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andypantsx3 · 1 year ago

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contents: general bakugou x princess reader; fem + afab virgin reader. nsft; oral (f receiving) & missionary. semi-sequel to this drabble. 3.2k.

Your wedding day arrives far earlier than you are prepared for.

It’s a tense affair, for you at least. The country depends on it, and you feel the scheming eyes of the nobility hot on your skin as you pronounce your vows to Bakugou. They will not take kindly to your having chosen him over their sons and brothers, over their own desire to rise to power. There will be a price they will want you to pay, soon enough.

The chapel is resplendent with sumptuous decor, the court in their finest. But the room is fringed with Bakugou’s men in their military leathers, a reminder that this is not a happy day, but rather a dangerous political stunt. It keeps the noble houses docile while they are in the room with you, but you know they will return to their estates and their plans.

Your fate is in Bakugou’s hands, now, in more ways than one.

The ceremony is dizzying, and impossible to wrap your head around. The preceptor pronounces Bakugou your prince-consort, ostensibly to remain so while you assume the throne after your father’s passing. You will continue to rule him as his sovereign. But your vows to Bakugou also promise him your obedience as his wife.

It is a contradiction, an impossible trap, the very reason why the general is the only man you could stomach the thought of marrying. If a husband is to rule you after all, Bakugou will do so justly.

The thought does not stifle your nerves, however, as you make your way back down the aisle, sit down to the reception, and take your meal. A disquieting, anticipatory feeling settles over you, fizzing under your skin. You barely pick at your dinner, and drink too much of the wine.

You can tell Bakugou notices, scarlet gaze ever-perceptive, though he does not say anything until you are shepherded to the bridal suite to consummate.

Various aides try to follow you in to prepare you, but Bakugou slams the door closed on them, propping it shut with one broad shoulder. He barks at them to scram.

“Lord General—that is, Your Highness,” one of them stutters through the door. “We are required to witness the consummation—to verify that it is complete.”

A bolt of shame goes through you at this, and you catch hold of one of the intricately-carved wooden bed pillars. Bakugou grunts, holding the door closed with one palm while spinning to the nearby dressing table and chair. He grabs the chair, wedging it forcefully up under the door handle.

“You’ll be sure of consummation when I’m done here,” he growls through the door. “Don’t need you little fucking perverts making eyes the whole damn time. Now beat it.”

A weird sound escapes you, something between a gasp and a laugh—at his promise, at his gruffness.

“Your Highness,” comes a plaintive entreaty through the door. Bakugou slams a fist against it, and you hear a squeal and a sound like someone’s fallen over their feet.

An absurd laugh seizes you, and Bakugou eyes you pettishly.

“The fuck’re you laughing about,” he says, but there’s no heat in it.

Your fingers twist on the bedpost, nervously tracing the lines. “You’re taking to your new post well.”

Bakugou’s features twist into something dangerously satisfied, a smirk painting his mouth. Your breath comes short.

“My post,” he echoes, raising an eyebrow. “As your husband.”

Your stomach swoops. The disquiet flames back to life under your skin, settling heavy in your gut like a stone.

“I supposed it is a post like any other,” you say, fixing your gaze on the ground. “There are responsibilities and… marital duties.”

You hear the soft tread of Bakugou’s boot as he steps away from the door, the rustle of his doublet as he draws closer. His many medals and ceremonial sword belt clink softly. It is a fashion you know he does not prefer, always living in his shirtsleeves—the better to fight in, to train in.

A calloused hand takes your chin, tipping your face up to his.

“You nervous, Princess?” he asks. His tone is obnoxious, as usual, but his crimson gaze traces your face.

You barely suppress a shiver under his touch. Your stomach churns with a thousand emotions and you find you don’t know how to feel. Relieved that you’ve made it this far. Annoyed with Bakugou’s composure and general manner. Apprehensive about what is to come. And warm, suddenly, all over. You do not want to examine why.

“Nonsense,” you sniff.

A feral smile curls the corner of Bakugou’s mouth like he sees right through you. “You’ve never been with a man.”

Your face burns but you force yourself to return Bakugou’s assessing stare. “I’ve never been to Musutafu, either, but I know it well enough. I should think I am… prepared.”

Something hot alights in Bakugou’s gaze, burning like a coal. It’s not unlike how he looked at you that night in the dark outside his chambers, when you’d first come to him with this wild proposal.

“And what do you think you know,” he says, flatter than a question.

Your nose grows hot. “Enough.”

A thumb slides along your jaw, settling against the pulse in your neck. “Answer the question, angel.”

Your face just might be on fire. You steel yourself, reciting dispassionately. “You will undress me and then… enter me. I shall lie still—they say you can breathe through the pain and it will go away after some time. You will… work yourself to completion. And then we shall be done.”

A snort comes from Bakugou. “Is that how you royal tightasses do it?”

You feel your eyes narrow. “That is how everyone does it.”

Your ladies in waiting had been very emphatic. All of them had spoken of the same mechanics. The initial discomfort, the pain, the way a husband moved upon his wife until he was satisfied.

“You don’t know shit, Princess,” Bakugou says.

You reach up to pull his hand from your face, but he tenses, arm growing solid and immovable.

“Explains why all you nobles are such fucking tight-buttoned pricks if that’s how you’re doing it.”

Your reply is startled out of you when his hand finds your waist. You take a step back, and then another, startling again when your back finds the wall. Bakugou follows you, eyes hot.

“You are insufferable,” you inform him hotly. “I am sure of the matter.”

“You’re always sure of a lot of things, Princess,” he says. His hand is back at your waist, and suddenly all your skin feels too hot and tight, stifling like a velvet dress in summer.

“I am sure you are the most obnoxious man on earth,” you say. “Now be quiet and commence with it. Let’s have done with it.”

Bakugou’s face is suddenly closer than you’d remembered it being.

“I’ll have done with you alright,” he says. “But I’m not gonna do it like you little uppity prudes.”

You find you can’t think of what he means, all of your thoughts clouded with his proximity, the feeling of his hand moving to your skirts.

“I—but there is only the one way,” you manage. None of your ladies had mentioned anything else.

Bakugou’s mouth cuts into a smirk again, and you hate him for how pretty it is.

“We’ll fuckin’ see about that,” he says.

And then his mouth is pressed to yours.

It’s nothing like the stilted peck you’d been obliged to give him at the ceremony—one that still left your face burning, for some unknowable reason. This feels entirely different in its intensity. Bakugou’s mouth is hot and soft and tempting and eager, and your body thrills with it.

Every inch of your skin feels like it zings with lightning when he licks into your mouth, and he presses you harder into the wall. You feel his groan all the way down to your toes.

“B–akugou,” you pant when his mouth leaves yours, only to stifle a yip when he moves down to your throat. He sucks a mark there, laving over it with his tongue, and you feel like you're melting in his hands. “That’s—not my—ah!—mouth,” you manage.

The tiniest scrape of teeth has you yelping again, and you find yourself clutching his bicep for purchase.

“No shit,” he says, leaving another mark lower, mapping his way towards your chest. Calloused fingers come up to cup one of your breasts, thumb swiping over your nipple through your stays. You catch hold of his hair, yanking a fistful of that flaxen blonde, clenching your thighs together.

“What are you doing?” you hiss.

Bakugou looks up at you, expression annoyed. “Consummating.”

“But you’re not undressing me,” you say. “And shouldn’t we—on the bed?

Bakugou raises a blonde eyebrow. “They tell you it needs to be on a bed, too?”

You blink, momentarily disarmed. It was quite literally called sharing the marriage bed—where else were you supposed to do it?

“Are you sure we’re talking about the same thing?” you eventually ask him.

Both of Bakugou’s eyebrows shoot for the moon, and he looks very suddenly like he wants to laugh. A grin yanks at his mouth, sharp and beautiful.

“I knew you’d be a fucking handful,” he says, his tone somehow both annoyed and delighted. “Don’t even know what the fuck you’re talking about and you’re still trying to give me orders.”

You yank at the fistful of his hair you’re still clutching and he hisses, hand shooting out to grab yours. He works your grip off of him, pinning your wrist to the wall. The air in the room suddenly feels a hundred times thicker, like trying to breathe through honey.

“Listen closely, Princess,” he tells you, leaning in. “We're going to consummate, alright. But I’m not just gonna squeeze my eyes shut and stick it in. I’m going to do what I want first, and you’re going to be good and let me.”

Your face ignites in flame. You want to disagree reflexively. “If it’s going to be painful I’d rather just have it over with, if you don’t mind,” you say.

Bakugou stares back, scarlet gaze roving over you. “It’s not gonna be if you shut up and let me do what I want.”

You blink. You hadn’t heard that there was a way around the pain—why hadn’t anyone told you?

“I—really?” you ask.

Bakugou nods. “Really.”

“Oh,” you say. “Well then… you may proceed, I suppose.”

“You suppose,” he echoes, staring you down. The look on his face makes you want to lean forward and bite it off.

“Well get on with it,” you say, arching your eyebrows.

Bakugou looks for a moment like he wants to shake you. But he ducks his head instead, lowering his mouth to yours again.

“Gonna fuck that bossiness right out of you,” he mutters, low like he’s promising himself and not you. But then he kisses you again, muffling your gasp in his mouth.

You’ve never kissed another man, and do not have a frame of reference for what he’s doing. But Bakugou is a good kisser, you think. Every flick of his tongue feels like someone has uncorked champagne and poured it beneath your skin, and every brush of his mouth against yours sends a liquid heat racing through your veins.

You moan into his mouth when calloused fingers delve beneath the collar of your gown, dipping into your stays and pinching a nipple. He rolls it carefully, and you arch against him without any say-so from your brain.

“Been thinking about this, Princess,” he says. “Ever since I saw you in that little nightdress. Gonna show you what it really means to be with a man.”

You’re excused from answering by his mouth back on yours. Not that you think you could, with the way his fingers feel in the cups of your stays, or the press of a strong thigh between your own.

“Bakugou,” you gasp when he peels off of you, only to sink to his knees before you.

“It’s Katsuki,” he says, busying himself with the hem of your skirts.

“B–Katsuki,” you say. “What are you doing?”

Long fingers roll up the hemline of your dress, then yank at your underthings, exposing you to him. You gasp again, moving to cover yourself, but Bakugou pins you to the wall with an arm across your stomach, catching your thigh and pulling it over his shoulder.

“Husbandly duties,” he replies, another smirk on his mouth.

And then your head thunks against the wall as that mouth moves, pressing to you.

“Katsuki!” you shout, biting off into an embarrassing moan when he laves over you. No one had told you about this part—about how a man’s mouth there would make you feel like fireworks had just been lit off in your veins. About how a man’s mouth could even go there at all.

Bakugou doesn’t reply, kissing you there as he had your lips. A delicate suck from him over the cleft of you has you arching in his hands again, and you can quite literally feel him smirking against you.

He works you thoroughly, licking and sucking for what feels like torturous hours, but must only be minutes, until you’re a writhing, panting mess, only held upright by the arm he has banded across your lower stomach. There’s a pressure rising within you, pooling in all your limbs, making you shake and shiver with it, and what feels like no way to release it.

“Katsuki—I feel strange,” you say, bucking against his mouth. “Oh—oh!”

“Just hold on, sweetheart, and let yourself feel it,” Katsuki tells you, before licking back over you. A finger presses up inside of you, foreign but strangely good in conjunction with his mouth. Then another one presses in and they curl as if seeking something, making you twist in his grip.

And then something makes you jerk—the press of Katsuki’s fingers inside you in just the right spot, while he sucks on you, feeling like he’s touching the same place inside of you from both sides.

Something inside you snaps, uncoiling, pleasure flooding down you like a mudslide. You cry out Bakugou’s name, tears in your vision, riding out your pleasure against his mouth. Bakugou licks you through it, groaning low in his throat with appreciation.

“That’s it, Princess,” he says, tone rough. “Now you’re ready for consummation.”

You hear his words as if through a haze, and it’s only once you’re moving—being picked up and carried over to the bed—that you register what he’s saying.

He frees himself from his breeches, and stretches out over you, kissing your mouth. You’re embarrassed to taste yourself on him, but the press of him to you overrides that concern. In one smooth stroke he presses in, and you are shocked to find that he slides home easily, your core slick and ready.

It feels strange, but not at all unpleasant—absolutely nothing like what they’d told you.

“You alright, Princess?” Bakugou asks.

“I—yes,” you say, voice fluttering off when he flexes his hips, moving inside of you. The slide of him inside of you is unexpectedly good, especially when he lowers a hand to your core, pressing a thumb to that bundle of nerves at the hood of you.

“Feel good?” he asks, his eyes hot on your face. You cling to him, hips lifting into him unthinkingly as his thumb pets over you again, as he presses in and out of you a few more times.

You nod, not wanting to give him the satisfaction of saying it aloud.

He grins anyway, feral and fever-bright. His pace picks up into something faster, and you’re embarrassed to hear the slap of him against you, the eager way your body welcomes him in.

The band of pressure builds up inside you again, slowly, with every sure stroke of Bakugou inside you. He’s hot and hard and heavy over you, pressing you into the mattress, and the tops of his cheeks are flush with effort—the way he looks sometimes when he’s just come in from the training pitch.

He’s beautiful—handsome and strong and hot-headed and determined. And it dawns on you that he’s yours now—not just your subject but your husband, your prince consort, and now your lover.

It makes all your skin turn molten hot again, especially when you look down and see your knees have rucked his shirt up. You can see the flex of his abs as he thrusts between your thighs, all that golden skin and dense muscle.

The slide of him inside you and the sight of him over you is suddenly too much, and you feel yourself tip right over the edge again. Bakugou catches your hand as you lift it to muffle your cry, kissing over your knuckles.

“That’s it, Princess, that’s it,” he says again, ducking his head to kiss you.

You moan into his mouth as he fucks you through it, and he groans with the clench of you.

“Feel so fuckin’ good,” he says against your lips, pace picking up faster. “Knew you would, sweetheart, yeah.”

Embarrassingly you feel almost like you could come apart again with the praise. Bakugou groans once more, and you can hear his grip tighten in the blanket next to your head. His hips buck and flex, wildly uncontrolled now, until he gives one final hard thrust.

His weight pins you down when he relaxes over you, his breath tickling over your shoulder. You find you like the weight of him on you, covering you, like a shield against the rest of the world.

Apt, for a general.

“Better than how you wanted to do it, wasn’t it, Princess?” he asks, smug.

You scoff, but you catch the flash of a white grin in the corner of your vision. There is really no question that he’d had the better of it, this time.

“Knew you’d see it my way,” he says.

Over him, you can hear the flutter of feet outside the door, some muffled discussion. Heat rises to your face when you realize the castle aids most definitely heard you cry out under Bakugou’s ministrations. There will be no doubt of your consummation now, regardless of whether you were observed.

“Nosy fuckin’ perverts,” Bakugou says, rolling off of you. You catch another flicker of his chest with the way his shirt gapes, and he looks doubly smug when he notices.

“Not done yet, angel?” he says.

“I am, thank you.” You flush, embarrassed at having been caught. But Bakugou stretches an arm out to yank you over him, pressing you down over his hips.

Your stomach flutters.

“Give me a couple more minutes, Princess,” Bakugou says, scarlet eyes flashing with heat once more. His hand raises to trail through your hair, catching in the wedding hairstyle they’d pinned you into.

“Five more minutes,” your new husband promises you, with a grin like the devil. “And then we'll give them something to really listen to.”

#bakugou x reader #bakugou x you #katsuki bakugo x reader #bakugo x reader #bakugou katsuki x reader #bnha x reader #bakugo x you #character: bakugou katsuki #andie's writing

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harmonysanreads · 3 months ago

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PUPPY PHAINON IS SO REAL OMG

i think it be so funny (extremely sexy) if he goes absolutely feral because his love got hurt on the battlefield

i'm talking absolute carnage, not a soul alive, people being genuinely scared because wtf man (bonus if his partner only got a minor flesh wound hehe)

Your lover has been acting... strange recently.

Though, the abnormalities have been so conveniently spaced, so intertwined with inconveniences that they could be brushed off as mere coincidences — in hindsight, at least. You'd be found guilty of this practice, as it becomes second nature to assume the best of people that can bear one's trust. There appears the occasional incident, where you find yourself second guessing that faith instead and question the normalcy of this particular genre of human behavior.

“Will you tell me now, who did this to you, melite?”

You find that you need to use force in order to push down the flinch that almost crawled all over your skin, unaccustomed to this tone of his.

You push yourself closer, your nails dig a bit harder into the fabric covering his arm ; sensing his gaze towards your direction. Your grasp is more labored than it should've been, you can feel the tendons beneath your grip flexing in barely held restraint. Murmurs follow their way to your ear, unintelligible in fear of feeding further the hero's wrath.

“I have been telling you this since the beginning, Phai.” in spite of your effort, exasperation bleeds into your words.

You glance from behind Phainon's shadow — pointedly at that — towards the knuckle tight grip he has on the fellow's skull. ‘Unfortunate’ probably does not suffice to describe this random pedestrian's situation. You're not given more time to ponder the validity of that claim as something reminiscent of a crack drifts to your ear, alerting you to hasten.

“It wasn't this man, it wasn't any human to begin with! You have to believe me, please.” you tilt your head and make sure to secure his gaze, ripples of discontent appear on the once placid ocean.

You knew it wasn't exactly unusual for one's protective instincts to be provoked in relation to a loved one, but for it reach this magnitude was concerning in your book. Especially so considering their increasing appearances, over the most mundane matters at that.

The Chrysos Heirs aren't known as without their fair share of eccentricities, you suppose they are suited for ones destined to be heroes. But every new scene over a scratch against a surface, a person standing too close, a different gaze lingering too long has you questioning if Phainon's ‘protectiveness’ can really be excused for long.

