#just to kill any crows left standing…

[sharptoothed-gaze]

A final goodbye…

Philza: Goodnight kids. You were the best kids, and I hope I was a good dad.

[mytheoristavenue]

MHA Fumikage Tokoyami x Reader x Dark Shadow 🍋 - Curiosity Killed the Crow

Summary: This was your fault for asking too many questions, really. You and Tokoyami had been dating for several months now and it had crossed your mind to ask: did that make Dark Shadow your boyfriend too?

Warnings: porn with plot, selfcest, fem!reader, tokoyami x reader x dark shadow, poly relationship, cum eating, fingering, fish hooking, oral fixation, dirty talk, threesome, masterbation

The question had caught him off guard when you'd asked it so nonchalantly. "Hey so...is Dark Shadow part of oyu or like, a separate entity?"

"I like to think of him as a separate being, we just share the same body and soul." Tokoyami replied, briefly glancing up at you from the book he was reading on the couch. "Why do you ask?"

"No reason," you lied, chopping up vegetables for dinner. "Just crossed my mind the other day while I was at work."

"Well, I hope that answer is sufficient." He nodded, setting the book down and standing up to join you in the kitchen. "Anything else on your mind, dove?"

"I was just wondering... does that make me Dark Shadow's girlfriend too?" you pondered, missing how he froze behind you. He hadn't thought of it that way.

"I-I'm not sure, to be quite honest." He answered, glancing away awkwardly. "Do you want it to be that way?"

"I don't guess I'd be opposed to it," you shrugged, not giving it the same level of thought as he was. "Does he even have senses like that?"

"I don't know," he repeated, distracting his racing thoughts by putting away the dishes you'd washed before starting dinner. "He has likes and dislikes, he can feel pain and pleasure, so..."

"You mean like sexual pleasure?" you blurted so nonchalantly it gave him chills. "Or like the pleasure you get from eating something tasty? I know he likes sweets."

"I-I really don't know, dove." he blushed, unsure of how to answer any of your questions. "I've never asked and he's never told me so..."

"I'm sorry, 'Yami," you apologized sheepishly, giving him a sympathetic grin. "I didn't mean to make it weird, we can drop it."

-----

Needless to say, for the next week, your questioning riled Tokoyami up significantly, and he could feel his other half stir within him. After an admittedly quite awkward conversation with the entity, he promised himself the matter would get sorted when you came to his apartment for the night next.

-----

"Hey, Toko, I'm here!" you called, slipping into the apartment, and kicking the door behind you as your hands were full. "I picked up dinner on the way home, hope you're in the mood for pork cutlet!"

You blinked at the stillness of the apartment as you set everything down on the island, kicking out of your shoes by the door before heading deeper inside. "'Yami?" you called out, inching toward the bedroom, freezing in the doorway.

His bedroom was barely different from how it typically was, aglow with ambient candles and soft purple neon lights, gothic music playing quietly from a record player in the corner. What was different was the way he lounged on the bed, fully clothed, but scandalous way, void colored button up undone to his toned stomach with silver chains hanging against his chest. He wore matching slacks and polished loafers, much to your surprise. Tokoyami was typically such a stickler for not wearing shoes indoors, which meant he was wearing them, for a reason. He was dressed up for you, presenting his best self like all birds do.

The part of his peacocking that really intrigued you, however was how his vermillion stare never left you, seemingly trained on you before you'd even arrived. That and the way his calloused hand palmed his crotch, painted nails getting lost in the inky shadows on his slacks, and thick pewter watch catching the moonlight. "Welcome home, my dove."

"T-Tokoyami...?" you stuttered, knees quaking as you waited in the doorway like a deer stuck in the high beams of a truck. "W-What are you...?"

"Come forth, my love," he beckoned poetically, prompting your to naturally gravitate towards him. "How was work?" He asked, ignoring you, simply pulling you into him gently, making you sit down with him, rubbing your shoulders. "Hard day?"

"I-It was fine..." you replied, melting at his touch, moaning as he worked the knots from your neck. "I brought dinner... I didn't feel like cooking so I got us something on the way."

"So generous, my lark," He cooed, nuzzling his beak into hair, preening your locks. "Always thinking of others..."

"I-I guess..." you shrugged, embarrassed of the sudden praise, tickled slightly when his beak dragged against your nape.

"Such a sweet darling," your boyfriend hummed, grooming you lovingly. "We've missed you so much this week..."

"Raven..." you whispered, melting against him before tensing once more. "W-We? D-Did you invite someone else over?" you asked, the color draining from your face. "I-I don't know if I'm comfortable with-"

"Dark Shadow and I have been... talking about what you asked last week." He finally confessed, fingers running through your hair. "And we both agree that, if it were the will of her highness..." he smirked, nudging you from behind. "We'd like to share..."

You were speechless, wondering if this was real or a fantasy come to life. You had to admit, you'd always thought of his quirk being involved but you never thought it'd even be on the table, let alone handed to you on a silver platter. "Of course, the decision is yours, my lark."

"A-Alright..." you finally piped up, nodding. "I-I'd like to try..."

Tokoyami released a low, dark chuckle into your ear as his other half began to materialize from his back. "Divine..."

-----

"Fumi, look how she squirms..." Dark Shadow squealed with delight, abyssal claws squeezing your wrists as he pinned you to the bed. "So cute..."

"Don't tell me," Tokoyami laughed from between your thighs. "Tell her, she's yours now too, you know."

"Right, I keep forgetting..." The entity purred, face dipping into the crook of your neck, nipping at your flesh. "You're so, so cute, baby..." You writhed under their touch, Tokoyami's fingers working on digging an orgasm out of your core as he nipped softly at your plush thighs, coupled with Dark Shadow's relentless teasing. It was entirely too much for you and neither one of them seemed to care.

"A-Ah, fuck..." you cried, overstimulated tears slipping down your cheeks and being absorbed by the shadow as your hips bucked upwards against your first lover's face.

"Keep going, Fumi," the staticky voice teased. "I think she might cum right into your hand."

"You think she could?" Tokoyami replied, digging deeper, curled fingers grazing that special spot that made you see stars.

"Mhm," the abyss chirped against your throat, working his way down to your naked chest. Clawed hands settled on your upper stomach, shaking up and down as he giggled at the way your breasts bounced on your ribcage. "Can you do that, pretty girl? Can you cum on Fumi's hand for us?"

"T-Trying-!" you shrieked through gritted teeth. "W-Wanna so bad, Shadow!" Both of your boyfriends shivered at your words, reveling in your willingness to call the quirk out specifically by name. Your blissful cries made him feel so individual, like his own separate person.

"C'mon, princess, you can do it," Dark Shadow purred, indigo teeth nibbling at your earlobe as he talked you through it. "You like getting fucked on Fumi's fingers, don't you?" you simply nodded in response, mouth hanging open and eyes screwed shut as you chased your orgasm. "Oh, baby, I know you do. Look how well she takes your abuse, Fumi."

You couldn't take it anymore, vision going white as an embarrassingly lewd, cracky scream ripped from your drooly and kiss bitten lips. "That's it, dove," Tokoyami sighed, sore fingers never faltering through the strain as your hips rolled against them. "Ride it out, there you go, such a good girl for us."

"There she is," Shadow commented with delight, taking in the way your body quaked and face distorted. "Right into his hand, so perfect, yeah, baby..." He praised, pressing his beak to your forehead as a reward for hold out for him.

-----

"Shhh, we'll be gentle," the entity promised, wrapping around your torso so you could lean your back to his chest as Tokoyami kneeled over you both. "We'll do all the work, you just gotta lay here and take it, 'kay, sweetness?" You nodded, exhausted, looking up at the crow with droopy eyes. The way he stroked himself looked delicious, but having just come down from your own high, you were in no kind of shape to savor it.

You laid limp in Dark Shadow's arms, his abyssal claws kneading at your breast while his beak nipped into your shoulder from behind. "You look so divine, my love..." the raven cooed down to you, ruby eyes begging you for satisfaction. "Doesn't she, Shadow?"

"So pretty, so soft..." the entity answered with a soft chuckle. "Especially these titties and this tummy..." he added, groping the excess on your body. "Love having all this in my hands..."

Humiliation, exhaustion, and overstimulation dropped your chin to your collarbone, tearing away the sweet eye contact that had your pro hero boyfriend on the ropes. "No, darling, look at me, please..." he begged, having been well on his way. "Shadow, help her..."

Delighted to help, clawed hands roamed up your body, one settling under your chin to keep your head up, and the other settled in your hair, gently clenching a fistful to angle your head properly. "Awe, I know you're sleepy, sweets, but you have to help Fumi get there too. You wanna be a good girl, don't you?"

"M-Mhm..." was all you could choke out, mouth hung open as he squeezed your cheeks together. Your eyes fluttered open to see Tokoyami unravelling above you, his head falling back in bliss before returning his gaze back to you.

"Fuck, yes, light, that's it..." he sighed, fucking into his hand, leaning his pelvis in closer. It was this, coupled with the way Shadow's hands shifted to cup your cheeks, that made you realize what they wanted.

"Stick out that cute little tongue..." The abyss ordered playfully, pinching the tip of it between his thumb and index finger, pulling it out further. "So slobbery..." he mused, letting it go as he reached out to his host, who licked your saliva off his fingertips.

"A-Ah, fuck-!" Tokoyami grunted sharply, overcoming another wall, bringing him closer to climax. "O-Open up, lark..."

Dark Shadow's two index fingers then hooked into your cheeks like he was catching a fish, using his knuckles to force your top jaw wide while his middle fingers did the same to the bottom. "Say 'ahhh'..." he purred into your ear.

"A-Ahhh!" you tried to mimic, cheeks burning at how the thing laughed at your pathetic, muffled attempt.

"Say 'Please, Fumi, cum on my tongue!'" Shadow continued, relishing in how he position he had your mouth in made your tongue flop out, dripping drool into the spaces between your fingers.

"P-Pleash ch-cum on my chongue!" you slurred, love drunk and needy.

Suddenly, Tokoyami let out a pained grunt, leaning in close as his hips jerked against his closed fist. "A-As you... w-wish, my dove!" he cried as ropes shot out of his swollen bell, landing in your hair and on your face, tits, and tongue.

"Good job, Fumi," Shadow praised, petting your hair soothingly. "And you did so perfectly catching as much as you could, princess." he dragged his fingers across your tongue to remove as much of his host's seed as he could. "Taste good, baby?" You nodded, reveling in the icky feeling of jizz congealing in your lashes, preparing to swallow what of the load made it into your mouth. "Ah ah, don't you swallow that."

Your first lover leaned forward, head tilted and tongue out before he met your lips, initiating a tired but needy make-out that was all slobber and see and tongue as he tried to avoid poking his sharp beak into your plush lips. Before you could even realize what was happening, Tokoyami had eaten his own cum from your mouth, or as much of it as he could.

"How was that, Fumi?" The more playful partner chirped, wiping his hands off on your tummy.

"Divine..." The other heaved, collapsing next to you, pulling your in close.

"Playtime's over?" Shadow asked, a bit saddened to have not been able to climax himself, but then again, he didn't have the ability.

"For now, friend..." the host replied, barely conscious as you were already beginning to drift off. "I-I promise next time, you'll be more involved. We can work on seeing what you can really do in the future..." he swore as his soulmate began to dissipate back within himself, feeling a bit guilty for having all the fun.

"Can't wait to play with sweets again," the entity accepted, now almost totally absorbed into Tokoyami's back. "Goodnight, baby, I love you..."

The crow could help but feel his heart swell at the small confession. Although you'd only been dating for a few months, he had already long since decided he wanted you to be his wife one day, and knowing you and the other part of himself were falling in love meant everything to him. It was a brand new level of acceptance he never thought possible. He had known you were the one but this night only resolidified his belief in that.

"Goodnight, my light..." He purred softly, pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead as he snuggled up with you. "I-" He suddenly paused before smiling serenely at you. "We... love you to death and beyond."

[bones4thecats]

Their S/O Is A Slayer's Ancestor

Type of Writing: Random Idea Name: Their S/O Is A Slayer's Ancestor Characters: Kokushibo, Douma, Akaza, and Gyutaro Idea-Giver: Random Thoughts

A/N: Because the reader is placed in a ranking of another character's, the others moons are pushed down a rank, with Gyutaro and Daki being uppermoon 7 in each part. This may not be my best piece, but I do hope you guys enjoy it! Have a great rest of your days/nights!

⚠️ TW: Slight swearing, mentions of death, violent actions, and gore ⚠️

✧⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋄✧⋄⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋆⋄✧⋄⋅⋆⋄✧⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋆⋄✧⋄⋅⋆⋄✧⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅

✧⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋄✧⋄⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋆⋄✧⋄⋅⋆⋄✧⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋆⋄✧⋄⋅⋆⋄✧⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅

Uppermoon 2! Reader ; Ancestor to Himejima Gyomei

🌘 These damned crows were starting to annoy you more than anything ever

🌘 Hearing the constant croaks of the birds was only pressuring you to the point of using your blood demon art - which was to create boulders of different sizes and masses - smashing at someone, to the max

🌘 But now with these slayers coming in from all corners, and with them now attacking at full-strength, Kokushibo was even becoming annoyed at them

🌘 And the certain duo that were attacking you just glared and let out a large amount of swears, much to your agitation

🌘 Though, the larger-built hashira seemed familiar

" Himejima-Sensei! Boulder on your left! "

🌘 Himejima…? He's… he can’' be…

🌘 You then froze in place as memories began to wash over your brain, though the faces of the males and females were all blurry except for one… a young baby with gorgeous black hair, he looked so similar to him… because he as a part of his lineage

" Himejima…? You can't be… " " What shit-stained nonsense are you spilling from your mouth, demon?! " " You’re my boy descendant's kin, aren't you? "

🌘 Gyomei froze in place as Kokushibo stood beside you with his sword drawn and ready for any incoming attack from the other three slayers

" Gyomei… you're related to that thing?! " " You- you're Y/N L/N? "

🌘 Well… this just got awkward

✧⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋄✧⋄⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋆⋄✧⋄⋅⋆⋄✧⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋆⋄✧⋄⋅⋆⋄✧⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅

✧⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋄✧⋄⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋆⋄✧⋄⋅⋆⋄✧⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋆⋄✧⋄⋅⋆⋄✧⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅

Uppermoon 3! Reader ; Ancestor to the Kocho Sisters

🧊 You sat as the wind flowed through your hair, sending the long locks in the direction of the sakura trees, a frustrated expression laid on your face as your spouse walked through the doors

" My love? Why are you still sitting there? The sun will be rising soon, we wouldn't want you burning alive, now would we? " " Douma… is it true you killed the Flower Hashira today? "

🧊 Looking at you with slightly widened eyes, Douma chuckled and rubbed his neck

" Well- I mean, yes. Why, love? "

🧊 Standing up, your large black butterfly wings spread out as your kimono began to rapidly flow in the sudden burst of wind caused by your anger

" You killed my descendant, you insolent moron! Can you not use your brain for a few seconds before killing a woman?! Good gods! "

🧊 Douma stared at you in shock, you had never been so mad at someone - well, other than Gyokko when he dared to call your care for your deceased and ongoing family line to be disgusting

🧊 He held his head down as his heart squeezed lightly in his chest

🧊 How could he have not seen the slight similarities, the long hair style, the similar eyes, hell, the girl even had a similar ability; controlling something nature related

" Y/N, I am sorry for not thinking more. But, please understand, she was going to kill me then you! I cannot let anything harm the one being I have ever felt for throughout my centuries of life. "

🧊 Nodding lightly as the wind calmed and vines receded down into the ground, you buried your face into the second uppermoon's chest as he cooed and hugged you

🧊 If only you knew what awaited you both years later…

✧⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋄✧⋄⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋆⋄✧⋄⋅⋆⋄✧⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋆⋄✧⋄⋅⋆⋄✧⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅

✧⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋄✧⋄⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋆⋄✧⋄⋅⋆⋄✧⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋆⋄✧⋄⋅⋆⋄✧⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅

Uppermoon 4! Reader ; Ancestor to Insouke Hashibira

❄️ Akaza was starting to get worried, he had been searching for you for hours. The last he had seen of you, you had argued with Douma, resulting in him cutting your eye, making you scream and run off in anger and terror

❄️ As he flung himself through the trees of the nearby forest and landing on the ground, Akaza began to hear a melody being sung

" As a souvenir from her hometown, what did she give you? A toy drum and a small bamboo flute. "

❄️ He noticed that you were singing while looking down at a small gravestone, engraved into it was a name he was far from familiar with, at least from a distance

❄️ As he got closer, the letters became more familiar; Kotoha Hashibira - Loving mother and outstanding daughter of M/N and F/N Hashibira, granddaughter of M/N and F/N L/N, and Great-granddaughter of M/N and Y/N L/N

❄️ His eyes widened; this woman was your great-granddaughter, but why were you crying over her, and how did you remember her so well? You have been a demon for quite a while, maybe around 80 or so years now, and memories normally go away after mere hours

❄️ Your sobs were hurting his heart, and as he stepped closer, he began to hum the melody as you continued to sing, your tears falling into the ground as you finished for the fourth time

" Why did that bastard have to harm her? She did nothing wrong… " " Did one of the moons kill her, love? " " Douma… he just- he killed her without giving her the chance of running away with him… Inosuke. " " Inosuke? " " Her son. She had thrown him down a cliff and into water, but- I don’t know if he survived or not… he’d be sixteen now if he did. Oh lord, I hope he lived. "

❄️ Looking down at the stone and back at you, he ran to the field and grabbed a flower before putting it into your hair as you cried into his shoulder

❄️ He was going to have to speak to Douma later. That guy needs to explain his doings in more detail.

