After what felt like an eternity of him thrusting it in and out of her, she tried to focus on her breathing to deal with the intrusion. The tingling sensation in her pelvis caused by the stimulation and the pressure on her clit made her groan in despair. She knew now that she had no control and no energy left to fight the upcoming climax. Hopelessly, she gave in to the electric waves of pleasure inside her and came with painful spasms, her body trying to expel the intruder or draw it in — she wasn't sure anymore.

As her orgasm subsided, her inner muscles relaxed, and the sensation of the toy inside her became intense but less painful. She drew a deep, shaky breath, and he immediately smiled down at her.

"Absolutely beautiful. I knew you could do it. And I think you are ready for my cock now, my little Hashira,” Shinjuro mused.

She had little energy left to protest and just shook her head weakly, but with plenty of her juices trickling down around the harigata and aiding its intrusion, she had no doubt he would manage to get inside her, no matter his size.

He gently pulled the toy out of her abused pussy and tossed it on the floor beside the futon. He then stroked his cock, a bead of precum already visible on the tip. Settling his body over hers, panic surged through her again, and she started pulling on her bindings. He ignored that, lining up his cock against her opening and slowly began to push.

"No! Rengoku Shinjuro, I beseech you!" she groaned as she felt her pussy desperately trying to stretch around the head of the monstrosity, but it wouldn't go in. He didn't seem bothered and just increased the pressure until she felt a pinch that rapidly turned into an intense burning.

All the while, he stroked her body in a mockingly soothing manner. His rough hand moved down to her clit to try to aid her in relaxing, and her inner muscles twitched in confused response as Shinjuro petted her bundle of nerves.

She ground out a pained cry as you helplessly pulled at the silken cords that tied your hands together above her head.

Suddenly, the steady pressure made his thick cockhead pop through Hoshiko’s opening, and she screamed just as Shinjuro let out a guttural groan.

Desperation set in, and she started thrashing against her bindings until his voice cut through her panic, deceptively soothing. "Take it easy, doll. Just relax, it will feel good soon, I promise.”

Yet Hoshiko hissed through clenched teeth, tears streaming down her cheeks again.

"Don't cry," he reminded almost regretfully, holding himself completely still with just the head of his cock inside her velvety pussy. He reached up with one hand to wipe her tears away. "I'm sorry it has to be this way, but the pain will stop soon, I promise. And after that, I'll give you endless pleasure. I'll make you come until you don't care how much it hurts when I claim you with my cock.."

His words both soothed and worried her, but she knew she had no choice but to submit. Hoshiko obeyed him by taking a deep breath. The woman’s inner muscles relaxed a fraction.

He then started moving inside her, pushing slowly until he was fully seated in her wet, warm pussy.

She panted as he withdrew almost completely before pushing in again, harder this time. There was pain, intense pressure, but also something else. Raw, crackling pleasure zapped up Hoshiko’s spine as Shinjuro’s thick cock touched every part of her pussy, forcing it to mold itself around him.

A sudden feeling of being completely and carnally claimed washed over her, and she moaned as her pussy spasmed painfully around his thick cock.

"Little cunt," he growled in warning. "Don't do that unless you want me to take you hard. Do not test my patience."

But she couldn't control it. His words made more juices trickle down around his cock, and another spasm of her inner muscles made her moan.

"Look at me," he commanded, his voice like steel. "Look at me while I take what's mine, you fucking useless cunt."

Reluctantly, she turned her gaze back to him, her heart pounding in her chest.

His expression was one of dark satisfaction, his eyes gleaming with a twisted hunger. He was relentless, each thrust claiming her further, branding her as his.

Rengoku then withdrew and immediately slammed into her again, and she lost all control over her body. The moans leaving her lips were no longer her own, and she writhed on his cock, trying simultaneously to escape and to draw him deeper at the same time.

But it wasn't fully her choice — his hands held her hips in an iron grip as he slammed into her over and over again.

Her mind fragmented under the relentless assault, her sense of self slipping away with each brutal thrust.

She was too lost in the moment to reflect on the situation anymore. She felt another orgasm building and just let it happen, not caring about the pain she knew would come from her muscles tightening around his enormous cock. She heard him talking, praising her for taking him so well, calling her a good girl as her pussy melted around him as she came yet again in intense spasms. “S-Stop, please…”

But he didn't stop. He fucked her oh so hard, each time pushing her further into a haze of pain and unwanted pleasure.

As Hoshiko seized again and again, overwhelmed by the sensations coursing through her body, she felt Shinjuro's movements becoming more sloppy, more primal. His thrusts grew deeper, more desperate.

Then, like a thunderclap in the night, she heard Shinjuro's primal roar. “Fuck, fuck, fuck,” he cursed. In that moment, Hoshiko felt the warmth flooding her insides as he released his thick, warm seed deep within her. “Fuck, take it, bitch, take all of it. I can’t wait to see you swell with my fucking offspring.” He continued to thrust his hips into hers with unrestrained fervor, ensuring that she received every last drop of his semen.

Their cums mingled together in a potent concoction, flooding her core until she felt drenched to the brim, every fiber of her being saturated with their combined releases.

He was mumbling soothingly in her ear about how beautiful she was shortly after. “That’s it, my little whore. You were so good to me, taking my cock oh so well.” He slowly started withdrawing his half-hard cock, and she whimpered as the pain made its way back into her consciousness. Shinjuro shushed her and soothed her with kisses and gentle caresses, pulling out as carefully as he could.

Hoshiko lay there, broken and violated, the reality of what had happened sinking in. She was no longer the aloof, untouchable Hashira. She was Shinjuro's possession, his conquest.

Her whole body ached as he began untying her legs. Shinjuro massaged her sore muscles gently and kissed every part of her. He was mumbling about how Hoshiko was his now, his woman, and how he was going to pleasure and claim her again and again. When he had untied her completely, he left the bedroom briefly, returning with a glass of sake. Rengoku carefully soothed her when she whimpered from the soreness, and then supported her head as he helped her down the glass of alcohol. “Drink. It’ll ease your nerves.”

Having swallowed the drink, Hoshiko felt a haze descend upon her, enveloping her in a cocoon of numbness. As she closed her eyes, surrendering to the oblivion that awaited her, the final image that burned itself into her consciousness was that of Shinjuro's face, twisted into a malevolent grimace.

"You belong to me now," his voice echoed in the darkness, each word dripping with possessiveness and dominance. "You are mine, my little, sweet cockslut."

The darkness of the night lingered long after the sun rose, casting a shadow over Hoshiko's heart.

She woke up, a pounding headache splitting her skull, and an overwhelming nausea clawing at her stomach. As she tried to shift, she winced, feeling a sticky discomfort between her legs. Her heart plummeted as the realization struck her - she sensed the dried cum of Shinjuro on her inner thighs, a sickening confirmation of her worst fears she desperately wanted to erase from the back of her mind.

For a moment, she couldn't move, her body frozen in shock and disgust. Her eyes darted to her side, and she saw him lying there, naked and sleeping peacefully, as if nothing had happened. Rage and revulsion churned within her, a storm threatening to consume her whole.

With trembling hands, she pulled herself from the futon, her movements slow and deliberate. Each motion sent waves of pain through her body, both physical and emotional. She dressed carelessly, her fingers fumbling with the fabric as she tried to cover the marks of her violation. The once-pristine kimono hung loosely on her, a stark contrast to the meticulous care she usually took with her appearance.

She stood in the center of the room for a moment, her breath coming in ragged gasps, as if she could expel the filth through sheer force of will. The room around her seemed to close in, the walls pressing down with an oppressive weight. The very air felt tainted, corrupted by the heady scent of sex.

Shinjuro might have won this battle, but the war was far from over.

Hoshiko clenched her fists, her nails digging into her palms, the pain grounding her in the present moment. She would rise from this torment, stronger and more determined than ever. And when she did, Shinjuro would face the full force of her wrath.

As the first light of dawn filtered through the shoji screen, she closed her eyes, a single thought echoing in her mind: She would make him pay for this. But that would be another part of her story.

She moved silently through the mansion, her steps light despite the turmoil within her. The house seemed eerily quiet, the silence a stark contrast to the chaos of her thoughts. Each room she passed through held memories of her attempts to help him, now tainted by his betrayal, his violation of her rights.

When she reached the entrance, she paused, looking back one last time. The mansion stood as a testament to Shinjuro's fall from grace, a place she had hoped to bring light and healing. But now, it was merely a reminder of the darkness that had consumed him — and nearly consumed her as well.

Without another glance, she stepped out into the cold morning air. The chill bit into her skin, but it was a welcome relief, a sharp contrast to the suffocating atmosphere inside. She walked away from the mansion, each step a declaration of her intent to survive, to fight back. She left all her belongings behind, not sparing a single glance for the possessions that had once seemed so important. The kimono she wore was her only possession now. There was no intention of returning to this place, no desire to reclaim what she had lost. Everything she needed, she carried within her: her resolve, her strength, and the burning desire for justice.

The path ahead was uncertain, fraught with danger and challenges. But Hoshiko knew one thing with absolute certainty: she would not be broken by this. She would rise from the ashes of this night.

As she disappeared into the distance, the first rays of the sun pierced through the morning mist, casting a pale, ethereal light over the land. It was a new day, a new beginning, and Hoshiko would seize it with every ounce of her strength.

The battle was far from over, and she was ready to wage it with every ounce of her being.

#shinjuro rengoku smut #shinjuro smut #rengoku shinjuro smut #kny smut #demon slayer shinjuro #demon slayer x oc #shinjuro rengoku x oc #kny x oc #original female character #ko fi commissions #kny angst #shinjuro rengoku #writing commissions #kofi commission #writing commission #writing commission open #smutty fanfiction #divider by cafekitsune

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books-are-my-life-stuff · 1 year ago

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Happy 1106 day!

1106 is also known as the Adler dorm number for Rayne Ames (and his roommate Max Land), so November 6th is commonly celebrated in the Japanese fanbase as "Rayne Ames Festival Day".

As a celebration, I've roughly translated Rayne and Max's fan book profiles under the cut! It's full of interesting information about them as an individual character that doesn't manage to get explored much in the main series, so hope you enjoy it!

"A taciturn sword that sticks to his convictions, and a Divine Visionary that strictly speaks on one's back."

Rayne Ames

Quote: "You need to shut your mouth, before I shut it for you." (from Volume 13, chapter 117)

Small memo (near little Rayne and Finn image): A minimalist with a penchant for saving money, except for things related to rabbits and his younger brother.

A magician who becomes a Divine Visionary to change the Magic World from the ground up for the sake of his family. He's pursuing such a dream as he balances his work as a Divine Visionary and his responsibilities as a student. Profile (these have been translated in wiki and thus taken from there)

Birthday: March 3 Age: 18 years old Height: 175cm Weight: 67kg Dominant hand: Left Foot size: 27.5cm Family: Finn Ames (younger brother) Good subjects: Magic History, Magical Zoology Bad subject(s): Fortune telling Hobbies: Rabbit sucking, sewing Favorite food: Bean sprouts, vegetables Favorite words: Say what you want Favorite type of the opposite sex: Never thought about it Dislikes: Talking more than necessary Frequently visited school spots: Purchasing department How to spend money: Savings, rabbit breeding expenses How to spend holidays: Taking care of rabbits

Relationship Chart

Rayne to Mash: A troublesome junior Rayne to Finn: Must be protected at all costs Rayne to Kaldo: Thank you for taking care of my brother Rayne to Max: Only best friend Rayne to rabbit: *sighs softly* Rayne to Wahlberg: Old geezer who likes to boss people around

Magic: Sword Magic

A magic that can summon countless swords. The personal magic, named "Partisan", has a power level measured through percentages that can be adjusted, an average student usually can't even handle 10% of it.

The caption of Rayne calling out Partisan picture: It's one of the most deadly magic in the Magic World, but he brandishes it only for the sake of justice.

Divine Visionary: of Sword Cane, as well as one of the Directors of the Magical Items Department

All the magical items existing in the Magic World have very strict control. Newly manufactured tools are delivered to the Bureau of Magic to ensure safety. After carefully examining them and making sure the new items are safe, they'll be delivered to the citizens.

The caption of the Magic Mirror (used by Cell War against Mash): The loss of the Magic Mirror marks a great mistake for all of the directors of the department.

Pick-up: An Awkward Big Brother

Rayne, who rarely talks but always shows through his actions, makes people have a lot of trust in him, and many students follow his way too. However, his lack of words often causes many misunderstandings.