Perhaps the helplessness in your eyes had finally pushed through the layers of rage bubbling in his head and the contact with your skin had weakened the flames, as he loosens his clasp on the man's head, before shoving him aside with enough force to make you feel the kick of your heart against your ribcage.

You don't get to check the man's condition as Phainon takes your hand in his previously occupied one, his thumb ghosts over the scratch across its back, the swift difference unnerves you for a second.

You know not to waste your breath though, catching the implications. “It... was that pillar.” you avert your eyes upon feeling his caress halt.

“...Which one?” his curt inquiry alerts you. His fingers flex and relax around yours, you can no longer hear the crowd.

You bypass a breath to grasp his collar, caution clouds your mind. The abruptness of your action startles Phainon, as he meets your frown.

“Don’t.” you warn, the realization that makes itself known on his countenance at your order proves your hypothesis to be correct.

“But that pillar deserves it, melite.” something similar to a pout softens his face and at last you find traces of the Phainon you are so familiar with. “If it's hurt you once, it will do it again. Isn't it better to just remove it to avoid that scenario?”

You let go of his collar and rest your palm on his cheek, unable to restrain the sigh that escapes your lips, “Phai, the pillar is an inanimate object.”

He leans into your touch, you're certain he would've melted from it had it not been for the embers of his previous fury keeping his senses sharp, “So?”

You steer yourself away from face-palming, “So, I'm saying that you shouldn't make more of a scene than you've already had. I just want a peaceful evening with you, okay?”

He blankly stares at you for a moment, digesting each syllable. Only when the ‘with you’ reaches his ears does he seem to have sobered up. Phainon nods, taking your hand from his face to press a kiss on the scratch marring the skin. You notice his eyes straying, you would've missed it completely had you not been paying attention — a side-eye towards the fellow now scrambling away.

You've succeeded in preventing any major incident from occuring today, but your power in maintaining the consistency of this endeavor remains uncertain.

I tweaked the scenario a bit because it was funnier in my head orz but overprotective Phainon is so delicious, ty nonnie!

#i hope my choice of nickname for darling here is not too outlandish because i plan on using it for phainon ahshsjjs #yandere phainon #yandere phainon x reader #phainon x reader #phainon #phainon brainrot #yandere hsr #yandere hsr x reader #yandere honkai star rail #yandere honkai star rail x reader

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umbrella-show · 1 month ago

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𝐅𝐚𝐧𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐅𝐥𝐚𝐦𝐞

I know I've been doing a lot of Shadow Milk stuff but I wanna give Burning spice cookie some love for a moment bc hes so cool ❤

The clang of clashing metal filled the open space. You swung your axe repeatedly in a frenzy, desperate to at least graze the dough of the Beast of destruction. Yet, he dogged every single one of your sloppy swings with ease. Trained onto the way you haphazardly swung the smaller axe over and over again, his eyes were narrow. Not in concentration, but in an expression of disappointment. Sweat dripped down your forehead as you stumbled forward in exhaustion, but continued to attempt to attack him. His axe met yours halfway, and with ease, he hit your axe out of your hands. The axe flew out of your hands and lodged into one of the nearby red stone pillars. A spice servant just so happened to be walking past and was nearly impaled by the weapon as it landed inches away from their head. They quickly scurried away, not sticking around to find out if there were any more flying axes that would pose a threat.

With no weapon and no way to defend yourself, you helplessly looked up at the Beast cookie. You heavily panted, your adrenaline immediately dissipating and the exhaustion causing your body to tremble. You began to finally recognize the overwhelming heat present in the training room from the natural environment of the dessert you were in. His sharp glare sent shivers down your spine and you found yourself freezing on the spot. His silence was greatly unnerving. He wasn’t known to be quiet in the slightest. Yet, he was staring down at you with a prominent scowl.

“That was pathetic.”

Burning Spice cooke spat out, his low and harsh tone making you flinch. You said nothing and only continued to look up at him. His towering stance caused you to shrink further, desperately wishing you could disappear and escape his disappointed gaze. You feared he would dispose of you. Reduce you into crumbs. Your gaze wandered to his own axe, practically as tall as him. One swing of that and you would be crumbs, and your dust would be left to travel into the air and join the rest of the spices who had fallen to the Great Destroyer's hands.

“Yet, I know you are capable of much more. That spark. That flame in your eyes. I have not forgotten it.”

His voice was gruff as he lectured you, making sure to look directly in your eyes. He was searching for something. Probably that so-called ‘spark’ he claimed he had once seen. You didn’t know what he meant by that. He soon continued, resting his battle axe over his shoulder.

“Fanning that flame, it will grow into an inferno that can scorch the most impenetrable civilizations and can snuff out the strongest of flames with a single blow.”

A faint smile pulled at his lips, revealing more of his sharp yellow teeth. The sight intimidated you greatly and made your feet shuffle underneath you. He didn’t seem to care about you uncomfort, his smile only growing as he seemed to be thinking deeply.

“Yes. You shall get there, in time. We will continue later. Retrieve the axe.”

Burning Spice cookie left the training room without another word. You hobbled over the axe stuck into the stone pillar. Gripping the handle, you heaved with all the strength you had left to pull it out. It remained lodged in the stone.

You only continued to stubbornly tug at the small axe. However, no matter how hard you tried, it didn’t budge. It wasn’t like you were at your full strength, you thought as you continued to pull. You had just spent a while overexerting yourself in your fierce training with the Beast cookie. You still persisted, leaning almost your whole weight back as you pulled.

Burning Spice cookie returned with a ceramic bowl in his hand. He noticed your difficulty in reattaining the axe in the pillar, and sighed in annoyance. He placed the bowl on the floor and strided over to your struggling form. At his arrival, you got the hint and stepped away from the axe and let him handle the work. With one swift tug of the handle, the axe was released from the wall. He called for a spice servant, demanding they sharpen the small weapon. Cowering, they quickly fled to fulfill his orders.

Burning Spice cookie ordered you to follow him to the bowl, sitting on the floor with crossed legs and prompting you to do the same. In the bowl, you saw some fruit. Mostly berries hanging on short, thin vines, though you could see some cantaloupe mixed in as well. You glanced at the appetizing looking fruit before looking at him. He looked at you expectantly. After a few seconds of silence, with an annoyed sigh, Burning spice cookie took one of the cantaloupes and dropped it into your hands.

“Eat,” he impatiently demanded. “In order to train harder, you need sustenance.”

You eagerly obliged, and began tearing into the cantaloupe with fervour. You didn’t realize how starving you were until you had taken that first, juicy, delicious bite and continuously ate more. You ravenously ate everything in the bowl, the juices of the cantaloupe and berries messily staining your mouth. You finished the bowl in a matter of minutes.

Wiping your mouth with the back of your hand, you took a moment to close your eyes and relax for just a few seconds. Of course, you could never fully be at ease, as you could feel Burning Spice cookie’s judgmental stare at your sudden tranquility. Yet, he gave you a full minute to decompress before grunting impatiently and getting up from the ground.You soon followed after you opened your eyes to his expectant glare.

“You may not rest. Rest can wait until you’ve reached your full potential.”

Before you could ask what he wanted you to do next, he suddenly turned his back to you, began walking, and ordered you to follow. Wordlessly, you walked behind him, your face displaying a visible expression of confusion and shock when he led you out of the temple and into the desert. Your attention averted to him as he muttered in a low voice. You were unsure it was directed at you or if he was speaking to himself.

“Now, let us do a new type of training.”

The wind kicked up spice into your face. Covering your eyes with your arms, you didn’t dare to open them in the middle of the Spice storm. Taking a step forward, you forced your body to move against the wind and further into the storm.

“How is this part of training-?!”

You coughed violently as you felt your throat burn from the specks of spice you accidentally swallowed. Burning Spice cookie stood, unbothered, in the hazardous storm. In fact, he smiled and laughed without a care as he watched you struggle. He stood in front of you at a distance, monitoring your every step. With crossed arms, he surveyed, entertained, at your scared expression and difficulty adjusting. He was waiting for you to reach him. Yet, you knew he could easily continue forward and leave you behind if he chose too, considering his calmness in such a hazardous storm.

“You need to get accustomed to the weather. That is part of your training. You must be prepared to fight in any conditions. Even in the eye of a Spice Storm.”

You took another step forward, leaning your weight forward to prevent the wind from pushing you back. You caught a glance at Burning Spice cookie through your blurred vision. He was still there, you confirmed. Watching you. You could still feel his piercing glare through the wind.

“Keep going.” He yelled, his hair widely whipping around him. “Ignite that spark. Fan the flame!”

A grunt left your throat, forcing your body forward. Step after step, your pace quickened. You continued to cough, but you ignored that and pushed forward. You came closer and closer to him. He seemed absolutely delighted by this, thoroughly entertained. He egged you on.

“Yes! YES! Keep going! FAN THE FLAME!!!”

“I-I can’t!”

“DO IT!!!”

Tears brimmed in your eyes as you compelled your body to continue. Step after step took incredible effort, but the fear of being swept away by the storm if you faltered for even a second compelled you to heed Burning Spice cookie’s orders. You shrieked as you felt the wind fiercely rush past you, your hair flying into your face. You pushed and pushed forward. You were only a few feet away from him.

He held a wide, toothy smirk as you inched closer. He could see it! That spark of determination began to grow into a powerful flame the more you continued forward. Your body trembled in exhaustion, but your eyes held that familiar look of determination.

That same look he had seen when you had gotten yourself between Golden Cheese cookie and him. The way you looked up at him, with pure anger and furry. Despite how fearful of him you obviously were, he could see it clearly through your body language. It was completely unwise to stand up to him so boldly. He knew you knew fully well he could easily crush you. Yet, you had tried to push him away, pathetically hitting your fist against his firm chest in an attempt to protect your dear friend. Pathetic and foolish, he had thought, and he returned your pointless punches with a blow of his own. Of course, you had flown back and were sent tumbling across the ground. The dough on your side and arm has slightly cracked, making it painful to move. Golden Cheese cookie had called out your name in utter horror at your condition.

Burning Spice cookie found satisfaction in her pain. Staining one of her most precious treasures with his destructive hands. His satisfaction, however, was unmatched to the pleasure he felt when he demanded her to fight him. The thrill he would experience by bringing about destruction to her precious treasures, and then her in the end, would be unmatched to anyone he had ever rivaled.

Yet, a sudden harsh poke at his back had caused him to look over and see you. You had hurled a stone at his back, your trembling form attempting to stand up straight and tall with difficulty. What really caught his attention, however, was your expression of complete and utter rage. Your jam was boiling, he could see it clear as day. Your eyes had held a mix of emotions, all burning inside you to create a powerful inferno that dared to rival his. You glared at him in pure and utter rage. He only stared back, momentarily stunned, before a wide smile came across his face. You, he had realized, could make you a worthy opponent.

After he had captured Golden Cheese cookie, he immediately began to train you as he waited for her to recover. Not only would it pass the time while he waited, but he could simultaneously still get some entertainment by pushing you to your limits and beginning to forcefully drill his teachings into your mind. He was going to mold you into the perfect soldier with brute force. He could see you were capable of being a worthy opponent. In fact, it seemed he was succeeding as he watched you persist through the storm. He could already see a part of himself in you. That passion in your eyes, he felt, could almost match his own. Almost. It would eventually get there if he continued training you. And he planned to do just that.

Once you had reached him, he wordlessly picked you up, slung you over his shoulder and calmly walked out of the Spice storm. The armor of his shoulder dug into your abdomen uncomfortably.

“With enough training, you’ll be able to FIGHT in a Spice storm with no issue.”

You could feel the wind calm over time as you walked further and further from the Spice Storm and towards the temple. You were completely exhausted, yet, you knew he wouldn’t let you rest. He repeated to you, as your eyes drifted from closing to opening, that rest could only come when you were pushed to your very limits. You silently forced your eyes to stay open. You dared not disobey him. The last thing you wanted was to die like this, by his hands. You needed to stay strong and wait until Golden Cheese cookie came back. You prayed to the witches, that she would.

You stood in the middle of the now abandoned temple you had trained in. The temple was annihilated. You did your best not to step on all of the ruble and broken pots, as well as the crumbs littering the floor. In the chaos of it all, the small metal axe you were familiar with was laying on the ground, under a large piece of the crimson rock. Slowly, you grasped the handle and lifted the axe to your face. The metal showed evident signs of use, some dents present from the training that you hand endured. Dust covered the metal weapon. Unconsciously, you wiped the metal with your hands, revealing your blurry reflection on the clearer surface. You examined your eyes through the reflection. Your dough held a few scratches, but over all, not much damage was physically done to you. You assumed even the Beast of Destructions knew to limit his power when training you, as he could easily crumble you or leave some nasty scars had he not been so mindful. You realized some of the remaining crimson dust made your eyes look redder on the metal.

You let your arm fall to your side as soon as you heard the call of the golden goddess herself, stronger and greedier than ever. She impatiently yelled for you in a loud, prideful tone that was clearly heard in her voice. You shouted out a short response, your hand tightening around the handle of the weapon. You weren’t sure why, but you decided to take it with you. Letting go just felt.. wrong. In a way. You began to briskly walk to meet Golden Cheese cookie and Smoked Cheese cookie observing the destruction of the temple. They were eager to get back to the kingdom, and you couldn’t deny you felt the same way.

With an unreadable expression, and a mix of complex emotions weighing heavily in your chest, you took one last long look at what remained of the temple. You turned away and departed with Golden Cheese cookie and Smoked Cheese cookie by your side. You had a feeling you’ll see Burning Spice cookie cookie again. When and where that meeting would take place, you were unsure. Yet, you were convinced that he would eventually hunt you down.

#umbrella stories ☂️#crk #cookie run kingdom #yandere crk x reader #crk x reader #burning spice crk #burning spice x reader #burning spice cookie #burning spice cookie x reader #yandere cookie run #cookie run x reader #cookie run kingdom x reader #yandere cookie run kingdom x reader #yandere cookie run kingdom #yandere crk

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mintyys-blog · 10 days ago

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NOT YOURS | mark grayson x kyptonian! reader

INVINCIBLE MASTERLIST

WARNINGS: attempted kidnapping, fighting

a/n: this was a request but I couldn’t directly reply to the ask.

The skies were torn apart by chaos.

The Invincible War raged over the horizon—alternate versions of Mark Grayson raining down across the globe, bringing bloodshed and horror with them. The air smelled of smoke and ash, screams echoing between crumbling buildings.

And Y/N?

She was in the thick of it.

A blur of red and blue as she flew through the chaos, her eyes locked on a single target—one of the Marks hovering above the battlefield, watching the world burn with a chilling sense of detachment.

This one was different.

No mask. No bloodlust in his eyes. But there was something colder—quieter. Like the weight of entire galaxies rested on his shoulders.

Then his gaze met hers. And he stopped.

His eyes widened. “Y/N…?”

She hovered in place, fists tight, the wind whipping her hair behind her. “How do you know my name?”

His expression cracked, something fragile just beneath the surface. “You’re alive. You’re—you’re Kryptonian here.” His voice shook with something dangerous—wonder, obsession, grief. “My Y/N was human. She… she didn’t make it. I wasn’t strong enough. But you…”

He took a step forward. “You can survive. You can come back with me.”

Her face hardened. “I’m not yours.”

“You don’t understand,” he said, voice nearly desperate. “We were everything. She believed in me when no one else did. And I let her die. But here—here you lived. Stronger. Faster. You can’t expect me to just walk away from that.”

She glared. “I’m not a second chance for your mistakes.”

“You don’t have to be. You just have to come with me.”

Then he moved.

Fast.

But she was faster.

Her fist collided with his face mid-lunge, sending him crashing into the pavement below. She didn’t hesitate—diving after him, pinning him down with her forearm across his throat.

“I’m not her,” she hissed. “And I’m not going anywhere.”

He laughed, blood in his teeth. “You fight like her. Always so stubborn.”

“You mean always trying to do the right thing?”

He flipped her, slamming her into the ground with brute force, but she kicked off him, launching them both into the sky again. The battle tore through clouds and shattered the sound barrier, each blow shaking the earth.

This wasn’t just a fight.

This was survival.

He tried again to grab her, to plead, to reason—but she wasn’t listening. Every punch she threw was a statement. Every strike, a refusal.

She would not be taken.

And there was no one here to save her—not Nolan, not Eve, not even her Mark. It was just her and this warped version of the boy she’d grown up with—the one she’d fallen for when they were sixteen. The one she’d trusted with her heart.

But this wasn’t him.

This was someone else.

This was a man shaped by grief and desperation. A man who would steal another reality’s version of someone he’d lost—because he couldn’t let go.

And she was going to make damn sure he had to.

Finally, with one last devastating uppercut, she sent him crashing down through several city blocks, dust rising in a pillar behind him.

She hovered there, breathing hard, arms trembling slightly as the adrenaline cooled.

Sirens wailed in the distance. The battle still raged on elsewhere. But her part? Her part was done. He wasn’t getting back up.

The dust was still settling when she dropped to the ground, boots crunching against broken pavement. Rubble surrounded her. Flames crackled in the distance. The air was heavy with smoke, blood, and silence.

Viltrumite Mark lay unconscious in the crater she’d created. He didn’t stir.

But she didn’t relax.

Not until she heard the whoosh of familiar wings slicing through the air.

And then— “Y/N!”

Her head snapped toward the sound—her heart leapt before her body did. In an instant, her Mark was there, crashing to his knees in front of her, his arms wrapping around her like he was afraid she might disappear if he blinked.