✧⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋄✧⋄⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋆⋄✧⋄⋅⋆⋄✧⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋆⋄✧⋄⋅⋆⋄✧⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅

✧⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋄✧⋄⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋆⋄✧⋄⋅⋆⋄✧⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋆⋄✧⋄⋅⋆⋄✧⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅

Uppermoon 3! Reader ; Ancestor to Kyojuro Rengoku

🩸 The sounds of grunts and screams were echoing throughout the Infinity Castle, alarming every inhabitant besides Muzan Kibutsuji, who knew what was going on, he always kept tabs on his subjects

🩸 Gyutaro looked up in shock as he heard a door open and a loud crash, and as he looked up, he noticed that Daki was staring in shock as you stood there, your eyebrows furrowed as your yellow and red hair flared up in flames

🩸 Looking to his right he saw Akaza, the man a rank below you in uppermoon 4, and he could tell just from a glance how bloodied he was, after all, there were cuts and holes gushing blood throughout his frame

🩸 This was even to much for Gyutaro to look at

" You killed him, you sick fucker! " " Who in the world are you talking about, Y/N?! " " You killed Kyojuro! He was my descendant, you shithead! He was supposed to fight me, not your pink-haired ass! "

🩸 The rest of the moons who were summoned there watched as you grabbed Akaza and burned him with your Blood Demon Art, and they could all tell you were beyond speaking to

🩸 Only Muzan was capable of calming you in this situation - well, him and Gyutaro, but he was getting more nervous with every passing second

🩸 You eventually let Akaza go and allow your flame-coded hair to fall back down as your anger began to subside, allowing the uppermoon to stand up and start healing himself as you just stared at him blankly

" If you ever dare lay your hands on any Rengoku member again, I will not stop burning you until you become a pile of ash and blood, like the hand you left in Kyojuro's stomach. Understood, Akaza? " " Understood, Rengoku-sama. " " Good. "

🩸 You then walked away and wrapped your arms around Gyutaro's extremely malnutritioned form, a small amount of warmth radiating off of your body from the previous rage

🩸 Gyutaro sighed and hugged you back, knowing his comfort was beyond yours right now. Your rage was far scarier than Muzan's - well, it was close to it, but still!

🩸 You merely hummed and asked Nakime to send you both back to your selected room in the Castle, and the other moons noticed how shaky she was when striking the cord on her biwa to send you away

🩸 Thank goodness he was in the Entertainment District at the time of this Kyojuro guy's death, he didn't wanna be on the other end of his lover's anger. That wouldn't be the best for the poor guy

[love-toxin]

@ eric draven, hes goth and metal And he kills people AND hes a feminist. literally the whole package what else could u want <33

UNNNNNGHHH AND HE'S GOT THE BIG WET PUPPY EYES GRRRAAAAAAAAHHHH

like.....like......imagine after the events of the crow Eric doesn't go back to purgatory or pass through to the afterlife, but rather finds himself staying in the land of the living for some unknown reason. he's got his revenge, he's avenged his beloved Shelley, but what now? what's his purpose?

but the crow won't speak to him any words of either comfort or doom, so he just wanders. wanders away from his city and home until he stops somewhere on the opposite side. spends time thinking and planning and thinking until he drives himself nearly mad and falls asleep. he can't do much else, or at least thinks he can't. when he's found no better place to roam he returns home, but when he steps up the curb to his apartment, he sees lights on upstairs. something dark stirs in him--protectiveness, maybe, he's sensitive to his home being invaded for obvious reasons--but when he leaps up and perches on the ledge of the shattered window he sees somebody he's never met before.

you're just standing in his apartment, sweeping up shards of broken glass like you own the place. humming to yourself. he remembers, briefly, what it was like when there was music in his home. but it used to be Shelley's laughter, and now there's a soft-eyed stranger singing a quiet tune in the lamplight, and he feels the same as he did back then. he sticks to the shadows because he doesn't know what to expect, but you just step lightly around the pile and sweep the glass shards into your dustpan. there's a little electric lantern keeping the place aglow and a few small bags of meager luggage huddled at the front door.

it occurs to him that you might be the new resident as he coldly watches you from a distance. it's obvious that the apartment would be repurposed at some point after his death, but how do you feel knowing that you're taking over the home of a dead man? that you'll lay your head in the same place where a couple were brutally and viciously murdered? where Shelley, his Shelley, was-

you tilt your head. your ears perked at the imperceptible sound and you nearly caught him staring, but he's a lot faster to hide than you are to see.

he leaves soon after that, but he finds himself returning every night. he learns things about you. you're industrious, for one--you work on the apartment whenever you're not working your job, both of which are tough, and you sleep on a hard mattress on the floor. you spend such a long time cleaning but when you find little things left behind of his or Shelley's, you don't throw them out. maybe you feel bad for them. maybe you know exactly what happened, and you don't want to disrespect their memory.

maybe you're a really, really good person that lives for a better world. Eric can't help but think that when he watches you tirelessly slave over renovating his apartment--he can't ever quite see it as something not of his own--taking down what was broken and making it into something beautiful again. he doesn't know you that well, he only hears your voice when you're talking on the phone or singing in the shower, but he grows to like you. you're gentle. you smile at little things and you laugh as sweetly as you cry. even when you feel frustrated or betrayed, when you get violent and punch something out of anger, you just feel it in such a raw way that it entrances him. you're complex. you're gorgeous. you're someone he could very easily fall in love with, but you don't deserve to feel his hurt in the way that he does. you can't shoulder his burdens with him when they're just too great for a mortal life.

so he resorts to watching you and feeling badly about it. he's kind of stalking you at this level, but he goes nowhere beyond following you to work and back and occasionally glancing through your window to make sure you're okay. one time he caught you freshly out of the shower with your towel nowhere in sight--you were out of clean ones and had to go digging--and he felt so bad about it he couldn't be around your place for weeks. but you deserve protection and all the love in the world, and if he can't give you one he can at least give you the other. at this point he would never forgive himself, he would probably burn down the whole city if what happened to him and Shelley happened to you. he would truly lose his mind.

it's only when you catch him that he has to stop and think on what he's doing, because there's no way he can explain himself properly--perching atop the roof of your apartment with the crow grooming its feathers at his side. when you stumble across him he wasn't even paying attention, just keeping an ear out for any screams or cries for help, but you mesmerize him because you're just so....so...

"are you....cold?"

kind. you're so warm he couldn't think of shivering in your presence. from that day on you're aware of his presence but you don't mind it. you welcome it. you don't know who he really is and you probably wouldn't believe him if he told you, but you welcome him in and that's fine because he really, truly is in love with you now. he has to be. because there's no way that his silent heart would start beating again for any other reason, even if it's just a trick of the mind and it's not really true. you touch his hands and feel cold skin and he's definitely still not alive, but he doesn't feel quite as dead as he was, and every day he spends growing closer and closer to you he feels death growing into a curse over a promise. maybe he doesn't really want to go back to sleep after all...not if the world has people like you, and not if a person like you could start feeling something for a restless, morbid soul like him.

[irisintheafterglow]

Parley? (opla!zoro x you)

summary: a stranger arrives to disturb your peace and you have no choice but to negotiate with him.

wc: 2.57k

cw/tags: first meeting, swearing, mentions of canon-typical violence including blood and swords, zoro doesn't know how to express his feelings

note: i'm so nervous posting this ngl because i really like zoro as a character but i'm scared that i'm not gonna do him justice since i don't know him as well as gojo or geto or bakugo etc etc etc. hopefully all yall zoro girlies like this because i've been itching to write for him since my explore page became nothing but mackenyu. enjoy!

likes, reblogs, and replies are always appreciated <3

You hear the chimes first. The melody is soft, nearly imperceptible to the untrained ear, but you sense it. After all, you were the one who tied the string under the walkway floorboards in such a way that the bells above your window would clink if something pressed down on the wood. Over time, you learned to identify where outside was being pushed based on more strings and bells. It made it easier to find the Lady, on the rare occasion she stepped into open air and you weren’t with her. However, whoever was now setting off your makeshift alarm system had footsteps unlike the usual occupants of the house. The quietness of the notes was unsettling, in a way, because it meant they were creeping around the house. Someone didn’t want to be heard. 

It was the flowers next, the roses with uniquely reflective petals that were especially good at bouncing moonlight precisely through your window. The Lady commented one day in the market that she’d taken a liking to that particular flower, and you bought the vendor’s entire stock to plant around the house once you realized how it could be used. Not before you built a crow’s nest-like window, first. The glass structure jut out of the house in just the right way that you received colors from the left, right, and front of the house. Had an intruder approached from the back, your only blindspot, you would hear the more insistent clicks of the typewriter keys attached to the outside deck panels. The nearly noiseless bells and the ominous shadow sneaking across your wall were enough to snap you wide awake. 

The soles of your feet meet cool stone as you slide from under the covers, wrapping the sheath of your saber around your waist and slipping out of your bedroom. Despite the darkness of the hallway, your legs move by memory to the Lady’s chambers only to find the door already ajar. 

Shit. Were you too late?

Slinking into the room in one graceful stride, words leave your mouth without thinking when you see him standing over your Lady, holding two deadly-looking swords. 

“Taking a life halfway gone is immoral no matter the bounty, pirate hunter.” His head snaps in your direction and you have your blade on him before he can blink, resting the point lightly but threateningly against his throat. His eyes narrow on you challengingly and you put ever so slightly more pressure into your hilt, forcing him to surrender and sheath both swords. The third, you note, remains undrawn on his hip. “No better targets to pursue than a retiree? I expected better from the demon of the East Blue.” His gaze remains unchanging while you step forward, inching him backward until his head hits the wall with a soft thud. You were thankful, for once, that the Lady was starting to lose her hearing and was always a deep sleeper. 

“She’s wanted,” he says in a low tone. 

“She’s withered,” you retort. “Killing her advances justice no more than leaving her alive.” His face is still unreadable, void of any emotions just as the rumors conveyed. Many tales circulated of the infamous pirate hunter, but you chose to believe the Lady to be far too irrelevant to pose any real threat to the Marines. As one of the last known powerhouses of the Gold Roger era, it was more likely her wanted poster would be drowned out amongst younger hotshot pirates than for her to become an actual target. And yet, here was the most feared bounty hunter in the seas, hunting down a myth that many assumed was already six feet under. And for what, fun? 

“It doesn’t matter. Honor is a courtesy denied to killers.” He speaks in a way like you wouldn’t understand his ideas, and it sends a white-hot flash of anger racing through your veins. 

“Ooh, yes. You’re being so honorable by julienning a defenseless old woman while she sleeps.” To your surprise, he flinches, unwillingly bringing your eyes to corded muscle and flexed biceps. It’s a bit of a struggle to refocus on the task at hand. “Enlighten me on how this makes you feel vindicated.” 

“I kill pirates for a living,” he states simply, nodding over to the slumbering mass under the thick comforter. The tip of your sword follows every movement he makes, careful not to give him an opening to strike. Unexpectedly, he seems almost relaxed, like the weapon at his throat was the least of his worries. “That woman is a pirate.”

“That woman was a pirate. She is no longer the ‘Captain Indigo’ you seek.” 

“Who is she now, then?”

“Lady Lavender, adored by her constituents and far removed from a life of piracy. If I weren’t on the verge of spilling your organs on the carpet, I’d say visit the farmer’s market on Tuesdays. You’ll see just how different her life is now.” His chin tilts in disagreement.

“The Marines say otherwise.”

“What do you say?” A minute tilt of your wrist angles your saber so that the point now resides under his sharply defined jawline. “Hmm, hunter? Any opinions in that thick skull of yours or are you just another mindless government weapon?” 

“You understand nothing,” he mutters like an indignant teenager, looking off to the side woefully. It makes your blood boil.

“Try me,” you snarl at the green-haired stranger. In another life, you’d have thought him pretty handsome, if you weren’t so infuriated by his indifferent sense of justice. He knew nothing about you, or the Lady, or what either of you had to endure to create a sense of safety. Safety, you would add, that you weren’t going to give up easily. 

“This woman you serve, what are you to her? A caretaker? A child?” 

“A friend,” you answer cautiously. “Something your line of work would know nothing about.” 

“The Marines know that your friend murdered the former governor and seized the island in an act of desperation,” he informs you with a note of condescension. “They’ve wanted her gone for ten years, and I am here to collect her head. It’s not personal; it’s business.” The incorrectness of his information is laughable, but what concerns you more is the ease with which he talks of taking lives. 

“You don’t feel any sort of remorse for the targets you kill?” The anger in your stomach starts to rub against a different, unwanted influx of sorrow. After witnessing the change in a ruthless pirate empress, you refused to believe a human could be this heartless. 

“I don’t dwell on them long enough to care. Most of the time, they do something stupid that makes it a little easier to dispose of them.”

“And that’s where you’re wrong about her,” you recover, pressing the blade against his skin on the brink of drawing blood. He winces, squirming against the wallpaper for some sort of relief. You don’t budge. “The former mayor was a half-brother whom she reconnected with after Gold Roger’s execution. His death was caused by a misdosage of medicine used to treat hemorrhoids he’d suffered with since he was twenty. On his deathbed, he made her promise to take care of this city...” You inhale, focusing on the man in front of you. His expression is soft, nothing like you would have expected from a feared killer-for-hire. He was actually listening to you. 

“Go on.”

“And to take care of me. I have the great pirate hunter at the end of my blade, so she must not have done that bad of a job at either request.” He’s silent for a moment and you watch the cogs turn in his brain, hoping he’d find some humanity and realize that killing the Lady isn’t just pointless, it’s fundamentally wrong. 

“It doesn’t change the fact that I need money.” Nevermind, then. Backup plan it is. 

“I understand that,” you concede, and you remove your weapon from his neck. His hands are on the hilts of his swords instantly, but he doesn’t draw them. He could kill both you and the Lady in a single swing, but he doesn’t. Maybe you did reach a different side of him. “That's why I’m willing to cut you a deal.”

“I don’t make deals with pirat–” he starts, but abruptly cuts himself off when you raise your eyebrows in expectation. Did you not learn anything from what I just told you? His face contorts in confusion, as if his mind was at odds with what his body was telling him to do. After carefully schooling his expression into blankness, he stands to his full height, rolling a broad shoulder. “What’s the deal?”

“You’re aware of the Blue Ringed crew, yes?”

“Famous for their poisons, I’ve heard,” he confirms and you nod. “They cover every inch of their ship in toxins and wear special clothing to prevent contact with their skin. Makes it hard to sneak up on them.”

“Exactly. See, you’re not as uneducated as you look,” you tease and you feel your face heat when he sticks his tongue out at you. It’s so boyish and immature, in stark contrast to the handsome, god-bodied man that faces you. “I happen to have a counteragent, enough for you to get on their ship and collect three times the amount if you killed us tonight.” 

“And what would you get in return?”

“The sound of your boots walking off the property and never returning,” you whisper a little desperately, pleading with him to leave your perfect peace intact and forget this altercation ever happened. The quiet in the room as he ponders your offer is suffocating save for the gentle snores of Lady Lavender. Eventually, he takes your deal, inspecting the powder-filled vial when you bring it to him on the front porch. 

“How do I use it if it’s powder?”

“Mix it with lotion to help soak it faster into your skin. When your skin is dry, you’ll have roughly an hour to navigate the boat completely immune to the poison. It’s sweat resistant but will wash off with seawater, so take care not to get thrown overboard,” you instruct him, crossing your arms across your chest against the chilly ocean air blowing in from the south. It was breezier than normal and you regret not grabbing a sweater. Unless you wanted to freeze your ass off, you needed to finish this debacle quickly. “Kill the pirates, get your bounty, and leave us the hell alone. Deal?” 

“Fine by me.” He carefully places the vial in the pocket of his pants and begins his descent down the front walkway. Before you can turn back into the house, however, his voice reaches your ears so lightly you think you’d hallucinated it. “Stay warm.” 

He doesn’t end up keeping his side of the deal. A few days after your initial altercation, he approaches the house again in broad daylight holding a box about the size of your hand. You stare at him in disbelief, reading in the nook of your window and he has the audacity to smirk at you when he spots you looking. 

“I thought we had a deal, pirate hunter,” you remind him when you open the front door of the house. It was infuriating how good he looked for having just returned from a pursuit, dressed up in fine fabrics with his hair combed back nicely. The irony was palpable, the situation not unlike the stories the Lady told you about the numerous men who attempted to court her. They appeared at the same front door with flowers, rubies, and promises of devotion, but none of them actually wanted her heart. In contrast, you wanted to stab the heart of the idiot in front of you. 

“Stop calling me that,” he frowns and you can’t help the laugh that leaves your mouth. “My name is Roronoa Zoro–”

“Oh, sorry,” you interject and his eyebrows furrow at your lack of manners. “Am I just supposed to act like you’re my friend now? After you tried to kill my boss?” 