Quote for upper image: "I've always been really terrible at encouraging people." (Volume 6, Chapter 47)

Caption for upper image: He tried to put himself in the position of the junior who's taking reckless challenges.

Quote for left image: "I'll make sure that brazen kid, goes as far as he can go." (Volume 6, Chapter 46)

Caption for left image: He forced Margarette, who was after Mash, to retreat by using his Thirds.

Quote: "Words only have a meaning when paired with actions. If you can't act, it's the same as not saying anything at all." (Volume 6, Chapter 45)

Caption: This principle came from his late parents who passed away without words or promises. Since that time, he always lived up to his words.

Quote: "I still remember you used to come crying at me over the smallest things. You've grown up." (Volume 14, Chapter 119)

Caption for his moments with Finn: For the sake of his younger brother, he had always been shouldering many burdens. However, after seeing his brother's growth, he changed his mind.

Pick Up: A Genuine Rabbit Lover for Life

It all began when Max suggested Rayne, who was at that time aiming to be the Divine Visionary, to start having rabbits out of concern for Rayne's mental health's well-being. Now, Rayne has never stopped to pour an extraordinary amount of love for his rabbits.

The caption of Rayne surrounded by rabbits: This scene too is a display of Rayne's "survival of the fittest" between the strong and the weak (?)

The caption of Rayne's rabbit handkerchief: Should you ever find a lost rabbit-patterned goodies, please give it to Rayne first and foremost.

Mash's Room Corner (a corner to talk about gossip relating to the character, with Mash's commentary)

"I've been in the same dorm as Rayne since middle school but...that Rayne...there were quite a few times when the screws in his head were loose. He takes jokes a little too seriously, and because of that, I had to teach him lots of them." (from Max)

Mash: An unexpected side of a good person.

The Secret Story of Rayne as told by ***!! (a corner about various characters' opinions of a character, in this case, their opinions of Rayne)

Ryoh: I understand the feeling of pushing yourself away for your family's sake, but sometimes relying on others is what makes a man, Rayne.

Margarette: I saw Rayne trying to help a lost child in the city. However, he accidentally made the child cry even more because of his unfriendly looks and unsociability.

Brad: So you've become the Divine Visionary through hard work. Well, depending on Mash's hard work, my promotion might not just be a dream anymore.

Cell War: Since you're one of the directors of the Magical Items Department, it's really difficult to sneak in. Still, the staff canteen's foods are really delicious.

"Summarizing the Adler Dorm: Honest and full of conscience"

Max Land

Quote: "Let's solve this together!" (Volume 6, chapter 49)

Small memo (near the picture of running Max): His foot speed is number one! He also has a playful side when he pulls a prank and runs.

A third-year at Adler dorm who is open-minded and friendly. Since he is well-liked within the school, he often shares his wisdom and consults others.

Profile (these have been translated in wiki and thus taken from there with slight adjustment)

Birthday: November 19 Age: 18 years old Height: 168cm Weight: 64kg Blood type: O Dominant hand: Right Foot size: 26cm Family members: Father, Mother, Eldest brother, Older brother Good subject: Magic history Bad subject: Broom class Hobbies: Exploring the school while making his body smaller Favorite food: Deep-fried salamander Favorite words: 平凡 (Heibon: Ordinary or commonplace) Favorite type of opposite sex: People who have their own world Dislikes: High places Frequently visited school spots: Purchasing Department How to spend money: Book fees (mainly comic books) How to spend holidays: Going to Marchette Street with friends and taking care of rabbits when Rayne is away

Relationship Chart

Max to Mash: Junior Max to Rayne: You're so awkward I can't leave you alone Max to Finn: Like my own little brother Max to Carpaccio: Lately, when I look around, you're suddenly sitting next to me.

Magic: Size-changing Magic

This magic can change the size of people and objects. Up to 3 different people and/or objects can be resized at one time. This personal magic is very handy for support, as shown during the selection exam where he helped his ally.

Image caption: He made himself and Mash smaller to get away from the eyes of Deadervants.

Mash's Room Corner

I consulted with him the other day, but that guy has the face of an ordinary person but still manages to look handsome. It's plainly and doubly frustrating. (from Dot)

Mash: I feel sorry for Senior Max for being blamed unreasonably like that.

Pick-Up: A Selfish Desire as a Senior

He has a naturally caring personality who won't ever leave his troubled junior behind. But the truth is he just wants to "prove himself like a man", which he despises himself for.

Quote for upper image: "My premonition was right..." (Volume 6, chapter 50)

Quote for left image: "Say, Rayne. Did I do my best for the younger students?"

Caption for left image: Supporting the junior that Rayne is interested in.

The Secret Story of Max as told by ***!!

Tom: I invited him to join Duelo, but he declined because he is scared of heights. Senior Max, you're like a bamboo that's stuck on the ground!

BONUS (from the Q&A session with the original creator Komoto Hajime-sensei):

Q17: In the final chapter, are Rayne and Finn of the Ames brothers able to get along again?

A17: Rayne (addressed as 'onii-tama here) is a tsundere, but I think they're able to get along well!

Q18: Why does Finn call Rayne with "Nii-sama" instead of "Nii-san"?

A18: Because of the distance between them...

(A/N: In the original Japanese version, Finn does not call Rayne by name, but calls him "Nii-sama", this has a lot of meaning and nuances that unfortunately are hard to translate and doesn't have an English equivalent, hence the change. "Onii-tama" on the other hand is a baby talk version of "onii-sama".)

#mashle magic and muscles #rayne ames #max land #official fanbook #happy 1106 day!#i dunno why i spent 6 hours non-stop reading kanjis until my eyes hurt for this #but this was fun!#i know there's a lot of rayne fans too here so enjoy!#feel free to correct me if there's any mistake because there's a bunch of things I'm unsure about #mashleverse

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tossawary · 1 year ago

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Rules: Share the first line of ten of your most recent fanfics and then tag ten people. Don't have ten? Not to worry, just share what you have. Tagged by @otakuchan449.

I did all of my fics, which are unsurprisingly all SVSSS, because I was curious as to the patterns. I usually like to name the POV character and illustrate their style of narration in the first paragraph, which is generally humorous, so people know quickly whether or not they're going to vibe with my style. I also like starting in the middle of a situation / inciting incident if possible, so we can hit the ground walking briskly if not running, and get to the good stuff.

23. Shang Houhua - someday unfortunately to be known as Shang Qinghua, once unfortunately known in another life as Airplane Shooting Towards The Sky - came back to himself abruptly. (if words could make wishes - WIP MBJ Time Travel AU from SQH POV)

22. If the System was to be trusted, which it generally was when it came to making Shang Qinghua’s life worse for no good reason, then today was the day! (Stepping Up - 90k Canon Divergence AU, An Ding Disciple LBH)

21. Shen Yuan was conscious when he was reborn, though he didn’t know what was happening at the time, because all he knew at first was pain and golden dust. (Sit With Your Soul - 61k SQQ & SY Daemon Fusion AU)

20. Shang Houhua was thirteen going on, uh, fourteen plus a whole other life that sometimes felt more like a dream than something that had actually happened. (hey, share the weight a little - 70k Canon Divergence AU, YQY/SQH)

19. “Shifu? Forgive the interruption, but there’s a woman here to see you?” (love to the ones I've never met - 83k Fic Companion, Dimension Travel)

18. Jiahui just needs to check that her restaurant hasn’t burned down. (forgiveness for whose sake? - 48k Fic Companion and Epilogue)

17. Luo Binghe knows he isn’t supposed to be doing what he’s doing, but given that he has no other way of getting answers, he does it anyway. (you had me at hello - 5k Non-Canon Fic Extra)

16. “My king, don’t touch that-!” (A Child Once - 101k Canon Divergence AU, Deaged SQH)

15. The world was dark, woven from a black so infinite that it looked flat, and it was full of light. (Catch a Falling Star - 122k Bingliushen Stardust AU)

14. Shang Qinghua woke up having a bad day - forget going through puberty twice, because in this transmigrator’s opinion, having to experience a new round of “first day of school” bullshit year after year was worse - and speed-walking through the Cloud Recesses wasn’t helping him get through it any faster. (Nothing to Me, Nothing to You - 60k Moshang MDZS AU)

13. Mobei-Jun’s search for Shang Qinghua had taken him to many strange places. (dreams that had never come true - 14k MBJ Time Travel AU)

12. It would be a lie to say that Shang Qinghua wasn’t too sure what had happened. (every haircut I've ever had has been a bad haircut - 5k Moshang Hurt/Comfort)

11. The situation was bad. (Babe in the Woods - 19k Canon Divergence AU, MBJ has a baby brother)

10. Shen Qingqiu was perfectly capable of piloting his own ship, but that day, like many others, found Liu Qingge leaning against a column by the hangar entrance, waiting for Shen Qingqiu as he prepared to leave Qing Jing Peak Temple. (this point of pale light - 18k Liushen Star Wars AU)

9. Liu Mingyan was the model of a refined and accomplished cultivator. (but that's fine because I like a hot mess - 3k Mingling Getting Together)

8. Shen Qingqiu had made use of many excuses over the years to avoid the presence of the man who was now his own sect leader, some of which had even been good. (the ability to remain sober and gracious - 4k Canon Divergence AU, Qijiu Xuan Su sword reveal)

7. Shang Qinghua’s head hurt and his eyes were watering and he was beginning, just maybe, to think that creating an experimental stimulant because he missed the non-organic goodness of energy drinks with an unreasonable passion had been a bad idea. (anxiety and caffeine are having a cockfight in my brain - 2k Moshang Hurt/Comfort)

6. The library’s front door flew open so violently that it could be heard even at Shen Yuan’s desk nearer to the back of the main hall, which sat in front of the way to the computer rooms. (Absolutely Ineffable - 10k Good Omens Fusion AU)

5. Once there was a summer in which upon arriving home from university, Shen Yuan was immediately told that he was being sent away to the heart of the country to stay with his distant uncle, whether he liked it or not. (The Red Cabinet - 7k Narnia Fusion AU)

4. It took… Shang Qinghua… a while to figure out that demons actually had horns in this realized version of his sellout stallion web-novel. (Horns - 11k MBJ has sexy horns AU)

3. So, apparently, a portal burning with demonic energy had opened up over Qing Jing Peak and another Shang Qinghua had fallen out of it, and the wound in the sky had unfortunately closed again pretty much immediately. (ever wonder if the person in the puddle is real - 7k Non-Canon Fic Extra, SQH meets AU SQH)

2. So, Airplane Shooting Towards The Sky, the dearly despised and fervently favorited author of Proud Immortal Demon Way, died in a vaguely humiliating fashion… and then he transmigrated. (it must follow, as the night the day - 26k Moshang Role Reversal AU, Demon SQH and Cultivator MBJ)

1. Shang Qinghua has not been having a stellar transmigration experience. (pride is not the word I'm looking for - 400k Canon Divergence AU, LBH's Mother Lives)

This serves as a pretty good round-up of all my currently posted fics! There are far too many in my WIP folders to begin including everything in there.

I've been a little out of touch with reading fanfiction lately, so please, if you wish, take this post as an opportunity to participate in this game and tag me in it! I highly recommend taking a moment to revisit and admire your own fan works! Look at all that cool stuff you did! If you only have WIPs, then I don't mind if you use WIPs. Sometimes our pieces of writing are full, intensely detailed paintings that take years to complete and sometimes they're just rough sketches we do to warmup or have creative fun when we have the time, and sharing both is nice.

And if you don't have your own fan works to pull from, then I'd still love to see a list of opening lines from some of your favorite fics by other people. Any fandom you like! Give me those fic recs! Give me the opening lines of your favorite published novels if there's one you've been itching to gush about.

#tossawary ao3 #tossawary svsss #ask tossawary

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terriluvss · 5 months ago

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Anyone else miss when Fairytail used to take it self seriously? Back in the early manga days, Mashima went absolutely hard on the world building. Establishing rules and keeping power scaling consistent somewhat; even having darker themes to the show. Characters had more emotional weight to them, with them actually taking each other seriously.

This moment, there’s no tears involved but you can tell how much impact it has on the characters. Especially Gray. Natsu doesn’t kick Gray to the side and takeover the fight in a comedic way, in fact he even tells Gray to use the spell if he wants to. He’s not smiling, there’s no exaggerated goofy expressions. Instead his expression is the focal point of the panel, we see the conviction in his eyes. That he means what he says, he doesn’t want his rival at the time, Gray to die. Yet in this moment, he turns away entrusting Gray with the choice. But this time he’s reminded that there are people who will be affected by his decision to use the spell or not. Without the use of any tears, we can feel how hard this moment hits for Gray. Someone who has felt like he never deserved to live in this world. The arc take itself seriously and we see Gray remember Natsu’s words. They hold value to him and he chooses to fight for himself as well.