“You’re okay. You’re okay. God—” His voice cracked as he held her tighter, hands running along her back, her shoulders, checking for wounds.

She let out a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding and melted into him.

“I’m okay,” she whispered into his neck. “I promise.”

He pulled back just enough to look her in the eye, his brow furrowed deep with worry. “I felt the shockwave halfway across the city. I heard it. I thought—when I saw him—when I saw you—”

“He thought I was his,” she muttered bitterly. “Said his version of me died because I was human. But here, I’m Kryptonian. So I was his second chance.”

Mark’s jaw clenched, eyes darkening. “That son of a—”

“I took care of it,” she said simply, stepping back and looking down at the broken version of him in the crater. “I didn’t hold back.”

Mark stared at her—really looked at her. Scuffed, dirt-smeared, battle-worn. And still absolutely, terrifyingly unstoppable.

He swallowed thickly. “I’ve always known how strong you are, but seeing you like that… fighting someone who looks like me? I don’t know if I could’ve done what you did.”

She looked at him, her expression softening. “You’re not him, Mark. You never will be.”

He stepped closer again, voice gentler now. “But what if one day I am? What if I lose myself like they did? What if—”

She silenced him with a hand to his cheek. “You won’t. And even if you ever tried, I’d beat your ass before you got the chance.”

He blinked—then huffed out a quiet laugh, resting his forehead against hers. “That’s comforting.” They stood there for a moment, just breathing each other in. The world was still falling apart around them, but in that moment, nothing else mattered.

“Y’know,” Mark finally said, “you’ve been punching alternate versions of me all day and still managed to look hot doing it. That’s kinda unfair.”

“Shut up.” She playfully rolled her eyes at him, slapping his arm. “I’m serious.”

She grinned, nudging his chest. “You’re lucky I love you.” He grinned back. “I know.”

Then his expression softened again. “I don’t ever want to lose you.”

“You won’t,” she promised. “Because I’m not going anywhere. And if another version of you ever tries to take me again…” Her eyes glowed faintly. “I’ll break their ribs. And maybe their spine.”

Mark blinked. “You’re really hot when you threaten violence.”

“Mark.”

“Right, sorry.”

She leaned in and kissed him—soft, grounding, everything the chaos had tried to tear away. And for just a moment, time stilled. This was her Mark. And she was his. No variant, no multiverse, no twisted echo of the man she loved could ever change that.

#x reader #reader insert #x female reader #mark grayson x reader #mark grayson x you #mark grayson #invincible x you #invincible variants #invincible x reader #viltrum mark x reader #viltrum mark #viltrumite mark

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r3starttt · 5 months ago

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KEEP YOUR MOUTH SHUT

PAIRING: Act 1. Caitlyn Kiramman x Reader

SUMMARY: Address me with respect, or keep your mouth shut. You're just one of her toys.

CW: Mean Cait. Slapping. Oral. Fingering. Spitting. Cum eating.

TAGLIST: @Kaimythically @lewd-alien @greysontheidiot @jolyne @sapphic-ovaries @tlouloser @prwttiestbunny @visobsession @kiki5gigi @thesevi0lentdelights @lvlymicha @stickycherritart @rob1nbuckl3ys @femininologies @dinakisser @viajeros--sin--destino @GodessAgrona @patronagrona

The body armor that once weighed on your chest now rested on the seat beside you. The vest's sturdy stood out against the soft fabric of the seat—a strange contrast, like the life you lived and the one you longed for.

The rest of your enforcer uniform clung to you, a reminder of duty yet unfinished.

That day, Caitlyn—ever the composed commander—had begun to offer quiet gratitude for your unwavering support.

You, along with Vi, had stood as her pillars, the only ones to truly understand her relentless pursuit—not for justice, but for an end to the cruel theater of war.

Your edge had always been the things left unsaid: the secret resolve you gleaned from stolen glances and murmured words between Caitlyn and the flame-haired recently announced as enforcer. A silent agreement lingered—Jinx had to fall, no matter the cost. Yet Caitlyn’s resolve was tempered by her steadfast refusal to risk innocent lives.

You’d stayed behind that day, waiting to close the chapter for her, to ensure the mission was marked as complete, and to witness her return to a world where the war was finally over.

But the war wasn’t over.

When Caitlyn returned, it was with a storm at her heels. Her uniform hit the floor with an uncharacteristic force, and the soft light of the room betrayed the scratches on her face and the glassy sheen of unshed tears in her eyes. Words felt unnecessary; they always had between the two of you.

Your place wasn’t to pry but to steady her.

As her anger and exhaustion hung heavy in the air, you reached for her. With practiced tenderness, you cleaned the cuts on her face, folded her discarded uniform, and whispered a quiet apology—not for yourself, but for the weight she carried.

Maybe it was in the way your gaze softened when it met hers, or the steadiness of your touch where others faltered, but in those moments, something shifted.

Now, months later, the quiet crackle of the fire was the only sound in the room, its red glow painting your skin in gentle warmth. You sat with your legs crossed, wrapped in a cocoon of tranquility, the stillness of the Kiramman house a sharp contrast to the chaos that had once consumed you both.

Yet there were nights—nights when the weight became too much—when Caitlyn would seek you out.

On those nights, she would find you, her command unspoken but clear. Her bed became your world, the green sheets wrapping around you like ivy as her lips left marks on your skin—marks meant for no one else. Her hands traced the edges of your being with a reverence that bordered on desperate. Only her name left your lips, whispered like a prayer.

She never asked you to stay outright, but you had made yourself at home in her world, entwined in her life. You followed her, among the enforcers who now joked that you were just another one of her loyal dogs.

Caitlyn never denied it, not anymore. But it was in the quiet hours, when the rest of the world faded away, that she sought you—she didn’t need to speak her desires aloud; they were etched in every glance, every movement.

And you stayed because you knew you were needed, because she had carved a place for you in her life without words.

But distance crept in, inevitable and suffocating. It didn’t take long for the whispers to prove true—there was no room in her world for many. Caitlyn had always been honest in her way, thanking you with a sincerity that almost hurt, reminding you that your unwavering devotion, your strength, your unyielding support, was a rare gift she’d craved all her life. She wanted someone who didn’t just desire her but believed in her, who stood firm at her side without faltering. And yet, as much as she needed you, she resented it.

Caitlyn couldn’t control you, not as easily as she wanted. It frustrated her. She loved the way your hands felt against her skin, the way your fingers brushed her cheek as she confided in you, the sound of your voice filling the lonely silence of her room. But she didn’t love you—not fully, not in the way you hoped. You were a balm to her restlessness, a constant she could lean on when the world pushed too hard, but never enough to tether her.

You’d learned how to navigate her moods, how to bend without breaking. Like now, slipping into her office before she arrived, knowing she’d storm in after another grueling encounter with Ambessa—a woman who saw her as nothing more than a pawn to mold and exploit.

You knew how to disarm her. Hands resting on her shoulders, soft words murmured close enough to be mistaken for affection. Kisses trailing down the curve of her neck, slow and deliberate, as you whispered what she wanted to hear. It worked every time. Your hands found their way to her uniform, fingers deftly untying it, sliding beneath to stroke her skin. A touch on her stomach, a gentle caress, until she let her head fall back against your shoulder, surrendering once again.

For a fleeting moment, you let yourself believe this could be something real—something more than the empty transactions of power and need. But Caitlyn tore that hope from you as swiftly as it bloomed. Her hand shot out, closing around your wrist like a shackle, firm and unyielding.

“Enough,” she said, her voice a blade cutting through the fragile warmth you’d dared to nurture. The command carried no affection, only the sharp edge of authority. She stepped back, retreating out of your reach, leaving you hollow. Stunned, you stayed frozen as her words shaped the air between you into walls you couldn’t scale.

She had trained you well, hadn’t she? To obey without question, to absorb the sharpness of her words without flinching.

You’d mastered it: nodding, listening, falling in line. But this time, you couldn’t help the silent plea that escaped your gaze as you looked at her, your heart hanging on the edge of one unspoken question: Why?

Her posture stiffened, her body a fortress against you, and though her face betrayed no anger, what you saw there was worse—something colder, crueler. Her boots struck the floor in a rhythm that mocked the silence between you, an unyielding percussion that quickened the ache in your chest.

“Do you really think I don’t- see through you?” she hissed, her voice low but serrated, each word an incision that bled you dry.

You opened your mouth, desperate to explain, to justify, to reach her. “I thought you wanted me to help—”

She didn’t let you finish. With an almost lazy disdain, she perched on the armrest of the chair you’d just been resting in, claiming the space as her own, as if to erase your presence from it entirely. “Is that what you think this is? Help?” Her eyes locked onto yours, her gaze unrelenting and merciless. “You think you’re different, but you’re not.”

The words landed like a physical blow, robbing you of air. Your chest tightened, but no anger rose to meet her cruelty—only the dull, familiar ache of resignation.

"Caitlyn,” you whispered, but Caitlyn was quick to silence you with a hand raised in command.

“Stop,” she said, her voice softening, but only to the point of condescension. “You don’t get to make this about you. You knew what this was. What this is.”

You wanted to fight, to push back, but the weight of her words was suffocating, a reminder of your place beneath her. “You’re useful,” she continued, her tone almost clinical now. “But don’t mistake that for being necessary.”

Her cruelty was a scalpel, carving away any illusions you’d held onto. And still, you couldn’t muster defiance. Your head bowed, your gaze falling to the floor as her power washed over you, cold and relentless. You should have walked away. You should have demanded more. But instead, you let her words seep into your bones, leaving you hollow and malleable.

“I should’ve been focusing on the job,” she muttered, running a hand through her hair, undoing her bun with a frustrated tug. “You were just a distraction.”

The admission sliced through you, but instead of anger, you felt a strange, masochistic sense of purpose ignite. She was pushing you away, yes—but even in her rejection, she gave you a role to play, a way to exist in her world. And you were too far gone to reject it.

“If that’s all I am,” you murmured, stepping closer, your voice trembling but resolute, “then let me be it.”

Her lips pressed into a thin line, and for a fleeting moment, something flickered in her eyes—something human. Regret? Guilt? But it was gone too quickly to grasp.

She reached for you, her hand pulling you close with the same commanding force that had always bound you to her. Grasping at your hair with painful force, one you ached for.

Her touch burned, not with warmth but with possession, and you let yourself fall into her. You would let her define you, break you, shape you, because belonging to her—even like this—was the only place you felt whole.

Her voice dropped to a whisper as her breath brushed your ear. “You’re exactly what you let yourself be,” she said, her tone both damning and tender, sealing your fate. "But you need this, don’t you?”

Her lips brushed against yours—soft, fleeting, a cruel promise of something more—you realized you would always let her pull you back in. Even if it destroyed you.

"Get on your knees." It was your last chance, one you weren't doubting on using even if it meant getting kicked out the second she was satisfied.

The floor coldness- It's stiffness and fancy pattern, digging into your skin. You looked up at her just to meet her eyes, entirely locked on yours.

Something about the way she felt beneath your hands, even with her uniform still on- half of it, at least. You wanted to prove your worth.

You'd stay here for hours If that's what she needed, if that's what she wanted.

Her hands came to cup at your cheeks, holding your head in place. The tip of your fingers fidgeted with her belt, forcing it open before you slid her uniform pants down, taking her underwear too with a desperate whimper.

"What're you staring at?" Her hand comes closer to your chin again, leaning her pelvis towards you. Yet your absence of words maddened her.

Beneath her eyes- you, on your knees for her. With those shiny orbs and long lashes, the drool on your lips- yet, unable to do anything. "Cait..." You were just as pathetic as any other woman she's ever dragged into her room.

Her hand pressed agasint your cheek, smacking at it. "Address me with respect." The couple of muffled moans- whines, were quickly shushed by her. “And keep your mouth shut, understand?,” tears threatened to fall from your eyes before you pressed a gentle kiss over her clit.

Her head tilted back Inmediatelly, holding yours in place.

You sticked out your tongue, lapping at her folds while your nose brushed her clit.

Caitlyn could be mean, she couldn't care less about you, she could hurt you and manipulate you, but even so she was as pathetic as you were for her. Wet just by the mere thought of having you at her mercy, opening her legs for you to sink in between her thighs and slurp with obscenety at her pussy.

"Good girl" her tone comes quiet but firm, mockingly even. Shes got her lips slightly parted, her teeth peeking enough for you to catch a glimpse of how they sink on the flesh of her bottom lip.

She's still mad at you and it shows with how much she's digging her nails into your scalp. How tight she's got you between her legs.

You begin bobbing your head on your own. Her clutch on your hair firmly enough to lead you, as she always does. Your fingers tease on her hole, making small circles around her arousal while your tongue threatens to fill her inside.

You feel your lips growing wetter, a mix of the drool that will soon run down your chin and her juices. Her skin tender with each caress, each kiss on her clit or between her wet folds, her hole clenching at the emptiness, aching for your fingers to ease the ache. But you don't do anything until the burning of her nails digging on your wrist catch you off guard.

Only there your eyes open again, your saliva connecting your lips to her clit as you pull back enough to look up at her. "Do it right or leave."

Her fingers pulled your hair, forcing your head back. The furrow on her eyebrows gently faded into a mocking laugh at your aroused face, and eventually curved eyebrows. "What are you waiting for? mhm?"

Her hips adjusted forward, legs wide open for you to see and touch yet not savor any soon.

You thrusted your fingers with ease, growing wet at the obscene sound that came with it, at how her smile grew just enough to give you the satisfaction- you got the job done as she wanted.

The back of your head burned at the strength with which she held you in place. Forcing you to stare up at her, admire her blue strands of hair cascading on each side of her face, drool at the sight of her nipples beneath her messy blouse. You needed to touch, to put her breasts on your mouth and kiss each piece of skin you could, savour her whole and leave marks on her skin even if it meant her words hurting you lately.

"Please?" the whispers tone was ignored by her selfish pleasure. Only looking back at you with curved eyebrows and her pretty lips opened, whining at how good your fingers felt inside her. Caitlyn was practically riding on them at this point, only giving you the pleasure of looking at her like this, a desperate mess.

It wast only when you felt her tightening around your fingers. Only when your wrist got wet enough- her grasp on your hair forced you close to her pussy again. "Clean it." her breathless command was obeyed in a matter of seconds, with your tongue all over her wet, slurping and kissing and lapping and savoring everything of her while your fingers thrusts slowed down.

Caitlyn loved your devotion, loved seeing your face covered in her wet, your fingers swallowed by her, how you opened your mouth for her to spit on your tongue and how you swallowed it all. She adored the gagging when her fingers dove too deep into your mouth, loved that drool that connected your tongue to her lips or your tongue to her pussy whenever you got to eager.

But you could never be enough for her.

And so, after all these months of helping her, working for her, making her cum and being her toy. You realized you've fallen for it just like everyone else.

Next time she got stressed and her body was aching with all the tension gathered in the last week, it wasn't you on her office but Officer Nolan, sitting on the same desk she'd got you leg wide open for the first time.

#A𝕽𝐂𝐇𝖎V𝕰 ( arcane )#𝕽EQ'S﹕⠀ ❪ arcane ❫#( 𝕽 𝜊S.mut )#caitlyn kiramman x reader #caitlyn kiramman #caitlyn kiramman smut #caitlyn smut #caitlyn arcane #caitlyn league of legends #caitlyn lol #caitlyn kiramman x you #caitlyn x reader #caitlyn x you #arcane season 2 #arcane smut #arcane x reader

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megalony · 4 months ago

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Near Death Experience

Okay, this is my very first imagine for Gladiator II, for Emperor Geta x reader.

Thank you very much @missdreamofendless for the request, I hope you like it and I hope everyone else will like this and want to read more for this fandom/ character. Please let me know what you think.

Taglist: @justagirlthatlovedtoread @musicistheway @avada-kedavra-bitch-187 @luula @missdreamofendless @bradleybeachbabe @woderfulkawaii @amberpanda99 @daggersquadphantom @marvel-and-chicago-fan @angryknightstatesmantrash @minjix @lyje @kmc1989 @itsmytimetoodream @noonenuts @hiireadstuff @ashie-babie @classyunknownlover @jayyeahthatsme @sp1ritssz @dumb-fawkin-bitch @oliverstarksbae @gimatida @heart-35 @supernaturalstilinski @kyky9103 @gay4hotmilfs @itshamleth @chaoticnosleepinfluencer @gs29 @wh0reforsmutstuff @mel-vaz @natashamea18 @chrisevansdaughter @alexandra848484 @deena-beena-weena @targaryenluvs @kpoplover-19 @marvelmenarebeautiful @gillybear17

@zoeybennett @mrspeacem1nusone @zephyrmonkey @estella-novella @eleventhdoctorsangel @kniselle @senjoritanana @shauna-carsley @dottierose @cfdhouse51 @darkfemme1 @rainechase45 @lolalolsstuff @jupiter1700 @ashdoctor @an-aliens-ghost @lunaroserites @houseoftwistedspirits @callsignwidow @winterreader-nowwriter @reneinii @bellsbomb @western-pyro @itsgigikay @harry-satellite @midsummereve1993 @babyqueen17 @buckyyyismahhlife @sammiejane22 @mrsyixingunicorn10 @op-81-lvr-reblogs @talicat713

Main Masterlist

Summary: Geta's wife is a very reserved, sensitive soul. She doesn't often attend the games, but when she agrees to watch the Gladiators in the colosseum, a bold arrow is aimed at her.

Enjoy.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Closing her eyes, (Y/n) tilted her head back until she could feel the bright, midday sun beaming down on her skin. Sometimes it felt like the sun was close enough that she could skim her fingers across the hot flames. With her eyes closed and her head aimed up towards the beacon of light, it felt like the sun was reaching out to her, gliding hot flickering flames across her skin that was beginning to burn deliciously.