“I thought we were past that,” he states bluntly.

“That was four days ago.” 

“It’s enough time to move on.”

“You’re impossible.” You shake your head in disbelief, slightly puzzled at the giddy feeling in your chest when the faintest smile appears on his face. “What’s that?” You gesture to the rosewood box in his fingers. 

“Consider it an apology,” he says, holding out the box for you to take, “for bothering you the other night.” 

“How chivalrous.” You eye the box warily, still unsure about the enigmatic bounty hunter before you. “But we don’t need nor want your money.”

“It’s not money. Just open the damn box,” he grunts impatiently and you begrudgingly oblige, sliding back the top panel to reveal a bracelet. It wasn’t like any other bracelet you’d seen before, a gold chain garnished with a single deep green emerald barely the size of your pinky fingernail. It was delicate and elegant, subtle enough not to draw attention but luxurious enough to make you feel spoiled. “Do you like it?”

“I do, actually. The color is pretty,” you reply slowly, still slightly in shock. “Why green?”

“Take a wild guess.” He smirks again and your gaze flicks up to his hair. It was just as vibrant as the gemstone and he watched you carefully as the pieces clicked into place. With the bracelet, you’d be forced to think of him every time you looked at it or anything the color green. What kind of guy buys a momento for almost killing you, you had no idea.

“You didn’t need to bring me this. I thought the deal was–”

“I remember what the deal was, but I felt bad making you stand outside shivering while you explained how the counteragent functioned.” Your eyes widen slightly at his admission. He noticed you reacting to the wind, so how intensely was he watching you that night? If he sees your surprise, he doesn’t comment on it and continues to explain why he brought you the gift in the first place. “The powder worked, by the way. I snagged this from the captain’s chambers on my way out.” 

“You stole this because you saw me get cold?” He merely shrugs, clearly unbothered. 

“I mean, yeah. You looked miserable.”

“I was miserable.” He smiles slightly again, the corner of his mouth quirking in amusement. It makes your heart stutter against your wishes. “Does this mean we’re even now, pirate hunter?”

“Call me Zoro and maybe I’ll consider it.”

“You’ll consider it?” 

“Holding a sword to someone’s throat is a major transgression that can’t be forgiven so easily,” he taunts and you roll your eyes. “Let me start over, meet you properly without the involvement of weapons.”

“You really want to see me again?” He scoffs at your question as if the answer wasn't crystal clear.

“What, bringing you a bracelet wasn’t obvious enough? I’ll have to bring the entire ship next time. Might take a little longer to get back to you.”

“Get off my porch, Roronoa Zoro,” you laugh, reaching out to push his shoulder away and feeling every inch of his skin against your fingers in the brief moment your bodies touch. “Don’t come back unless you have something important to say.” 

“I think you’ll soon find out what I prioritize as important.”

[ma1dita]

when the curtains close

a 'partners in crime' installment - luke castellan x dionysus!reader

words: 5.3k

summary: (post-tlt) The one where you lose two people in the Labyrinth that day. All strings are cut. (Pollux, Annabeth, Percy, and Mr. D find out the biggest difference between you and Luke.) (Luke Castellan x fem!Dionysus!reader)

a/n: yeah to me this fic sounds and feels like that tiktok of the girl humming to her microwave. split povs: pollux, annabeth, your depictions of the titular battle of the labyrinth at CHB, some blood/gore, death & grief. the usual. you forced me to by lizzy mcalpine. references to cat on a hot tin roof by tennessee williams if you squint

(posted 5/14/24)

—

The first time Pollux has a panic attack, time seems to stop and the world keeps moving on without him.

He’s reminded of a time when you rambled on about how anxiety takes possession of the senses like a moment frozen in a snapshot meant for you to identify. In the memory, you had your feet kicked up on the dash flipping through a DSM-5 while he and Castor took turns speeding up and down Farm Road (totally normal older sister behavior from you, and when a cop pulled you over, the three of you narrowly escaped a ticket by talking in riddles and godly smoke that smelled like grapes). Pollux still remembers the sound of laughter in the car blending like three different chords to an archaic melody (or squawking crows in the strawberry fields)— the bond between you three laid out before time knew limits and was always meant to be.

It’s still his favorite song. You’re their favorite (and only) sister, they love to joke. These are facts that will never change.

“You two have each other, and well, I’ve got this,” you had said, the Zippo flicking open and closed against your thumb in the blossoming darkness of the car. Pink and purple rays of waning light blanketed the old hatchback as it steadily made its way back towards Half-Blood Hill, comfortable silence shared in the way only siblings can stand to be quiet—when there are no words needed to get a point across. But you’ve always set yourself apart from the pack, not needing anyone like how they need each other.

Not since Luke left, at least. The growing distance between you three since your untimely resignation from camp was proof enough. Pollux’s eyes met Castor’s in the rearview mirror as they both noticed your sad smile. His brother’s voice broke through the silence then, having always been the one blunt enough to say what was on his mind, “You’ve got us too if you let us see you more often.” Your fidgeting stops.

“It’s not you two, it’s just hard to be back here sometimes. I see things for what they used to be instead of how they really are now. Now it’s just… it has to be all business.”

Pollux cracked a smile, “S’what you get for growing up. Soon we’ll just be annoying voices in your head like you are to us.” Shutting your textbook, you turned to look at them from the passenger seat, eyes that match theirs darting between their blond heads, “All of us have to grow up eventually. Except maybe you two— I prefer you in my nightmares like the kids from The Shining. Whenever you get sick of Dad, come see me. Gods know that camp deserves a break from the two of you too.” Your knuckles knocked against both of their heads affectionately as he put the car in park, “My built-in bodyguards, huh? Always looking out for me.”

All words and meaning escape Pollux now as he stands in the greenery of the North Woods with battle gear ill-fitted to his large frame. It’s the first siege he’s ever taken part in, the first time he’s had to use battle strategies outside of Capture the Flag and the first time he’s slashed his way through monsters and demigods with the intent to try and kill or be killed. Sword and Shield could have never prepared any of them for this—as his eyes meet Castor’s and then yours with all of you thinking the same thing, the three of you join the sea of iridescent orange through mind-numbing black moving like a sharp three-pronged sword.

This type of stuff isn’t typical for him, he thinks. He and Castor are used to being comedic relief— being the source of laughs and juice boxes for pesky little campers instead of facing the real world outside the boundaries of the Mist. Perhaps your father babied them to make up for the time he lost with you, but there’s a moment where he wonders how being kept soft will keep him alive in a world as harsh as this one.

Childlike innocence is ripped away from them in the bubble they’ve inhabited until this moment. Home is now a warzone and like lambs set up for slaughter, the twins both turn to look at you as a shuddering gasp leaves your mouth at the carnage in your surroundings, monster blood and fallen friends and enemies at your feet. Breaking away from formation to take a deep breath, he looks at the sky and wonders where your father is, but smoke and soot fill his lungs and he coughs desperately for a breath of fresh air.

Pollux thinks he must have stopped breathing before Castor took his last breath. It wasn’t supposed to be a competition, but sometimes life was just funny like that.

5, 4, 3, 2, 1.

Just like you told him.

Castor was always the more manic one while Pollux knew how to endure. Children of Dionysus are forced to befriend insanity before it makes an enemy out of them—twisting the ugly into what’s real and creating something beautiful out of the deranged. You’ve shown the boys how you detach from emotion by recognizing the details—separating fact and fiction, a methodical process only describable by the blood that runs through your veins. Pollux doesn’t know where to start—everything happens so fast but it plays out in front of him like someone put the pieces together to a stop-motion animation.

He sees Castor’s sword fall to the ground when he gets slashed on the forearm and sees him get clubbed over the head with a metal weapon he’s only seen bad renditions forged for theater practices and hanging on the walls of the armory. Castor falls first to his knees, and then into the dirt with a thud. He never knew there could be that much blood coming out of a person, much less a mirror image of himself. Pollux sees your face come into his line of vision, deep maroon splatters on your face glittering with hints of ichor and then you’re moving because he can’t. The enemy is coming back for him now, and for a moment he wonders if Castor will be mad if he lets him. He sees you turn in an instant, swinging your sword down on the neck of the aggressor, a teenager not much older than he and his brother are—were. It’s funny how his brain immediately makes the switch to past tense, and how he can’t stop thinking about how he’ll now and forever be older than his twin. Pollux then sees you catch the body of the boy you just killed as life seeps out of him slower than it did for Castor.

It doesn’t make him feel any better, though.

His knees hit the ground next to his twin, touching the sludge of dirt soft like quicksand and moist with what he hopes is not blood, but Pollux is not quite sure of what else there is to hope for. His fist is wrapped around Castor’s shirtsleeve, touching faded orange and sweat as he holds on for dear life. Maybe if he tries hard enough his soul will still be intertwined with his. Your hand touches his shoulder, five fingers reaching out to brush the back of his neck and the feeling of your skin helps him refocus a bit, even if you’re saying something he can’t make out. Then the metal of your Zippo lighter feels cool to the touch within his palm and he knows what he needs to do.

The battle isn’t over, but for the three of you, everything stops here. There is no going forward without your brother. You were never meant to be children of war.

Pollux hears the sound of his heartbeat thundering through his ears, blood rushing through his veins and can’t help but notice the silence amid the chaos. There are no words fit for this—and even if there were, Castor and you were always the more talkative ones. He hears the spark of the purple flame between his fingers, blowing the smoke over him and his brother’s body, and their father’s powers blanket them like how you used to tuck them into bed, warm and safe. This is what your family is—unconventional and unending even in different realms of existence. And then Grover’s scream of panic echoes through the air and everyone hears that. Hysteria ensues as monsters and demigods alike run amok, and Pollux realizes he’s stopped shaking.

In his father’s domain, he will always find comfort.

You stand above him now directing campers calmly with a free hand—a brewing storm crackling underneath your skin that he now understands. Hidden by the illusion of smoke, Pollux’s tired bones rest alongside his brother’s dead ones— together as they always were meant to be.

The three of you together, his little family—that is a fact he hoped would never change.

The smell of grapes envelops him as he leans his forehead against your muddy leg… when did the battle end? It almost masks the scent of death that rips through the air as your hand brushes through his sandy hair. Pollux stinks of sweat and you stifle a laugh as you see him smell his armpit. You three were always the same type of fucked up. He doesn’t look down at Castor laid across his lap but knows he would’ve found it funny too. Ignorance of reality even for a moment serves as a comfort. Purple meets purple as he looks up at you with a smile that doesn’t fit his face anymore and he croaks, “Wonder what dad would say about our first battle…”

Glory was never meant to be this bittersweet—it tastes like blood in his mouth until he wipes it away from his cheek and realizes it’s Castor’s. In a way, it’s his too, everything about him and within him is exactly the same down to the star stuff the fates wove them from.

“I’ll be the one to tell him. You take care of Castor,” you answer, as if there’s anything else he would want to do and then he realizes you’re crying— and he’s seeing all of the pieces put together in front of him in this photograph in his mind.

Pollux blinks slowly.

Suddenly the image he has of you is more defined— there is new meaning to the sadness you could never shake off all these years, and he is too young to lose his greatest love, which makes him realize then that so were you.

How long does this have to go on? he wonders, grabbing onto your hand with an eagerness only comparable to the feeling he got when you and Luke whisked him and Castor away from Florida all those years ago. This punishment of living while half of his soul does not—what is he supposed to do next? This was supposed to be the safe place. There is nowhere left to run. His thumb rubs circles into the back of your shaking blood-soaked hand, a secret within the smoke.

Pollux thinks there will always be a part of him frozen in time now, a memory of this day hung up in his mind like a portrait as he holds Castor’s cold hand in his warm one.

—

Annabeth finds you in the middle of the strawberry fields before the sun sets. She knows you won’t be sleeping tonight, not if you can fight it— not when there’s so much to do. You’ve long grown out of your ripped-up and tie-dyed camp shirts, and the one slung on your frame is newly pressed and starchy from the storage room of the Big House, still stiff against your freshly washed skin. When she’s close enough to touch you, you’ve been scrubbed clean of today.

She doesn’t have to be a daughter of Athena to know that you know that she’s there even if you can’t see her, but for once she feels like she has to hide. For once, Annabeth Chase doesn’t know what to say. How can she explain the feeling of guilt that coils around her brain like barbed wire—how can she even begin to apologize for the thing wearing her brother’s skin, knowing that it killed yours? For once, her hubris is crushed by the sinking feeling of humiliation.

“Was your first quest all you thought it would be, Annie?”

As she takes her navy cap off, silver braided strands around her face wave in the wind as a reminder of what Luke put her through. Though as she looks at you now with your berry-stained fingers plucking at stems one by one instead of using your powers, she thinks that your mind is elsewhere—anywhere but here, where everything is a painful reminder of your five years as a camper.

Five years with Luke.

Mourning him isn’t a new feeling for either of you, even though he comes in and out of your lives like a poltergeist you want to bash across the head, just always out of reach. But he’s a constant, even when he’s not here and he’s what binds you two together as you huddle hidden away from the rest of camp.

“He did this for you.”

It’s not a question, more so a fact out of Annie’s mouth when you finally meet her eyes and sigh, “Luke’s always had a way going about things. The most stubborn man to ever live.” You toss another strawberry into the crate at your feet. No one’s working right now, trying to tend to the injured and the dead. Everyone’s doing their best to chase away the nightmares that are bound to come, and she knows you’ll be making rounds with her on the night shift to ease everyone’s anxieties. But there’s a thought so strong it makes her head hurt, bursting at the seams until she can’t stop with her last-ditch effort to fix her found family.

“Maybe if we find him, we can save—”

“He’s been out of time for a while now, Annabeth. We both knew that,” you say, voice firm and unwavering. You’ve never sounded so monotone before, and it hits her as her mouth falls agape, “You’re giving up on him? Why… why would you give up on him?” Anger courses through her veins like fire and she’s mad that she’s at the center of this prophecy, of Hermes’s anger for his doomed son who will love you until the ends of the earth.

And what of her?

What of the hope she has in happy endings, how is it that you’re so damn calm? Annabeth kicks at the crate, strawberries rolling out in different directions and your jaw tightens as you let her be petulant, let her scream and yell until her inner child can catch up with the reality of the world around you.

“How could you?”

Your name echoes as she repeats it, grabbing at your shoulders and she’s as desperate as the truth that shakes her when you cup her face in your hands and wipe her tears.

“You’ve carried the weight of the world Annabeth– you know what it feels like to let it go. It’s time to let him go. There’s nothing I can do or say to fix this.”

Then it hits her that you knew of his fate and yet this was still the outcome. There was nothing else to do but watch him be puppeteered by a Titan and have to fight evil while it wears his face.

“He came to you after he saw me, didn’t he? Why didn’t you tell me? Why don’t you love him anymore?”

Because it wouldn’t have changed a thing, your eyes say. Instead, you grimace as you say, “Wouldn’t that be funny if it were true?” You lean down and pick up the fallen berries, some bruised and covered in dirt, and then you look at her again with teary eyes.

“Some prophecy huh? To lose a love to worse than death. What could we have done besides love him until the end?”

“He’s still in there. I know you know that too. Don’t talk about him like he’s not,” Annabeth insists, and a sad smile settles upon your face. It’s as gentle as the kiss of the breeze on your cheeks.

“I lost a brother today, Annie.”

“Me too.”

—

The funny thing about planning funerals is that with all the fuss it takes to organize one, you still find extra time on your hands. Barely getting any sleep and dragging yourself out of your dad’s bed, Pollux snores loudly next to you after hours of working on Castor’s shroud. Sleep wasn’t expected for either of you, but being unconscious was the only way of giving your brains a reprieve. The both of you have been busy doubling down on the preparations, even if it means Mr. D won’t be back in time while he’s out rallying gods for war.

The faster Castor’s earthly body is reconnected with his soul, the easier his trip will be into the Underworld, Nico says, and it’s funny how comforting the little emo pipsqueak can be when it comes to matters of death.

Perhaps this is the solace you bring to others with things you’re able to control—keeping camp afloat is something you were always good at, and helping every traumatized child that comes up to you for a juice box or a lullaby eases the guilt that follows you. Walking around Camp Half-Blood for more than a weekend made you feel like a judge, jury, and executioner. Though most of the campers from almost five years ago have either aged out, defected, or died—the ones that remain still look at you like you’re trouble.

Perhaps you always will be.

You even found yourself with the time to pray to Hermes last night for your brother’s safe passage into the afterlife, though if he’s angry at Annabeth, he must hate you for letting Luke go. Dinner didn’t seem appetizing enough anyway, so your whole plate was tossed into the hearth. You hope he likes chicken and rice.

But if a god can’t fight fate, what did he expect you to do?

The Iris Message to your dad last night was difficult, to say the least. Pollux’s hands shook as he continued to paint grape vines onto the silk cloth and the both of you didn’t say anything when your father started to cry. He out of all of the gods knows what it’s like to be tested to the limits—to endure pain and it’s a gift you and your brother are grateful for in times like these. Watching the god display the human emotion that either of you couldn’t as freely made it more real though.