In these panels, we focus on his expression. There’s real stakes in these fights and this was back when there was no healer too. We get to see real wounds and what happens when wizards take on more than they should. They get hurt. We even see this in the first trip Natsu and Lucy go on together.

We see the guildmembers lives are taken seriously, that there is real consequences to them going on jobs. That being a wizard is dangerous, theres so much camaraderie and emotion shown in the early manga we really get a feel for just how much of a family Fairytail is to each other. They’ll even scale a snowy mountain littered with monsters just for the slim chance to drag them back to magnolia town. Betraying their pride to admit to their rivals they care. Aka Natsu and Gray. But you know what was great about it? It wasn’t all dark Fairytail knew when to be funny too, there was many light moments. Fairytail has always been fun goofy adventures but it knew when to take itself seriously.

Then we have 100yq…

This is supposed to be a serious moment. Lucy was literally burnt. Natsu’s arm is torn to shreds, we see his eyes wide and sweat trailing down his skin. This is obviously not a comedic moment. So tell me why… instead of getting to focus on the characters feelings and how this may affect them. We get this…

There is no detail to the expressions, their very simplified and cartoony. And we also have, Lucy being treated as fanservice… again. But the worst part about it is this is so out of character for Natsu. The way he looks at Lucy here, its as if she’s a bother to him. He completely disrespects her and downright sexually assaults her. They dumbed his character down to… this. This is the same Natsu that shed tears at the idea of Gray dying for his sake, the same Natsu whos blood boiled to see Erza scared, the same Natsu who took on an entire guild because of the unfair treatment to Yukino.

Yet he can’t even treat Lucy fairly here. This is something the old Natsu would not do, it’s so out of character. And Lucy is out of character here too, the old Lucy would’ve punched him square in the jaw for trying this.

In fact in the past she even threatened to leave the team because she thought he was only having her on the team for her blonde hair.

Lucy isn’t afraid to hold him accountable and we see Natsu reassure her feelings and take them seriously.

If this was 100yq her feelings wouldn’t have been taken seriously. They would’ve been played as a joke, they would’ve said something like. “What do you mean it could’ve been anybody? You’re the only girl in the guild with blonde hair, I doubt Laxus would wanna do the job.”

But Natsu didn’t say something like that, we see Lucy’s conflicted expression at knowing he chose her because of her personality. And we’re shown that her feelings here are serious. Whereas in 100yq we don’t even get to see her face/reaction to his careless disregard of her burns. All we see is the side of her face, all the focus is on her chest for the joke.

Bonus Last point. This here is an exact example of what I mean. The serious weight of this situation we get to see clearly. Their expressions are the focal point, were shown this is a moment with weight to its whereas in 100yq the panels focus is on Lucy’s chest. We were robbed.

#fairy tail #fairytail rant #anti mashima #anti 100yq #100yq rant

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rainbowmoonstonestories · 2 years ago

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Let Your Dreams Be Your Wings | Chapter 5

Chapters: 5/? Fandom: The Sandman (Netflix 2022, minor content from the Comics) Rating: Explicit Relationships Dream of the Endless/Morpheus x F!Reader Characters: Dream of the Endless/Morpheus, Lucienne, Matthew the Raven, Mervyn Pumpkinhead, Hob Gadling, Death, Rose Walker, The Corinthian, other minor Sandman characters, Original Characters. Warnings: 18+ content (upcoming, minors DNI), explicit sexual content, POV switching, very long chapters to read. Summary: You always dreamed of becoming a successful Fashion Designer, sharing your creations with the world and making your father proud. But with him being very ill and so many costs solely weighting on your shoulders, things didn’t go as planned and you had to take a different path instead. An interesting offer led you to the elder Alex Burgess and you were hired as a new housemaid for a very good pay. However, your kindness and outstanding empathy convinced the man to give you an additional task for a doubled compensation; gaining the trust of Dream Of the Endless, held captive into the basement for over a century. Despite the shock of finding such an ethereal entity stripped of all his clothes and contained into a confined space, you had to accept for the sake of your father. But the more you got to speak to the mysterious anthropomorphic personification who didn't utter a single word, the more you were lost into his eyes that, conversely, seemed to contain the entire universe. A deep connection formed between the two of you, separated only by a thick layer of glass.

Little did you know, what started like a simple housemaid job was about to change your life forever.

Credits: The moon dividers were made by firefly-graphics

There is a short block of text here that is heavily taken from Neil Gaiman's comics and it features a character we will most likely see in Season 2. I don't take any credit for that part.

Chapter 5

Hob had told you that after a storm always comes a rainbow. He was probably right.

It had been three days since the incident in the kitchen. The small cuts on your arms were still visible, forming a bunch of half moon shapes and crosses that were slowly starting to fade. You were advised to keep the sling on until the end of the week even though your shoulder wasn’t hurting anymore, but what was primarily affecting you was your wrist, which didn't seem to be improving when you attempted to move it. The doctor had confirmed that your injury would take longer to heal due to the abnormal way your wrist had been turned and the nerves twisted. As a result, you were unable to perform most of your household tasks and your shifts had been distributed to other workers as you rested.

You were grateful for the ability to still use your dominant hand to draw, filling the empty pages of your sketchbook with new sketches and ideas that you had been forced to set aside until that moment. It was a welcome distraction from the discomfort and feeling of being trapped; the space that had seemed so big before now felt small and tight, with the walls closing in and the quiet of the house becoming deafening. You longed for the sound of the city, the chatter of people and the rush of cars and buses. When you weren't in your room, you enjoyed sauntering in the garden to enjoy some fresh air. It felt unreal to finally take a breather from all the hard work, but time seemed to move a lot slower since you stopped.

Despite your circumstances, you tried to stay optimistic and appreciate the little things that brought you joy, like the warmth of the sun on your face, or the taste of your favorite tea. But deep down, you knew that you couldn't continue like this, pretending you didn’t feel helpless and unsure of what steps to take next. It felt like you had lost your purpose and passion as every day was just another hurdle to overcome. Anxiety and fatigue weighed heavily on you and there was no glimmer of light in the surrounding darkness.

You were stuck in a never-ending cycle of monotony and stress, and things had became even more difficult since you started to avoid Dream. Whenever you caught a glimpse of yourself in the mirror, you felt sick at how pale and ravaged you looked with those bandages and rough skin. You knew that he most likely wouldn't have minded, but how were you supposed to save him when you couldn't even save yourself?

The thought of facing him with your scars and wounds made you feel vulnerable and exposed. You couldn't bear the idea of him seeing you in such a weakened state, especially when he was the one who needed your help the most.

The guilt and shame of not being there for him gnawed at you day and night.

You could have taken that time off as a chance to stay away from Fawney Rig for a longer break, but you knew it wouldn't really solve your problem. Eventually, you were supposed to return to your duties and your father would have tried with all his might to stop you from returning. Now that he was regaining his old energy back, he was a lot more active and prone to fight for anything that might cause you harm.

You couldn't blame him entirely, of course. He had always wanted what was best for you and he had sacrificed a lot to ensure that you had a good life.

No. Running away wasn't an option you wanted to consider.

Although the thought of meeting Dream in your predicament was making you extremely nervous, on the fourth day since the assault, you committed to yourself to finally resume your visits. You took the time to carefully apply some heavier makeup to cover up the bags under your eyes and chose to wear a long-sleeved shirt to conceal the bruises on your arms.

The guards always watched your every move, but you noticed they were rarely on duty downstairs in the afternoon. You hoped this would give you the opportunity to sneak into the basement before they could come running down and take their seat, in order to have a few moments alone with Dream without their scrutinizing looks fixated on the back of your head.

But your hopes were dashed as soon as you stepped out of your room and Paul's voice came from behind you.

"Y/N? How are you feeling today?"

You turned around, your lips pulled into a very tight smile. "Well, I would say I’m doing absolutely great, were it not for this mummified wrist of mine," you replied.

He let out a burst of hearty laughter that echoed through the corridor, fondly patting your shoulder in a fatherly way. “Were you going outside?”

You hesitated for a moment. “Not exactly.”

You had no reason to lie to him, but the man was smart enough to connect the dots. “Ah. You want to see him.”

“Can I?”

His expression softened. “I don’t see why not.”

Paul gestured for you to walk ahead, guiding you to the flight of stairs that led to the ground floor.

As you arrived at the basement door, he opened it for you and led you inside, but you felt uncertain about what to do when it became clear that he intended to come down with you instead of waiting outside (or better yet, taking his leave).

Unable to ignore the growing disappointment within you, you made the decision to step in anyway. The elevator descended with a loud screech, and when it stopped, Paul walked out with a reassuring glint in his eyes. A sense of déjà vu washed over you as you were reminded of your first night in that cold, damp place when you almost believed they were about to introduce you to the Devil.

This time, you knew exactly what was waiting for you inside and trepidation gnawed at you with a painful grip.

You followed Paul into the cellar, your footsteps resounding in the cavernous space until the glass cage came into view. He stopped walking and put his hands into the pockets of his sweater.

The uneasiness was evident in the way he pressed his lips together and stepped back, standing in front of the locked gate. "I'll wait here," he told you. "Take all the time you need.”

You crossed the suspended bridge and walked along the platform, right up to where the cage held Dream captive. As the Endless looked up, shock and confusion took form in his eyes the moment he saw you. He inspected your face in disbelief, his gaze traveling down to your arm where he spotted your injury. You could see the concern on his face as he moved closer to the glass, placing both hands on it and frowning with worry.

You took a deep breath, feeling your voice shake. "Hi Dream. Sorry I'm late, I had a little impediment as you can see," you explained, looking at your sling and wiggling your fingers slightly. Your heart was racing as you tried to stay calm.

Dream's concern quickly turned into rage. He shifted his gaze beyond you and fixed it on Paul, who was watching you from a distance without saying a word. Dream's body became stiff and his upper lip twitched with a barely contained fury, the tendons in his neck were as taut as violin strings.

You smiled and shook your head, trying to diffuse the situation. "Don't be mad at him. He isn't at fault," you clarified. "Things would be a lot worse now if it weren't for him.”

Dream's attention snapped back to you and he stared at your bandages for a moment too long. His chest heaved with anger as he took in the sight again, trying to control the indignation building up inside him.

Knowing that he cared about your well-being was flattering, but you wished you could meet him under better circumstances. As you saw him now, so protective and caring despite the barrier separating the two of you, all the emotions you had been trying to suffocate came flooding back.

So you strengthened your resolve, turned to Paul and spoke to him calmly with a pleading tone. "Paul, can you give me a moment with him?”

Judging by the way he cocked his neck and his eyebrows knitted, you could tell that he was reluctant, but you couldn't let that deter you.

"Please," you insisted. “You owe me that.”

He signed after a moment of consideration, taking his hands out of his pockets and nodding at you to comply. You could see his mustache lifting at the corners of his mouth. “I’ll be upstairs if you need me.”

You didn't move, waiting for him to take the elevator and disappear behind the brick wall. You heard the sound of the metallic gate opening and closing, footsteps trampling over the upper floor and the door clicking.

Once you were sure that Paul was gone, you looked back at Dream's face, hoping he would understand the depth of your strain.

"Dream, I can't keep doing this," you said with a heavy heart. "I've really tried, but this place is like poison to me."

You had been struggling for a while now, trying to make things work in an environment that was slowly draining you of your energy and motivation, without realizing it. Despite your best efforts, the situation seemed to be getting worse, and your body now bore the marks of that.

"I never intended to cause you more harm than you've already gone through. I know I may have used you for the sake of my family, but I never meant to. And you don't know how much I hate myself for it.”

Your voice was feeble, more like a whisper that you hoped nobody else would hear.

"The money I earned in the past three months allowed me to pay for the most expensive medical treatment my father could ever receive," you said, leaning against the glass and trying to get closer to him when you felt him so out of reach. "But how am I supposed to take joy in his recovery when you're suffering?”

You closed your eyes. A single teardrop fell from your eyelashes, hitting the floor and wetting it at your feet. “I can’t leave you, Dream. I can’t abandon you here.”

You took your arm out of the sling and placed placed both of your trembling palms against the cold and unyielding glass, a cruel reminder of the distance keeping you away from his touch.