Being outside was always preferrable to being indoors. At least, in moments like these, it was preferrable.

When her husband was holding meetings with the Senate and the high families of Rome, (Y/n) preferred not to be around.

It was nothing to do with Geta. If anything, (Y/n) found his demanour and the way he controlled the meetings delightful. He had such a calming presence about him, the way Geta sat during those meetings was so relaxed with one leg crossed over the other and his head inclined to one side and a placid yet interested expression on his pale face. And within a second his demanour could change.

He could take charge of the room, he could make a stand or put his foot down and insist on changes or control what way the situation turned. And he could calm his brother down when Caracella went into one of his rants or one of those exciteable or frustrated moods.

Watching Geta in those moments was something (Y/n) enjoyed and she could never stop herself from smiling and melting in awe of her husband.

It was the rest of the people in the room who (Y/n) couldn't cope with.

The hall in which these meetings took place had high ceilings and thick stone walls and pillars of marble. Everything that was needed to create a horrible echo that vibrated through (Y/n)'s skin and had her quivering on the spot.

Raised voices and screeching echoes didn't bode well with (Y/n). Geta always seemed to be intrigued with how sensitive she was to noises, he liked the fact that she could hear conversations happening in the next room if she found herself focusing on them enough. But he hated how loud events and people could be and how it would upset his wife.

Geta saw the distress it caused his wife when people raised their voices or when laughs and shouts would echo off the walls. Loud clatters would make her shudder and cringe. Yells and the clinking of swords would have her cowering into his side and once, during a brawl, he had seen (Y/n) clasp her hands desperately over her ears to ward away the noise.

To stop his wife from becoming distressed, Geta excused (Y/n) from any all all meetings she didn't want to attend, and he would raise his knife to anyone whop dared question why she wasn't present.

It was one of the things that made (Y/n) love him even more. He made sure she wasn't required to answer to anyone but him.

With a tender smile on her face, (Y/n) opened her eyes and glanced down to the companion by her side.

"Come, Arla." Her fingers skimmed across the top of the dog's head, tangling her fingers into the long strands of golden yellow fur that always reminded (Y/n) of Geta, especially when the sun glimmered down on the fur just right.

Arla had been (Y/n)'s pet since before she married Geta; she had been a present from him.

Much like Caracella had Dondus who seemed to be his best friend and confidont, (Y/n) had Arla.

(Y/n) wasn't like her brother in law, she didn't donne Arla with clothes or hats or a leash, she had no need. Arla never strayed from her side whereas Dondus had a tendency to scuttle about the palace if he wasn't watched carefully. But (Y/n) did think of Arla as her friend. Someone she could be herself around.

Someone who didn't roll their eyes or tut whenever (Y/n) would flinch at loud noises or steer away from people in favour of being in her own company. Arla was a comfort to (Y/n).

She didn't have many people she could be comfortable around or confide in. The only people (Y/n) had were Geta and Caracella, and it was hit and miss whether she could confide in her brother in law, with his tempermental moods. At least when she had Arla, (Y/n) never felt like she was truly alone.

Her sandals glided against the gravel and sand, kicking up flecks as she moved towards the fountain in the centre of the small garden. The palace had many gardens, some hidden within the centre, some dotted around the outskirts. This was a secluded, square opening in between some of the chambers, it didn't really count as a garden when there was nothing growing here to be tended to or shown off.

But there was a lovely marble fountain that (Y/n) found soothing. The water was always quiet yet steady, the trickling sound of the water sprinkling down sounded like the faintest beginning of rain and at this time of day, the sun was as bright as ever.

(Y/n) sat down on the smooth edge of the fountain and crossed one leg over the other. She tilted back until the sound of the water was all she could hear and her hands twitched and her fingertips glided against the soft stone beneath her to hold herself up.

She felt Arla take pride of place, sitting beside her right leg with her head gently resting on (Y/n)'s knee. Her companion was always so eager to simply sit in peace like this, never fussing or barking or becoming restless.

(Y/n) preferred Arla's company to that of any maid in the palace. The servants were kind, most of them, but there was always a stilted edge of conversation. Most didn't speak unless spoken to, and (Y/n) always felt like she had to be careful with what she said around them. Gossip spread like fever in a palace like this.

And it hadn't escaped (Y/n)'s notice that many of the female servants liked to get close to both Emperors; especially Geta. They fawned over him in a way that made (Y/n) feel uneasy. But then again, Geta had eyes for her alone and if anyone else got too close, his patience would soon wear thin and he would snap at them to retreat. There was nothing for (Y/n) to fear in that department.

She sat for a while, listening to the sound of the water behind her and trying to let her mind wander off.

It was nice to be able to walk around without any servants or guards following her. At (Y/n)'s timid request, Geta had ordered the guards not to follow her. They could keep a note of where she was, but because (Y/n) didn't leave the palace- certainly not without Geta- she didn't need to be followed around every moment of the day.

"I thought I would find you here."

That quiet yet striking voice brought (Y/n) out of her thoughts and she tilted her head forward, opening her eyes quickly to see her husband advancing towards her.

His pale face was angled to one side, making the vibrant golden crown sat on his equally bright strands glitter in the sunlight. The brightness contrasted to the pale makeup covering his face and the darkness painted around and especially beneath his eyes.

Sometimes (Y/n) wondered if Geta was an embodiment of what the God of Death may look like. Pale, haunting skin, dark-rimmed eyes that could pierce and reach the soul. A calm demanour, a stern expression and an aura that said he wouldn't bargain with anyone, at any cost.

Something seemed to melt in Geta's eyes when they set on his wife and he advanced towards her with a determination in his movements and his expression.

He perched down on the fountain on (Y/n)'s left side, one hand moving to hold her thigh while he leaned in towards her and attached his lips to her exposed shoulder.

(Y/n) pushed off her hands so she was sitting up rather than reclined back towards the water and her head inclined to the left. She found herself smiling when she buried her nose into Geta's hair as his face stayed tucked into the crook of her neck.

"Did your meeting fare well?" (Y/n) curved her arm around Geta's back when he seemed to lean into her more and she heard the small grunt he let out. She imagined if he wasn't burrowed down into her side like this, he may have rolled his eyes or pulled a gaunt expression.

"As expected. How are you?"

(Y/n) found herself smiling softly and nuzzling her cheek into Geta's hair when his hand moved from her thigh to take her other hand. She uncrossed her legs and set to tapping her sandals softly in the gravel while her hand entwined with Geta's and he finally lifted his head from her shoulder to look at her.

The concern in his eyes was overwhelming. (Y/n) knew anything she said was always taken to heart. If she told him she felt unwell he would be calling for the doctor. If she said she felt the happiest she had ever been Geta would have a beaming smile from ear to ear, and he would strive to do even better. If something was bothering her, she could rest assured it would be at the top of Geta's agenda.

"Much better now you're here." She was fine to wander about the palace on her own, but (Y/n) always felt better when Geta was beside her.

Sometimes it was because she felt like no one would look or dare to speak or mess with her when Geta was by her side. Other times, it was simply because she wanted his company and being parted from him made (Y/n) feel at a loss for what to do with herself.

She found herself focusing on the feeling of his thumb stroking along the back of her hand and she watched the way Geta looked down at their hands before he looked up at her.

"There will be another game tomorrow, I've been told the gladiators are training through the night for tomorrow's event. Will you join us to watch?"

It was soothing how Geta asked (Y/n) rather than gave an order or command. They both knew if he ordered for (Y/n) to join, she would always comply. He was her husband and her Emperor, if he asked (Y/n) to do something she never liked to refuse and whatever Geta asked was never anything that would upset or put (Y/n) at risk or make a fool out of her in any way.

He would never do that.

If (Y/n) didn't want to attend some of the games or events that were held at the colosseum, Geta never forced her to go. He was understanding. He knew the games could be rowdy.

The crowds were unruly and their cheering and screaming and throwing of food or flowers was far too loud and unsettling for (Y/n). The royal box was the best view and secluded from the rest of the colosseum, but it did nothing to change the volume of the games. The gladiators weren't much better, their guttural screams, their roars of triumph or deathly defeat were overwhelming.

And Geta knew (Y/n) didn't like witnessing the massacres of animals and fallen men. She would divert her gaze or tuck her face into his arm to avoid witnessing those things.

"Will you accompany me?" The soft tone to Geta's voice had (Y/n)'s heart fluttering in her chest like a wild bird demanding to be released.

And when he brought their entwined hands up so he could press a delicate kiss to her knuckles, she found herself nodding.

"Of course."

These games were different. This was a course of games set up in the honour of Rome and its Emperors. This was the strongest of gladiators fighting undefeatable odds in the name of sport and honour. This was a celebration and Geta wanted to have his wife there by his side.

He wanted to enjoy the day with her, to have her there with him while the celebrations occured. He didn't like to be parted from her company.

It never sat well with Geta when he attended the games but knew (Y/n) was back at the palace. Knowing she had servants and guards around her wasn't comforting because she was still out of Geta's sight. He couldn't be around her to protect her himself.

"Thank you."

His hand left hers in favour of cupping her chin and tilting her head up in his direction so he could steal a kiss from her lips.

His touch was gentle, so much so that (Y/n) felt like she were touching a mirrage, as if Geta wasn't really there in front of her at all. But she could feel her lips tingling from his touch and how he was stroking his thumb along her chin and the way the end of his nose nudged into hers.

With his head inclined towards hers and their foreheads touching, Geta blocked the sun from (Y/n) which now shone down on his hair and illuminated the golden crown woven into his hair like it was now part of his skin.

(Y/n) brought her hand up to cup the side of Geta's face, smoothing her thumb along his sharp yet deathly pale cheek.

She knew it would be best if she attended the games too. Geta was increadibly understanding and relaxed when it came to (Y/n), he didn't force her to join in the meetings or the rest of the games or attending banquets and entertainment held in their honour at counsellor's homes.

The least (Y/n) could do for Geta was turn up to the games and hang onto his arm. She could show support and show that she was more than happy to be by her husband's side and watch the events thrown in his honour. It was (Y/n)'s place to be beside Geta and it was her duty as his wife to honour him and show support.

That thought made her smile against his lips and she leaned in close until both arms were deadlocked around his neck and their chests were pressed together.

If the crowds and the noise got too much, (Y/n) knew she would have Geta there by her side to calm her down and make sure she was okay. He would keep her safe.

And he wanted to have her there by his side, that was an offer she simply couldn't refuse.

***

A shiver tore down (Y/n)'s spine as they approached closer and closer to the viewing box of the colosseum.

She could hear the crowds from the carriage on their way from the palace. She could hear their shouts and applause as they entered the colosseum and made their ascent through the dark corridors. Anxiety bubbled up inside of her and seemed to radiate off of her in waves, for she felt the way Geta stepped closer to her side.

Both her hands were latched around Geta's arm and she was close enough now that they were almost moulded into one being. But the feeling of his lips pressing down against her temple was soothing.

Caracella was the most eager out of the three of them. He walked with a skip in his step and a broad, slightly unhinged smile on his face. He had left Dondus back at the palace for now, he wanted his full attention to be on the blood and gore that would soon be littering the scene ahead of them.

Walking towards the box made (Y/n) feel like they were ascending towards Heaven. The sun was so bright she could scarcely see and relied on Geta to steer them through the doors towards their seats.

As always when (Y/n) joined to view the games, there was another seat set out for her.

Both Emperors ruled together, one was no more in charge than the other. But when Geta married (Y/n), she then gained as much power and status as them. The three of them would sit at the very front of the box which was reserved for the Emperors and the most highest of counsellors and senates.

Three chairs which were almost as elegant as thrones were lined together, painted beautiful shades of berry blue with hints of grey and silver. And the intricately carved backs of the chairs were adoned with carved eagles and painted the most beautiful shade of gold.

They sat as they usually would when they were attending public events like these. (Y/n) in the centre with Geta on her left, and Caracella on her right.

As soon as they were sat down, (Y/n) began smoothing her hands along her crystal white dress that fanned out towards her ankles and hung on her shoulders with thin straps and golden hoops. She picked this dress because she knew it was one of Geta's favourites. It left her shoulders exposed as the sleeves began part way down her arms. Both sleeves were made of a soft see through silk that hung from (Y/n)'s arms like capes.

There were ruffles sewn into the centre of the dress that was low cut, leaving her chest exposed to his adoring eyes. And the golden belt around her middle was a symbol for Geta's golden hair and the crown sat on top of his head.

"Okay?" Geta's voice was hushed and murmured against the shell of (Y/n)'s ear as he leaned over the armrest to lean on her chair. Each chair was pressed so close together that the arm rests were almost overlapping, but it wasn't enough for Geta. He was always so desperate to reach out and drag his wife onto his lap and share one chair with her.

"Hm, I'm okay." (Y/n) nodded and pressed a soft kiss to his cheek which seemed to ignite his smile and send his mood flaring higher than before.

She watched with a tender smile as her husband and brother in law stood up to give their speech and announce that today's games could begin.

Once Geta sat back down, he crossed one leg over the other and rested his left elbow on the arm of the chair. But his head and body inclined to the right towards his wife; he would always gravitate towards her.

He tangled his right hand with (Y/n)'s, bringing her hand close enough so he could press a kiss to her knuckles before he stretched his arm over to rest their hands on her lap. He knew (Y/n) would want to fiddle with the rings that adorned his fingers, a habit that would give her something to focus on and keep her calm when the crowds and the commotion started to get overpowering.

When the crowd roared as the first announcement bellowed out, Geta felt the way (Y/n) shuddered at his side.

Uncertainty cast in his eyes that immediately overlooked his wife. He squeezed her hand and leaned a little closer when (Y/n) turned in his direction. Her free hand clutched at his arm and she laid her cheek on his shoulder, subtly muffling one ear against his shoulder to block out the volume of their subjects.

(Y/n) found herself staring at Geta's robes every now and then. He and Caracella usually adorned golden robes. Gold was the colour of splendor and money and it matched their vibrant hair and contrasted to their naturally pale skin.

She liked the mix of red and gold on his robes, it stood out and made a lot of eyes divert to him.

"The gladiators, led by the barbarian!"

Geta kept his hand deadlocked in (Y/n)'s, but he lowered his leg back down and leaned forward in his seat to lean over the edge of the balcony. He wanted to watch the inferior ship sail out into the centre of the colosseum that had been flooded with salt water and filled with the deadliest of sea animals.

When the second ship entered the water and the game officially began, (Y/n) leaned forward a little to watch the entrance.

She found herself observing the colour of the water more than the ships that were slowly turning to face one another. When she glanced to her right, she found Caracella with a bright smile on his red lips and his hands were twitching as he sat forward and bashed his fists down on the arms of his seat in eagerness.

Blood and gore was something both Emperors delighted in whereas (Y/n) wasn't so fond. A fight, sure, she could witness and take heed in. But a fight to the death was a little extreme, it seemed like such a waste unless the person was a traitor or condemned to death.

The roaring of the crowds made (Y/n) sink back in her seat. She didn't slouch or shuffle down, it wouldn't do her any good to give off an uninterested look or seem rude. She was wife to an Emperor, looks had to be maintained. She kept her posture but took to gliding her free hand up and down Geta's arm beneath his cloak.

Her gaze constantly switched between the scene and her surroundings, trying to find different ways to amuse and occupy herself to distract from the noise. (Y/n) knew when they eventually got back to the palace, her ears would be ringing from all this noise. She didn't know how her family could do it, how her husband and brother could walk back into that quiet domain and not feel their heads spinning or their ears ringing and screaming from the drastic volume change.

Get leaned forward at the same moment the inferior gladiator ship crashed into the opponent; the defenders.

The breaking of wood and the groaning and creaking was enough to shake the walls of the colosseum and the roars of men falling into the clutches of sharks and becoming snagged on barbaric teeth made (Y/n) shiver. She tried to steel her expression and hold herself when she wanted to shake and wince at the crowds cheers.

Every noise was overwhelming. Every sense was flooded. Her body was running on adrenaline already and she didn't know what to do with herself.

It was daunting and strange to know she was being observed. She was being watched by the people sitting directly behind her. Those who dared not comment how she rarely attended these events and was far happier secluded in her own company than surrounded with others. And then the crowds were constantly glancing up as well.

Some happy to see their lady Empress joining the festivities, some just wanting to look at her or bask in her beauty that was forbidden to them. Others staring with strange looks in their eyes and some form of detest on their features.

The only eyes (Y/n) wanted looking at her were her husband's. After a while, the atmosphere became one and the same and (Y/n) did her best to drown it out. She sat further back in her seat with Geta's hand on her lap and her fingers tracing the pale veins in his hand like they were a map she was plotting out.

She noticed every time he sat forward or sank back. She smiled at every laugh he let out and noticed when he crossed one leg over the other. Especially when he leaned into her side and pressed a dozen kisses to her temple.

"Shoot! Shoot!" Caracella's voice rung out along with his outburst of clapping and (Y/n) managed a smile when he reached over to squeeze her wrist before he sat forward.

The gore, guts and blood was second nature to both Emperor's and it was a sight they craved to see. The people loved the sight too, they loved the rage and the massacre that was bestowed upon their eyes. It was thrilling for them to witness without being at any real risk of injury themselves, spectating made them feel like part of the game.

When the ships were merged into one mass of broken wood and water and fighting men blurring together, (Y/n) looked down at her husband's hand and inclined her head to the left, towards him.

Then it happened.

A stray arrow, not aimed at any man down in the centre of the colosseum. The quiver broke through the air like a whip and aimed high towards the royal box without anyone seeing or being able to stop it.