There was also the interesting predicament of Chris Rodriguez being locked up in the basement of the Big House. Replacing screaming fits with serenity was almost second nature, and your gentle hands were what got Clarisse to truly respect you again for the first time in years. You could hear her sneak downstairs and talk to him while he slept (and the look in her eyes when you’d greet her with a cup of coffee made it known to you that she finally understands what it means to love someone who’s lost—two demigod daughters filled with a lot of rage and hurt were more alike than they think).

So the morning of your little brother’s funeral, you found yourself on the shoreline of Canoe Lake, setting your Redbull against the post of the dock and looking out onto the water.

You needed to do something with your hands. In the past few days, if your fingers were not occupied by pen and paper, a guitar, supply crates, or anything else that was helpful to others and all the more distracting for you, it’s been so easy to pick at any little thing. Perhaps it was your subconscious trying to reflect the damage on the inside, but today, your nail polish was chipped beyond belief. A small price to pay to not lose it without a signature boyish smile to ease your worries and amber eyes that could help you escape from the routine.

Running camp was always easier back then with your runaway boy and his scarred cheek.

How pathetic.

Crouched over in the sand, you plucked stones and filled your pockets with them. They knocked against each other — weighing your pockets down as you walked closer to the dock. Swinging your feet off the side and chucking them into the water, you could barely achieve a ripple.

It’s so quiet that you end up wondering if the rocks in your pockets would weigh you down to the bottom of the lake. It must be nice down there, to exist away from everything.

Bubbles surface slowly in front of you, then Percy’s head bobs in the water as he squints at you through sunlight.

“You chucked a rock at my head!”

A smile tugs at your lips, almost indiscernible but definitely there, “I was trying to skip them. Didn’t know you were doing water tricks in there, kid.” His grin gleams like freshwater pearls, pulling himself up onto the dock as his hand clasps yours. Shaking his sopping hair, Percy’s gangly frame sits next to yours like a wet bag of sand—all wrinkly and misshapen and sprinkling you with lakewater.

“Maybe next time don’t pick rocks the size of your fist. How many have you got in there? Your aim is scarily accurate,” he laughs and you huff and shake your head when his hand sticks into your pocket and takes out a few smooth ones to roll around in his hand. You mirror him, watching him skip a few stones into the water that reach a good distance before sinking into the depths of the lake.

There’s something sad about feeling comfortable to trauma dump on the teenage son of Poseidon, but with the way he grabs your arm at your third unsuccessful toss of a rock, you can’t do anything else but sigh.

“Why didn’t any of you call me, Percy?”

He was waiting for this question—it’s been banging around in his head since the beginning of Annabeth’s quest, and perhaps her talk with you yesterday didn’t go as expected so once again he’s left with the difficult part.

Things happen to turn out pretty difficult for him a lot, he's noticed.

Many things could have been made easier in the past few weeks: Ariadne being your stepmother and her blessing to you would’ve made the Labyrinth easier to navigate, and having another demigod to fight alongside him instead of a mortal girl would’ve been a plus too. But he looks at you with ocean eyes and a smaller smile that reminds you of how he looked at you when you dropped him off in Montauk the summer you met him and quit your head counselor job.

“You’ve already made a lot of difficult decisions. We weren’t sure if…”

The rotten wood beneath you creaks under your shifting weight as you turn to him, tucking your legs underneath your bottom.

“Didn’t think I could handle it?”

He shakes his head, “The opposite, actually. Annabeth has this notion that you’re the only one that can save him. You know, back on my first quest I met Luke’s dad and he told me something…”

You swallow instead of answering. There’s no way Percy is giving you Hermes’s advice right now. Somehow this feels like karmic retribution after years of spiting that asshole, and what he tells you next is more of a sign that it must be true.

“He said, ‘Do you know what that feels like? To be so close to someone you love knowing neither of you has any choice but to keep hurting each other?’ I didn’t get it then, but I do now.”

“With Luke and his mom?” you ask, picking at the remaining slivers of varnish on your thumbnail.

“With you and Luke. I didn’t call you, because… why would I want to see you hurt after everything?” Percy says this like it’s something he would do for everyone.

Perhaps it is, but the knot that forms in your throat feels as heavy as the boulder you almost sunk into his skull. He’s tall enough to lean your head against now, and you don’t mind the water spots that will form along the side of your funeral outfit. The shape of him it leaves will remind you of the little brother you gained through so much loss.

“Plus he has a new girlfriend. Absolute horse of a girl,” he jokes. It slips over your head but you still giggle, “I could’ve taken her.”

“I know, that was Grover’s worry. You’re prettier anyway…” Percy pauses, and then clears his throat, “You’ve always taken care of this place, y’know? Even after….I just think someone ought to take care of you.”

Your shoulder bumps against his as you finally skip a rock. It only bounces across the water twice and you think Percy might have had something to do with it, but you’re not bothered by the help this time around.

—

You wake up in the dark of night to see your dad looming in the doorway to his office. With drool and a post-it stuck to your cheek, he comes over to ruffle your hair in amicable silence.

“Hard at work or hardly working?” he chuckles, leaning over your shoulder to scan over the paperwork sorted into piles for him to sign from his absence.

“Hm. You wish,” you scoff, leaning against your arm as you look at him. He’s not in his usual eyesore of attire, wearing a clean-pressed suit with his hair slightly slicked back.

“You look good. The meeting went okay?”

“Grover will be fine. The Council of Cloven Elders? Not so much. Neither are the gods ready to take sides. Putting out little fires everywhere as we speak.”

The wheels of the office chair roll as you swing your feet, and if you both listen closely enough you can hear Pollux snoring upstairs. Chiron loved the earplugs you gave him.

Your father’s face smooths out a bit at the sight of you and the sound of his son’s breathing upstairs and he asks, “Are you? Good?”

A shrug slides off your shoulders, “How does one be good in a world like this one?”

A startling scream echoes off the walls of the Big House, rattling the floorboards from below as your father grimaces.

The work is never done for you two.

“Don’t look at me like that. It was worse when he first came here.”

“Don’t doubt it,” he mumbles, brushing lint off your shirt before he notices you’re donning neon orange. “Didn’t do laundry, princess?”

“Pollux and I haven’t gone back to our cabin since... I can wake him up if you—”

Mr. D shakes his head and goes to toss his body onto the couch against the window, shutting his eyes and taking a deep breath.

“Dad? Do you think Chris is a bad person?”

A beat passes and you think he may have fallen asleep, but then his voice sounds like gravel scraping up his throat.

“I don’t think anyone can be bad, kid. I think it is more often that people get lost. What Rodriguez needs is someone to take hold of him gently, and hand his life back to him—you…Clarisse… that’s what we’re giving him.”

Now you’re silent, staring at the dust on his name placard at the edge of the desk.

“Do you think otherwise?”

He calls your name again, and you look up like you’re about to lie to him but don’t have the energy to.

“Princess, do you think you’re a bad person?”

He stands up and walks around to your side of the desk, sitting on the edge so you have to look at him.

“I killed someone. During the battle. Didn’t even think twice about it, slashed his neck as soon as Castor went down and…” you sniff. “I kill monsters, Dad, not children. How does that make me any different?”

The last time blood was on your hands like this it was Luke’s in the Garden of Hesperides. All these years later you ended up being right— the only person you vowed to get bloody for is Luke Castellan, and now in a twisted turn of fate, you’ve bloodied your hands because of him.

“Because you did it for your brother. There are no other explanations needed.”

He sees the exhaustion in your eyes, the drop in your shoulders, but your dad also sees the strength in your bones that spans generations and he knows you and Pollux are strong because you are both his.

“Humans believe in life everlasting—glory, as some call it, but they’re too focused on achieving it on earth instead of enjoying what life has to offer,” he scoffs, “Everyone has the guts to die, but no one has the guts to truly live. How sad.”

“His name was Rowan. Son of Hecate. I taught him how to whistle the summer I left. This is all my fault, Dad,” you say shakily as he comes near and pulls you into his side. He shushes you but you relent.

“Luke’s killing all these people to fulfill a promise he made for me. I’m just fucking disgusted with myself for being the cause of it all. What good life can I deserve when wherever I go I leave a trail of blood?”

Love and addiction must be so alike; to know that to be sober you can’t indulge in the vice ever again—not only does it hurt you, but others around you. But through the years you’ve always kept the taste of his name in your mouth, the feeling of his skin under your fingertips, and the knowledge of why he’s destroying the world so he can make you a better one. Insanity stems from fighting for so long that you embrace the pain; feeling something so intensely that when it consumes you you’re able to walk out the other side and wear it as armor.

Not everyone is hardwired to persevere.

There are moments like a night like these where it would be easy to give up. Instead, you pour two glasses of whiskey you’ve conjured and hand one to your dad. You both sip on your drinks slowly, embracing the crawling feeling of the burn.

“Liquor is one way out and death is another,” your dad sighs blissfully. He almost looks rejuvenated by the alcohol he knows he’ll hear about from Zeus later, but perhaps the death of his son is a good enough pardon.

“For some of us, we don’t have to think about the answer.”

Mr. D grabs a pen off the desk and starts signing papers to do something with his hands, and then you speak again, “I think I’d rather die for people I love,” and your dad’s attention whips to your blank face staring at the moon outside the window. “Instead of killing for them. I’ve never been a good soldier, Dad.”

Mr. D looks at you thoughtfully and wonders where all the time has gone that you sit there in front of him with more knowledge than him at your mortal age before saying, “You’re my daughter. You’re a fighter. Death is for chumps anyway.”

He lifts you by the arm to try to usher you up the stairs but you stay in his office chair swatting his hands away.

“Got work to do, you and I. Not getting rid of me until it’s done.”

“When are you going home?” he asks, pulling up a chair next to yours.

“I am home.”

You don’t look up from the papers you were filing, stubbornness leaking through your voice.

“If there is a war coming, I want to be home as much as I can. I’m finishing my last semester and I’ll be here before and after classes. You can’t stop me, dad.”

And he knows that too.

There is no such thing as leaving Camp Half-Blood for you.

Never for too long. Your love for it is scattered everywhere campers can see.

—

In all these years, you never believed I loved you. And I did. I did so much. I did love you. I even loved your hate and your hardness. - Tennessee Williams

[spinningwebsandtales]

Imagine Max Saving You From A Group Of War Boys

Max Rockatansky X FemReader

Rating: M

Warnings: Blood, mentions of death, rotting bodies, stealing, vehicle accident, suggestive materials (reader is worried she'll be placed in Immortan Joe's harem), injuries

Word Count: 2.1k

(A/N:) I have had a heck of a time getting this bad boy finished. But I couldn't have got it done in more perfect timing with the Furiosa movie out in theaters! I'm going very soon and hopefully there will be more Max inspiration take place cause I love Fury Road! I rewatched it here recently and my love for Max has been kindled once more! So hopefully this helps feed my fellow Mad Max fangirls! Enjoy and until next time happy reading! ~Countess

To survive in the wastelands you have to do anything and be willing to suffer any consequences. You could always lay over and just die, letting the vermin that scuttled about in the sands, take care of the remains. Or you could stand and fight, taking whatever you need no matter who it's from. That's how you've survived for so long, scavenging, taking from unlucky fellow survivors that just so happen to be in your path. Food, water, clothing, guzzolene, anything of value it was all fair game. Your biggest score, was your car. Though you didn't take it from anyone living. Raiders had come across some poor sap, killing him and taking everything of value, except for his car. It had taken some doing but you found the key buried under the sand close to the rotting body of the man who had just found himself in the wrong place at the wrong time. His loss became your gain. Now you could make it across in different areas of desert in less time. Though the need for guzzolene became a problem. So far you had had good luck being able to get it whenever you needed it. Though you knew for certain that eventually your luck would run out.

And run out it did. Unfortunately you had grown cocky with your string of wins. The tires of your car spun, throwing up clouds of sand as you tried to gain traction on the loose ground. You released the pedal, quickly shifting into all wheel drive. With a roar from the engine the car finally burst forward, pinning you back. The group of war boys behind you yelling as the chase was on. You hit the steering wheel cursing yourself for screwing up so severely, you'd be lucky to make it out alive. You had seen the war boys yards away and you knew they hauled all the equipment they needed, thanks to Immortan Joe. If you could score off of them, you'd be set for a month. But it hadn't been easy and though your skills was above average you didn't get to swipe one thing until they had swarmed you. Now you were trying everything to get away. Dodging lances and hooks that would kill you in an instant, you blinked back against the sand in your eyes. You hadn't had your car long enough to become an elite driver yet and they were gaining fast. Despair crushed your lungs as one war boy pulled up beside you. You darted away only to run into another war boy rig. The two drivers started to pull towards one another, pinning you in between them.

Your hands shook as you gripped the steering wheel harder. The war boys cackled and spit, toying with you before they ended you.

"Bring her to Immortan," they crowed. "Bring her to him! He'll take care of her!"

They all agreed and the two vehicles pulled away, leaving you free. With the pressure off the sides, your car slid fishtailing and you lost control instantly. The war boys only got louder as your car went airborne and crashed down on it's hood. Your face smashing against the steering wheel as your car began to roll over repeatedly. The last roll and you were ejected from the shattered windshield. The hot sand cushioned you, but it wasn't much as you skidded to a stop. Your chest wheezing as you tried to breathe. Your car destroyed and your life forfeit, any hope of living left you. The one thing that you wished to happen was the war boys finishing you here and now, you heard what Immortan Joe did to women he liked or wished to continue his line with. You blinked at the sand as several of the war boys raced towards you.

"Immortan Joe will be pleased with us," one sneered. "Steal from Immortan and pay the consequences."

You shook your head, trying to clear your sight. Apparently you had hit your head harder than you first realized as the illusion of a man walking towards you, refused to dissipate. No he only got closer and you surely knew the Grim Reaper was now on his way to bring about your end. You'd gladly take his hand if it meant that the suffering would end and you wouldn't have to face a fate worse than death.

"Eh what's that there?"

Okay maybe you weren't so crazy as the war boys were seeing the being too. His arm raised and gunfire had the war boys scattering while two of them fell beside you. A small flicker of hope kindled, unless you were trading an end brought by Immortan Joe's battle fodder for this stranger. Though if he wanted to end you, you were pretty positive that he would have ended you already. You were an easy target unlike the war boys that were scurrying around, trying their best to fight back. Screams and thuds surrounded you as the man only kept stepping forward. Not backing down or flinching at the bullets and explosions all coming towards him. When he was close enough for your hazy vision did you finally get a good look. With short hair and a stocky build, he was quite handsome for a desert dweller. Though he looked healthy it didn't mean that he had lived an easy life. A haunted look was in his eyes and his face would twitch every now again. Something was wrong with him, but beggars couldn't be choosers as he was saving your butt.

The last war boy fell to the sand, spraying blood from his wounds and you felt well enough to sit up. You whimpered at the pain shooting through your head but when the stranger knelt before you, you quickly bit back any more noises.

"Took a tumble," he mumbled.

"Just a little one," you agreed spitting a mouthful of blood out.

He rose back up looking through all the now abandoned vehicles and even searched through the wreckage of yours. You felt a little indignant as he took several items out of yours. Sure they were stolen goods, but you had pilfered them fair and square. You attempted getting up, your shaky legs barely keeping you up. Attempting a step, you stumbled and quickly caught yourself.

"That's my stuff in my car," you glared. Though you hoped that he would listen, there was no way you could fight him, if he wanted to.

He didn't reply just kept digging before he pulled out your worn pack. You protested loudly before he threw it at your feet. He still didn't say a word as he started searching through the war boy's vehicles and even going further and searching the war boy's pockets. When he decided that he had searched and grabbed everything of value, he handed you another bag and tank of guzzolene and jerked his head towards the direction that he had come from. You knew that if you wanted to survive the night you would need to follow him. He had proven himself trustworthy so far and your injuries were becoming worse, though your legs had finally steadied enough to walk.

On unsteady feet you remained close, the stranger not saying a word but waving at the air every little bit. Surely you didn't just survive the war boys only to be taken out by some mental man seeing ghosts? His car came into view, worn and beaten up, but sturdy and reliable looking. Tossing his gear in the back seat, he looked back and waved you forward.

"Why," you sighed, suddenly becoming dizzy. You wanted to ask why he rescued you? Why was he bringing you with him? But your adrenaline infused energy finally hit E and you collapsed to the ground.

"Don't go to sleep," he muttered suddenly at your side. Tapping at your cheek. "Wake up."

"Tired..."

He shook you harder, "Wake up."

You couldn't answer, losing the battle with the darkness overtaking your vision. And then you knew nothing else.

The rumbling of tires was all you could hear as you came in and out of consciousness. The sun was still so bright and the mystery man behind the wheel muttered to himself constantly. Promises dripping from his tongue and you licked your chapped lips before succumbing once more to the darkness.

You had no idea how much time had passed in your unconscious state, until at last your eyes opened and you were able to remain awake. A small fire crackling in the background provided a little bit of illumination in a small musty cave. Your body hurt and the ache in your head had your temples pounding a horrible drumbeat. Across the way your savior leaned up against the cave wall. His body lurched forward and his chest heaved as his eyes opened. You jerked, surprised by his sudden movement. He shook his head, rubbing at his eyes before his attention was drawn to you. He took a cup that sat by his leg and moved towards you.