Your lower lip quivered and there was nothing you could do to contain your desperation. "I wish we could have met in a different way. Perhaps if this had never happened, I could have seen you in my dreams.”

He could have removed his hands from the glass, rejecting your attempt to connect and leaving you to your gripes. Instead, he remained completely unmoved and gazed at you with his beautiful, deep, watery eyes. The intensity of his gaze was almost paralyzing and you felt yourself being drawn into his world, into a place where all made sense and everything was possible.

“If only I was here in 1916, when they captured you. Maybe I could have stopped them, or freed you a long time ago.”

You wanted to comprehend the inner workings of his mind, to decipher the thoughts and emotions that he kept buried within for a century. You longed to hear the sound of his voice, to learn his name, to experience the sensation of running your fingers over his soft skin and hair.

The desire to know him on a deeper level was consuming you, but the barrier between you was insurmountable. You traced the outline of his face on the glass, as if trying to memorize every detail, every curve and angle.

You inspected the sphere, searching for any lock or opening that you could evade. It appeared that the cage had been sealed together, with no visible gap he could force or break.

“There must be something I can do.”

Dream leaned forward, only a few inches away from your nose. He was so physically close to you now that your breath got caught in your throat and you could almost feel the sound of his own breathing muffled in that close space. The intensity of his presence was too much to bear and you were dragged into his orbit, where everything else faded away. You tried to resist the pull, tried to maintain a sense of detachment, but it was becoming increasingly difficult as the seconds ticked by.

You started to feel a strange pressure in your forehead, as an invisible force tried to shut your eyes and push you into the darkness. You heard voices, distant echoes that vibrated inside you. Flashes of light blinded you and unfamiliar scenes made their way through your mind. Scattered images and fleeting moments played out behind your eyelids, leaving you feeling disoriented and confused.

But gradually, the scenes combined into one sequence that became more stable, like an old film coming into focus. The scattered pictures began to coalesce, forming a cohesive narrative that you could follow properly. The sounds that had seemed so foreign were now familiar and you realized they were memories of someone else's past. Dream’s past.

Suddenly, you found yourself surrounded by a group of people dressed in long blue tunics. They were all keeping their hoods up except for the man who stood at the center, holding something round with his left hand.

“I give you a coin made from a stone,” he said, before placing the object down. “I give you a knife from under the hills, and I give you the blood from out of my vein.”

He cut the inside of his arm with the blade he was holding and a few drops of his blood fell onto the freshly painted binding circle in front of him.

The other people were chanting “Here in the darkness” over and over again. A young child accompanied by an old man entered the basement, witnessing the ongoing ritual with worry and uncertainty.

The man continued. “I give you a song I stole from the dirt-”

The elder grabbed the child by his shoulders, keeping him at the entrance and holding onto him as fear overtook him.

“-and I give you a feather pulled from an angel’s wing.” The Magus raised his right hand, holding a white feather to the sky. “For you to lift up into the heavens.”

The chanting continued, becoming quieter for a moment, and then increasing in volume when the feather raised up again with a magical energy. The little boy moved forward, narrowing his eyes as the feather continued its ascension. The man's voice also became louder as he continued with the spell.

“I summon you with poison.”

The feather started to burn, its light turning into a fiery red before disappearing in a cloud of smoke.

“I summon you with pain.”

A breath of air formed into the room, blowing among those present. The pages of the spellbook rapidly turned in the wind.

“I open the way, I open the gates.”

The binding circle lit with bright flames that raised from the golden paint.

“I summon you in the names of the old Lords.”

Something appeared over the ceiling, an undefined shape made of sand that flashed and faded, only to return in a solid twist on your head.

“Namtar, Allatu, Morax… Maborym calls you. Horvendile calls you. We summon you together. Come!”

In that weird vortex of sand, a humanoid figure appeared. Arms and legs were turning all over and distant groans could be heard from the mass that was taking form. And then, the creature was pulled into the circle, hard, as the lights turned off and the chanting stopped. Everyone was stunned, shocked, you could hear men and women gasping in fear as the air became thicker with a sense of foreboding. You could feel the darkness settling in around you.

The fire returned to the torches, dissipating the darkness that had engulfed the room and providing new light. The Magus moved closer, staring at the weird alien-like mask that the summoned entity was wearing. A red ruby and a human-like hand holding a pouch were visible from under the big black cape covering the captured being.

The man knelt down, reaching for the items on the floor and stopping midway. He turned to the child, who was still a little shaken a few feet away. "Alex," he called out to him, but the boy didn't react. "Alex!" he tried again, gesturing for him to come forward.

When the boy silently reached the Magus's side, he was ordered once more. "Get that pouch for me, but be careful. Don’t break the binding circle.”

They took everything; the pouch full of sand, the jewel containing fragments of the creature's power, even the black cape that once removed revealed a naked, pale, almost ivory-like body lying on the cold floor. The moment the piece of clothing was lifted, a raven popped up from it and angrily attacked the Magus, who tried to protect himself with his arms as the bird’s sharp beak tore the fabric of his sleeves.

The ravenF eventually flew out of the basement seeking refuge somewhere around the house. Meanwhile, the frail man on the floor was barely moving, twitching and shaking from being abruptly severed from his realm. It was as if a part of his essence had been sucked away, leaving him as nothing more than an empty shell.

Next, Roderick Burgess grabbed his mysterious helm and pulled it off so hard that you could feel your own neck snapping.

“We’ll let our guest recover before we tell him our demands.”

Dream was left alone, completely stripped and deprived of everything he possessed. The lack of power was palpable, with invisible constraints imposed on him by the Magus, who showed no concern for the damage he had caused to The Endless' realm, or even to his own. The pain and humiliation he felt were so intense that they became almost tangible, as if they belonged to you and not just to him.

And then, more scenes followed in sequence, one after the other.

Roderick Burgess stood in front of the cage, impatient and irritated. He circled the sphere to face his prisoner, with Alex once again at his side, looking uncomfortable and guilty.

“I know who you are, Dream Of The Endless.”

Dream's broken body laid on the hard floor of the cage, his head resting on his bent right arm. As the man spoke, his eyes opened and shimmered in the soft light above him, resembling a cat's irises in the shadows.

“I captured you according to the laws of magic,” Roderick specified. “But it wasn’t you I wanted. I wanted Death to return my son Randall who died in the Gallipoli Campaign.”

Roderick's heart was heavy with loss. He paused to regain control of his emotions before continuing. "If you give him back to me, alive and well, I'll release you. Is that in your power, Lord of Dreams?”

Dream's fists clenched with hatred and his back rose and fell as he breathed heavily.

“No, I suppose not,” said Roderick. Alex looked back at his father with visible contempt.

“So then, what can you give me?”

Once more, Dream remained silent.

“If I let you go, if I promise to give you back your things. What, power? Wealth? Immortality? Hmm? Is there nothing you can offer me?”

The man asked for things that Dream would never be able to gift to a mortal. Roderick Burgess had absolutely no right to make such demands, yet he claimed them as his own.

Dream stared at Roderick with resentment, he had no intention of ever speaking to his captor.

“Well, have it your way then. And until you’re ready to speak, I’ll enjoy the gifts you’ve already given me.”

He took the ruby from his pocket, holding the pendant between his thumb and forefinger as he showed it to Dream like a trophy he had earned. A soft glow appeared on the surface of the gem, before he hastily closed his hand around it and walked away.

Alex stared at his father's back, then at Dream, unsure of how to react to what he was seeing. Dream's head slowly raised from his arm, and he glanced back at Alex with anger and skepticism.

You were there, standing in front of Dream and next to Alex. But at the same time, you also weren't. It was as if you were watching the events unfold in a virtual reality, except that those feelings shaping in you were absolutely real. You could feel Dream's fear of losing his kingdom and everything around it. The numbness in his limbs. The distress devouring him.

The scene changed again.

Alex Burgess, now a young man, tentatively walked around the cage. “Hello. It’s Alex. The Magus’s son. See, I don’t know whether you can speak or… or even understand me, but-uh… I just wanted to ask…”

Dream's body was as still as a statue, but his head and eyes followed the guy's steps on the other side of the platform.

“Are you all right in there?”

Dream's neck turned even more, showing an ounce of surprise for Alex's concern after so many years.

He walked faster, turning around and moving closer to where the cage was. "No, of course you're not." The honesty in his eyes was something Dream hadn't seen in a very long time. He didn't feel like trusting him just yet, but perhaps he was worth listening to.

“I’m… I’m sorry. About all of this. He’s not a bad man, my father, he… he just…”

Dream didn't react, but the way Alex paused without knowing how to properly conclude his sentence implied that deep down, he didn't truly believe in the man's heart, which seemed to be made primarily of stone.

“See, if you could bring Randall back, or… or just give him something, anything. Or even just speak to him. Then I am sure he would let you out.”

Would Roderick Burgess truly let him go if he got what he wanted? Human greed knows no end; the moment mortals acquire something they desire, they immediately crave something greater. A cycle that repeats itself over and over again.

Regardless, reviving a mortal from the dead was beyond Dream's capabilities.

“See, I… I would let you out if I could.”

Dream's eyes lit up with hope as he gazed at Alex. He had always been cautious of putting his complete trust in him, but something about the way Alex looked at him now stirred new thoughts in Dream's mind. Perhaps Alex would grant him the freedom that his father would undoubtedly never consider, no matter how many riches and treasures he had already obtained through the items he had stolen from Dream.

And yet, the Endless couldn’t afford to let his guard down.

The moment Alex mentioned the devil, Roderick materialized at the cellar gates like a prison warden. "You would, would you?" His voice was cold and menacing, his eyes flashing with anger.

Alex stood frozen in fear as Roderick glared at him with a threatening look. The pounding of Alex's heart was almost audible as the man seized him by the arm and dragged him away from the basement, silently promising to punish him for his disobedience.

The images dissipated like sand, transforming into a new scene before you.

Dream sat inside the cage, his hand resting on the glass, his gaze fixed upward. He sensed a familiar presence making its way down to the basement from the upper floors. His raven perched between the bars of the closed gate to announce its arrival and Dream looked at the bird with a mix of excitement, pride and newfound hope for what was yet to come.

As the raven approached the cage, flapping its wings and pecking at the glass, Dream's lips curved into a smile. His face showed a growing fondness and determination as the bird repeatedly struck the glass with the clear intention of breaking it. The Endless rose to his feet, approaching his loyal companion and eagerly awaiting the first sign of a crack.

Suddenly, a deafening gunshot echoed around them and a large bloodstain appeared on the glass in front of Dream's eyes. It took him a moment to register what had happened, and he hesitantly looked down to see the raven's body lying motionless on the floor.

In that moment, an excruciating pain seared through you, as if someone had stabbed your heart and ripped it unceremoniously from your chest. You couldn't contain the loud, strangled scream that erupted from your throat and echoed against the damp walls of the basement. "No!!!”

Dream's hand hung frozen in the air as tears filled his eyes. When he looked up, he saw Alex holding a rifle that was still emitting smoke, aimed at the cage where the raven had been just a moment before. In an instant, Roderick and the guards came rushing down, staring in shock at the bloody mess that the young man had just committed.

His father immediately took hold of the rifle, pulling it away from Alex's hands. "Idiot! You could have shattered the glass!”

Dream let himself slide down, defeated and heartbroken. He followed the streaks that leaked from the stain, running along the sphere and onto the floor tiles. Roderick Burgess glanced at the bird, then back at Dream with a triumphant look of victory.

"Clear that mess up," Roderick said before taking his leave again, while a confused Alex was clearly trying to grasp the gravity of his actions, looking at the slaughtered bird before him.

Dream watched as Alex approached the cage and stooped to collect the raven's remains. When their eyes met, the fury in Dream's tear-filled gaze was as sharp as a knife. Alex stepped back very slowly, shuddering before turning away.

He held the raven in his hands, ignoring the guard who offered him a trashcan.

Your breath caught in your chest. You felt the loss as if it were your own and Dream's tear-streaked face was now etched fully in your mind.

As the images collapsed together into a smoky transition, another memory formed.

“The woman who lives with me has gone and robbed me of my fortune.”

Roderick was standing in front of Dream, leaning against the cage with both hands.

“She’s also robbed you. She’s taken your helm, your sand and your ruby. Now, I can unlock this, you can go after her… if you give me what I’m asking for.”

Dream looked up at Roderick as if he couldn't care less about what he wanted. While the woman may have taken what belonged to him in the first place, seeing his captor lose what he had wrongfully taken for his own "fortune" brought Dream a small sense of satisfaction.