A violent scream tore past (Y/n)'s lips and her hands retracted from Geta so her hands could clutch the arm rests of her seat. Her body jolted down against the chair like she was melting on the spot. Her knees pushed forward, her sandals scraped against the floor and caught the back of her dress and her body shuddered when a searing pain struck her right arm.

Geta's body shuddered back into his own seat and he jerked to the left, unintentionally moving away from his wife out of instinct.

His head whipped to the right, watching in horror as an arrow shot right between his wife and his brother, the two people who Geta swore to protect with his life. The arrowhead imbedded into his wife's chair, level with her head when she shrunk down in her seat with her eyes snapped closed.

Less than a foot higher and that arrow would have been in range of her head. One inch to the side and Geta would have lost her.

He could hear the ruckus of voices and the panicked shouts of "The Empress!" and "She's hurt!" flooded the air from all around the colosseum.

Geta bolted up from his seat, his chest heaving against his gown that suddenly felt restrictive with how harshly he was breathing and his body temperature that was rising to a feverish point. His body turned to the right and he crashed down to his knees in front of his wife, kneeling up straight so his body was a shield for any other arrows that tried to aim their way.

Both hands clutched the arms of her chair and he leaned his abdomen against her knees. His eyes scoured over her body with fever and impatience, desperately trying to see if she was hurt. The arrow being lodged in her chair did nothing to calm Geta down.

It didn't matter that the arrow wasn't lodged in her body, that was a small grace, but she could still have been hurt.

Caracella burst out into a fit of screams and clutched the arm of his chair, leaning close to his sister in law to see if she was hurt.

"Are you hurt? Look at me!"

The urgency and the gritty tone to Geta's voice caused (Y/n) to gasp and her eyes snapped open which unleashed a river of tears pouring down her face. Her body was trembling back and forth and her hands felt like they had melted into the arms of the chair.

She couldn't feel anything but panic. It coursed through her body causing her blood to tingle and had her trembling back and forth like someone was shaking her by the shoulders. All (Y/n) could register was that each breath hurt to try and wheeze to gasp for air and she couldn't see her husband when her vision started to blur from the amount of tears she was shedding.

(Y/n) tried to hold still when she felt her husband's unusually rough hands roaming her skin. He tilted her head back, traced the pads of his fingers down her neck, checked around her chest and abdomen but the way he grabbed her right arm and pulled it closer made (Y/n) gasp.

Blood was gushing down her right arm a few inches below her shoulder. There was a gaping cut horizontally through her skin. And blood was trickling down past her elbow and dripping onto her previously pure white dress and it was beginning to soak into the silk sleeve that was now stuck to her lower arm. When Geta let go of her arm, he left a bloodied hand print in his wake.

Something twisted awfully in his stomach when he remembered that his wife was wearing that dress at his request. Maybe if she wore something different, the wound to her arm would be less substantial. A dress with a cloak or a shawl or proper sleeves made of a thicker material would have saved a layer or two of skin from being shredded.

At least the arrow had cut through her arm rather than imbedding it. He dreaded to think how they would have gotten out of here in a hurry if (Y/n) were pinned to the chair with an arrow straight through her arm. Or her chest. Or her neck.

"Go! Now." Geta roughly grabbed his brother's shoulder and hoisted him to his feet, shoving him in the direction of the door along with their close spectators and useless guards who had done nothing to prevent this.

He couldn't care less that his brother was still screaming and in one of his enraged states, he had to move. They had to get back to the safety of the palace.

He watched in a growing sense of panic as his wife started to tremble. Her hands unlatched from the arm rests of her chair, but when she dared to twist her head to look at her arm, a mewl left her lips and she sobbed. The sound broke Geta's heart and he hated the look of panic in her eyes as she tried to move her right arm but it twinged.

Her loose sleeve was still caught within the arrow, effectively pinning her arm to the chair.

That notion clearly made (Y/n) manic because she tried to move and fling her arm around but it didn't do anything but ignite her state of distress. Until Geta leaned across and harshly ripped the sleeve from her dress. He didn't have time to be careful. The gown was ruined. He wouldn't allow the servants to even attempt to remove the blood stains from this dress, it would be burned. Ripping the sleeve caused no issues.

"Come on."

Both hands then reached down for (Y/n) and he gripped her elbows, being more careful with her than with his brother as he pulled her up onto trembling feet. His arm swooped around her waist, reeling her into his chest as his other hand cupped the back of her neck.

He swiftly walked her backwards, ushering her through the door where the last two guards were waiting for them to hurry out.

"Okay, we're going. You're safe." Those last two words were muttered on repeat against (Y/n)'s temple and made tears pour faster down her cheeks.

Both arms enclosed to her chest but it only made (Y/n) notice the pulsing pain that was coursing through her arm in shockwaves. She could feel the agony starting to spark down her arm and it was causing her fingertips to go numb and her hand was trembling.

She managed to fist both hands around Geta's robes, pulling them closer as she muffled her face into his chest to try and stop herself from screaming, but she couldn't stop crying.

No one had ever shot at her before. She had never been hurt like that before. They were supposed to be safe, that was why they had guards in the box with them. No one was supposed to aim for the Emperor's box and try to hurt them. The gladiators should have been controlled.

Aimed a little better, that arrow could have killed her.

That thought made (Y/n) tremble and she whimpered into Geta's robes that she wouldn't dare open her eyes to look at. She had her wounded arm pinned between their bodies. She would no doubt be bleeding all down his crimson and golden robes; they would have to be burned.

Walking at a sideways angle was strange and (Y/n) kept fumbling over her feet, but it didn't stop Geta's harsh strides.

He had his left arm possessively tight around her waist and his right hand cupping the back of her neck with his lips against her hair. He ushered (Y/n) faster, almost pelting down the tunnel that led out of the colosseum. They had to get back to the palace; their fortress was where they would be safe.

"G- Geta…"

"Almost there, you're safe now, I promise."

It didn't take long to get back to the palace which was in a state of distress itself. Servants rushing left and right, many crowding to ask if the Emperor's were safe, if they were harmed, asking what they should do.

One servant ran off, followed swiftly by a guard when they heard Geta's order to fetch the physician.

With Caracella's deteriorating state, his fits of rage and the illness he had, they had a physician who lived at the palace. Ready and willing to help with any and all emergencies they had. He was needed now. He needed to assess (Y/n).

(Y/n) felt like she couldn't breathe.

The swift change from noise and panic and utter chaos had morphed into a calmer sense of chaos and people ushering about in all directions.

She felt like she had been walking in a trance, guided by Geta until he steered her into the main hall where he finally stopped walking. He turned so they were properly facing one another and his hand deadlocked around the back of (Y/n)'s neck while his other hand reeled her closer. He let her pull on his robes, uncaring about the way she was yanking on them, close to tearing the material. All he cared about was having her safe in his arms.

He took a moment to close his eyes and smother his lips into her intricately woven hair. Breathing in her scent as his fingers glided up and down the centre of her back.

She was here. She was in his arms; and she was safe.

When Geta opened his eyes, he stared ahead of him towards the back of the hall. Caracella had slumped down into one of the thrones and someone had already brought Dondus to him to calm him down. The monkey had perched high on his shoulder and Caracella was fiddling with the leash, tossing it between his hands to give him something to do and a way to calm himself down.

"Let's sit down."

(Y/n) barely heard Geta's words and she let herself go limp, allowing him to steer her to sit down a few feet away from Caracella. She felt like she was about to faint when she flopped into a heap in the chair.

When her head tilted down, her eyes focused on the droplets of blood staining her robes.

Her dress had been the purest shade of white to rival the midnight moon. Now it was tarnished. A large streak of blood was smudged into the side of her waist near her belt, with flecks of blood splattered all down the dress. When she looked at her arm, she found herself shaking once again. The cut was leaking water like one of the palace fountains and the trail had now reached her hand. The feeling of the blood slithering between her fingers made (Y/n) want to be sick.

As soon as the physician came running into the hall, Geta was on his feet. His usually pale features were burnt red, his upper lip was sneering and his eyes were filled with the darkest rage imaginable.

"Fix it." His words held no room for argument and the physician was nodding before he could even see what the problem was.

Geta took to pacing up and down beside the chair, constantly switching from staring at the stone floor where he was scrutinising the droplets of blood to looking over at his wife.

Rag after rag of water and blood were thrown into a growing pile on the floor as her arm got cleaned so the wound was visible to the naked eye.

(Y/n) had her forehead resting on her left hand, with her trembling elbow propped up on the arm rest so she didn't have to look at the wound on her arm that was making her feel sick. She knew her arm was shaking horribly in the elder man's grasp as he tried to prod and assess the wound while simultaneously cleaning the steady stream of blood.

"It requires stitching, sir." The physician seemed to pale and shrink in on himself when he looked over at the Emperor who had previously been pacing so harshly on the stone floor that he was wearing his own path down into the stone.

The way Geta's head snapped to the physician with such fury made the elder man quiver.

It looked like Geta wanted to rebutt, like he was ready to raise Hell to the surface and throw everyone down into the depths. But he took a deep breath, enough to stop himself from shaking and he gave a curt nod of his head and a swift flick of his hand. Whatever had to be done. He wanted the physician to do whatever necessary to make sure his wife was okay and out of harm.

(Y/n) looked down in question when a small blue bottle was placed in her left hand and the physician pushed her hand towards her face.

"Drink, it will help with the pain."

She wasn't sure she was ready for the pain of a needle puncturing through her skin, but (Y/n) knew she didn't have a choice. She nodded and gulped down a generous amount of the rather putrid liquid that burned her throat and made her cough. She wasn't sure what was mixed in with the opium in the bottle, but it had a strange way of making her blood bubble in her veins and send her head spinning.

She didn't want to look at the physician as he dabbed medicine along her wound to prevent infection, but she looked over at Geta when Caracella's words hit her ringing ears.

"You're making me dizzy." Caracella seemed unusually nervous as he shrank down in his throne and reached his right hand up to pet Dondus who was perched on his shoulder.

He didn't like how his twin was pacing the floor of the hall like that, it was having a bad effect on Caracella and making him even more unsettled. Someone had shot an arrow at his dear sister in law. An arrow that could easily have hit Caracella himself. It had been a close call for both of them today.

"Geta…" (Y/n) held her free hand out towards her husband, quietly beckoning him back towards her. She didn't want him to wear himself out pacing the room like that, he was only angering himself by dwelling on the events of today.

His fingers immediately wove into her own and he perched down on the arm of her chair.

The moment the needle slipped through (Y/n)'s skin she shrieked and burrowed her face into Geta's waist to try and muffle her distain. Her hand clenched tightly around his and her right arm trembled in the physician's tight grasp as he pulled the thread tight, causing her to groan.

"Someone tried to harm you." The words were whispered against her hair as Geta leaned his head down to hide his lips in her hair.

That was the only thing going through his head. But those words were enough to strike up fear in (Y/n)'s heart. Her head lifted from his waist until her chin was pressing into his chest, allowing her head to tilt back so she could look up at him. Those watering eyes broke his heart and the tears soaking into her face ignited his blood to the same temperature as the fires of Hell.

"W-were they aiming for me?"

The panic in her voice made Geta wince as he moved his free hand to brush his thumb along her jaw.

He didn't know the answer to that. He wasn't sure anyone could answer that question for them. The arrow had been aimed into the royal box, but anyone could have been the target. They could have aimed for either Emperor, as killing them would have incited chaos throughout Rome. They might have been aiming for (Y/n) because harming or indeed killing her would send Geta into a fit of rage so bad he would burn his lands and people to the ground.

There were others sat in the box with them, sat behind them, but it seemed unlikely that any of them had been the target. Aiming for the most important people, the ones who held all of Rome in the palm of their hands, seemed like the most comprehensive bet.

"I don't know, my love. But I won't stand for it; their fate has been sealed."

He knew that his guards had grabbed all of the gladiators in the colosseum. He knew they had all been taken back to their cells and were being held until the Emperors stated what they wanted to be done with them.

Geta hoped they had the gladiator responsible for this heinous crime. He hoped they knew which man had done this because Geta would unleash his wrath onto them. He would deal with them personally and once he was finished, no one would recognise the once would-be gladiator.

The quiet muttering of "They could have killed you," under his breath was heard by both his wife and his brother.

"They almost shot me." Caracella countered with a quiet voice and a rather timid expression that made him seem childlike and innocent. But his words didn't have much of an effect, for all his brother did was stare him down ad huff.

"You aren't the one requiring stitches, brother." He spoke quietly and tried not to snap his words so his brother knew he wasn't upset with him in any way.

Of course it thought angered Geta, but his brother hadn't been hurt and the point of the matter was that it was his wife tucked up into his embrace who needed stitches and comfort. She had the one who had the near death experience.

He wasn't letting anyone get away with this. The person responsible was going to feel one hundred times worse than the pain (Y/n) was in, Geta would make sure of that. He was going to make an example out of the person who had dared to do this. They couldn't have other gladiators getting bold and stupid, believing they could also try their luck at using their weapons against their Emperors.

Geta would put them all back in their places, he would show them exactly why it was he and his brother who wore the golden crowns.

There will be bloodshed.

#imagine #gladiator 2 #gladiator ii #gladiator movie #gladiator imagine #emperor geta #emperor caracalla #geta x reader #emperor geta imagine #emperor geta x reader #joseph quinn

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shiny-jr · 1 year ago

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✦ damnation [ the vizier's vassal ]

– Summary: When you commit a crime, you receive a punishment. This is especially true in your society. No matter the crime, your punishment is the same: banishment. But to where you will be sent in exile and how miserable will it be? No one knows, because no one has ever returned.

– Warning: Yes, this is a yandere thing. Gender-neutral reader.

– Characters: Kalim Al-Asim, Jamil Viper.

– Note: Please enjoy this post! Hopefully everything is okay, since I just copy and pasted from the quiz and skimmed.

– Pages: 42

– Not satisfied? Try looking here for the quiz to take it yourself and see where you end up banished!

The Diviner | The Vizier's Vassal | The Raven Retainer

Feathers. Colorful feathers tickled your nose. A woven shawl sat on your shoulders with vibrant colors and macaw feathers along the clip that held it in place above your collarbone. As your vision readjusted to the scenery, you could make out an old desert city stretching out as far as the eye could see, until it met over the horizon with the starry night sky. It was nothing like the court you were in moments ago. Instantly everything came flashing back to you, the trial, the judges, your punishment. This was your punishment. “Holy shit.”

“Is something wrong?”

You looked to the side, surprised to see a servant placing a tray beside you. You were on a balcony, a beautiful grand spacious terrace where the arches were decorated with ivy and walls of flowers while pillars of flames provided light and there was a large water fountain in the center. You were laying on the edge of that fountain, when you pushed yourself up and looked around. That’s when you noticed your clothes had changed too. Somehow your simple change of clothes from before had become easy-to-move-in loose trousers and a simple tunic, but with the colorful shawl over your shoulders that resembled wings. “What? What the hell?”

“Is there something wrong with the food?”

Food? You looked down at the tray the servant had brought, surprised to see a plate of kofta with a chalice of water. The delicious smell wafted in the air, making your mouth water and stomach grumble. How long has it been since you ate? Probably well before you were arrested. If you got food, you were expecting cold slop, not this scrumptious meal that was cooked to perfection. Instantly you snatched it up, assuring the servant, “No, no, forget it! This is fine, uh, thanks…!”

“Very well.” They bowed their head to you, “Please, enjoy the meal, vassal.”

Vassal? You stopped mid-bite, about to ask them about it and where you were, but they had already taken off. Well, you weren’t complaining. You had thought you were going to die, or end up in some horrible hell. This place was actually quite nice. You could feel the breeze of the cool desert air and smell the flora growing on this terrace, you heard the city below with the crackling of fire from the pillars and the running water beside you, not to mention you were eating the best food you ever tasted! If this was hell, then being banished might be the best thing that’s ever happened to you!

“You! Jamil’s vassal!”

There it was again. What the hell did they mean by vassal? Your cheeks were stuffed with food you had shoveled into your mouth, as you slowly and awkwardly turned around to face whoever called you. Who was Jamil? You had no idea. A little annoyed that your dinner was interrupted, you eyed the approaching stranger up and down before swallowing your food and muttering, “What do you want?”

Appearing offended at your response, the young man stomped up to you, closer so you could see him better in the dim lighting. He looks a little young, if you had to guess, you’d say the guy was no younger than eighteen. Sharp blue eyes and long thick black hair styled into a single braid, not to mention he wasn’t smiling. This was no servant judging by the expensive looking blue garbs he wore and the gold on his bronze ears that complimented his handsome face. It had to be someone of high standing. When he was right in front of you, he frowned down at you and placed his hands on his hips, “Where is Jamil? And where is my cousin?”

You lowered your plate of food, squinting incredulously at this stranger. Who did he think he was? Jamil? Cousin? “Your cousin…? Jamil…? How should I know?”

“You should know. As the vizier’s only vassal, you should know where Jamil is. That is your job, to serve him. Or is he slithering about in places he shouldn’t be?” As his blue eyes bore down at you, he continued his tirade, “You haven’t bowed your head or greeted me as everyone does, by saying, good day, Prince Jaseer. And you’re here slacking off while everyone else in the palace is dutifully working.”

“I’m on a lunch break.” You mumbled in reply, tempted to snap. Wait… had he said prince…? A beautiful royal in blue wearing gold, with long black hair, who is spirited and no-nonsense, like a princess in a fantasy tale. A princess that lived in a palace just like this one, where there was a vizier and sultan–– oh fuck. How was that possible? This was like a stupid kid’s story you heard all the time! Before you could ponder on the topic, you were reminded of who was in front of you by him cleaning his throat. You immediately bowed your head sloppily, begrudgingly, as you recited the words he wanted to hear. “Good day, Prince Jaseer…”

At your less-than-satisfactory response, he crossed his arms over his chest and replied still with that frown, “If you can’t answer my question, then there’s no use talking to you. I’ll find someone who can tell me where my cousin and Jamil are. Let it be known, I have my eye on you and your master. My cousin may be fond of you both, but I am not.”