"Drink," he muttered holding the dented tin cup to your lips. The water was warm and gritty from dirt but you didn't care as you gulped the entire contents down, but still your throat burned for more. Wordlessly he filled it back up and brought more of the precious resource to you.

"Why," you croaked when you finally had your fill.

He shrugged.

"There has to be a reason why you helped me?"

He shrugged again.

"Stubborn fool," you retorted. After a long, quiet, and awkward pause you finally spoke again, "Thank you."

This time he grunted.

Sitting up, it took a moment for the cave to stop spinning before you were able to see only one of him again. You scrounged around in your bag, searching for the bit of dried lizard you had kept. Finding it, you ripped it in half and offered him the larger piece. Sort of an offering of peace and that you could be a friend he could trust. He took it, before devouring it quickly.

"I wasn't going to take it from you," you laughed while ripping a bite off of yours. "Now that we have broke the proverbial bread, aka dried lizard maybe we can have an actual conversation now?"

Once again he shrugged and you really were fighting the urge to throw something at him.

"Gotta name at least," you asked, unwilling to give up. If he could be stubborn so could you.

He glanced around, his fingers tapping against the metal brace on his knee. Finally he sighed and turned dark eyes onto you.

"Max."

Finally a start. You gave him your name before sticking out your hand. Reluctantly he took it but he did shake your hand. Silence filled the cave again and you were beginning to feel exhausted again. You yawned gaining his attention.

"Get some rest," Max said his boots scuffing against the ground as he stood up. "We move in the morning."

Morning came so quickly, the fire had been doused and Max had packed up everything. The cave floor bare with no signs of someone staying there. You thought that you'd look around and he'd be gone, but his silhouette filled the cave entrance blocking out the majority of the harsh sun rays. Sitting up, you gained his attention and he nodded to his car.

"Can I ask why you're saving me now," you asked once in the passenger seat.

Max sighed, "Maybe I just want to redeem myself of all the times I failed."

His gaze towards you, looked sad, tired, and lost. Your heart broke and you could understand that ache buried within him. Why he seemed distant, but kind. This world had it's way of taking anything bright and lovely and tainting it in the worst way possible. Max started the engine and started to shift it into gear when your hand covered his.

"This world is ugly," your voice wavered causing Max to cock his head. "But that doesn't mean it has to make us ugly in the process. I've done things I regret, stealing, taking from others to survive. But I always want to reach out that helping hand when I can. Like you did for me. I owe you a lot now Max, maybe this was just a chance meeting or maybe it's meant for something more."

He nodded, shifting into gear and roaring off. The wheels churning dirt into a cloud. Honestly you both didn't know what was in store ahead, and it wasn't set in stone that you would remain with Max. But right now it felt right and you wanted to see where this path would take you. Maybe this was a chance of redemption for two hurt people to find their reason and place in a world gone mad.

[gladiatorcunt]

- DIRT IN CHAINS | X.

i can’t wait for the nights with you, i imagine the things we’ll do

cw: kinktober prompt (feet), semi crack treated seriously (he just comes back and says footjob. now.), pseudo incest (step brother & step sister), no shelly or chris 💀, set in the 90’s with brandon lee’s eric, small-ish age gap (reader’s in her early 20’s), fem ballerina!reader, random kurt cobain crush mention, implied inappropriate behavior when reader was 18 and after (nothing explicit but it could be seen as done with certain intent), attempted non con mention (not involving eric or reader)

please do not repost, translate, or feed this work to ai

kinktober 2024

Body of my body, flesh of my flesh, bone of my bone.

If you serve a chunk of still bleeding meat to a gruesome stray dog, then that is love. If you toss a coin to a crow with a glint in its beady eyes, that too is love. Even when you scoff and grumble at the perceived inconvenience and continue your jaunt down the muddy alleyway. You are assuring an animal that you believe it deserves to have its hunger sated and tended to like a toothache. don’t be surprised when gangrene sets in around your ankles and wrists, bracelets made of red jade. They bite for the same reason that you sharpen their teeth and beaks with roadkill and gemstones. It is life’s greatest gift to ever be well fed, such neglect can open a void from which there is no escape. If only your heart could plug up the hole.

The most painful sentences in existence are hypotheticals that start with if. That's why this will be nothing of the sort, hunting season will be successful.

Your step brother Eric was shot about a month ago the night before halloween, and you’re coping by robotically moving through life as if it couldn’t happen to you too. It’s all too easy to succumb to the panic and the grief but you’ve never been wired that way, it’s safer for you to retreat into a cocoon of numbness.

You don’t want to think about where the woman he saved from being raped is, as happy as you are that she’s okay. Knowing any of that would only remind you of the knife Eric got thrown into his back before he was thrown from her apartment window. He lived in the same building and like the good guy your step brother was at heart, burst in the room with the best intentions.

His good deed got him killed, and all you’ve done is play his music on repeat as you rot in your bed. He’d want you to continue your ballet career, hell, he showed up to your recitals and performances more than your own mother. You always ignored how his presence made you feel simultaneously relaxed and confident but also so stressed you’d be worried about pissing yourself on the stage.

Wide smiles and long dark hair that glistened in the theater’s warm lightning, he would always be the one to stand up and whistle first.

Eric’s favorite ballet was your ballet company’s Swan Lake. He kept a picture of you as Odette in one of the pockets of his leather jacket.

Your parents had only been married 4 years, but you’ve changed a lot from the starry eyed 18 year old that mooned over your older step brother and tripped over your pointe shoes.

Your dad started teaching you how to play guitar before he left, when you were 5 and your chubby hands plucked at the wrong strings. Eric wouldn’t leave you alone when you told him the story, and spent an entire weekend getting you caught up on your missed lessons until you both had a swarm of blisters on your fingers.

Now you’ll never see him again, never get caught in the rain when you’ve begged him to drive you home and wish you could tuck a strand of his wet hair behind ear, never hump your pillow and muffle your sounds into your balled up fists because he’s staying in the next room and you have to be quiet.

You’ll never see him with his band again, caught in that weird space between a groupie and a supportive family member. He liked to embarrass you, make big shows out of looking directly at you and coming to the edge of the stage to poke your cheek. He’d ruffle your hair and your cheeks would be so hot, one wrong burst of electricity from the wires attached to their instruments and you’d go up in flames.

You never told your mom but you always wanted a brother, you should’ve known you weren’t gonna have him for very long.

Hangman’s Joke. God, you wish.

“Hey, peach, ya miss me?”

Hand on your heart you think you’re dreaming at first, but you’ve never really had any dreams where Eric was front and center. He haunts all your other ones, regular strange ones where you’re running around department stores and fucking Kurt Cobain but someintes he turns into your step brother, sometimes you fuck them both.

You shoot up in bed, the straps of your lavender silk nightie slip down your shoulders so you pull them back. It’s the middle of the night, and your vision is blurry, but when your eyes focus properly you see him standing in front of your bed.

It’s Eric, your brother, you don’t even care if there was a gas leak overnight that’s got you fucked up or if this reslly is a dream. You can’t pretend to be fine anymore if he’s right here in front of you, suddenly there’s an umbrella over your head in the pouring rain again.

“Eric, oh my god, what the fuck! How are you even- I mean- How the fuck are you alive?”

He sighs, tonguing his cheek and shaking his head. “I’ll tell you all about it later, I promise, ‘m tired, peach. Missed my girl, didn’t she miss me?”

It’s a little cruel because of course you have, but the dulcet tones lull you into nodding. You don’t want to cry, and you’re scared to reach out to touch him because of the chance that he might disappear. Eric’s haunted eyes soften, and he intertwines his bizarrely muddy fingers with yours. There’s warmth, and maybe it’s just your hummingbird heart but you feel a soft rhythmic thumping under his skin.

It’s different, slow as molasses, more like the chiming of a grandfather clock. But Jesus fucking Christ he’s real.

Your sham of a facade shatters as you bring your joined hands down to your breasts, forcing his knuckles to press into your sternum.

Eric pushes you back down on the bed, his knees dig into the mattress on either side of your hips. His stare is intense, dark and enticing as he reaches down to curl his hand around your calves.

“I used to be obsessed with uh, vampires, ain’t that a bitch?” He chuckles, massaging your ankles and staring off into space. “All that mysticism and unimaginable power and all I could focus on was the way they talked about their cravings. How they get hunger pangs like a normal fuckin’ and it’s bearable until it’s not, it consumes them like they’re boilin’ from the inside out.”

You suck in a breath, Eric’s eyes flick over to you immediately.

“Then I look at you and i’m right back in rehab, toes curlin’ at the thought of getting high again. I think I know how those bloodsuckers feel.”

“Eric- Don’t say that.” Your heart seizes up, but you keep yourself from falling off the ledge.

He kisses your ankle, his black lipstick leaving a stain as he leaves a trail of carnage up to your toes. His lips split wide on a fox’s smile, slipping his tongue in the crease between your toes and sucking each one clean, almost like he’s trying to eat your flesh off the bone. He nuzzles his nose into the sole and inhales deeply, taking in the dirt you didn’t wash off in the shower, the plastic hospital smell from your bath mat, your cherry almond scented body wash.

“Yes, all i fuckin’ need, right here.” He whispers, staring at you dead in your eyes.

He flicks his tongue out to taste the high arch of your foot as his hand caresses your still bruised toes. But they’re faded, you quit ballet a long time ago.

“You have pretty feet, y’know that? Always liked helping you lace up your slippers.” Eric laughs “You’d get so fussy about me doin’ them properly but you’d kiss my cheek after, all sweet on me.”

He lavishes every inch of both your feet with his tongue in broad strokes, making out with your toes because he can’t resist sucking them into his mouth one more time.

You moan, fisting your hands in your nightie, your step brother’s back from the afterlife apparently and the first thing he wants to do is get a footjob from his step sister.

Eric tucks his hair behind his ears so he doesn’t have to bother with it for right now, you can tell that this is like one of those moments on stage, he wants your full attention.

He’ll always have it.

You’re the one that pulls your feet out of his grip to slide them down to his crotch. You keep eye contact as you massage his clothed bulge with your toes, rubbing your heel into his balls and applying light pressure here and there.

You blink up at him, too innocent and too worn down by life already all at the same time, “Like that, big brother? Does that feel good?”

Eric grunts, wrapping his hands back around your ankles and pushing your feet further onto his cock.

“Yeah, peach, feels so fuckin’ good, holy shit. Just like that, keep doin’ me like that, baby.”

You bite your lip, nearly tearing through the skin in your efforts to make your newly risen step brother jizz in his ripped jeans. You wish you had psychic powers and had the foresight to know he was coming over, you would’ve put on those socks with the frilly edges and a red rose stitched on the white fabric.

But he’s so worked up from this already, he’s breathing heavily and rocking his hips forward to hump your feet. He’s grinding his teeth together, already so close to unraveling from how much of a little tease you’re being.

You hum and turn your right foot to ghost the edge of your toenail around the tip of his cock. He groans as he twitches and a bead of pre seeps through his clothes, you can trace the outline of his length so clearly you know he’s not wearing any underwear.

The look in his crazed eyes reminds you of all the times he’d take you to the attic of his loft, making up scary stories and playing guitar with you. When you turned 21 he surprised you with a cheesy golden heart shaped locket, with a picture of you two at your parent’s wedding, joking about how awkward you look with each other there. Eric’s penguin style suit and your agitated face that’s partially covered by gaudy turquoise puffy cap sleeves.

He chuckled and said that every time you look at it, you’ll feel nothing but happiness for what those two losers are about to experience.

Part of that experience is you curling your feet around his clothed cock while giving him just enough of a view of your hairy pussy, you forgot to put a pad on so there’s some blood trickling out of you that Eric is just so utterly enraptured by.

His groans are death rattles now, long and pain stricken, at some point he stops humping your feet and lets you worship him like this. Eric kneeling above you, drooling deep in the back of his throat at the sight of his baby sister caressing his painfully hard dick with her cute dancer’s feet.

Your mind is filled with all the pretty shoes you can put on and do this again, you just got a new camera as an early birthday present too.

“You can come if you promise not to leave again, Eric, I'll hunt you down and kill you myself this time.” You promise, digging the ball of your feet into his perineum.

“I crawled out of the earth back to you, didn’t I? Couldn’t let my sweet peach perform alone, she gets stage fright.”

He comes in his pants and you continue to gingerly move your feet along his length, soaking up the cum that wets your toes like a sunflower does sunlight at golden hour.

[the-travelling-witch]

𝐅𝐎𝐋𝐋𝐎𝐖𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐑 𝐂𝐀𝐋𝐋

summary: a siren attack is already unfortunate, but it's worse if it also reveals some truths about your insufferable crew mate

pairing: pirate! hawks x gn! pirate! reader

warnings: just a silly drabble to get back into writing and exorcise some of my hawks brainrot; a little suggestive at the end

general masterlist || bnha masterlist

Getting stuck on the same ship as Takami Keigo was one of life’s most torturous challenges. At least for you. He was obnoxiously arrogant and, much to your chagrin, people flocked to him like seagulls to a forgotten loaf of bread. 

Sure, your fellow pirate was quite easy on the eyes and rather charming when he wanted to be;  a truth you would only ever admit in the comfort of your own head, lest you inflate his ego even further. Instead, you rather grumbled to yourself, cursing his name for getting to sit pretty in the crow’s nest while you sat on deck and mended a torn net.

“Having fun down there?” If the devil ever spoke to you, you were sure he would mimic the grating lilt of Keigo’s melodic voice. “You know, I’m pretty sure a whale could swim through the holes you’re leaving.”

He was your crew mate, he was an essential part of the expedition, you couldn’t just shoot him down. 

“At least one of us is doing their job,” you deadpanned, not even giving him the satisfaction to look up. “You know, I think an island could sneak up on us with how distracted you are.”

“Oh you think you’re distracting me?” Even with your eyes trained on the cords in your hands, you could picture the cocky tilt of his head, a dashing grin playing around his lips. “Is that the kind of effect you want to have on me?”

“You’re the one who’s always coming up to bother me, so if anything you’re the one who’s obsessed with me.” If this conversation went on for any longer, your medic would have to patch up a popped vein on your part.

“Ah there is that wishful thinking again,” he laughed and this time you glared up at his silhouette standing out against the blinding sun. As always, he wore loose beige pants and the top buttons of his black shirt were undone, showing more of his toned chest than you needed to see. His black boots were propped up against the nest’s railing and the crimson head scarf fluttering in the breeze matched the earring dangling from his left lobe.

Just as you were about to retort, another shadow against the sun caught your attention. Drawing your pistol, you undid the safety, alerting the rest of the crew that there was something coming.

But before you could see what exactly was approaching, you suddenly lost your balance as the ship developed a heavy list. Grabbing onto the mast of the crow’s nest, you managed to steady yourself, yet the impact knocked the revolver from your grip. As you looked up, the first thing you saw was the massive cliffs your ship was heading towards, sharp rocks littering the waters, waiting to demolish its wooden bottom. 

Then your eyes locked on to the crew’s navigator, whose head lulled from one side to the other as he firmly steered you towards your demise. Next to him, holding his attention, was a beautiful woman sweetly tracing a finger along his jaw as she sang to him. As a feather drifted past your eyes, it suddenly hit you what -or who- exactly you were dealing with.

“Cover your ears!” You shouted to no one in particular as you scrambled for the wax you had stuffed into your pocket. With your hearing muffled, your own heartbeat raced in your ears as you dove for your pistol and breathlessly aimed for the siren attached to your navigator, who by now was half way towards the ship’s railing, his feet dragging underneath him as the woman lured him further towards the water.

You weren’t sure if your bullet was enough to actually kill the siren but upon impact it dissolved into a burst of feathers and released its hold on your crew mate, who dazedly blinked as he tried to regain his senses.

The next few minutes were a blur of talons, feathers and pulling your crew back from the ship’s edge, even tying some of them to the masts to make sure they wouldn’t try to kill themselves again.

Soon enough, however, you were out of bullets and you reluctantly drew the dagger previously secured to your thigh, scanning the area for more sirens when someone tapped your shoulder. Whirling around you slashed your dagger in an arc around you, only to find Keigo standing in front of you, holding up his hands innocently. There was an easy going smile on his face as he said something you couldn’t understand, so you removed one of the wax beads restricting your hearing.

And that was your mistake.

Only a few heartbeats after his velvety voice reached your ears, your dagger clattered onto the deck as Keigo reached out to unplug your other ear as well, his fingers grazing your cheek with nails much sharper than you expected. You wondered if his lips would be as plush as you imagined them to be or if his hair would be as soft as it looked when you buried your fingers in it.

His amber eyes were trained entirely on you as he gave you a coy gaze, inviting you to take another step towards him, to find out for yourself, to sate your curiosity. Likewise, you couldn’t tear your eyes away from him either as your feet followed his graceful movements, the light reflecting of his golden hair like a halo, the crimson wings on his back completing his angelic appearance—

Then, Keigo dissolved into a burst of those same scarlet feathers as two sharp swords sliced through his torso. For a moment, you thought you had imagined it when the same face came back into view again.

With full force, the noise of the ship reached you again and you staggered backwards at the sudden onslaught of stimuli. Around you, the crew was running around, untying people and frantically steering the ship back onto the right course as you raced to regain your bearings, disoriented by the orders being bellowed around you.