“Wealth, youth, immortality. Oh, you’re a God. These things are nothing to you. Don’t you want your weapons and your freedom?”

The frustration etched on Roderick's wrinkled face was priceless. As usual, Dream remained silent, allowing his anger to boil even more.

“Speak to me!” He exclaimed. “Speak to me! Speak.To.Me.”

Dream flinched as Roderick began banging his cane against the thick, resistant glass of the cage. Although the bowl had been carefully constructed to contain Dream's physical manifestation and the limited power he still possessed, there was always a risk of it cracking and shattering.

The man didn't stop, lifting his cane even higher and demanding a response. “Come on! Speak to me!”

"It's all right, father," Alex intervened, lightly touching the man's shoulder.

However, Roderick disregarded the gesture and coldly pushed Alex away. "Get away from me. If you were any kind of son to me... " He brandished his cane at Alex, who quickly knelt down and dodged the blow. When Roderick attempted to strike him again, Alex blocked the cane and held it firmly against his chest, overpowering his weakening father.

“If Randall were alive today-”

“If Randall were alive, he would hate you as much as I do.”

Feeling defiant, Roderick attempted to free himself and punish Alex for his rebellious attitude. However, the young man accidentally pushed him back with such force that the back of Roderick's head struck the glass. His skull cracked open at the impact with the sphere and a dark red liquid coated his fingers the moment he touched the area to inspect it.

He fell to the ground, panting and unable to keep his eyes opened as a pool of blood formed on the stone tiles.

Before taking his last breath, Roderick turned to Dream. His voice was rough as he struggled to speak. “You’re never getting out of there,” he slurred.

Dream glanced back at the dying man with a stoic expression.

“Never.”

As the scene dissolved into a final cloud of smoke, you could still hear distant voices shaping around you.

"This is my friend Paul. Paul, this is our unwilling guest." Alex's voice broke through the faint sounds. "Look, we've been talking, Paul and I. And if I let you out, will you promise not to harm us?"

You strained to listen as another voice, which you assumed was Paul's, spoke up. "If you could just speak to us."

Silence.

Alex responded. “You see, I told you.”

"I'm telling you, you have to keep trying. Show him that he can trust you. Show him that you mean it." Paul urged.

"I do mean it," Alex assured. "Just promise that you won't harm me or Paul and I will let you out."

Your eyes flew open, burning with tears. You stared up at Dream, at a loss for words and panting from the tragic events that had just played out in your mind. You stumbled backward and clutched your stomach, trying to suppress the urge to cough up the lump that had formed at the back of your throat.

"Is that what happened...?" you asked, barely above a murmur. "Is that what they did to you?"

Seeing how broken he looked after reliving the hardest times of his captivity hurt you even more. New tears cascaded down, tracing streaks down your cheeks and slipping into your shirt.

“He said he wanted to let you out,” you said with a hiccup. “He wanted to help you and then what? He killed your raven, just like that?!”

Dream blinked a few times. He didn't cry, but you could see that all those years hadn’t been enough to alleviate his agony.

“What the fuck?!”

The little respect and understanding you had towards Mr. Burgess was now gone, dissolving along with the memories of sand. If there ever was a true devil inside that house, it would be his father, and you could certainly see where Alex’s trauma stemmed from. But he was the one who pulled the trigger, holding the rifle. The one who chose to murder the raven in cold blood.

The one who described Dream as an unwilling guest after what they did. After what he did.

You had reached your limit.

Right at that moment, you realized that absolutely nothing could hold you back. The future of your resume was no longer important; the only thing that mattered was making things right.

You cursed Roderick Burgess, cursed Fawney Rig and cursed all of it.

Regaining your breath, you sniffled and wiped your eyes clean. You looked at Dream one last time before making your final decision.

“This needs to end, and it ends now.”

Dream watched as you turned away and walked off the platform, but you had no intention of speaking to your boss to set things straight. You wanted to take matters into your own hands, so you grabbed a chair from the guard's outpost and held it against your chest as you returned. Dream's eyes widened as you raised the chair over your head, ready to strike the glass. "Stay back. This might turn out messy," you warned him.

Your heart pounded as you struggled to keep the heavy object steady in your hands. Your wrist already hurt and trembled from the pressure of your nerves, but you refused to let that stop you and maintained your stance.

Dream's expression was a mix of hope and fear. He pressed himself against the glass as if he was trying to stop you from doing something foolish.

As footsteps frantically approached, the reason for Dream's behavior became clear. The lock holding the gate closed was ripped off.

"Don’t move!" The guards rushed over, alerted by your screams. "Put that chair down.”

You didn’t falter, measuring the distance between you and the man in uniform. If you could deliver a single, strong enough blow to crack the glass, maybe Dream could use that to his advantage to break through. However, when you looked back at the Endless, his eyes were conveying a warning as he slowly shook his head, trying to discourage you from doing it.

You held onto the chair tightly, not willing to put it down. But then, you heard the gun's barrel as the guard pointed the weapon at you, for real this time. You knew he would shoot you if you refused to comply; after all, it was his job to ensure that Dream remained under custody.

Dream pleaded with you, his fingers curling and closing into fists against the sphere. Although you were torn between your own safety and his, the desire to secure his freedom was burning within you. You couldn't give up now that you were so close to seeing him released.

The guard's voice boomed behind you. "I won't repeat myself. Put that thing down and turn around. Hands up."

Did you truly want to put yourself in harm's way? Was it worth risking everything and causing chaos for someone who was beyond even a deity, destined for something far greater than you could ever aspire to?

Knowing that someone had a deadly pistol aimed at your back was undoubtedly terrifying, but the thought of not taking any action and simply letting things be was unacceptable.

In the end, you decided to follow your heart and trust your instincts. You smiled at Dream, lifting the chair even higher and preparing to strike the glass. You were so close, incredibly close. You could feel it.

Suddenly, a warning shot fired into the air and echoed through the basement. You instinctively shut your eyes as the sound rumbled through your chest, leaving your ears ringing uncomfortably.

You felt the chair being pulled from your grasp as an arm wrapped around your waist and dragged you away from the cage. You let yourself fall to the floor like dead weight, planting your feet firmly on the ground and refusing to even budge.

Both guards attempted to move you, trying to make you stand and escort you out. “No! Let me go!” You protested.

The man took hold of your injured wrist and pulled you up, causing you to cry out in pain. Dream could only stare as they forcibly took you away, pushing and hitting the glass to no avail.

“Dream!” You called for him. “No, please! Dream, I’m so sorry!”

As they carried you farther and farther away from Dream's cage, lifting you up like a bag of potatoes, Paul arrived in a panic after hearing your pleas. He instructed the guards to release you and helped you stand on your feet again, keeping you close to him and protectively holding your shoulder.

As you collapsed onto the leather cushions of the couch, you stared blankly at the coffee table in front of you. Tears continued to stream from your eyes and you couldn't shake off the feeling of despair in your heart.

You heard the guards explaining to Paul the situation and revealing what you had just done, but you couldn’t bring yourself to care. All you could focus on was the overwhelming sense of hopelessness that consumed you.

Paul dismissed the guards and sat with you in silence. Although you were expecting him to reprimand you for putting the entire house in danger, he instead gently touched your back and comforted you by moving his hand up and down, allowing you to let your emotions out without judgment.

When you finally calmed down, a nervous chuckle escaped your lips. “I guess I'm fired, am I not?”

Paul let out a sigh. "Do you want me to fire you?"

"What kind of question is that?" you replied.

He smiled. "I would rather save you from all this while I still can."

You held your wrist, which was now throbbing and burning in pain. Paul brushed his calloused fingers on your hand, lifted it up, and carefully placed your sling back in place.

"Do you know why I came down with you today?" he asked.

"Because you wanted to prevent just that?"

"Yes, but not the way you think. I didn't want you to take on that responsibility."

You laughed. "Who else would?”

“Me. I would.”

You looked at Paul, serious and exasperated. "Why didn't you?"

He was about to respond when you both heard the sound of something approaching the resting area. Alex Burgess arrived with visible concern, maneuvering the wheelchair next to the couch.

"What is this all about?" he glanced at both of you inquisitively.

You could feel your blood boiling and swirling in your veins. The moment you saw his face, you immediately remembered his younger self standing at the basement gates and shooting down Dream's raven.

You stood from the couch, incinerating him with your gaze. “You,” you growled. "How do you even look at yourself in the mirror after what you did?”

Alex was shocked, looking at Paul for an explanation. His husband shrugged, just as confused as Mr. Burgess was.

"I'm sorry for what our guest did to you," he said. "If I knew he would behave in such a manner-"

"That’s not what I’m talking about." Your hands clenched into fists as you tried to control the trembles of anger. “Where you even planning to inform me about the way you killled his raven, or did you think you could just blame it all on your father?”

The color drained from the man's face as his mouth parted. “How did you…?”

You waited for him to find the most ridiculous justification.

"Is he speaking to you now?"

"He is not. He showed me."

"Showed you...?"

Your nails were lightly scratching your palms. "I don't know how, but it happened. I saw everything I needed to see, from the day he was captured."

From his position, Mr. Burgess looked so small now. He could feel the heavy judgment in your voice and in the way you were literally towering over him. He was too weak to stand and face you, too old to even sustain a debate with you.

Defeated, he sighed as a sign of admission. “It's not like I want to blame it all on my father, I know what I did. But he ordered me to get rid of it, he was the one who gave me the rifle."

You laughed. "Oh, so you’re telling me that he also pulled the trigger telepathically?"

“No, I… he was beating me up! I was afraid, what else was I supposed to do?”

Paul tried to calm you down by calling your name, but you were literally on fire. “The right thing. You were supposed to do the damn right thing. He may have given you the input, Mr. Burgess, but nobody fired that shot for you.”

His eyes closed shut as he took the blow.

"I know that your father was a monster, I saw that too,” you continued. “But you had offered Dream your help, and just a moment later, you took something - someone - very dear to him. Leaving him completely stripped of all his possessions wasn't enough?”

“I didn’t mean to!” He raised his voice, pushing himself upward. “I swear. I regretted doing it ever since.”

You flopped back onto the couch, moving a strand of hair away from your heated face. “And you wonder why he preferred to stay in that cage instead of giving you what you wanted.”

The air around you felt thick and suffocating as you tried to hold back the tears that threatened to spill over again.

“Mr. Burgess, you wanted to know if you were as bad as your father. I can tell you that no, you are nothing like him, but you just never learned to do better.”

Alex gathered his thoughts and self-reflected on what you had told him. On one hand, he was relieved not to be compared to a devil, but he had to admit that his actions somewhat reflected his father's essence. He nodded in silence, curling his fingers around the fabric of his trousers.

"I'll pack my things," you announced, standing up again. "Thank you for entrusting the work to me, Mr. Burgess. I think it's best if I end my stay here, don't you agree?”

"I..." He looked at you, unsure of the right answer to give. "Yes. Thank you for all your hard work, Miss Y/LN.”

You didn't wait for Paul to follow you. You didn't even turn around as you took your leave and ran up the stairs to reach your room.

The past three months had been the worst and best time of your life. You grew accustomed to the mansion with all its corridors, strategic corners, and historical relics, as well as the beautiful garden and the green expanse around it. But despite how beautiful and warm it could be, you never truly felt like you belonged. The moments you spent with Dream, talking to him, observing his eyes glinting and his plush lips forming the tiniest smiles, were absolutely the most cherished memories you collected there.

Now you were leaving everything behind, including him, with a daunting realization that you had failed all along the way.. And your shattered heart was condemned to a long period of piecing itself back together, knowing that you wouldn't see him ever again, not even in your dreams in a distant future.

You had to muster the courage to let go of the love that had matured for him and move on with a fresh start.

You were standing outside the Burgess mansion, waiting for the cab to arrive as you held your suitcase and felt the late afternoon breeze blowing through your hair. Paul was standing next to you, tightening the collar of his shirt with one hand and occasionally glancing at you.

The silence was awkward, but at the same time comforting.

A question formed in your mind, something you had been wondering since you saw those memories, but didn't get the chance to ask in the chaos that followed.

“Paul, did you know about the raven?”

Your question surprised him, but he didn't hesitate to answer you. "Yes, he told me everything about it.”

“What happened to her?”

“How do you know it was a female?”

“I don’t. Just a guess.”

You turned your attention to him, eagerly waiting to know.

"He buried it…her in the garden. As a reminder of what he did.”

"Did he visit her grave?"

"All the time."

As you reflected on your feelings, you felt pity towards Alex, but you also recalled the moment when Dream lost his beloved companion because of him. Forgiveness is something that requires mastery and you were having a hard time with it.