When you slowly lifted your head, you watched the prince storm away, likely to go find his cousin, whoever that was, and the vizier, this Jamil guy. As soon as he turned a corner, you scrunched your nose and scoffed, “Brat.”

Wait… that meant this was a story. It was all too similar to a story that began much like: it begins on a dark night, where a dark man waits with a dark purpose. If this was that story then what were you…? Apparently working for the vizier, wearing a shawl of rainbows, and feathers… oh my god, you were the fucking parrot. As you resumed your eating you busied your mind with processing these thoughts. “At least the tax collector can’t find me here.”

All you knew was that you were in the role of his parrot, his pet. What a stupid role to end up in! In this version you hoped you were at least some sort of glorified servant! At least you weren’t dead, this was much better than that. You knew the tale of Aladdin by heart, it was a very popular story growing up. You had even envied the protagonist, a thief, for ending up with a genie and winning the love of the princess. Turns out that princess, or prince in this case, was not all that. Well, they always say to never meet your heroes. But, there was one thing that was bound to be great, no matter how much this story would change. The magic lamp that held the genie. You wanted it. Maybe if you stuck around this vizier long enough, you could take it for yourself whenever the opportunity presented itself. You had the advantage, you knew exactly what was going to happen. That genie could grant any of your wishes! It could take you home if you wanted. You could make all those judges rue the day they banished you! You could rule this world and yours! You could bathe in an endless amount of gold and cash! The possibilities were endless!

As you finished your meal, another figure came into view. The figure of a guard, like the ones you’ve been watching patrol and march around, approached you nervously. Only when he noticed you glance at him and nod your head, did he begin speaking, “G-Good evening, vassal. The candidates, they’re ready for the vizier, he’ll be here any moment. You are the only one he trusts, everyone knows this, won’t you put in a kind word for me? I fear he’s in a foul mood, his venture to the cave in the desert didn’t end well again.”

Candidates? Vizier? Cave in the desert? After a few seconds of the guard waiting in anticipation, you were able to connect the dots. This must’ve been a specific rendition of the story where the vizier found the Cave of Wonders in the desert but instead of using a magic machine he created to find the diamond in the rough that could enter the cave, he used his power behind the scenes and in the dark to search through prisoners and criminals and send those he thought might be worthy to die trying to enter the mystic cave. This vizier, Jamil, would no doubt be growing frustrated since he’s likely been keeping at this for so long without finding a single person that can successfully enter the cave. Jumping off your seat on the fountain after finishing your last bite of food, you looked over to the guard and smiled, “Alright, let’s go. We can’t leave the master waiting, can we?”

“Of course! Allow me to lead the way.” So you followed the meek little guard, and as you trailed after him you thought about what would happen and what would you do. The guard had said that it was a fact that the vizier trusted only you, or rather, the person who you’ve replaced. The prince didn’t notice you were not the vassal, and neither did this guard or any of the other servants, so it was likely that no one would notice unless you slipped up, not even the Vizier Jamil. Hopefully.

You watched as the pristine halls of the palace became dark and dim the deeper you went. As the smooth walls became rugged stone lit only by lamps of fire, and the lush green plants and overpriced furniture and decorations became absent. There were also, noticeably, less people. It felt like you and the guard were the only ones as you followed them deeper into what you guessed was a dungeon where you heard chains rattling and the echoing screams of those held captive. Before you could enter the room, the guard turned to you and pleaded,

“Please, stay here. I’m sure seeing you will give the vizier a bit of peace. He should be here any second now. I will go ahead and be sure everything is in order.”

Before you could even protest, the guard scurried ahead to the end of the hall and not too long after, you detected footfall behind you. When you turned around, you saw what you presumed had to be the Vizier Jamil. The vizier looked sort of imposing as he appeared from the dimly lit halls, and with the flames on the wall you could just make out his appearance. A thin figure clothed in red and black robes decorated with gold, holding a golden staff that ended in the shape of a cobra’s head. Long thin hair as black as night coiled down his brown shoulders like snakes in multiple small braids and loose strands decorated with gold, and instantly his sharp gray eyes painted with eyeshadow darted over to you upon noticing your staring. He looked irked, but since you supposedly had a good relationship with him, maybe you could poke and prod without worrying about suffering any consequences. From what you recalled, the vizier’s parrot in the tales was a loud-mouthed creature with a bad temper.

“Welcome back, oh great vizier. So, how did it go?”

“Not a word.” The vizier hissed, sending you a glare. Yet it wasn’t threatening, it felt more… annoyed. Like when your friend was pestering you, except without the light-heartedness. At least he didn’t snap, he did have the power to command you to be put to death. Yet all he did was give you a look before his frown instantly morphed into a stoic expression in the blink of an eye, so fast that it sent you reeling.

Jamil wasted no time in walking forward, not bothering with greetings as he entered the first room of the dungeon that was dingy and dirty. Inside was the guard from before, nervously standing off to the side just across from a line of prisoners in shackles with their heads hanging low, and more guards behind them. These prisoners reminded you of yourself, but less. Now you’re free of any shackles, you’re wearing fine clothes and eating food made by the best chefs while living in the luxurious palace. To avoid being at the center of attention, you stood off to the side, leaning against a corner. Listening in could give more insight.

You watched intently, curiously, as Jamil approached the line of prisoners, scanning them all with those sharp eyes as he walked by them slowly. The men and women in rags and chains tensed when he stepped near, but kept their eyes glued to the ground. Whether it was out of respect or fear, you weren’t sure, but you watched as some of them squirmed in place or nervously glanced at him. After a minute of going down the line of a dozen or so prisoners, he stopped in his tracks and turned to face the guard who guided you. On his face was obvious disappointment.

“You bring me the rough, but never a diamond.” That cold stare of his remained on the anxious guard, never looking away even as he commanded the others, “Take them away.”

You purse your lips and shake your head, watching as the other guards forcefully dragged the prisoners down another hall, to a fate unknown. Poor suckers. You could hear them pleading, begging the vizier for mercy from whatever end they knew awaited them. In one rendition of the story, when the princess snuck out of the palace and gave apples to poor children, apples she had no money on her to pay for, she nearly lost her hand as punishment. It was likely that these prisoners were about to lose much more than a single hand.

The meek guard sent you a pleading look as they whispered frantically, “You said you would put in a kind word for me…!”

Turning your attention to them, you scoffed, “I never said that. I said I would follow you.”

“You…!” At your shrug, he directed his sights towards the vizier who was walking away, his back toward him as he seemed to be prepared to follow the guards and prisoners going elsewhere within the dungeon. “Please, my vizier.” The vizier stopped, and the words were caught in the guard’s throat until he finally forced them out with wavering uncertainty, making it sound more like a question than a statement. “... Perhaps this diamond in the rough does not exist…?”

For a moment he paused but didn’t turn around, and quietly replied, “They’re out there.” A response with unwavering certainty.

“But we’ve searched for months!” It appears that the guard was showing signs of frustration as well. Who knows how many prisoners they’ve interrogated and how many criminals they’ve captured in these months, all in an attempt to satisfy the vizier’s wish of finding a diamond in the rough. “I do not understand what could possibly be in that cave that could help a… a man as great as you. You are already second only to the sultan!”

“Second? Uh-oh.” You exclaimed, bracing yourself for what was to come and ignoring the guard’s growing irritation towards you. In the tale, yes the vizier worked for the sultan, he was the sultan’s most trusted advisor. But, behind the vizier’s facade of charm and loyalty, there was only a burning hate for the sultan who believed in him. The vizier wished to be the most powerful man in the kingdom, second to no one. So to be told he was second, straight to his face, would be like a slap. You watched as Jamil turned to the guard with a deep frown, and you could only whistle, “Who’s in trouble now~?”

Jamil turned to face him fully, staring at the guard beneath him with such a disdainful gaze before questioning firmly, “Do you believe second is enough?”

Without hesitation, they nodded, the answer to them was obvious. “Yes. You were not born to be sultan, you are not of royal lineage. His Majesty, Kalim Al-Asim, was born to be sultan.”

Kalim Al-Asim. So that was the sultan’s name. The mere mention of him was enough to tick off the vizier. He narrowed his eyes and began to speak in a quiet murmur, “Do you know that I’ve served him my entire life? From the day I was born, they dictated that I was a servant to him and they chained my entire existence so it depended on him.” Slowly he stepped forward, inching closer with every word he spat like venom. “You have no idea of the things I’ve been forced to do for him. The sacrifices I’ve made and blood that’s stained my hands, the bodies I’ve buried and times I’ve watched him be praised for his minimal efforts I can easily best.” The closer he got, the more frightened the guard appeared until he was right in front of them. “Everyone will one day learn that I am not worthy of a mere second place, I am supposed to be first. That’s why I need the lamp, and I no longer need you––!”

Right before your eyes, you watched as Jamil swiftly struck him with the bottom of his staff and he fell backwards into a well. A seemingly bottomless well, because you heard his scream growing distant until an unsettling silence lingered. You covered your mouth in shock, but Jamil paid you no mind. It’s as if he’s done a dozen times before, as if you had witnessed all of them before.

After a moment, he sighed and lowered his staff, regaining his composure to cover up for the anger that slipped through in that moment. Again, in a flash, he had a stoic expression as he turned to gaze at you in the corner, when he beckoned you closer with a motion of his finger. “Come here, my vassal. It’s time for a meeting with that irritating sultan.”

Now you were on your way to meet the sultan. Kalim. You hoped he wasn’t anything like Jamil. This vizier was to be feared, but at least he didn’t seem to mind you. So you probably won’t be pushed down a well anytime soon. As you followed him when he began walking, he questioned abruptly,

“What did you do while I was gone?”

This wasn’t good. You weren’t here for that long before he returned, and you got the feeling that Jamil was a particularly observant fellow judging by how he glanced at you from the corner of his eyes. “That royal brat confronted me while I was eating. They’re so annoying.”

“Ah, Prince Jaseer?” Slowly he nodded, as if agreeing with your words. Phew. You were doing alright, fitting the role just fine it seemed. “Annoying would be putting it lightly. He’s just another entitled royal born with a golden spoon in his mouth, an ignorant person who knows nothing of how the real world works.”

“You’re telling me. The guy made me bow and recite a greeting like I was nothing but a pleb beneath him! Then he had the gall to say I was lazy! I was eating! Can’t a person like me eat in peace once in a while? I was starving!”

By now you were in a better part of the palace, where you were once again surrounded by riches. Upon hearing your response, Jamil replied without hesitation, “You are lazy when I’m not around.” At his remark, you stared at him incredulously as he continued with zero reservations, “You are uncaring, murderous, deceitful, aggressive, cunning, and annoying.”

Unable to help it, you snapped back in reply, beginning to rant and list off your fingers. “ME? Look in the mirror bud, you just basically described yourself! You’re cruel, immoral, narcissistic, power-hungry, sadistic, and secretly deranged! You're a two-faced, snake!” When you looked over to him, he still had that stoic expression but he rolled his eyes. Your jaw dropped. There was no way he just fucking––

“You used that insult, two-faced snake, two weeks ago.” Before you could add anything more to the growing pile of insults, he lightly tapped your forehead with the cobra head of his golden staff, appearing unbothered. “Come up with something else or get on my level, then you can talk back. For now, be quiet. We’re nearing where Kalim wanted to meet us. I don’t need to remind you to be on your best behavior around the sultan.”

Rubbing your forehead, you glared at him and mumbled, “Oh, I’ll come up with something shocking, you sorry sack of––ACK!” You coughed, bending over in pain as he quickly jabbed the end of his staff against your stomach to shut you up just before a silk curtain separating the halls from a room opened up.

“Jamil! Oh, and your vassal too! I’m so happy to see you guys! You’re just the ones I wanted to see!”

You had to squint just to look past the stranger’s bright beaming smile. It was a young man, just a bit shorter than Jamil, yet he was dressed in finer garbs than the vizier. The bright pearly-white smile matched some of his odd white strands of hair that poked out past the silk cloth messily tied around his head, the turban he must’ve usually wore to show his high status was off to the side beside a model of the entire city. The energy in his red eyes was just as bright as his smile, but even brighter than that was the gleaming golden accessories glittering over his tawny brown complexion. Golden rings and jewels over his fingers, gold buttons stitched onto his silk clothes, even the tiniest patterns on those silk garbs looked shiny enough to be real gold. So much gold––

Jamil wore a charming devilish smile, but once this Kalim looked away for a second, he quickly slapped your hand as soon as you lifted it, sending you a warning glare, as if saying, do not touch. You glared right back, but as soon as Kalim returned his attention to the two of you again, he pleaded, “I could really use your help, Jamil! You’re the person I can trust the most!”

“You have always placed your trust in me, and I’ve never failed to deliver.” He replied smoothly with a bow of his head. Damn, he was really good at lying. It was a teensy bit concerning.

“It’s all this suitor thing with Jaseem!” Kalim exclaimed, beginning to lay down his worries, “You know I promised I would take care of my cousin before his parents passed, I promised them to help him find a wife when he got older. And now, well, he’s older! I don’t remember it being nearly this hard when I had to marry.”

The vizier followed Kalim as he continued to rant and bemoan, stepping beside him as they stopped in front of various shelves of scrolls and books and tables of documents and knick-knacks. Meanwhile, you followed closely behind, reminding yourself not to input anything or risk gaining suspicion. Once Kalim was finished, only then did Jamil respond casually, “To be fair, your marriage didn’t last long due to… unfortunate circumstances. I’m afraid Prince Jaseer is different. He’s already met ten times the suitresses you ever did. Your standards are nowhere near as high as the prince’s.”

“Pfft…” You slapped your hand over your mouth, going quiet as both Jamil and Kalim looked over at you. Fuck, you were in trouble now, weren’t you?

Kalim blinked before joining in on the shameless laughter, lifting the mood substantially. “You’re right, I never had this problem. It honestly didn’t take a lot to impress me! Oh, have you eaten today? You should totally try these cheese and sauces on crackers! They’re my favorite snack right now! Here!”

You held up your hands in defense, “Wait, a minute. Actually, maybe–– mmph!” You nearly choked as he abruptly stuffed a handful of the crunchy saltines in your mouth, and he placed his other hand to pat your back so you couldn’t step away.

The sultan grinned as you were forced to swallow the food. That’s when he held up more, and urged, “It’s good, isn’t it? You should try more! Hey, you can even have dinner with me if you want! The more the merrier, right?” Before you could even input anything, Kalim shouted loud enough so the servants outside could hear him, “Keep the snacks coming! And make sure to have an extra seat for later! I’d like to eat dinner on the balcony tonight with Jamil’s vassal! Make sure to serve the best, most delicious dishes we have to offer!”

“Hah, you have such a kindness that extends to everyone, don’t you, Kalim? Even to the dense little attendants.”

You shot the vizier a glare at his not-so-subtle jab directed towards you. The only reason you didn’t say anything to his face was because you still had a mouthful of crackers that you could barely swallow without gagging.

Clearing his throat, his soft laughter stopped as he resumed his professional attitude and he was back to business. “Now then, allow me to divine a solution to this pesky problem. As well as take care of… the work you often leave in my care. As per usual.” When you glanced at him, the moment Kalim spun on his heel to catch up with the slowly moving vizier is when you noticed the dark haired man’s annoyance that flashed for a second. “However, I will be needing access to the restricted area of the library, to look at the ancient texts of laws and such. You understand, don’t you?”

“The restricted section? The one reserved only for me and other members of the royal family?” The young man tilted his head, appearing a bit apprehensive as he tapped his finger against his chin in thought. “I dunno, Jamil. Normally I’d let you, but I think that’s against the rules. There’s a lot of secrets hidden there.”

“It’s necessary for us to continue.” Lifting his golden staff, he nonchalantly examined its enchanting ruby red eyes before his fingers slid across the smooth golden surface and he turned it so the cobra head was gazing right at the sultan. A slight sly smile grew on his face as he hummed, “Don’t worry, everything will be fine.”

You watched with intrigued, both fascinated and horrified as he pressed the end of his staff against the ground and leaned the cobra head forwards, causing the sultan to stiffen up and go oddly silent. That’s when you realized it was happening. Jamil was using his powers to hypnotize and manipulate the sultan, just like in the stories.

The sultan’s own red eyes mirrored the rubies of the staff, but quickly his smile dropped into a blank expression as held a staring contest with the cobra head. As if in a trance, he quietly repeated the words spoken to him. “––Everything will be fine…”

That smile on his face grew to a smirk as the vizier repeated his request, “Permission to use the restricted area of the library?”

“Yes, Jamil…” Kalim remained unblinking. His once bright eyes full of life were now… empty. It’s like they were covered with a mist. Slowly, robotically, he held up a blue diamond ring and spoke, “The key… Whatever you need will be fine.”

Instantly he snatched it up, tucking the ring away safely within his robes as he thanked, “You are most gracious, my liege. Now, run along and have fun, enjoy your dinner. Hm?”

“Yes…”

With a swish of his cloak, Jamil began to walk away and you trailed behind him as Kalim stayed in the room, mindlessly gazing out the window. As soon as you were past the curtains and saw no one else present, Jamil’s professionalism dropped and he rolled his eyes, wearing an annoyed frown. You spat out the crackers you couldn’t swallow, it left crumbs in your mouth and salt that burned the roof of your mouth but at least now you were able to speak your mind a little more freely. “I can’t take it! If he tried to stuff one more cracker in my face, I’m was gonna––!”