“That should be the last of them,” Keigo ripped you from your daze, his voice clearer as the sea as he sheathed his swords again. “Nasty creatures, those sirens. Though I guess this one was a handsome fellow, considering you were dazedly mumbling my name on your way overboard.”

Your lips pressed into a thin line when your brain caught up to your current situation. Perhaps the siren had been taken care off, yet you were still tempted to throw yourself head first over the railing. Justifiably so, you thought when your eyes darted to the man’s face long enough to confirm the self-satisfied expression he was wearing.

“I am quite flattered really,” he mused, one hand reaching out to tilt your face up so you’d meet his eyes as he stepped closer to you. For a split-second, the thought that it was still a siren in front of you crossed your mind. “To think that a siren would choose to wear my face in an effort to seduce you… now isn’t that quite the compliment?”

“Just… shut up and let me die in peace, would you?” You rolled your eyes, ready to retreat into your little cabin and try to grapple with your near-death experience, this confrontation included. If only the rocky spikes had ripped open the bottom of the ship, you could sink to the sea floor in quiet solitude.

“No no no, why would you do that when you can stay right here with me? C’mon just see it as my reward for saving your precious life, treasure.” He sent you a cheeky wink, drawing your attention to the sharp slant of his eyes and your heart, the treacherous thing, skipped a beat. 

“Is your idea of a reward torturing me further? Or what could you possibly get out of this?” Your shoulders sacked with your sigh, resigning to your defeat. 

“What I’m getting out of this? It’s quite obvious isn’t it?” Slinging an arm around your hanging shoulders, Keigo pulled you flush to his side. Warmth and the scent of salt mixed with something woodsy radiated off of him and you could admit this wasn’t the worst position to be in. “Believe it or not, I do enjoy your company.”

“That is hard to believe, you’re right.” You cocked your head in suspicion. “Normally you do everything to get under my skin, so what changed?”

“Hmm, I wonder why that is,” Keigo’s melodic timbre lilted before transitioning into his typical pearly laughter. Then, as if sharing a secret, he leant down so his lips were dangerously close to your ear, his voice dropping low. “You know, you weren’t the only one visited by a siren. As tempting as that version of you looked, I must say I prefer the real deal.

“Do you think I could get you to sing for me as well?”

© the-travelling-witch 2024 - do not repost, translate, copy or edit

if you like my content, reblogs, comments and asks are always much appreciated ♡

➺ send in an ask to be added to or removed from my tag list

[st-el-la-luna]

It's Not Enough: Captain John Price x Reader

(sorry for vanishing I am mentally unwell)

An injury leaves the Task Force's Captain unable to do all that he usually does. You're more than happy to help.

NSFW 18+

➔ gn!reader ("you"/"your" pronouns, described as "pretty" once), Price is readers boss, pillow fucking, desperate almost subby Price

unedited, written on mobile in Spanish class

part two

It wasn't fair to say that the mission went south. It's not like the Task Force failed it or anything. You guys secured the intel you needed and cleared the base no problem.

Except there was a problem. Your intel on the enemy operation had been spotty and it turns out the enemy was more prepared than you all had been lead to thought.

Sitting silently in the back of the truck you all quietly lick your wounds. Soap had been stabbed, "'tis just a scratch," he had announced before taking out three men with an improved explosive. (Ghost hit him for that one) (the Shakespeare reference. Not the bomb). Gaz and Ghost both were shot, the former in the knee and the latter, grazed on the neck by a bullet that very well could have killed him. You got a little too close to a grenade and now your ears are ringing and you're covered cuts and scrapes from the shrapnel, bits of metal still embedded in your skin.

Price got it the worst though. One of the enemy soldiers managed to sneak up on him. This hulking, unit of a man who made Ghost, Ghost, look like a gangly teen.

You always wondered how Ghost, being as big as he is, could move so quietly so quickly. This enemy soldier made you think that maybe you were just loud and slow.

Not a single person realized that the soldier was there until it was too late. He tackled Price, knocking the gun from his hands then threw him, literally threw him, like a doll, over the catwalk ledge.

Price was lucky though, in a sense, because he crashed to the ground close enough to you and Gaz that you could provide him cover.

He was unlucky, or maybe just stupid, because he tried to catch his fall. His fall from three stories up.

With his hands.

Never have you heard bones snap so loud.

You glance across the truck at him. He's breathing slowly and deliberately, self-soothing. His hands resting on his thighs, fingers twitching occasionally, but otherwise motionless.

"Hey, look on the bright side, Captain," you say with a crooked grin, blinking away the blood dripping from a gash above your eye. "At least you won't have to do any paperwork for a while."

"Won't be able to jack off either," Soap adds with a crow of laughter. "Poor lil John's gonnae be black and blue... Won't even be able to feel the pain in yer hands over the straining of your–"

"That'll do!" Ghost snaps, ever the one to keep Soap in line.

It's quiet for the rest of the way back to base. It's quiet as you all head to medical for treatment. You're all drained, happy with a job well done, but exhausted from, well, everything.

Tired and sore, you decide to forgo dinner in order to catch some extra sleep. You're walking through the halls when you pass by Price's office.

The door is cracked open, which is unusual, and a rhythmic sound tumbles out into the hallway. A blend between panting and grunting.

He groans out a frustrated, "Fucking... Ah... Fucking hell!"

"Captain?" You ask hesitantly, knocking on the door. You hear shuffling inside, the rustling of cloth, soft jingle of metal. "I, uh... Everything okay?"

"Everything's fine," he grits out, breathless and frustrated. "I'm just..." More rustling. "Fuck!"

"Can I come in?" You ask, already opening the door.

He doesn't say no. In fact, he doesn't say anything. Until you've got the door open and are left staring at the scene before you.

"I didn't want anyone seeing me like this..." He grumbles.

He's standing behind his desk, both hands and forearms in casts. He's struggling with a zip up hoodie, tangled in the fabric as he tries to put it on.

You fight back the urge to laugh and succeed. You fight back the urge to smile and fail. "Want some help with that, Captain?"

"Please."

This continues for the duration of his injury, him coming to you for help with tasks he can't do himself. For as long as he's in those casts, you're at his beck and call.

It's not uncommon for you to be called away from some mundane task to help the Captain with something equally mundane. But hey, at least you get to spend time with your Captain.

Your handsome, rugged, often flushed as of late, Captain.

You're captain whose casts you've wrapped before he can shower. Whose shirts you've helped put on. Whose hair you've brushed. Beard you've combed. Whose-

You keep having to tell yourself that this doesn't mean anything. The only reason he comes to you and no one else is because, well, he doesn't want anyone else seeing him like this.

So what if he blushes when you help secure his belt around his hips? Or when your fingers graze his neck as you button his collar. So what if once or twice while youve helped him dress your hand has brushed his cock (and oh, it's big), and it's jumped to attention. It's a natural reaction, really. Price never even mentions it. He's probably embarrassed. Ashamed. Nothing more to it.

But what if...?

No. You tell yourself sternly. Bad. That's your boss.

But...

He has been calling on you more. Has been standing closer. Leaning in when you speak. Burying his nose into your hair before you leave his room and inhaling through his nose, then shutting the door on you, leaving you a little dazed and more than a little confused in the hall.

Still. It doesn't mean anything. You've just never spent this much time with him. Maybe this is normal.

You're in the armory with Soap and Gaz when your phone goes off in your pocket. Price is calling.

"Captain?" You ask, holding the phone between your shoulder and ear as you continue to clean your rifle. "Everything okay?"

"I know I told you I wouldn't need anything until later, but I... I need your help," he says, his voice gruff and rumbling. "Now."

Soap mimes a blow job and Gaz snickers, shouldering him playfully.

"Could have called anyone, Captain," Soap calls out loud enough for Price to hear through the phone. "What is it you need help with that only our pretty little Corporal can do? Hmm?"

"Shut up, Soap," Price grumbles.

"Captain says to shut up, Johnny," you relay to Soap. He laughs.

"I need your help," Price repeats, his breath stuttering slightly.

"Alright," you say, setting the rifle down. "What with?"

"I'm..." his words are cut off by a groan and the sound of shuffling, followed by something clattering to the floor. "Fuck... I'm trying to..." He pauses, breathing heavy. "Tryna trim my beard and I.. Just get over here quick."

"Aye, sir. I'll be in your office soon."

"Not my office. My quarters."

You pause, holding the phone properly now. "I... Your quarters, Captain?"

Soap snickers, and thrusts his hips into the air a couple times. You flip him off.

"Yes," he says. "It's where I keep my products."

"Right, of course," you shake your head. "I'll be there as soon as I can."

"Good," he says, letting out a breathy sound through his nose. "I can't deal with this any longer..."

"Your beard has gotten scruffy," you muse.

"I... Just... Hurry." He hangs up.

"Getting out of work early again, huh?" Gaz asks with a grin. "Or should I say getting off work early?"

"Not you too," you whine, flipping the pair of them off as you leave the room.

You don't catch what Soap says, his words muffled by his accent and the closing door. Judging by the raucous laughter that breaks out when he's done, you figure that might be for the best.

You get to Price's room and knock, waiting a beat before turning the knob. "Hey, Captain, just a heads up, I've never actually trimmed a beard before but I–"

You stare at the scene before you with wide eyes, blood rushes to your cheeks as your jaw drops.

"Close the door," Price grunts, staring up at you from his place on the bed. On his knees, forearms braced against the mattress, his face red, jaw slack as he lets out rhythmic pants and groans.

You don't dwell on it. Instead, your attention is drawn to the clumsy, desperate movement of his hips as he ruts desperately against his pillow. His pillow which is covered in... Is that one of your workout shirts?

"I... Captain?!" You squeak in surprise, taking a slight step back.

"Soap was right," he grumbles, humping and grinding and moaning into the pillow. Into your shirt. Your shirt. This is happening. This is real. Price inhales deeply through his nose, his tongue lolling out. "Haven't... Haven't been able to... It's... I... It hurts, i... I thought this would... it worked before but i... It's not... not enough, I.. Help... Please."

Slowly, hesitantly, you shut and lock the door behind you. "Oh, so you've done this before?" You quirk a brow as you approach his bed. "Fucked into your pillow like a desperate whore thinking it was me?"

He whines, actually whines, and his hips falter for a second before speeding up. With each forward stroke of his hips you can catch a glimpse of his cock. Thick and red and painfully hard, dripping so much precum it looks like he's already cum before you got here. "Don't... Don't tease me, Corporal... Don't forget who's in charge here."

"Seems to me, Captain, that I'm the one in charge here," you hum, slowly kneeling on the bed. He looks up at you through his sweaty fringe, his breaths hot and wet when they fan against your skin. "I mean, you're the one who needs help, after all... You're the one whose job could be on the line... I doubt the higher ups would be thrilled to find you like this, all backed up and desperate for one of your soldiers?"

His eyelids flutter, he bites his lips muffling a growl that crescendos into a moan when you cradle his face. "Stop, I... I just... It hurts..."

"I'm sure it does," you hum sympathetically, running a hand through his hair. "Been too long, hasn't it?"

He keens and leans into your touch, drool dribbles from his lips. "I... Weeks, may, ah, maybe a month... Or longer... I-I need it... Please."

"Well, that just won't do," you tut, shaking your head in mock sympathy. You tighten your grip on his hair and he bows, arching his back like it's his job. "Just look at you, Captain..."

He whines and you shush him gently, hand sliding from his hair to cup his jaw and chin, forcing him to look up at you. "Don't worry, Captain... I plan to do a lot more than just stare..."

Please reblog to support my writing!

Masterlist

[slayfics]

Hiii I hope you’re having a good day!! Your writing is really nice and I am enjoying your Muichiro content a lot haha.

I’m sorry this is quite specific but could you please do a scenario where he leaves an important person that he was originally protecting to go and protect you when he sees the demon trying to nearly kill you, and someone’s (any character you like) reaction witnessing it :DD it would mean a lot !

sorry!!this is really specific ><

Muichiro protects you in battle.

You arrived quickly to the village that your crow had led you to. According to your crow the village was under attack by a horde of demons and some Mizunoto ranks were dying trying to protect the village.

The village was indeed under a massive attack of demons. Usually there weren't this many in one place. You wondered what was going on but quickly got to work slashing off as many demon heads as you could.

"Thank goodness a higher rank!" One of the Mizunoto's yelled.

"Stay behind me!" You yelled, slashing another demon. Just then a crow flew overhead.

"TWO HASHIRA APPROACHING!" It announced.

"Two Hashria?? They don't trust me? I can handle this!" You yelled out of frustration taking down another demon. You were determined to take out as many demons before the Hashira arrived but within seconds they were both on the scene.

A smile spread across your face when you noticed mist begin to form around the village. You knew this meant Muichiro was one of the Hashira's to join the battle.

"Don't worry we will take it from here." You heard and felt a hand placed on your shoulder. You turned to see Shinobu standing behind you.

"Yeah right, you can't count me out of the fight that quickly!" You stated defiantly. A gleam in Shinobu's eyes told you that she would have scolded you for defying a Hashira if she had the time. Instead a calm but piercing look was all she gave you as she jumped into the battle.

Some of the lower ranks were still in the middle of the fight struggling to fall back. You found yourself helping and protecting them.

Shinobu was effortless gliding between demons taking them down quicker than your eyes could follow. While Muichiro was stationed by the village chief ensuring his safety.

The demons weren't particularly challenging but with the added task of keeping villagers and lower ranks safe, was proving difficult.

You were in the middle of moving a lower rank out of the way of a demon's attacks when another demon took that split second you were off guard to its advantage. You and the lower rank didn't notice its quick attack from behind before it was too late.

Less than a split second to react you tried to place yourself in the way of the lower rank to take the attack. You braced for the attack but instead were greeted by a gust of mist flashing by, the next sound was the thud of the demon's head hitting the floor.

You looked over to the chief where Muichiro had been only to see him still there. Had he really been that fast to protect you and make it back to the chief before you could even blink? You shook the thought out of your mind for now and focused back on the battle.

With both Hashira there it didn't take much longer for the whole village to be rid of demons. Villagers were lining the streets praising and thanking all the corps members.

Muichiro quickly made his way over to you.

"Are you alright??" He asked, analyzing you for any injuries.

"I am, thanks to you." You said, smiling at the Hashira.

“That was admirable prioritizing the saftey of the Mizunoto over your own. That’s what any Hashira would have done.” Muichiro said, causing a blush to form on your face. Muichiro began to speak again but was interrupted.

"Hmm... that is strange Tokito." Shinobu said, appearing behind the Hashira. "It appeared to me that you left your stationed post by the village chief to protect a corps member. I couldn't have seen that right though could I? As that would have been against corps rules." She said accusingly at Muichiro.

Muichiro's face quickly turned from concern for you back to his usual stoic expression. You thought you actually picked up some annoyance in his new expression.

"You have such big eyes I would be surprised if you saw something wrong." Muichiro responded, turning to face the other Hashira. Shinobu blinked out of surprise from Muichiro's words. She was unsure of how to respond to the Hashria who was usually reserved with few words.

"Is that all then? Looks like we are done here." Muichiro said, turning away from Shinobu again.

"Tokito." She called after him. Muichiro stopped but did not turn around to face Shinobu.

"It's best to keep your biases off the battlefield you know."

"Great advice, I will relay that message to Tomioka." Muichiro said then vanished. Shinobu looked taken back for a second time at Mucihrio's words.

"He could have at least pretended to care about the other corps members' injuries. Oh well... You do take care now." Shinobu said to you as she left to inspect the injuries of the Mizunoto ranks.

This was such a cute idea, I blushed when I read it! Thank you for the request and your support on my stories! I hope this is what you had in mind and enjoy it~

[bagsyy]

ONLY FOOLS RUSH IN

warnings! 18+ mdni, fem!reader, oral (m receiving), slight throatfucking/overstim if you squint, cum swallowing, lovesick atsumu. 1.6k words not proofread at all because if i look at it again i’ll throw up. happy birthday atsumu<3

atsumu’s brain has felt hazy for a while now. he couldn’t exactly pinpoint when it had started though. he didn’t have the mental fortitude to. he’s not sure if it began when he saw a glimpse of you getting ready in the bathroom. you were sitting atop the counter wearing one of his shirts as you curled your eyelashes. you pretended to scold him for daring to look at you before the wedding.

“it’s bad luck to see the bride before the wedding, dummy. if we ever get divorced it’s gonna be your fault” you say, hitting the tube of mascara against the heel of your palm.

“want me to piss with my eyes closed?” atsumu snaps his head at you. “i’m not that talented, baby.”

“you know what? i think i’m actually getting cold feet. maybe we shouldn’t get married.” atsumu is silent for a moment before he leans back and pokes his head through the crack in the door. “really? they seemed pretty warm to me when you were beggin me to book the next flight here. ‘i just wanna get married, tsumu! i don’t wanna wait! i’ll marry you right now.’” he mocks you in a high-pitched voice.

“that is not what i sound like! can you save the theatrics for when you’re not actively pissing?” you side eye him, unable to prevent yourself from letting out a soft laugh. “m’trying to get ready, atsumu. i don’t wanna look ugly when we get married in front of an elvis impersonator.”