“Paul, I need to ask you for a favor.”

"Of course, what can I do for you?”

You stared at him with exhaustion in your eyes. "Not for me, for him. Promise me that you will take care of Dream. Please.”

Paul's lips widened into a big, warm smile. You felt his hand carefully take hold of yours, bringing it up and placing his other palm on top. “I promise, Y/N.”

You let out a sigh of relief, nodding in acceptance and suppressing another rush of tears.

"You love him." It wasn't a question, not even an investigation. It was a simple affirmation, the reality of things laid nude in front of his eyes.

You grunted. “I’m so damn stupid, am I not?”

“Why, because you fell in love?”

“Yes. With an ethereal, nameless being who never spoke to me once.”

Paul chuckled in amusement. "My dear, this is just how love works. The fact that you care so much about him despite all that, means that your heart is pure and honest.”

You shrugged. "And yet, here I am. Sulking and whining over my one-sided crush.”

He released your hand, brushing his fingers along his mustache. "Are you really sure it is one-sided?"

"Come on, Paul. You don't seriously believe that someone like him would ever fall for a simple human such as myself."

“I don’t see why not? Maybe you don’t realize it, but the connection you enstablished with him is something I have never seen before.”

What you felt was unprecedented, an experience that shook you to your core. Dream had the ability to get under your skin in such a manner that his presence alone left you spiritually fulfilled.

And it was all gone now.

“Maybe,” you replied. “But I’m leaving him behind, knowing that I won’t even see him again.”

Paul shook his head. “Never say never, Y/N.”

As the taxi arrived, you received the final confirmation that that chapter of your life was coming to an end. You watched the car slow down and park in front of you, the driver roll down the window and greet you with politeness. All you could do was respond with a nod of your head, frozen in place as your hand tightened around the handle of the suitcase.

Paul opened the backseat door and helped you set your luggage in place before offering you a melancholy smile. You remembered the day you stepped into his house for the first time, admiring the intricate details of the antique design and appreciating the smell of maple wood. Paul's kindness had immediately put you at ease; he was the only person who offered you support when anyone else silently judged you for your mundane attitude without even trying to befriend you.

"I'm going to miss you," you said to Paul, your eyes shining with gratitude. "Thank you for everything.”

Paul was feeling as emotional as you, giving you a quick, soft hug. "I will miss you too, Y/N. You probably don't realize it, but you had quite a positive impact on us.”

“I doubt Mr. Burgess sees it that way.”

“It may not look like it to you, but he wasn’t immune to your words.”

As the sun slowly disappeared behind the trees, you stood there listening to the birds singing their song for the last time. The peaceful melody of their chirping filled the air with a sense of tranquility that didn’t reflect the way you felt.

You closed your eyes, cherishing the beauty of nature around you as the rustling of leaves created a symphony of sounds. It was a melodic composition that you were ready to replace with the familiar rythm of the city.

You sat in the car and told the driver your address. As the taxi began to move, you took one last look at the building, feeling your eyes starting to water, for the upteenth time that day. You were leaving a part of yourself behind, unable to ever get it back.

The driver noticed your distress and asked if there was anything he could do to help. The only thing you truly wanted was something that nobody could provide: to turn back time and undo what had been done.

Despite the unbearable ache in your chest, you managed a small smile and told the driver you just wanted to go home.

"Goodbye, Dream," you whispered to yourself as the taxi drove on. You were drowning in a sea of emotions and couldn't escape from it.

Morpheus was a being of great power and wisdom. He had seen countless things throughout his long existence, and yet, when he met you, something had shifted all he knew about humanity. You became his anchor, the one thing that could mend and strengthen his broken heart over time.

At first, Morpheus didn't think too much of it. He had learned not to trust any mortal blindly, as that had turned against him in the worst of ways. But the more you visited and spoke to him so honestly, the more he felt deeply touched by your spirit. He found himself thinking about you, always eager to see more of you as the days went by.

There was something about your presence that drew him in. He felt an emotional pull towards you that he couldn’t define or comprehend. He longed to be close to you, to feel the warmth of your skin and to lift any barriers that stood between you.

“She’s gone.”

The moment Alex uttered those words, his entire world shattered beyond repair.

He had watched in horror as you showed up with those injuries, so visibly drained despite your efforts to hide them. He was overcome with a sense of helplessness and anger, craving your smile and the reassurance of your kindness.

Morpheus knew that you were worth so much more than what they were giving you and the fact he couldn't protect you was frustrating him to no end. You had put your life at risk for his sake, challenging the guards that wouldn't have hesitated to shoot you down if you had dared breaking the glass like you intended to.

The bravery you had shown for him had left him filled with gratitude and admiration. While his imprisonment had condemned the Waking World to a long, ever-lasting cycle of darkness spreading into wars and destruction over the past century, you were literally a gleam of hope, a beautiful dream swimming into a never-ending ocean of nightmares. Morpheus wished he could be stronger for you and ensure that the light in your heart would never fade. But how could he aspire to that now that you were so far away?

They had stripped him of his realm, his tools, his raven, and now you.

“I could have asked for wealth or power, like my father did. But all I ever wanted was to be free of you,” Alex said, brimming with bitterness and annoyance.

The Endless glanced up at the old man, scrutinizing his afflicted expression as he gave him his very last speech.

“Surely you want that too.”

As the doctor stood against a column, looking awkward and unsure of what to do, Paul grasped the handles of the wheelchair and gently pushed it forward.

“Alex, darling please,” he begged him, reaching out for his husband in fear to see him stagger.

The man didn’t protest and immediatly sat down. Paul's hand lovingly tightened his shoulder, giving it a light squeeze.

"Take me upstairs, Paul," he requested, keeping his eyes on an unflinching Dream. "I won't be coming down here again.”

Morpheus, empty and afflicted, observed the two men moving away from the cage. He blinked once, twice, and his eyes started to burn with a boiling anguish. How many centuries had to pass before someone decided to finally let him out, or were they planning to just let him rot in a bowl for eternity?

As his grief was about to engulf him, Morpheus noticed something in front of him: one of the wheels had just passed over the tiny smear that had previously formed under your steps, taking away a good portion of the paint as it went on.

As if he had planned it from the start, Paul stopped along the way and deliberately turned to check the binding circle behind him. He stared at the long streak that was now missing on the ground, then he gave Dream an imperceptible nod before pushing the wheelchair in front of the guards and disappearing at the upper floor.

Everyone else had left the room and the only ones remaining with him were the usual two, chattering away at their station and gossiping about Morpheus as if he wasn't there. The woman was reading a copy of IT by Stephen King, while the man next to her was distractingly scanning the various daily news with a lack of interest.

She turned to her partner with disgust on her face. “Old Dracula here’s not givin’ an inch.”

“Why do you call it Dracula?” He asked, turning away from his newspaper.

“’Cause I think it’s one of them Draculas. What do you think it is?”

“I try not to,” he replied. “You know what I think about? Majorca. Four days and I’ll be on a beach. Stinking of suntan lotion.”

“Lucky bugger!”

This was the chance Morpheus had been waiting for. With the binding circle finally broken, he could already feel a part of his power flowing back to his essense. It was just enough to break through the barrier and open his way to the man's mind.

He leaned against the glass and focused on the guard's deepest desires, crafting the perfect illusion to get him where he wanted.

The lady was talking, but the man sitting next to her was already yawning, lost in his own visualization as Morpheus’s spell immediatly put him to sleep. “I was on Corfu on holiday once. I met this right fit type at the hotel in the morning…”

The scene around him was perfect. The man was sitting on a reclining beach chair in Majorca, kissed by the warm sun and greeted by a beautiful girl playing volleyball a few feet away. When the ball fell close to where he was watching, she ran after it and gave him the most beautiful smile he could ever dream of. He squinted as the sun blinded him to have a better look, but the woman immediately faded away like a hallucination.

He spotted someone else walking in the distance and coming towards him. As he stood up to figure out who that might be, the ocean quickly drew back and disappeared, transforming the beach into a desert with nobody else nearby. The sky got dark, and the sense of peace he had been feeling just a moment before now had given place to confusion and turmoil.

Then he felt it, that sudden presence behind him. He turned abruptly, staring in shock at Dream who was now standing in front of him.

The Endless's eyes were cold and ominous. Slowly, he bent down onto the sand, covering himself with one hand and using the other to gather a handful of grains from the ground. The man felt threatened, stepping back in fear as Dream got closer. He was waiting for him to react, to take that one action that would finally snap the right gear in place and set his plan into motion.

It worked.

In an attempt to protect himself from the unknown, the man took hold of his gun and began shooting at Dream a few times in a row, hitting and piercing the glass in the process.

“Fred!”

The woman ran to her partner, whom had just stood up from his chair and sleepwalked closer to the cage.

“Fred, stop it! You’ll…”

He was firing like a madman.

“Fred!”

The glass exploded and a white ball of power erupted into the sphere. She turned with her own gun pointed at it in apprehension, but the moment she aimed, it was too late; Dream had already slipped out of the cage.

“Don’t move! Stay where you are!” Fred screamed, now fully awake and alarmed.

“What… what’s he got in his hands?” The woman asked aloud. “Oi! Open your hands, now!”

The energy in the room was so powerful that they had to stand with all their might not to be swept away. The wind around them was howling as Dream brought his fist to his mouth, opening it slowly and blowing the sand he had collected right on their faces.

Their grip around the weapon weakened and they collapsed into a deep slumber the moment the grains sprinkled into their eyes. Dream eyed their sleeping forms with satisfaction, then turned around to face the portal that was opening into the shattered sphere. It erupted and swirled with force, absorbing the cage until nothing of it was left.

The energy was creating a tunnel that connected the Waking World to his realm, right where he needed to return.

After over a century of agonizing captivity, Morpheus was finally free. The portal was flashing and growing, attracting his body like a magnet. He raised from the floor with his arms open wide, pushing himself up and floating into the portal.

It was time for him to resume his activity as the King Of Dreams, patch up humanity's scars, and retrieve the items that had been stolen from him when he was captured.

And then, at the end of it all, he would also find you.

A blind man, dressed in a long brown robe with an ample hood covering his head, walked through his garden carrying a heavy open book that was chained to his right hand. The garden was like a maze of paths that divided, branched and recombined, with huge statues that some claimed moved so slowly it could barely be perceived.

He walked barefoot along the pebbled pathway until he came to a stop, shifting his empty gaze to the sky. The book sit onto his hands, connected to his essence. Nobody could steal it and he couldn’t give it away.

It contained the universe, the movements of atoms and galaxies shaped pasts, presents and futures.

And it also contained the story of your life. Everything that had happened to you, that would happen one day, even the things you had forgotten over time, it was all in there. He did not write it.

Destiny observed the energy around him as one of the pages turned and showed him an alternative route, one that overlapped the previous one.

“The gears of destiny have been turned,” he declared.

And then, he continued to walk.

The first night in your apartment, sleep evaded you. Your mind kept wandering to the basement where Dream was still trapped, you had failed to help him despite your best efforts in the end and the guilt was eating you alive. You tossed and turned in your bed trying to shut your eyes, but the images of Dream's sad face kept flashing in front of you.

You jolted to your feet, grabbed your sketchbook, and turned on the lights. The dress you had attempted to draw one night was still unfinished, waiting for its lines to be prolonged and connected properly. Your hand came to a stop whenever you moved it, the image of what you wanted was vivid in your imagination, but you could catch a glimpse of what you had created on the next page through the thin material.

You hesitated, but you turned the page despite the knot that had shaped into your stomach. The representation of an eye was staring deep into your soul, Dream's eye...

You shut the sketchbook in one fluid motion and set it aside once more, unable to continue drawing for the night. It felt like an eternity before dawn finally broke and the first rays of sunlight filtered in through the window. You couldn't help but wonder how long it would take for you to move on from your feelings of love, fear, shame and regret.

After getting ready, you took a look in the mirror and realized that your makeup had failed to conceal the dark circles and bags under your eyes. To hide your exhaustion, you grabbed a pair of thick sunglasses and headed out into the neighborhood.

The morning rush was in full swing and people were bustling about their daily routines, trying to get to work, school, or appointments. You took in the sights and sounds of the town waking up around you while holding a Starbucks coffe in one hand and keeping the sling secured around the other.

As you passed in front of a newsstand, you absently glanced at the different titles that populated the daily releases. You were about to walk further without giving it too much thought, when something in particular seemed to catch your attention. You stopped, blinked a few times, and turned around to ensure that you didn't imagine it.