“Calm yourself, my vassal.” Jamil replied, his expression less refined and now just a resting bitch face. Turning to you, he stopped and instructed, “I will go scour that private area of the library to see what secrets it may hide. The key to our troubles may very well be hidden among those carefully guarded secrets. You will stay here.”

You gawked. “Me?”

“Yes, you.” Pressing a pointed finger against your shoulder, he continued his instructions, “Keep that halfwitted idiot busy, stay for dinner as he wants. Have a little tea party with him if it amuses him. Afterwards, I expect to see you back within my tower. I’d prefer you not stay around Kalim for longer than necessary, especially because his ignorance may rub off on you. Or has it already?”

“Haha, yeah, sure, laugh it up. Very funny.” You scowled at his grin, watching as he turned to leave. “Have fun doing that lame boring reading! I’m gonna enjoy this time off eating until I can’t take another bite!” Once he was out of sight, you spat, “Jerk.” And promptly returned back inside beside the sultan.

When you found him, he was still gazing out the window with those empty eyes. The hypnotic technique continued to last for a few seconds even after Jamil took his leave. However, thankfully, after waving your hand in front of his face and lightly slapping his cheeks, he was beginning to regain consciousness. “Hey, you! Kalim–– er… sultan, wake up.”

Kalim blinked repetitively, the hazy mist in his gaze disappearing until his eyes were bright and red like polished rubies once again. As if awaking from a deep sleep, he groaned and pressed his cheek against your hand, not fully realizing what was happening until he blinked again and looked up at you. “What…? What happened? Ah, I’m sorry, I zoned out again…!” Despite realizing how close you two were, he made no effort to move. Was he that trusting or that stupid? “Where’s Jamil?”

“He’s busy. Had to go back to work, uh… sultan.” You were a little upset that he’d leave you with this odd little ruler, but you couldn’t complain too much when you’d get to have your fill of food.

“Ooooh, okay then! And please, you can just call me Kalim! Any friend of Jamil’s is a friend of mine.” He hummed, taking your hands as soon as you stepped away and lowered them away from his face. “I’m so happy to finally get to spend time with you! Jamil is always so hardworking and you are too! I mean, you’re always helping him, and he seems to trust you a lot and that’s saying something because he hardly trusts anyone! So I’ve never gotten to really talk this much to you until now! This is a little exciting, isn’t it? Come on!” Without warning, he began to tug you along, apparently forgetting the exchange from earlier. So he really didn’t remember that he had been hypnotized. As he dragged you along outside of the rooms and down the pristine extensive hallways, he continued, “I wanna know all about you! Our dinner should be ready by now! And what better way to get to know someone than over dinner? What kind of food do you like? What’s your favorite drink? Oh! And we can’t forget dessert!”

Suddenly you were out on the balcony where you first gained consciousness, it was still dark out. It all happened so quickly, in a flash you were seated on a long plush chaise lounge draped with numerous pillows and blankets. In a rush, the servants came out, setting out tables and trays filled to the brim with food until you were surrounded by mounds of food that all smelled so delectable. Before you could even think of something to say, Kalim was already piling food on your plate, making it so high that it resembled a small mountain.

“Eat as much as you want! Oh, try this! And this too! And you gotta have a little of this! Dinner is one of my favorite times of the day, because you get to relax with someone, whether it be family, a friend, or a complete stranger, and talk about anything!”

There was so much on your plate that you almost struggled to peek over it just to see the face of the sultan. Yeah you wanted food, but this was too much even for you… As the young man explained what dish was what, you glanced behind your shoulder at the servants transporting trays and pitchers. Your eyes narrowed, but you pretended to pay attention to the sultan by nodding at whatever he said, as you watched out of the corner of your eye. One servant carrying another silver tray, leaned forward to place it on the table, while his other arm was folded at his midsection. His body had been covering your view of the pitcher, but once he stepped back and began to walk away, you noticed the liquid fizzing for a moment and became an odd color before the solution dissolved to blend in with the beverage. That substance he slipped into the drink… was he trying to poison the sultan?

Your eyes followed the servant as he turned on his heel and began to retreat towards the kitchen. Narrowing your gaze, you interrupted Kalim while he was going on about some story of him having dinner with other royals, when you blurted out, “Hey, you.”

It went quiet, the sultan appeared confused and leaning over to get a better look at what you were glaring at while all the servants froze in their tracks.

“Yeah, you with the stupid face and red sash. I’m talking to you. What the hell were you slipping in that drink? You sure have guts to be doing that in front of me. Either that or you're brain-dead.”

Everyone tensed up at your implication, the guards nearby honing in on the servant with the red sash around their waist. Immediately they had them restrained, one of the head guards ripped off his sash to remove a suspicious vial with some liquid still left in it. Despite the servant’s panicked squirming in the hold of the soldiers, the head guard turned towards the sultan, holding up the vial and nodding in affirmation, “Your Majesty, it is poison…”

“Again?” Kalim sighed somberly, slowly gripping onto your sleeve.

Again? What the hell did he mean by again? How many times did this usually happen? As if on cue, the remaining servants rushed in to remove all the food that had been brought. Now, they would have to double check everything to make sure nothing else was poisoned. Without even being told, the armored men escorted away the frightened servant that had failed to harm the sultan. Instantly the area was cleared, save for extra guards further away but still close enough to watch.

After a few seconds, the realization of something appeared to dawn on the sultan’s face as he gripped your sleeve tighter and peered up at you with wide sparkling red eyes. “You… You saved me! I knew it! You are trustworthy! Wait, what am I talking about? Of course you’re trustworthy, Jamil trusts you, but this just confirms it! I might’ve been poisoned if you hadn’t said anything! You are a good person, just like I thought! You see, I’m a great judge of character so I knew that you were good from the moment I met you!”

You resisted the urge to laugh at his choice of words about you being a good person. At first you thought of letting it happen, but if the sultan were to die now, that would rush things along. Prince Jaseer would inherit the throne if he gets married quick enough, and then he would definitely get rid of you and Jamil. Then, you’d be poor and powerless on the streets, or worse, dead. So what did you do? Call out the servant, duh. “It’s nothing, really.”

Shaking his head in refusal, he continued to insist, “But it is something! Don’t be so modest. Everyone should know of what you did for me tonight! The whole kingdom deserves to know! You deserve a reward! If you need anything, just say it, and it's yours! Anything at all!”

You couldn’t help but scoff, rolling your eyes as a semi-amused smile appeared on your face, “Don’t say that, I’m going to make you regret it.” You’d definitely rob him blind if you could. He would be such an easy target too, like stealing candy from a baby, if he wasn’t always being watched by a troop of guards twenty-four-seven.

For a moment he was quiet, his red eyes analyzing your smile with surprise before he broke out into the brightest beaming expression that nearly made you shriek from being blinded. “But I mean it! I really do!” As his hands gripped your arm a little tighter, he noticed your colorful shawl. Curious, he began to trace his fingers across the woven shapes, entranced by the colors as he murmured in awe, ��Woah, I really like your shawl. The feathers are pretty, and I love the colors! I think I might want something styled like that.”

He was actually… strangely casual for a guy that was nearly poisoned. Then again, maybe it was a common thing for him. He was the most powerful man in the entire kingdom. “You like it that much?” You watched as he quickly nodded, to which you plucked one of the five long red feathers beside the clip of the shawl. Its red faded into blue, with one edge even tinted with the tiniest bit of yellow and green. “It’s the only thing keeping me from freezing right now, so I can only give you this. That way you can show it to your tailors or stylists or whatever you rich people have, and they know what you want.” It was totally not to distract him and get the sultan off your back so he’d let go of your arm.

Kalim’s eyes widened as he swiftly reached out and gingerly took the feather in his hands. Those eyes of his looked at the feather with wonder, as if it was worth more than rubies or gold. Turning his wonder-filled expression up at you, he looked so joyful as he leaned forward and spoke, “Thank you…! I love it!” Then, his expression flattened a bit to a more solemn look as he glanced down at the feather he held tightly and back to you. His voice got even quieter so as to not be heard by anyone that may be in the halls nearby. “Since I trust you… can I tell you a secret…?”

You deadpanned, turning your attention away to the scenery. “No.”

“Whew, okay, here it goes…” Focusing on the feather, he quickly forced out, “I’ve never gotten a gift like this before…! There. I said it!”

In that moment you stopped to squint at him, not believing a word he said. “Wait a second, you’re kidding, right? I mean, you’re sultan. You live in a giant palace, you have countless servants and soldiers, your kingdom is one of the most powerful and prosperous! Don’t lie to me, I bet you have people lining up to give you gifts everyday! Gifts of gold, jewels, all that fancy expensive stuff!”

“I’m not lying! All of that is true, but… this gift is special!” Kalim immediately replied, only gripping the feather tighter as he explained, “I think gifts given on the spot, out of the goodwill of your heart, are way more valuable. Yeah, I get a lot of gifts, and I’m thankful! But it’s not the same! I will treasure this feather because it’s from you, and your kindness!” Eventually his gaze traveled down to your shawl, he was shivering a bit from the cold desert winds. Looking back up at you, then your shawl, then you again, it’s as if he was trying to convey something. “I-It’s getting a little cold, aha… Can I…?”

Frowning, you flopped back onto the soft cushions, your fingers gripping the very edges of the shawl. “This is the one thing that’s mine. No, you can’t have it.”

“Haha, I wasn’t asking for it! Don’t worry, I’ll definitely be asking my tailors to make me one like yours so we can match! I meant I wanted to share it with you right now!” With zero hesitation, he flopped down beside you. He was close, so incredibly close, enough that you could feel his body warmth and he could probably feel yours. It did not help that when you tried to inch away, he took the initiative to snuggle closer, draping the ends of your shawl around himself as he continued to hold the feather you gifted him.

When he was right up against you and gazed up at you with those bright eyes and always happy smile, you scowled and muttered, “What’s with you? You got a problem, princey?”

Without missing a beat, he responded casually. “I’m not a prince, that would technically be my cousin! I’m a sultan! Although I was a prince before, but not anymore.”

“That’s not what I–– nevermind.” You tried to ignore him for your own good. You couldn’t exactly get away with hurting the sultan, no matter how much you wanted to take a swing. Well, it wasn’t all bad was it? This meant you were on his good side, right?

As you glanced back at him, you could feel him beside you. Shoulder-to-shoulder, as he gazed up at the stars, looking up at the endless night sky with twinkling eyes. “This is great! I rarely ever have company like this. I mean, I always have company but like–– company that I can just relax with, you know? Oh, look up there, at those stars––!”

At this point you weren’t really focused on the sultan or what he was saying. Actually, you were focused on something just past him, past the stone curved ends of the balcony where you could see the rest of the city and part of the palace. That's when you made out a figure, like a small ant against the vast backdrop, running fast. They moved quickly, jumping over obstacles and climbing walls like an acrobat, as if it came natural to them, all while avoiding the lights of torches and staying in the shadows. They were dressed in rags too, like a peasant. Like… a thief.

“––Anyways, that’s the story behind my favorite constellation! What about yours? Do you have a favorite?”

“OH MY GOD––” Your eyes widened as the realization struck. The thief, they were the protagonist! The protagonist was making their move!

The sultan appeared startled at your sudden exclamation, but his shock quickly turned to a smile as he laughed, “Did you like the story that much? I like it too! Let me think of another one to tell you about!”

Immediately pushing him away, you sat up and scrambled to get off the chair, “Welp, this is getting weird. And I have to go report back to Jamil! Damn, you know how it is, with work and all. You get it, don’t you? Yeah, of course you do!” Brushing yourself off, you bolted just as the sultan was sitting up and looking bewildered at your odd reaction. “Okay, I’m gonna go before you can say anything, m’kay, bye!”

“W-Wait!”

Nope. Not waiting. You ran, not even sure how to reach the vizier because you had no idea where his main quarters were, so you disguised your lack of knowledge as questions such as looking for his extra robes or even where the vizier himself was currently at, demanding answers along the way from unsuspecting servants until they pointed you in the direction. You had to hurry, you had to point out the thief so Jamil could use him and lure him to the lamp. Once he got the lamp, you’d take over from there, you’d come up with a plan eventually. Just not right now, not when you were rushing to make it back to inform the advisor of the intruder as quickly as possible. You climbed the spiraling staircases to one of the towers where the vizier’s quarters were located.

As soon as you threw open the doors, you found him looking over a tome. However, as soon as you entered, he turned to look at you, raising an eyebrow as you heaved for a breath while you slammed the door shut behind you and leaned your weight against the wooden surface. You exclaimed breathlessly, “Thief!! Thief in the palace!”

“Thief in the palace?” Jamil parroted, looking even more perplexed as he narrowed his eyes at you and you pointed to his open balcony that overlooked part of the city and part of the palace.

Stumbling over to the balcony, you leaned your weight on the stone edges, letting the cool desert air fan your face. Quietly you mumbled, “That’s what I said. Catch up, or are you deaf?” When Jamil joined you at the balcony, he stood straight and tall as his dark eyes gazed out into the night.

There, shrouded in the shadows, was the thief moving nimbly on rooftops and wooden pergolas covered in vines. They moved so quietly and effortlessly, going unnoticed even by the armored guards on patrol just below them. Finally, they disappeared into a hall, where there would only be servants cleaning and handling chores to keep the palace pristine. For once he finally appeared pleased, content, as he glanced at you and instructed, “Have the guards extend an invitation to our intruding guest. I will be escorting them to the cave. And you, my vassal?”

You? As much as you wanted to go, it wasn’t like you could go into the cave yourself. You also couldn’t reveal that you knew that this thief was the diamond in the rough that the vizier had spent months searching for. No matter how much you wanted that lamp now, you couldn’t risk changing the plot. It was probably better to stay here until the thief would come back with the lamp, genie, with riches and a new name. While they would be busy with wooing the prince, that would be your opportunity to strike. “I’ll stay, keep Prince Jaseer and Kalim off your back if they come asking.” When you noticed Jamil’s attention still on you, you clarified smoothly, “I don’t wanna watch another failure with the cave going up in smoke.”

“Quit being so pessimistic. This is the one.” He scolded, immediately turning to walk away. However, not before leaving another command to follow. “Go, make yourself useful and inform the guards immediately. I’ll be preparing to leave with the thief.”

Rolling your eyes, you stood up and prepared yourself to rush down the steps and inform the guards. At the very least, you could get some well-earned rest once he left. “As you wish, your rottenness.” ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧

“(Y/n)?”

Your peaceful slumber in the vizier’s quarters was disturbed. On the lounge on the balcony you lay, eyes groggily blinking open only to be met with a familiar face leaning over you. You blinked again for extra measure, your mind processing who you were seeing.

“Good morning!” Kalim smiled, his head just over yours. Out of instinct you jolted upright, accidentally hitting your forehead against his. “Ow! Ah–– you’re finally awake!” The young man cheered, ignoring the pain on his forehead as you hissed and rubbed your own head where it now hurt from the brunt of the impact.

Glaring at the sultan for waking you up from a pleasant sleep, you squinted at his bright expression while rubbing your eyes and the now sore spot on your skull. “What the hell are you doing here? How did you even find me? How did you get in here? I locked the door before I fell asleep!”

“Oh, that? Well, when everyone found out I was looking for you, they told me that you were asleep in Jamil’s tower. Obviously I knew where that was, but when I came to find you, the door was locked! I know, I know, Jamil really likes his privacy, but I just wanted to see you and you wouldn’t open the door! So, I just had the guards use the backup key to open the door and I’ve been waiting here ever since!”

You sat up, taking a moment to process everything. If you weren’t already squinting because of your vision not yet adjusted to the brightness of the sun from the open balcony and grogginess from your own sleep, you would’ve been squinting even more to look at his smiling face incredulously. Rubbing your tired face, you sighed, “Let me get this straight. You couldn’t wait, so you had your people basically break into the vizier’s room and for what? Just to say good morning? How long were you waiting for me to wake up? Don’t tell me you were watching me sleep.” You scoffed somewhat sarcastically.

“I wasn’t watching you! Well… kinda. I just wanted to make sure you were okay! I do owe you.” You were kidding about that last part, so his response genuinely surprised you. Before you could even think up something to say, he stopped leaning over the long lounge chair you were on and stood up to show off a new article of clothing. A colorful woven shawl, similar to yours. “Look! Isn’t it great? They finished it while I was sleeping, and now we match! The tailors sprayed it with perfume too so it even smells like jasmine!”

Frowning as you watched him happily twirl and show off the shawl, the feather you gave him stuck to his headband, you muttered, “All I smell is bullsh––”

“Shhhh!” Appearing incredibly content with his new shawl, he continued to chatter on happily. “I love it so much! Tell me, is this the latest fashion trend in the city? It’s been a while since I’ve gone out.”

You replied gruffly, “I dunno, why don’t you stick your head out the window and check? I’m not your tailor. Why don’t you ask them? Or even ask to go out or something.”

At your words, his smile faltered the tiniest bit. It turned somewhat sad, but he continued to force that cheery expression as he averted his gaze downward albeit awkwardly. “I’d love to go out! But… I’m not really allowed. I’m sultan, remember? I’m only allowed to go out during special occasions, and I’ve never been allowed to just be with everyone else past the gates. My dad used to say it was dangerous, and even now the council says it’s not a good idea.”

Wait a moment… This could work well to your advantage. There was plenty of time before Jamil returned. It would serve as a good excuse to gain your bearing and at least a bit of knowledge on the environment past the high palace walls. Plus, you would get points with the sultan if you made him happy. Besides, being on Kalim’s good side, as annoying as he was, could work out in the end. Especially if things start to go south. It didn’t hurt to be trusted by both the first and second most powerful people in the entire kingdom. Damn you were a genius. You smiled somewhat slyly. “Who says you gotta ask?”