“sweetheart, we both know that’s impossible” atsumu says as he walks to the sink next to where you’re sat atop the bathroom counter. “you tryin to look good for another man? you’re killin me” atsumu’s honey colored eyes lock with yours, and you swear he’s never looked more lovesick in his life.

it was only after that, he decided, that you were really killing him.

it was his idea to do a “first look” in the hotel room before the two of you left to get hitched. his argument was that a lot of people get married in las vegas, what if he loses you in the crowd and he accidentally marries the wrong person because he can’t remember the dress you were wearing?

your phone is propped up on the window, hidden from atsumu’s view but still in the perfect position to capture this moment. the two of you are standing back to back, and you can feel him getting antsy as he clenches and unclenches his hands, fiddling with the sleeves of his suit. it’s cute, really, how soft atsumu gets when he’s with you. his heart never ceases to pound every time you take his hand in yours and squeeze it three times. when you kiss the crease between his furrowed eyebrows when his stress is visibly consuming him. when it’s 3 in the morning and you can’t sleep, so you softly whisper atsumu’s name until he wakes up and you beg him to stay up with you so you have someone to talk to.

“okay. we turn around on three.” you reach behind you, searching for atsumu’s hand with your own. his fingers intertwine with yours as he gives your hand a gentle squeeze, feeling the absolute rock on your left hand brush against his knuckles. “one, two, three” you turn around to face each other, and atsumu looks like he’s about to pass out. the two of you are completely unable to form any coherent thoughts, just softly laughing in shock as you take each other in.

atsumu looks handsome as ever, messy blonde hair styled into something more neat and presentable. he looks like a husband, you think to yourself. you imagine a day where the two of you are sat out on your front porch, watching the sun setting over the horizon as soft beams of light glimmer on the laugh lines and crows feet adorning atsumu’s face. and you swear you’ll love him then just as much as you do right now.

atsumu smoothes his hands over his suit jacket. “damn baby, i’m feelin a little underdressed next to you.” you don’t miss how his voice quivers ever so slightly. “you didn’t tell me you were gonna look this gorgeous.”

your hand is still in his, and he lifts your arm up to get a better look at you. your dress is simple, satin, knee length with a slight v-neckline. it’s not the most intricate dress, but it’s timeless. elegant. you’re wearing a simple gold necklace, one that atsumu gave you, that sits pretty on your collarbones. his favorite part about your entire getup is, by far, your veil. it’s secured to your hair with a pretty white bow and stops just a little bit past your shoulders. atsumu wipes the smallest tear from the corner of his eyes and sniffles a little bit before pulling you into him, wrapping his arms around you. in typical atsumu fashion, his hand slides down to grab a handful of your ass and you jump in surprise. “c’mon let’s make you a miya” atsumu grins.

the next two hours are a complete blur. you were all satin and soft skin, and atsumu felt like he was going to pass out at any given moment. he hardly remembers anything, really. he’s extremely grateful that you found a chapel that included a recording of the ceremony in the cost, because the only thing he can remember at this very moment is the man in the pink suit and aviator glasses telling him to kiss his bride. he’s been ready to marry you for nearly as long as he’s loved you, and there was nothing else going on inside his little brain besides making you his wife.

but now, here in this hotel room, he’s sure he’s been lobotomized.

“atsumu” you pout as you pull away from his cock, resting your head against his toned thigh. “you’re gonna rip my veil.” your hand squeezes his sensitive tip, demanding his attention.

“shit, shit baby m’sorry. just tryin to hold it for you” he throws his head back into the pillow, upset by the sudden loss of warmth from your mouth. “i’ll buy you another one just—please. please baby” he whines. “what kinda wife would leave me hangin like that?” he peers down at you, grinning ever so slightly. it’s amazing how he still manages to be cocky when you have him like this.

“what kind of husband-” you pause, softly nipping his inner thigh, placing a feather light kiss on it as an apology, “-rips his wife’s veil because he can’t keep still when his dick is in her mouth?”

“said m’sorry” he whines, throwing one of his arms over his eyes. you place more kisses along his inner thigh, slowly making your way back to his cock. you kiss the base of his shaft, trailing all the way up to his leaky tip. it jumps with every single kiss. “do something. please, angel.”

you give in, lightly licking the underside of his dick before taking him into your mouth. you hollow your cheeks around him and he bucks into you, fat tip hitting the back of your throat. atsumu groans as you swallow around him. you try your best not to gag, but atsumu is too fucking big. no matter how many times you’ve done this, it still takes you a second to become fully accustomed to him.

“god damn baby, shit” atsumu’s lower abdomen begins to twitch as you continue to bob your head. “so pretty. y’look so pretty with my cock in your mouth. so fuckin’ messy.” and he’s right. between the heated makeout session that led up to this and the sheer amount of spit that’s on atsumu’s dick, what’s left of your crimson red lipstick is smeared all over the both of your faces, on his thighs, near the base of his cock. and he wouldn’t have it any other way.

your hand left hand strokes what can’t fit in your mouth as you continue to swipe your tongue on the underside of his fat pink tip, and your right hand moves to cup his balls. he looks so fucking pretty like this. you can feel yourself getting wetter and wetter with every pretty sound your husband makes. you moan around him, and his hand grips your hair (and veil) just a little bit tighter. atsumu is whimpering at this point, face beet red as he looks down at you.

“gonna make me cum. please make me cum. you gonna swallow, pretty girl?”

you let out a soft hum, giving him an unspoken “yes.” he doesn’t last much longer after that, spilling his seed into your mouth with a deep groan. he moans your name and babbles something about how much he loves his pretty wife, how you’re so perfect, so good for him. you swallow everything he gives you, and you kiss his tip as you take him out of your mouth. not being able to resist the urge, you start to jerk him off, and he lets out a choked sob.

“okay, okay. s’enough. it’s enough baby, fuck” he tugs on his blonde hair, back arching.

“oh? is it, though?” you coo at him, admiring the way he looks right now. he constantly does the same shit to you, eating you out until your legs lock and you can’t stop shaking. but when he’s the one on the receiving end, he’s far whinier.

atsumu grabs you by your wrist and pulls you on top of him before you can overstimulate him any further. you yelp as you fall onto his chest, placing your head on his shoulder. “wanna kiss my wife now” he pouts, tilting his head to kiss you. he can taste himself on your tongue and it makes him sigh into your mouth. he runs his fingers down your back, tracing the curvature of your spine. “that was some of your best work, mrs. miya.”

[sweetheartsaku]

(BHNA) REAL MAN.

𝜗𝜚 TOUYA TODOROKI: 𝓑LOOD SAGE.

a/n: [fem!reader] touya meet not-so-cute 🤍 for @seneon the only touyalvr ever and @katsukistofu's fav fire hazard 😔✊!!

a cold wisp floods the concrete path, tickling your ankles through your thick boots. deafening music mixes with distant police sirens and train blares, loud synthesisers muffle between agape windows and violent yet causal chatter. bustling, late-night city life pulsates through your ears.

you aloofly roam past unique, ominous quirks with boomboxes and strobe lights, knives and blades as if it’s purely a walk in the park. instead of cute dogs they were rabid, probably radioactive creatures. instead of lush trees, there were blinding neon lights. there was probably cursed chemicals concocted in the air too, but if it didn’t kill you, who cares? did everyone just come to forget how easy villain life can be, if you just— made it look easy?

the concrete beneath you is damp, puddles of water in every dent and crease of the ground, water trickling off stall roofs and rain runs down your cheek. the cold winter breeze makes it difficult for a nearby crook to light his cigarette, causing him to throw it on the ground, mercilessly crushing the warm cigarette butt with his heel.

you watch as the rando does his work, slowly proceeding to walk along. you find yourself a couple buildings away from the man, looking up at the flickering, slanted sign that read: “SIX TO MIDNIGHT.” the light on all the vowels faded out.

“watch it, doll.”

you turn around and your eyes meet a pair of vibrant turquoise ones. —what’d he just call me?

the mysterious ravenette chuckles before he sees your fists slightly clench, but facial expression remain the same.

“woah. touched a nerve there.” to then gently shoving you out of the doorway, palms heating up; leaving ash on your shoulder before slipping through. you lose him in the crowd within the classy bar, the scent of alcohol with strong cologne filling your senses and gag reflex at the tip of your tongue.

get the money, get out.

your client is one of the most successful and most popular in the area, but at what cost? payment pickup at the worst, most crowed bar, only available at the peak number of drinkers and villains, at the smack-bang very centre of the bar. being one of the best assassins had its perks, and this definitely wasn't one of them.

can’t believe i beat ass just for a little gain in a pig's den.

you never felt the need to grab a beverage while your inside though. you just feel the need to get in and out as fast as possible every time, so how could this time be any different?

his turquoise eyes haven’t left you. that's what.

his piercing yet agile gaze remains on your figure. he didn’t stand out in height, nor costume. but what slightly piqued your interest was his burnt flesh stuck together with staples and oh don’t forget his undeniably enchanting, teal eyes.

you decide to ignore it, but why can't you bring yourself to take the last step out the door? the money is in your hand, the bar’s atmosphere is still lingering with alcohol, and your first impression didn't seem close to a fairytale.

was this that stupid gut feeling of danger heroes have when their sixth sense ignites? oh please, forgive me for thinking it's a fleeting romance.

a dim purple light shades an area in a nearby corner, instantly attracting your on-edge figure. naturally pivoting to the nearest empty seat, the unsettling feeling seeps in as you manspread, taking as much space as you could crossing your legs. your gloved arms reclined on the backrest behind you, sighing as this funny feeling echoes through your head. the leg beneath the one you crossed it over begins to bounce by habit. you brush loose droplets of rain off your shoulder. your mind runs to places. your hands tightly grip th-

"our first encounter was pretty abrupt, huh, doll? slow dance it out on the floor?"

you quickly react to the same mysterious man who once had his eyes glued on you, now in front of you. you cockily smirk before retorting,

"no one ever taught you to be a real man, huh, handsome?"

he chuckles as he extends his hand, brushing the end of his coat as it drifts behind him. your gloved hand that once tightly gripped the backboard of the seat instinctually clasps his. he promptly pulls you up, finding yourself with one hand on his shoulder and the other lightly laced with his. his other hand finds its respectable spot on your waist, fingers sprawled against your plush side.

"what should i call you, hm?" she stares at his lips before her glare moves up to his eyes.

their bodies were so close and nearing to pressing each other. this was not a good rep for a prestigious assassin like you. the proximity clicks your senses back on finer than before, his sage cologne fusing with the scent of blood and smoke.

"touya. you?"

"pretty name, touya. couldn't keep your eyes off me before?"

"you're a peculiar one, aren't you?" he snickers.

"interesting. not peculiar." you correct.

you continue. "gonna answer my question?"

his grin cocks up as he watches your smirk form with stitched eyebrows. your hand slowly moves from his shoulder to behind his neck, fingers brushing the hairs on his nape. your grip on his intertwined hands become tighter.

"getting eager, are we?"

locked eyes, tight proximity and brash yet romantic words have got to be one of the worst combinations known to man right now. a rosy blush warmly spreads across your face, (hopefully) hardly visible under the dim cold lights.

would you hold it down and take it if I gave you a chance?

he feels every inch of you, from the hand slightly grazing the back of his neck to the soft skin underneath thick material of your gear. heat arises from every place, the warm, tender tension stirring within both of you.

need the reassurance, baby,

not a silly romance.

[leedosbunnyboy]

Kyojuro Rengoku; The Flame Burning in My Soul

Genre: Angst

Pairing: Kyojuro Rengoku x Male Reader | (side) Tengen Uzui x Male Reader

Warning(s): Very Narrative Driven, Very Long(?), Slight Manga Spoilers, Mourning, Death

Summary: Living without the love of your life can do a number on you, especially when you’re living everyday wondering if you even want to go on.

Part I

*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•

He’s gone…

It feels like it was only yesterday that he was holding you and promising to marry you…

He’s gone…

He said the mission was going to be easy…

He’s gone…

He was supposed to come back safely…

He’s gone…

He’s just playing a prank!

He’s gone…

He sent that crow with a phony letter to scare us!

He’s gone…

Mr. Uzui must be in on it as well!

He’s gone…

They’re such pranksters!

He’s gone…

He’ll be back soon…

He’s gone…

I can’t wait until-

HE’S

GONE

NOW

…

It can’t be real…

it just can’t be…

•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*

You tried to convince yourself it wasn’t real. That it was all some sick game Kyojuro thought would be funny. That was until you saw his crow flying to the estate while you were outside cleaning with Senjuro, followed by a young boy with a scar…

“Are you Senjuro? And Sir Rengoku’s lover?” The boy asked before politely bowing.

“I take it you know about Mr. Rengoku? I’m so sorry. Before he died, he asked for some messages to be delivered to you, your father, and his lover. I’ve come to pass them on.” He stated.

“From my brother? Thank you, but i’m already well aware of what happened to him.” Senjuro solemnly stated. You moved closer to him to rub his shoulder. “What’s wrong?! Your face! It looks as pale as a ghost!”

“Knock it off!” All three of you were surprised by the sudden outburst. “Whatever message he left means nothing anyway! Why would he become a swordsman when he had no talent to being with! It’s no wonder he died! He’s worthless.” You gripped on the broom tighter, your eyes beginning to swell with tears at Shinjuro’s words. “He was a fool of a son from the start! A person’s potential is determined the day they’re born. Only a mere handful have any talent… the rest are just dregs of society. You’re either born a genius or someday killed by one!” Shinjuro stopped to take a drink. “It’s clear which one Kyojuro was. He had no future to begin with. No surprise he got killed.” Senjuro cuddled closer into your side.

“You shut your mouth!” You screamed, surprising all three boys. “Kyojuro had a bright future ahead of him! He was to come back and marry me! We were to be wed and start a life together! All my life, I dreamed of spending my last days with him, so don’t you dare stand here and soil his name by calling him worthless because he meant everything to me!” You fought back tears as Senjuro leaned closer to comfort you. “Just because you’re a sad old man who gave up on his own life doesn’t give you the right to speak badly about an other’s!”

“Give me a break! The funeral is over! It’s high time you both move on with your damn lives!” You held the youngest Rengoku behind you as he cried into your kimono.

“Just a moment!” The boy with a checkered haori moved to stand in front of you and Senjuro. “Don’t you think you’re being a bit too harsh? Please show some respect for your son!” He yelled.

“And just who the hell are you? Answer me! Or get off of my property!” Shinjuro yelled.

“I’m with… the demon slayer corps!” He announced. Something he did somehow caused Shinjuro to drop his jar of saké.

The next few moments were a blur to you. One second, he was yelling at the young slayer boy about sun breathing, the next he had him pinned to the ground, and then you were holding Senjuro after his father had hit him.

“Don’t you dare lay a hand on him you monster!” You rushed to put some distance between Senjuro and the altercation in front of you. “Why are you acting so hostile like this in the first place? Insulting your own child who lost his life… in front of his fiancé no less! And striking your son; what’s the matter with you?!”

“Are you alright?” You examined Senjuro’s face. He nodded, but still held the injury. “I’ll get you some ointment after he calms down, okay?” Senjuro nodded and you held him close to him, before turning back to see the boy lunging at Shinjuro.

“Young slayer, be careful!” You yelled. “He’s a former hashira!” Senjuro shouted as the boy was punched in the face by Shinjuro. “Please father! Have mercy!” You stepped away from Senjuro to rush towards the boy.

Your eyes widened as you saw the boy knock out a former hashira… with a head butt? You put your shock aside and caught both of them.

“Senjuro, please take this boy inside. I’ll deal with your father.” The young boy eagerly came to assist you as you painstakingly took the older man inside.

*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•

Now you three found yourself in the main living area of the house as you applied some ointment to Senjuro’s injury and examined the other slayer boy’s injuries.

“I feel like I’ve made a grave mistake.” The boy said with a bowed head after you applied a simple healing balm to his forehead. You left to your room soon after, but you kept your door open to keep an ear out for Senjuro.

“Please sir, have some tea.”

“Thank you very much. I hope you can forgive me… for head butting your father and all. He’s okay right?” The boy asked.

“Oh yeah, he’ll be fine. (M/n)’s an amazing doctor, so it’s not like he’d be down for too long. And besides, he’s back to getting saké already.” Senjuro explained.

“What a relief.” The slayer huffed.

“You have my thanks.” Senjuro said, seemingly to the other boy’s surprise. “For standing up to him. I was too scared to. Even when he badmouthed my brother like that. I’m sure (M/n) is grateful too.” You watched through the back door as Shinjuro wobbled off to purchase more saké. “Tell me. What were my brothers last moments like.” You suddenly remembered why that boy was here in the first place. As that all too familiar pain began to emerge in your chest, you shut the door. You didn’t need anymore grief. Your heart has had enough as it is.

•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*

A knock to your door awoke you from the nap you hadn’t even noticed you took. “Come in.” You groggily called and watched as Senjuro slowly walked in. “Our visitor has left.” He said. You nodded before Senjuro ran over and collapsed in your arms. You raked your fingers through his hair as he loudly sobbed into your shoulder. “It’ll be alright. We’ll get through this.” You cupped his face and looked into his teary eyes. “For Kyojuro, okay?” You held out your pinky to him. He nodded before interlocking your fingers.