You almost dropped the coffee when you checked the main page of the newspaper.

𝖲𝗅𝖾𝖾𝗉ing 𝖡𝖾𝖺𝗎𝗍𝗒 𝖶𝖺𝗄𝖾𝗌 𝖴𝗉

𝖲𝗅𝖾𝖾𝗉𝗒 𝖲𝗂𝖼𝗄𝗇𝖾𝗌𝗌 𝗉𝖺𝗍𝗂𝖾𝗇𝗍 𝗌𝖺𝗒𝗌, "𝗅𝗂𝖿𝖾 𝗂𝗌 𝖺 𝖽𝗋𝖾𝖺𝗆.”

You had to contain yourself from bursting into the happiest laugh you ever had. You goofily held up the cup with your bandaged hand and took the newspaper from its stand. Maybe you were jumping to conclusions and such a miracle was just a random occurrence that had nothing to do with what you knew. Maybe you simply wanted to read between the lines, coming up with your own interpretation to give yourself a reason to smile again. But there was this well-known gut sensation that told you it was true, that there was absolutely no room for mistake and your theory had all the foundations to be real.

You wanted to believe it. You needed to.

Dream was free.

You tried all you could to keep yourself busy, working on your portfolio, spending time with your father and meeting up with Hob at the New Inn. You had decided to put your job hunting on hold for the time being, wanting to recover from the bizarre experience you had just gone through and take some proper rest to recharge.

Trying not to think about Dream was hard. Your guess about him being out of the cage had solidified the moment your insomnia disappeared, allowing you to fall asleep as soon as you touched the mattress. Not only that, but you had started to dream regularly now. It was just a mix of random events that you still had trouble remembering in detail most of the time, but you could at least say that your affliction was permanently gone.

Still, there was no sign of him in your dreams. You wondered if all those stories about him showing up were just a fabrication of what most people liked to think of, or if he was intentionally avoiding visiting you after what happened at the Burgess mansion. Either way, your broken heart didn't seem to recover, and even your wrist was having a hard time going back to normal. The cuts on your arms were healed, leaving just some light scars behind that were bound to disappear over time.

The dress you had struggled to complete was now finished, with all its frills and details in place. You admired your work with pride and satisfaction, thinking about how it would look created in real life, better yet on you. You didn't have many occasions to wear something like that though, especially in such an urban environment. Maybe in another life.

You sat on your balcony, enjoying a cup of warm tea and staring at the sun setting. The colors in the sky at that time of day never ceased to amaze you, it was an incredibly inspiring and relaxing moment that you could finally relish in again without having to run back and forth.

All in all, your days proceeded in the most normal and calm way possible. Sometimes you still woke up in the morning thinking you had to get ready for your cleaning shift at Fawney Rig, only to take in your surroundings and realize that you were now free as air.

Still, no matter how much you tried to draw, read, or watch TV, you continuously found yourself lying motionless on the couch, attracting all sorts of romantic movies and stories that only made you feel worse and produced the opposite effect.

You went to bed feeling heavy and dragging your feet, falling onto the mattress as you stared at the ceiling in a starfish position. With a sigh, you brought the covers up to your chest and closed your eyes. In your mind's eye, you stood on the seashore wearing your beautiful dress, feeling the sand between your toes and the salty breeze on your skin. It had been far too long since you last visited the beach and bathed in the ocean under the blazing sun.

That nice view helped you forget your anxieties and clear your head. You could almost hear the sound of the waves, slowly drifting away and falling asleep.

(gif from Pinterest)

As you watched the sea move steadily in front of you, you observed the water glistening in the sunlight and reflecting the blue sky overhead. The waves were crashing onto the shore with a rhythmic melody and the salty sea breeze brushed against your face, carrying with it the scent of the ocean.

The wind gently tugged at the soft fabric of your dress, creating a mesmerizing effect as it moved. Your eyes caught a glimpse of something glittering a few steps away, so you walked towards it with piqued curiosity, feeling your feet sinking into the warm sand. Drawing closer, you noticed that it was a beautiful white shell, adorned with crystals that shimmered in the sunlight. You knelt down to pick it up, feeling the cool texture of the smooth shell and the roughness of the crystalized top in your hands.

You smiled, admiring the precious magnificence of nature as you turned it around. You felt like a door to paradise had just opened for you and you crossed right through it.

Suddenly, you noticed movement out of the corner of your eye.

Turning your head, you saw a dark figure in the distance watching you intently and your heart raced as you tried to get a better look with your hair getting in the way. You brushed it aside, spotting a long, flowing black coat that whiped in the wind. You felt your breath catching in your throat and your pulse quickening as you took in his mysterious vibe, the seashell slipping from your fingers and falling back into the sand.

You stood up, transfixed by his presence.

Dream was there, all mighty and comforting, dressed in a full black attire.

You stared at him in awe, feeling your heart pounding in your chest. He stood there, silent and unmoved, just like you remembered him. But there was something different about him too - a new energy that seemed to be emanating from his core.

You took a step forward, then another, slowly advancing towards him. Your eyes never left his form, drinking in every detail of his striking appearance. He waited patiently for you to approach him, and the closer you got, the more beautiful he looked.

The anticipation built inside you when you finally came to a stop, just a few inches away from him with no barrier separating you. You lifted your head slightly to look into his eyes, feeling the heat rising to your cheeks.

You tried to speak, but something prevented you from finding the right words.

Dream raised his right hand and extended it to you. You hesitantly brushed your fingertips against his, feeling a jolt of electricity with the wind picking up, blowing stronger against you.

Somehow, you were feeling out of it with a burgeoning sense of confusion. A loud bark erupted in the distance, distracting you from the scene in front of you. You looked down at your barely touching hands and saw them dissolving in a cloud of sand with the entire beach following suit. You felt yourself being pulled away, back into reality.

You awakened with a loud gasp, pushing yourself up from the pillows and panting slightly in frustration. You sit on your bed, your heart was racing as you ran your hands through your hair to get your bearings. The dog in the street continued to bark loudly, engaged in a fight with a stray cat that meowed and hissed in response. And then, all was silent again.

It was just a dream, a figment of your imagination, a projection of your subconscious desires. Your brain conjured up the image of Dream to fulfill your deepest wishes and longings. He wasn’t there, he couldn’t be.

“Shit.”

As you curled up like a ball with your forehead pressed agains your knees, lost in your rushing thoughts and wild emotions, a deep and warm voice suddenly broke through the silence. It was a voice like honey, rich and smooth, sending shivers down your spine with just one simple word.

“Hello.”

It vibrated in your ears, chest, belly, and even slightly lower.

Startled but strangely unafraid, you immediately looked up to your left, where the source of the voice was watching you from the shadows with a pair of familiar, shiny eyes.

Ayy cliffhanger! :P

The smut is coming in the next chapter guys.

Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 (currently reading) Go to Chapter 6 ->

Read on AO3!

#the sandman #dream of the endless #morpheus #dream of the endless x reader #morpheus x reader #the sandman fanfic #story: let your dreams be your wings

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depressedhatakekakashi · 11 months ago

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Gai's Birthday Bingo 2023

Prompt: Mask

Words: 3,760

Character: Maito Gai, Yamato, Hatake Kakashi

Notes: Post- Chunin Exams

“A month?” Tenzo just about choked on his tea when he heard the timeline his Senpai had given him for Sasuke’s training. He’d known that Kakashi had plans to focus on his student’s training in preparation for his next chunin exam fight, but to be told that he’d be out of contact for a month seemed a little extreme. In all of the years they’d known each other he’d never known Kakashi to take even a day away from training, but now here he was telling him that he’d be taking an entire month. “What if there’s a mission? Or an attack?”

“I’ll be just outside the village,” Kakashi dismissed his questions with swift answers while stirring the minuscule remains of his tea. “If anyone needs to contact me they’ll be able to. Whether I answer or not will be determined by how important I think the issue is.”

“But-”

“There are no buts,” his Senpai continued over him. “Sasuke’s being pitted against that Gaara kid from Suna. Not only did that kid break Itachi’s record for finishing the forest of death, but he just about killed Lee in their battle. If Gai hadn’t stepped in…” his words drifted off, but the weight of what he refused to say still lingered over them.

If Gai hadn’t stepped in, Lee would have died.

Tenzo hadn’t been there to see the fights himself, but he’d heard all about them from Asuma when they met up for drinks shortly after. Every detail had been spilled over Sake, from Asuma’s disappointment over Choji and Ino’s loss’ to his surprise at Naruto’s win.

The fight that he’d talked about, though, was Rock Lee’s. Not a single detail had been spared and by the end of the night, Tenzo could feel the concern that radiated off of Asuma. He’d even expressed some fear about Shikamaru’s upcoming fight against the Suna girl, Temari, but it was nothing compared to his concern about his student facing off against Gaara.

That was the fear of a sensei who didn’t have his student going up against Gaara, though. For his Senpai, the reality was very different. Not only was Sasuke set up to face Gaara in his next match, but according to Kakashi, he was woefully unprepared.

“I have to make sure he does alright,” Kakashi whispered, his eyes focused on the swirling tea in his cup. “I put them into this exam. I need to help them survive, no matter what. Even if it means I ignore missions for a little while.”

Tenzo understood his Senpai’s concerns. Every shinobi in Konoha faced the chunin exams, but it seemed that the risks in these exams were far more than when Kakashi had anticipated. Not only was there the threat that the Gaara kid posed but there was also Orochimaru.

A sannin seeking to steal Sasuke, one of Kakashi’s precious students, and use for their own gain.

The world was stacking the odds against Kakashi and all he could do was try his best to protect his students.

“What about the others?” Tenzo asked, his mind wandering to the other two students Kakashi had taken on. Whenever he spoke of them Kakashi seemed to have nothing but praise. Although he’d been forced into the job, it seemed to Tenzo that he’d taken to it quite well.

His students were his pride and joy and he made sure to remind Tenzo of that fact every time they saw each other.

“Naruto needs to work on his chakra control,” Kakashi answered with ease. “I’ve spoken to Ebisu about training him while I’m helping Sasuke. If he can improve in that area I’m sure he’ll do well in his next match. He is Konoha’s number one unpredictable ninja, after all. No one expected him to make it this far, but here he is.”

Tenzo couldn’t help but laugh at the terrible nickname his Senpai had given Naruto. “Isn’t he going against one of Gai-san’s students? Hyuga Neji, correct?” Kakashi nodded. “I’ve heard a bit about him. Seems like he could pose a bit of a problem to Naruto.”

“He can,” Kakashi confirmed. “But there’s not much I can do for Naruto until he improves his chakra control, and Ebisu’s a better teacher in that regard than I am. Besides, as dangerous as Neji is he’s not going to kill Naruto.”

“Are you sure about that?” Another story he’d heard from Asuma was about Neji’s fight against Hyuga Hinata, and that was a story that said the exact opposite of what his Senpai was telling him.

“Neji is hard, but not that bad,” Kakashi confirmed. “He’s also Gai’s student. I trust that if things get out of hand, Gai will step in if I’m not there too.”

“True,” There was no one who knew Kakashi’s struggles better than Gai. Even Tenzo didn’t know the true extent of what his Senpai had suffered in his life, but he had learned enough over the years to know that he’d do everything in his power to protect Kakashi from more pain. There was no doubt in his mind that Gai felt the same way. “So Naruto will be trained by Ebisu and Sakura?”

“A month without training won’t kill her,” Kakashi sighed. “She’ll have to take care of her training for the time, but I’ll make it up to them all when the exams are done and everything has settled. Once I can breathe then I’ll kick into gear.”

Tenzo cringed at the saying. During his time in team Ro with Kakashi he’d come to understand that ‘Kick into gear’ really meant ‘drive them into the ground until they can’t move, and then do it again’.

Sakura was going to need the month-long break to prepare for what was coming her way.

“So a month,” he sighed, circling back to the beginning of the conversation. “That’s going to be a pretty boring month for me. Though, I guess I can focus a bit more on missions while you’re occupied.”

“Actually,” straightening up, Kakashi locked eyes with Tenzo. “I have a request.”

Gai’s apartment was easy to locate. Not only did Tenzo have the apartment number that his Senpai had written down on a small piece of paper for him, three-zero-five written in giant blocky letters so that he wouldn’t misread any of the numbers, but there was also a sign hanging on the front of the door that announced who was living there with pride.

A simple wooden sign that Tenzo recalled making himself just a few years ago for Gai’s birthday. He hadn’t known what to get for the overly energetic Jonin until his Senpai had shown him a picture of his tortoise summon that he’d snuck during one of his outings as ‘Sukea’. Now here it was, staring back at Tenzo after a year. Telling him exactly what he needed to know.