“It was difficult getting him to accept Kyojuro’s sword guard. He swore he couldn’t accept it.” Senjuro lightly chuckled recounting his encounter with the young slayer boy you now knew as Tanjiro. “He said that you should’ve kept it.” He smiled. “I couldn’t keep that thing even if I wanted to. I’d get too sad.” You said, running your fingers through Senjuro’s hair.

“‘Don’t let me limit your heart’,” Senjuro said out of the blue. “‘Please allow someone else to give you the love i wish i could’ve, because you deserve the world and more. I hope you find a man who will treat you like the prince you are in my place.’” “What are you on about?” You turned to face him. “Those were Kyojuro’s last words to you. Tanjiro said he had the most to say about you. Apparently he wouldn’t shut up about how excited he was to marry his boyfriend when he returned from his mission.” You felt Senjuro’s tears falling in your lap before you even noticed the ones dripping down your cheeks.

You two cried a lot that night…

And the next…

And while you could’ve sworn you were hearing things, you knew Shinjuro was crying too.

*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•

“You shouldn’t push yourself ya know? That’s not very flashy of you.” The sound hashira called to you as you continued to train.

You had chosen to become Tengen Uzui’s tsugoku as a means of defending yourself after Kyojuro’s death. It would be hard for anyone to train like this, but now imagine you’ve gone your whole life without as much as touching a sword, to now pushing yourself to train every day with one until your heart felt like it was on the brink of giving out.

“If you expect me to be ready for battle within the current century, you’ll let me continue.” You said, not even sparing a glance towards the older man behind you.

He scoffed before walking towards you and gripping your sword. “That’s enough (M/n).” He sternly instructed. “We’ll pick this up tomorrow.”

You let go off your sword and stormed off, leaving the taller to slowly trail behind as he fiddled with your blade.

“You can be quite the brat ya know?” He commented as you made your way back towards the Rengoku residence.

“And you can be quite the headache.” You pulled off your geta and made your way towards the kitchen, not before greeting Senjuro with a hug and kiss to his forehead. Afterwards, starting on dinner for you all, as well as your unwanted flashy guest.

“I don’t know why you insist on staying here. You have a home with three wives to return to.” You snidely commented as you poured stew into Senjuro’s plate.

“Well, my home doesn’t have my cute tsugoku at it now does it?” Tengen smirked at your irritated expression.

You inhaled deeply before launching his plate at him; however, he caught it rather easily and began to dig in as if nothing happened. Curse him for being a skilled hashira. “And besides, you know they’re not there.”

You took your place next to Senjuro and angrily began to eat. Stuffing your face full of stew and barely even giving yourself time to chew.

“Thank you for the meal (M/n)!” Senjuro hugged you before running off to his room, realizing the tense atmosphere he found himself in the middle of.

“If you want a real answer, I worried about you (M/n).” Tengen stated as he placed his bowl down. “You never wanted to even touch a sword, but now you push yourself to train with one every day. It’s not healthy.”

“Who cares how I was in the past. So what if I want to wield a sword now? You should only concern yourself with training me.” You glared at him.

“You won’t defeat the demon that killed Kyojuro.” He deadpanned. “You’re far too weak… and if you plan on pushing yourself like this, you’ll be dead before you even have the chance to try.”

You tighten your hands into fists and inhaled deeply, attempting to keep yourself from crying.

Tengen shifted to be seated beside you and laid your head on his shoulder. “It’s okay to cry ya know? Just let it all out.” You sobbed into his shoulder as he rubbed your back.

“Once we get back from this mission… please listen to me. I promise I’ll help you get stronger, without you pushing your body so hard.” You nodded against his body and he smiled gently down at you. He cupped your face so that know you were facing his.

“Go get some rest.” He pushed a strand of your hair behind your ear. “Meet me at the Butterfly Estate tomorrow morning. I’ll be there to find a girl to help on this mission.” You nodded. He smiled and placed a kiss to your forehead before standing up. “See you later (M/n).”

•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*

“You’re an idiot you know that?” You cried as you held the only hand Tengen had left.

While you expected to engage in battle during this mission to gather information on the sound hashira’s wives, you never expected to encounter an upper moon, much less two of them. Now you sat in the aftermath of the battle: bloodied and bruised; but your injuries were nothing compared to Tengen’s. His forearm had been cut off and he was poisoned. He didn’t have much time left.

“Hey calm down.” He cupped your face gently. “Nice to see that pretty face of yours wasn’t damaged.”

“Shut up! Focus on yourself!” You yelled at him as you struggled to apply pressure to his severed arm.

“Appreciate the effort sweetheart, but it’s not this injury that’s gonna kill me.” You realized that the poison was still ravaging his body.

“Shit! I forgot my medicines back home. If only I would’ve brought them none of this would’ve-!” A small tap to your shoulder averted your attention from the sound hashira to the young kamado girl that now sat beside you.

She gently pressed her hand against Uzui before… SETTING HIM ON FIRE?! You and all of Tengen’s wives screamed in horror as you watched the older man being engulfed in pink flames. Makio, Hinatsuru, and Suma bickered amongst themselves as they yelled at Nezuko, but you focused on how Tengen’s once purple skin now began to clear.

You sat amazed as you watched Uzui heal from what was once a deadly venom.

Tengen slowly turned to you and smiled. “I guess I’m so flashy, even death can’t beat me.”

You wept as you tackled the larger man into your embrace, the others watching with endearment as the sound hashira held you. “Don’t scare me like that you asshole.” Uzui simply laughed as he wiped your tears.

“What do ya say we get out of here?” He announced to his wives as they, alongside you, helped him get up and walk away.

*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•

You very carefully worked on reapplying the sound hashira’s bandages as he carefully held you in his lap.

“You’re really cute when you’re all focused like that.” Tengen commented once you finished wrapping him up.

“Shut up.” You walked away from him as you worked on reorganizing your ointments and medicines. Uzui chuckled to himself as he lovingly watched you work.

“Hey (M/n)?” Tengen called out which caused you to turn to face him. “Yes?” He beckoned you to come closer to him, and you obliged. Adjusting yourself to sit in his lap. “Why don’t you come and live here with us?” He offered. “What do you mean?” You looked up at him, confused as to what his true intentions were. “Will you allow me to court you and become my husband? I could use another man around the house to balance things out ya know?” He smiled gently at you.

You slowly moved off him as you attempted to put some space between you. “Is something wrong?” Tengen shot you a concerned look, looking shocked when you rejected his attempt to hold your hand. “I-I’m not- I can’t… I still…” Tengen grasped your hand. “It’s alright (M/n). I understand.” He rubbed your knuckles lovingly. “I’m sorry-“ “Don’t be.” He cut you off. “You have no reason to explain yourself.” He knew your heart still belonged to Kyojuro and he respected that. You two sat in a comfortable silence as you slowly allowed yourself to return to sit in Tengen’s lap.

“My heart still isn’t ready to move on, but I promise you, the day it is, it’ll be yours.” You looked up at him. “And I’ll be more than happy to accept it.” He brought your hand to his lips and pressed a sweet kiss to your knuckles.

•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*

It all moved entirely too fast.

One day you were enjoying a day out on the town with Uzui and his wives, and now you watched as the demon who killed Kyojuro faded into dust.

“We did (M/n).” Tanjiro wept as he attempted to apply pressure to the wound in your stomach. “You did it.”

You smiled and coughed up blood. “You’re not injured are you?” You looked up at the scarred boy.

“No sir.” He wiped some tears from his face. “I’m glad.” You breathed deeply before realizing one of your lungs must’ve been punctured as you struggled with something as simple as that.

“You should be worried about yourself. You’re in two pieces.” Tomioka quietly stated as his sat down beside you.

“I’ll be alright.” You felt your eyelids slowly become heavier and heavier with each blink of your eyes. “Stop with this nonsense Mr. (M/n)! You’re going to die soon! Please speak with some urgency!” Tanjiro cried out. You simply chuckled and reached up to cup his face. “Why should I be sad? The killer of my lover has been killed by my efforts and now I’m presented with the opportunity to see Kyojuro again. I have no reason to be upset. In fact… I’m rather relieved. So please, don’t mourn me. Who knows how many lives I have helped to save by ridding the world of that demon. I will go on with no regrets in this world.” You explained, watching as both men before you accepted your death.

“Tanjiro, please tell Senjuro I’m sorry to give him another loss, but please assure him I will be watching over him. Me and Kyojuro both will be excited to see the great man he becomes.” Your breaths started to become much shallower. “And for Mr. Uzui, please tell him I apologize I couldn’t give him my heart, but that I will cherish all the love he still gave me in spite of my inability to do so.” Tanjiro became more panicked as he realized your heart beat was slowing down. “Please, save your breath-“ Tomioka covered his mouth, allowing you to continue. “And for you both, go out there and save the world. I’ll be cheering you on.” You shut your eyes. “Set your heart ablaze.”

And just like that, you were gone…

*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•

You awoke in a grassy field. The sun was bright and wind was warm, feeing almost as if it was pressing kissed against your skin every time it passed by. The tall reeds swayed in the blowing wind and brushed against your legs, slightly tickling you. Everything was perfect.

“I’m proud of you!” A familiar voice boomed through the air.

You slowly turned around as you laid your eyes on the man you have longed to see ever since that faithful night…

“K-Kyojuro…?”

“It’s me (M/n).” He smiled to you and opened his arms.

Your eyes rang and your breath hitched. It couldn’t be…?

Your shock was short-lived as you rushed towards him, immediately landing in his arms and tackling him to the soft grass. His body was as warm as you remembered. His arms immediately resting at your waist, just like he used to. His scent was as vibrant as you recalled.

It was him.

He was here.

With you.

“Where are we?” You looked around you. While it was peaceful, it was not where you recalled ever visiting.

“We’re in heaven love.” Kyojuro stated as he ran his fingers through your hair.

“Ah, I guess I died during that battle against Akaza.” The former flame hashira nodded as he held you close to him.

“No matter how you got here, you did amazing!” He smiled brightly at you, causing your heart to skip a beat. “And now we’ll never be separated again!”

You smiled back at him.

Sure, nothing has gone how you would prefer it to, but life has a way of subverting expectations, yet somehow managing to give you everything you wanted.

•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*

Note(s): I wasn’t planning on making a part 2 to the original fic, but I had a sudden urge to write a bittersweet ending and immediately got to writing. I apologize if it’s too choppy, but I didn’t want it to be crazy long and a lot of what I originally planned was really just filler lol. Anyways, I hope you enjoy and have a great day/night!

[talon-dragonbeast]

today i want to talk about my hearthome, the coniferous forest, and how i lived there as a dragon. ill be using the words "memory", "remember", and the past tense a lot as an aid, despite me not having a past life. this is because they are noemata, things that never really happened but which i know to be true and are as important as any past life memory. this gets pretty long, so lets begin already.

i dont know how or when I found my forest. i was not born there, and although i know there mustve been other dragons somewhere, none ever visited my forest. if i had to guess, im pretty sure i was born among other dragons, but left them once i reached adulthood. im a pretty solitary dragon, as ive talked about before on this blog, and i have a pretty strong protective instinct. so once i left my fellow dragons, its no wonder i would choose a territory of my own that i could defend from others. and ive always preferred colder climates, so the coniferous forest was perfect for me.

my forest was not huge, but not too small either. it took several hours to walk from one corner to another, so i spent all my day patrolling it. my den was located right in the center, in a cave with a hidden entrance where i had my nest made of moss and my hoard of found objects and shiny things. the cave was tall but small, not uncomfortably so (i could stretch out comfortably without ever touching the walls), but just enough so that it made me feel cooped up and safe. right outside my den was a river that led to the mountains surrounding the forest, and marked the end of my territory. the mountains were a vantage point from which I could see any approaching enemies, so they greatly aided in my territory's defense.

the weather was not great, but for me it was just perfect. a dense fog in the morning that blocked the first rays of sunshine, the air always humid and heavy on the tongue, so cold it stinged the back of your mouth and made breathing difficult. light rain fell almost constantly from the gray skies, turning to snow in winter and thunderstorm in spring. the ground was always slightly damp, covered with brown pine needles and green moss, the soil underneath so dark it was almost black. the trees were tall and intimidating, all coniferous with a rich mix of pine, larch, spruce and fir, silent guardians much as I was. sometimes, the rain would stop and turn the forest into a nearly dreamlike place, with the sky a blue so intense it hurt the eyes, the sun shining with a strange energy that seemed to cool instead of warm. on those days, the air seemed to stand still, everything becoming so quiet you could almost hear the silence, as if the whole forest was holding its breath.

there were animals in my forest, of course. deer and fish and mice and elk and, most importantly, crows. i held a close relationship with the local murder that was similar to the symbiotic relationship between wolves and crows in the wild. they helped me locate prey, informed me of intruders and accompanied me on my patrols, and in return i gave them part of the kill, protected their nests and helped them with any trouble they might get into (you wouldnt believe the kinds of shenanigans the little buggers would manage to find themselves in!). i was at the top of the food chain, and was in charge of maintaining the balance of the ecosystem. i helped the forest, and the forest helped me.

there isnt really a conclusion to this. today im feeling a bit nostalgic, probably because the weather is getting colder and colder and it reminds me of home. my forest, the home of my heart, to which i can never return. writing this has made me feel a bit better, but the pain is still there. the truth is, i still miss it terribly. i miss my den, how safe it made me feel. i miss the crows, my murder, my only companions. i miss feeling the ground beneath my claws, the crunching of pine needles and the soft cold dirt underneath. i miss the emotion of the hunt, the long naps under the sun, the stargazing of an infinite night sky.

but what i miss the most i think, is the feeling of belonging. of being part of the ecosystem, not detached from but actively participating in it. in this human life, its too easy to forget i am an animal too; humans seem so keen to separate themselves from the natural world that they have forgotten that they are part of it like any other living being. i guess what i really miss is simply being able to leave my mark somewhere. feeling that i am doing something. feeling important, needed. but again, dont we all?

[syllvane]

can’t shake the devil sitting on your shoulder - kaz brekker x reader

Kaz doesn't remember when you got so good with a gun.

He knows for sure that at one point you weren't, that at one point you asked Jesper for help in exchange for some kruge to gamble away, but those days were long gone. Now you handled your guns like they were an extension of yourself- not quite as proficient as Jesper, but no one was as good as Jesper. 

Knives too, now that he thought about it. You hadn't taken to them as quickly as you had taken to guns, but you knew your way around them, knew where to aim to cause the most damage. 

It's late one night when you walk into the closed Crow Club, skin stained and hair matted with blood.

It's Jesper sitting at the bar who first sees you, doing a double-take.

“Saints alive, what happened? Are you okay?” He asked, practically jumping out of his seat and striding towards you. “Let me get Nina, or-”

“I'm fine, Jes. The other guys look worse.” You said tiredly, reaching up to rub your eyes, before looking at the blood caked on your hands and thinking better of it.

“Who... what happened to you?” Kaz said, his eyes narrowing as he walked out of his office. “Who did this to you.”

“I took care of it. Barely any of this is mine.”

A sliver of pride welled in Kaz, leaving a bitter taste in his mouth.

“Good.” The word tastes like metal in his mouth and he hates the slight nod you give to him, acknowledging and accepting the praise.

The first time you killed someone, you threw up. It was easier the second time and by the tenth time, you had stopped flinching at the sound of the gun firing altogether.

Jesper ignored Kaz's remark, rolling his eyes.

“Do you need Nina?”

You shook your head.

“Not unless she has suddenly become a Tidemaker. It's going to be a pain to clean all of this off.”

“I'll get her anyways, just in case.” He said. “You might be running on adrenaline still.”

You know that you aren't, know what adrenaline feels like and know that it wore off as soon as you were inside the Crow Club, your whole body tired.

You smile thankfully at him anyways, the dried blood on your face cracking at the motion.

He returned it before heading to the back, not paying Kaz any attention as he brushed past.

Your eyes followed him until he was out of sight- then, your gaze landed on Kaz.

He was already looking at you, blue eyes narrowed in thought.

“You look like you have something to say.”

He raised an eyebrow.

“Have you ever known me to hold my tongue?”

“No.”

“There's your answer.”

Neither of you said anything for a couple seconds, hoping that Jesper and Nina would interject themselves.

And maybe it's because you're tired and you're not thinking clearly, but you can't help but push.

“It's just that you keep looking at me like you have something to say.”

“I won't make the mistake of looking at you, then.” He snapped.

“What a terrible mistake.” You replied and his eyes flitted back to you.

You used to be scared of him at some point. And then you learned how to shoot a gun and handle knives and standing there, covered in blood, there is no more fear in your eyes.

You are the thing you used to be afraid of. 

He swallowed the bitter taste in his mouth.

“You used to talk about getting out of Ketterdam. Do you remember that?”

The fight left your eyes for a couple moments, because you did want that, at one point.

You can't pinpoint when you stopped wanting it, the point where you would sometimes catch glimpses of yourself in the mirror and think it was a stranger.

You loved Kaz at some point as well, thought that love alone would be enough to save him.

“No one ever really leaves this place.”

“You thought otherwise.”

“And I was wrong, like you told me I would be.”

He wants to tell you that he wishes that he wasn't right, just this once.

He wishes that the only knives you had to use were for cooking, that you were out of practice with a gun, that you never had to see this much blood, much less be coated in it.

He wishes that love was enough for him too.