He was in the right place.

Now all he had to do was knock.

“Come on,” he lifted his right hand and took a deep breath, but nothing happened. His hand refused to move. “You can do it, Tenzo. It’s just a quick check-up. Poke your head in, make sure he’s alive and functioning, and go. That’s all. It’s easy.”

He took another deep, slow breath, but still nothing happened.

His hand just hovered there in front of the door, neither lowering nor reaching out to knock. Stuck in a limbo of inactivity that Tenzo couldn’t seem to force it out of.

“Just one knock,” he whispered, cringing when his hand refused to move. “Come on. He’s not going to hurt you.”

Gai was a good man. Stranger and perhaps a little too much for Tenzo to handle most days, but a good man. Short of harming Kakashi, which he would never think of doing, or one of his students, there was nothing Tenzo could think of that he could do to upset Gai.

Even if there was, Checking up on him certainly wasn’t on the list.

“Just go,” he insisted. “One knock and-”

Before he could finish that train of thought the door swung open and he found himself face to face with Maito Gai.

Smiley, energetic, always pleasant Maito Gai.

Except, none of those descriptors seemed to fit the man that he was staring at today. Not because Gai wasn’t trying to portray himself as the exact same person he always with, with a smile that spread across his entire face, but because that smile didn’t match at all with the tired, defeated look in his eyes.

“You look…”

“Great?” Gai cheered, though his voice sounded a little flatter than usual. “Wonderful? Ready to jump out and greet the day with the full power of my youth?”

Tenzo shook his head. “Awful.”

As soon as the word left his mouth the smile dropped off of Gai’s face and his shoulders slumped. “You’re learning from Kakashi, aren’t you?” he sighed, all of his usual energy missing from his voice. “

“I am a trained Anbu operative,” Tenzo argued, just a little insulted by the implication that he would need his Senpai to tell him what to look out for when he approached Gai. His Senpai had, of course, given him a few hints of what to keep an eye out for, but that didn’t matter. He was trained to read people’s emotions and body language. To look deeper and see all of the subtle signals that they were trying to hide from him.

“Ah,” waving off his protests, Gai leaned forward and peered down the hallway. “He’s not with you, is he?”

Tenzo could only sigh. “He’s out training Sasuke for his next match,” he assured the green-clad dork that his Senpai called ‘rival’. “That’s why I’m here.”

“To check up on me?” jutting his bottom lip out, Gai huffed. “I’m fine. I don’t need someone to pop in and make sure everything is alright. I’m not-”

He stopped himself, but Tenzo knew exactly what he wanted to say.

I’m not Kakashi.

A low blow, but a rather deserved one. In the twenty years that he’d known his Senpai one undeniable fact that Tenzo had learned was that his Senpai didn’t handle loss or disaster well. He would always put on a front, masking his emotions behind an aloof attitude, but deep down he was spiraling.

Tenzo didn’t think Gai would have the same reaction. His experiences with pain, as far as Tenzo knew, were different than Kakashi’s and his personality was almost the complete opposite.

That didn’t stop him from worrying, though. Everyone had a breaking point and although he hadn’t met any of Gai’s students, he’d heard enough about them to know just how much Gai cared about Lee.

If there was someone out there in the world whose death would cause Gai to crumble, it was either Kakashi or Lee. Kakashi because of their long-standing friendship and rivalry, and Lee because of how much Gai had come to care about him in such a short amount of time.

Tenzo wasn’t keen to find out which one it was anytime soon. The energy that Gai brought to the village was strange but comforting. The world needed more of the bright, youthful energy and less destroyed, irreparable spirits.

“I see,” shoving those thoughts to the side for the moment, he leaned to the right just enough to get a view into the room behind Gai. The layout was the same as every other Jonin apartment in the building but with a few weights laying out on the floor and a workout mat half haphazardly thrown into the corner beside Gai’s desk. On the desk, there was a bit more of a mess, with dishes piling up on the back near the wall and three books of various sizes spread open along the desk. “And what is it you’re reading about?”

“Uh, well,” glancing back over his shoulder, Gai cringed. “I was just looking up some information. It’s important to keep up to date with our knowledge.”

There it was again. That wide, toothy grin that Gai always wore on his face.

A grin that Tenzo had once viewed with caution, but which he’d come to enjoy over the years.

“Stop it.”

“Stop what?” Gai blinked, the smile dropping away for just a split second, only to return as soon as Gai realized it was gone. “Stop reading?”

“Smiling.” Tenzo huffed, hating the words that were coming out of his mouth. As much as he liked to complain about Gai’s seemingly endless amounts of energy, he had genuinely come to love his smile.

It was one of the brightest, most genuine smiles he had ever seen in his life, and whenever Gai turned it toward him he felt a strange warmth spreading in his chest. Kakashi had laughed at him the first time he talked about it and told him that everyone felt that way about Gai’s smile, but he hadn’t believed him.

Now, though, that warmth was missing. He couldn’t look at Gai’s smile and feel happy to see it because deep down he knew it was a lie. A mask that Gai was using to hide away the pain he was experiencing.

“I don’t-”

Deciding to make a daring move, Tenzo pushed past Gai into his apartment and headed straight for the desk. His goal was the pile of dishes that sat at the back of the desk, but as he reached out for them he couldn’t help but gaze down at the books.

Medical books, all turned to pages with detailed pictures of leg muscles or leg bones.

Kakashi had been right to ask him to check in on Gai.

“You’re worried,” he noted, focusing his attention back on the dishes and slowly starting to move them from the desk into a small space between his left arm and chest.. “You’re overthinking Lee’s condition and trying to make up for your lack of knowledge on the subject by studying as much as you can.”

“What are you, an interrogator?” Gai huffed.

“No,’ That line of work had been a part of Tenzo’s job once, a long time ago, but it was rare for him to take on that role in Anbu. “I’m a friend,” placing the last dish on the pile that now teetered in his arm, he maneuvered his right arm around it for a bit more support and turned toward the kitchen. “A friend who has specifically been sent by another friend to check in on you.”

“Always straight to the point,” Gai sighed as he followed Tenzo toward the kitchen, dragging his feet along the floor. “And what are you doing with my dishes?”

“Cleaning them, obviously,” coming to a stop in front of the sink, he leaned down and carefully placed the dishes down so they didn’t topple over. The last thing he wanted to do today was go shopping for a new set of dishes after destroying all of the ones Gai had. “Since you’re too focused on improving your knowledge pool someone has to make sure you’re going to be eating off of clean plates.”

“I can-” turning his head, he glared straight at Gai. “N-never mind.”

“That’s what I thought,” with that argument sufficiently killed he focused back on the daunting task he’d taken on. “Well, I’m doing the dishes maybe you can make some tea?”

“Tea?”

“Yes,” Tezno confirmed. “You do still remember what tea is, right?”

Gai sputtered, tripping over his words a few times before finally taking a deep breath. “Green tea?” His voice came out strained, but the question was quickly followed by the sound of feet shuffling and cupboards being pulled open.

“Green tea is fine,” Tenzo confirmed. Turning on the tap he watched as water flowed into the sink. The pile he’d collected was taller than anything he’d ever tackled before, but he was certain that it was a task he could finish in under ten minutes. Just enough time for Gai to make them some tea. Once the dishes were clean and the two of them were seated with their drink, then he would start asking the questions that were already swirling around in his mind.

How long has it been since you went outside?

When was the last time you got yourself some dango?

How is he doing?

Those were questions that would have to wait till later, though. Things he would ask when the two of them were sitting face to face with their hands wrapped around a warm cup of tea.

Until then, they would continue swirling around in his mind demanding an answer to the nagging concerns that came with each one of them.

“You don’t have to worry, you know,” Gai spoke as he stepped up to Tenzo’s side and held out his kettle to him. Taking the kettle, Tenzo popped it open and placed it under the tap. Once it was about halfway full he pulled it back and returned it to Gai. “I’m fine.”

“Fine,” he couldn’t help but laugh. Every moment he’d heard Kakashi say that exact line to him came rushing back to him. Bombarding him with memories of exhausted, haunted eyes staring through him as if he wasn’t even there. “Your student is in the hospital.”

“I know that.” Snatching the kettle back, Gai turned away with a huff. Instead of making his way toward the stove, though, he just stood there. His back facing Tenzo and his kettle clutched in his hand. “I know that…”

At that moment, Tenzo regretted agreeing to his Senpai’s request.

If he’d been smart he would have insisted Kakashi come instead. He would have pressured his Senpai to put off Sasuke’s training for just a few hours to check in on his friend. It was Kakashi, not Tenzo, who knew how best to support Gai.

He hadn’t, though.

Instead, he’d promised to take care of it. Assured his Senpai that he would make sure Gai was taken care of when he couldn’t be there for him. Now he was stuck with a pile of dishes higher than he’d ever seen, with no idea what to say next.

Well, there was one thing he could say. Something that he was certain he would never dare to utter in front of anyone else, even under threat of torture, but which seemed fitting in this moment.

“If it was Kakashi-Senpai, I’d be a mess.”

Gai spun round, an expression of utter horror on his face as he stared at Tenzo. “What?”

Grabbing the first dish from the pile he took a deep breath and started cleaning. “If it was Kakashi-Senpai in the hospital,” he continued. “I would be a mess. Or even Yugao, or you.”

It was difficult for him to admit, but all of his years of being trained to cut himself off from others and deny himself any emotional bonds had failed. Part of it was because of his Senpai’s insistence on friendship, which had rubbed off on him over the years, but there was also a piece of him that knew he never would have been able to succeed.

His friends were important to him. No matter how much he wanted to cut himself off from them, he couldn’t. It’s exactly the weakness that Kakashi had exploited when he found out about Tenzo’s mission to kill him, and what had led to him going against Danzo’s orders for the first time in his life.

If any of his friends were stuck in the hospital with an injury that might never be healed, he would throw himself into his work much like Kakashi always did. There wouldn’t be a pile of dishes growing on his desk or open medical textbooks, but his mental health would take a turn for the worst.

And if or when that happened, he knew two things for certain.

Kakashi would show up at his door dragging him outside for some fresh air insisting that he can’t give up, and Gai would be right behind him with that brilliant smile and promises of dango and spars to cheer him up.

“All I’m saying is…” finishing with the first bowl he placed it under the tap to wash away the leftover soap and placed it into the small drying rack beside the sink. “I get it. You don’t have to pretend to be alright for me, Gai.”

For a second the two of them just stood there. Gai holding onto his kettle full of water, and Tenzo washing dishes. The only sound that echoed in the small apartment was running water and the light clink of dishes as Tenzo added them to the drying rack.

Then, without any warning, Gai set the kettle down on the counter, threw his arms around Tenzo’s shoulders, and pulled him into a bone-crushing hug.

“Gai-” Tenzo croaked out as his bones cried out in pain. Immediately the Jonin loosened his hold, though he still kept Tenzo pinned against his body as he buried his face into his right shoulder.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered into Tenzo’s shirt. “No apologies,” placing his hand on Gai’s arm, he ignored the water dripping from his fingers. There wasn’t much for him to say at the moment. Comforting other people wasn’t something he was good at, and he wasn’t about to pretend to be.

Comfort wasn’t what Gai needed, though. Kind words wouldn’t wash away the reality of the situation his student was in. They wouldn’t rid him of the memories of Lee’s battle, or the sight of his student laying in a hospital bed lucky that he had survived but with little hope for a continued life as a shinobi.

Kind words would do nothing for Gai during this time, so Tenzo didn’t bother to try and come up with any. Instead, he simply stood there and let Gai hide his face in his shoulder while he hugged him.

‘Just be there for him,’ Kakashi had told him when he’d asked why he wanted him to go check in on his best friend. ‘He needs someone right now. Usually, I would go, but I only have a month to prepare Sasuke for this next fight. So go in my place, please.’

So, that’s what Tenzo resolved to do.

Be there for Gai.

Ask him questions, check in on his well-being, and just listen.

There was nothing he could say to make the situation better, but if Kakashi was right he wouldn’t need to. All Gai needed was company, and that was something Tenzo could provide in spades.

#GaiBirthdayBingo #Gaibirthdaybingo2023 #Maito Gai #Yamato #Tenzo #Hatake Kakashi #Fic #A focus on Gai and Yamato's friendship for a change #let them have a moment <3 #Even if it is because Kakashi asked Yamato to check in on Gai #It's still their moment

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