“H-Huh?” For once Kalim was caught off guard as you hopped up from your spot on the lounge. Once you got up, so did he. He followed you as you stepped over to open a cabinet of clothing. “You mean, go without asking? You really mean it?”

Kalim was sultan, he’d obviously be recognized without a disguise. But if you just covered his white hair and lower face and switched his riches to common rags, he’d be fine. Probably. Hopefully. Picking up a few handkerchiefs and scarves he could use, you pretended to reconsider, “I dunno… We’d have to sneak out and break the rules–– just kidding, let’s sneak out!” Holding up some cloaks and fabrics he could use as a hood to cover his signature white hair and to mask his lower face, your smile grew as you persuaded him further, “Come on, let’s just go for a midday stroll and snack. We’ll just let everyone think you’re spending time in the vizier’s chambers waiting for him to return or something. Just follow me, out the window, ‘round the garden, I’ll carry you over, and we’re gone.”

Those red eyes of his turned to the open balcony and view of the city on this hot summer’s day. He stood still, as if contemplating it. But it didn’t take much convincing, or that long to ponder over his decision, because like in a snap, he broke out into a grin and eagerly bobbed his head up and down. That’s when you knew you had him in the palm of your hand.

It took a bit of tip-toeing around, but eventually you managed to get Kalim past the gates with little to no trouble. You had a few coins you snatched from Jamil’s chambers safely secured within a pocket on the inside of your shawl, along with a few knives you tucked away in various parts of your outfit but those were mostly for a last resort. You didn’t plan to go too far because you didn’t know the layout of the city well, and plus you knew there was always the chance of thieves and pickpockets skulking about. The good thing was, that thief protagonist wouldn’t be here, they’d still be in the desert and the Cave of Wonders. All you were here for was a snack and to make the sultan happy, and happy sounded like an understatement.

The young man was practically glowing, vibrating with energy as he danced on his heels. Kalim fit in surprisingly well. Since he wasn’t tall, he didn’t stand out that much in the busy crowd. Not to mention the lack of silks and fancy garbs helped. It was a good idea you gave him that average quality material to wear. On his body he wore a casual old white tunic turned beige with age and loose-fitted orange pants, with that rainbow shawl he commissioned recently and a dark orange hood with a black cloth around his lower face to top it off. The only thing you could really see if you got close to his face, were those big red eyes just sparkling with life.

“Stop staring at me with those big old eyes.”

Immediately he closed his eyes. Although the black fabric concealed the lower portion of his face, you could just tell he was wearing some stupid grin by the slight crinkle appearing on the bridge of his nose and the mirth dancing in his tone. “Sorry, sorry! This is all just so exciting! What are we going to do now? Everything smells so good! Oh, what’s all that––”

When the sultan seemed set on some shady foreign merchants selling a variety of unlabeled goods, you grabbed the back of his collar, preventing him from dashing across the busy streets and being run over by carts hauling goods or being scammed for all the cash he had, or worse. “Hold on. When was the last time you actually went out? Like, as a normal person.”

“Oh, the last time was… the beginning of never, actually. This is my first time!” The sultan beamed.

Kalim was a merchant’s dream, like a sitting duck susceptible to astronomical prices and greedy exchanges. But more like a golden goose instead of a sitting duck. For now, the plan was to safeguard him. He already owed you for saving his life when calling out that assassin with the poison, but there had to be a definite connection. The sultan would be your plan B, should all else fail when attempting to acquire the lamp with the vizier Jamil. If Jamil were to go down, you would betray him in a heartbeat, and turn to Kalim. However, in order for Kalim to truly believe you, the trust had to be as solid as the gold that filled his palace.

“Of course it is. I should’ve guessed.” Resisting the urge to just drop him off at the gates and enjoy your freedom, you opted that the safest options would just be the food stalls and he would be entertained by all the happenings in the market.

And you had been right, but what you didn’t take into account was how talkative he might be. Even as he happily munched away on street food sold at various stalls and carts. “You know, it makes me sad that I can’t go out like this. This is the first time I can stand in the middle of the city, without people crowding and staring. People just walk past me as if I’m nothing–– do you know how crazy that is?”

He was sultan, and a prince before that, so he must’ve been accustomed to everyone bowing to him as he passed. All eyes would be on him, but here? Not a single person gave a passing glance.

Taking a bite of the skewed spiced meat and grilled vegetables you bought for yourself, you shrugged at his words before finally adding in your own two cents. “If you take away your title, you’re just a guy.”

“Just a guy…” He murmured quietly, like he never really considered the fact that without his name and his family’s wealth, he was practically a nobody. Taking a slow and concentrated bite of his own skewer, he allowed the taste to settle before looking down at it with a sense of wonder. “This is delicious! I’ve never had the privilege of just eating food without a taste tester. I might have to bring the man who made this back to the palace with me.”

“Don’t blow your own cover.”

“I won’t, I won’t! It’s just…” Kalim appeared to look down thoughtfully, taking another bite. As a sultan, he was probably so pampered and protected that he never once tasted street food or walked on a dirt road before. “Today, you’ve done something truly special for me, my friend. You gave me something worth more than gold or gems, you gave me a once in a lifetime experience! These days it’s hard to trust anyone around me.”

Pausing mid bite, you raised an eyebrow and listened attentively. Possible intel? This could be useful, good information to store in the back of your mind for a later time to utilize when it was most advantageous.

“All the servants are loyal for the most part, but that’s because there’s rules and payment involved. Sometimes, there’s one or two among them that have tried to harm me and my family.” He continued softly, almost seriously. This wasn’t like his usual cheery demeanor and loud tone. Right now his gaze was eerily calm and he spoke quietly, just loud enough so you could hear as you stood beside him. “For a while, I was okay with it. That’s how I grew up, it was my normal. But then I got older, my parents passed on, I got married for a little while but that didn’t last. Even some of my siblings, who I thought I could trust, turned against me just to get to the throne. It seems like everyone I love is either taken away from me or turns against me.”

In that moment, he turned to face you, gazing at you with those big red eyes.

Softly, he pleaded, “Promise me you won’t be like that? Taken away from me or turned against me–– I don’t think I could bear it. I can’t believe I never spoke to you properly sooner than I did! We could’ve been best friends by now!” His soft hands clutched yours, as he still awkwardly held the skewer between his thumb and pointer finger.

You began freaking out a bit when his hands moved up to your face, squishing your cheeks between his palms as he brought your face closer to his

“I mean, you make me so happy I could just kiss you! It wouldn’t be hard.”

There was no way you just accidentally snagged a sultan. How? You of all people! With the rotten personality and a heart so shriveled and three sizes too small that it could rival the Grinch’s own beating core. Oh this made things too easy. Kalim was now the ace hidden up your sleeve. If worse came to worse and the original plan had to be abandoned, well, certainly playing the role of the sultan’s favorite little lover wasn’t too bad. At least until you could obtain the lamp.

Certainly while the sultan was oblivious, he wasn’t dumb. However, he was most likely no expert when it came to love, as it appeared he wasn’t the most skilled at basic interactions from his cushy palace life. It couldn’t be that hard to keep him seduced, could it? Surely if he miraculously felt attracted to you, it was possible to keep him hooked for a while, until you had the wishes you desired.

All it took was a single kiss on his forehead, to see those ruby red eyes dazzle so brightly in the sunlight. Although his lower face was concealed by the fabric around his head, he was bound to be grinning ear-to-ear like an idiot. And wrapped around your pinky to have at your disposal. “Happy?”

Eagerly he nodded, taking a deep breath to hold so he wouldn’t squeal with joy. What a sucker. “So so happy, my dove!”

“My dove? Huh…” At the little nickname, you sigh and shrug, stopping yourself from rolling your eyes so as to not appear too cold toward his advances and words. “Then let’s go back now before they go looking for you. Oh, look over there, what a beautiful bracelet…” You casually remark, gesturing toward a stand across the road that sold a variety of jewelry. If you had to kiss up to a man, might as well make it all worth it by causing his pockets to hurt. But what was a bit of gold and jewelry to his pockets that ran so deep?

✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧

“What is that…?” The vizier demanded, glaring at you. When he returned, he was in a foul mood. It must’ve been because the story was progressing and that thief got trapped in the Cave of Wonders with the lamp, but he said nothing about it other than it’s gone. However, even when he was outraged by his recent failure, he still noticed the golden bands wrapped around your arms.

Seeing where his gaze was directed, you lifted your arm and showed off the golden bands speckled with white diamonds and decorated with swirls within the metal itself. “Oh, this? You like? The sultan gifted them to me.” You grinned, noticing his frown deepening. Using the opportunity, you flaunted. “I think that chump has taken a liking to me ever since I saved his skin.”

"So I heard of your heroic deed." If the vizier had laser vision, he’d be searing your bracelet into a puddle of molten metal liquid by how hard he was glaring. “Don’t lose sight of what we’re after. In the end, the lamp can provide enough wealth to put that tiny gaudy thing to shame.”

At his words dissing the rather expensive and delicately crafted accessory, your eyes widened as you pointed an accusatory finger at him. “Ohhhh, I see… You’re jealous! Ha! You’re mad! Stay mad!”

A scowl etched his way onto his features as he hissed, “You think I’m jealous…?!” Pausing, he collected himself. Or at least, he tried to. But it was probably difficult to do so with the reminder in the back of his mind that his victory was within his grasp, only to be fumbled. Taking a deep breath, he seethed, “No, I am not jealous. In fact, you’re doing me a favor by distracting that airhead and also that bratty prince in the process. So, continue. I encourage you, but remember who your efforts are for. Now, there has to be another way to find another person worthy to go into that cave…”

Scoffing, you readjusted the bracelet over your arm. Such a shiny thing that would’ve cost a small fortune back home. “Don’t worry, even though you’re a despicable serpent, you’re still my favorite.” Whether that was true or not, it was best to stay in his good graces. “I heard what happened from the few guards you took with you… it’ll be fine. The lamp is gotta still be there under all that sand.”

Ignoring your words, he still paused when he heard them, but he didn’t acknowledge them in the slightest. In fact, he only gave a command without so much as a glance in your direction. “Go get me my tome from that shelf.”

Offering a smile without the pretentiousness, you went over to the shelf and picked the heavy tome he required. Almost everyday he seemed to read from this thing. “Okay, master, I’ll get you the dark wizard daily so you can enchant yourself some bitches.”

Bringing his fingers to his head, he rubbed the bridge of his nose as if in annoyance. For a moment you thought he might snap, but instead he only muttered, “I already have one that talks day in and day out, endlessly bothering me to no end. I do not need another one of you.”

“Haha–– Wait, what?”

That cold expression didn’t change, until his eyes wandered down to your arm. And as he continued speaking slowly, he grabbed your wrist within his hand. He removed the golden bracelets Kalim had bought for you in the market. Those golden bands were eventually in his hands. At their brilliant shine, he scowled and tossed them aside. On your arms, he placed silver ones. Silver bands that curled around your arms like snakes, to replace the ones the sultan gifted you.

“What I mean is…” Using his golden staff, he extended it outward, using the cobra head on it like a hook to turn your head towards where he was seated, directing your gaze to his eyes. Those gray eyes were hypnotizing, this was what it must’ve felt like when Kalim was met face-to-face with the cobra head on his vizier’s staff. However, there was no magic being used at the moment. “You’re mine, not Kalim’s. Do you understand?”

You frown as he switches them, closely examining the shine of your new bracelet. “Gold is shinier than silver…”

He sighed, irked. “Then I’ll just make sure to take a gem, as big as your greed, from the treasury and have it engraved into one heavy necklace. Now––” Seeing you grin in content at his promise for another shiny treasure, he continued from where he left off. “You are mine. My vassal. Say it back to me. Yours.”

Jamil was dead serious as he spoke, clearly not in the mood for too many jokes or teasing. And for once, you were too stunned for words to blurt out anything. Besides, it wasn’t like you could when he was so close and staring at you so intensely.

“You… Yours?” You parrot awkwardly, wincing at the way it came out of your mouth. However, the young man still keeping you close with his staff seemed content with your response.

Those gray eyes remained focused on you. His eyes were thin and sharp, making it look like he wore eyeliner. As cruel and cold as he could be behind that calm and polite facade, there was a mysterious charm to him. It was as enticing as it was dangerous, and yet that was how you liked most things. Curse him for that.

It’s strange. You thought he would be more enraged about the lamp and the incident at the Cave of Wonders. However, he seemed almost calm as he gazed at you. And without his fancy garbs composed of so many layers that pooled around him, he didn’t look so intimidating. The black sleeveless shirt he wore was loose but intricately decorated, and his pants looked like flowing silk. There wasn’t even that headpiece over his hair, which made him look… normal. If that were even possible. It made you forget the fact that he was a villainous vizier, meant to eventually go mad with power and accidentally curse himself to an eternity of solitude and servitude when he finally wished to become an all-power genie. Maybe if you could steer him down that path, you could have him for yourself as a second wish-granter...

“Mine.” He confirmed, giving you a hard stare as he lowered his staff. With a hand, he guided your fingers to his long dark tresses. Most of it was loose, but some strands were in thin braids that extended all the way up to his scalp. When you delicately pinched one of the braids between your fingers, the braids tied so tightly made them look like little scales. Slowly you unravel them for him, he didn’t protest. In fact, he appeared almost relaxed. “I’ve let him take away many things from me. Too many things. And I’m not about to let him snatch you away too.”

“Eh, he’s annoying. Silly, but annoying. You on the other hand… my boss who’s a tall, dark, and sinister ugly man.”

His eyes watched your every movement, looking on idly as your fingers slowly untwined his braids. So casually you were touching a man who had committed unspeakable crimes, most of which you could not even begin the picture. What else had he done to defend the sultan when it was his duty? What had he done to climb the ranks and try to climb even higher to the most dangerous heights? How many souls had he sacrificed to the Cave of Wonders? How many assassins did he personally fend off? How did he punish and silence those that dare try to reveal his secrets and plans working behind the scenes without the royal family or others taking notice?

Jamil crossed his arms, indifferent to your insult. His gaze never once left your figure as he replied smoothly. “You’re a terrible liar… If I was as ugly as you claimed, you wouldn’t be staring at me like that or touching me. Now, sit down.” He was close–– too close when he added the next words in a way that left you puzzled as to what exactly he could’ve meant. “You’ll be rewarded for recognizing my greatness, before anyone else did. But for now.” He handed you a scroll. "Read, find something useful of the lamp or the cave."

Maybe the most unnerving thing about Jamil, was his mysterious allure. The sultan you knew was cheery and laidback, the prince was spirited and independent, and the thief you would learn about in due time. But the vizier? It seemed impossible to pinpoint anything to him. One moment he was stoic and silent, the next he could be taking your banter and come up with a witty reply, and the very next second he was enraged and permanently extinguishing a life. Yet he wasn’t wildly violent nor too charming that it felt like a mask. And yet, you couldn’t distinguish was was genuine emotion from him or just acts with different intentions behind them. And that was the most concerning part about the vizier–– did he truly like you or was this some elaborate facade?

✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧

The following day you were awoken by thumping. Staying up late to assist the vizier search through old scrolls and books, wasn’t the brightest idea. The night was a bit of a blur, as you had stayed up so late researching with him. It was a blur of printed text, bickerings and snide remarks, fingers running through hair, and intense gazes, among other things. As you awoke later in the morning to an uproar from outside and a shaking of the ground like an earthquake. Trumpets and bells served as your alarm, as you fell out of the desk you had slumped over last night, a blanket over your shoulder that you hadn’t placed.

Outside was quite a parade that could put all festivals to shame. White stallions carrying men with banners, camels carrying drummers whose sounds vibrated in the air, bands marching in the most vibrant uniforms, dancers in fine purples like pristine peacocks. It was like a traveling circus, zoo, and party all in one. And in your dazed state, the realization arrived suddenly––

“That’s the thief––!”

Instantly you ran to your own room, or rather, the old vassal’s room, to wash up and change as quickly as humanly possible. You knew this would happen eventually, but you didn’t expect it to happen so soon. The thief, now a princess, was here! Here, arriving with a genie masquerading as their most faithful trusted servant. The lamp, she had the lamp with her!

Once changed, you stepped back into the vizier’s tower. There was no one there, he even cleaned up after his research session, leaving no evidence behind of his plot with the Cave of Wonders. No book, scroll, or even a page was left. Damn, he was good. In your mind there’s no doubt he’s cleaned up after other plots and murders. What a slippery cretin.

Quickly departing from the tower, you made your way through the grand halls, past the guards and servants. Although most were entranced by the grand spectacle that princess, or rather a crook, managed to display through the streets of the city. To think all that splendor and so much more was just within reach. But just because the finish line was in sight, did not mean that it was safe. There were more ways to die here than the number of tales Scheherazade had to tell. While having the favor of the sultan and vizier was certainly both an ego boost and a benefit, it didn’t make you invincible. That could only truly happen when you finally had the lamp in hand.

As soon as you turned a corner, you heard laughter. Immediately, you got the wind knocked out of you and went flying. Literally. You went tumbling backwards, some type of fabric draping over your face and the weight of a body crashing into yours as you collapsed on your back in an awkward angle. You were milliseconds away from screaming bloody murder and ready to tear into whoever could be blamed, but you shut your mouth and clenched your teeth shut when you heard the familiar giggling.

The cloth, whatever it was that had been over your head and obscuring your vision, was removed. However, it wasn’t removed by a person, it moved on its own. That’s when you realized it wasn’t a piece of cloth, it was a piece of fabric, woven wool to be more specific. The wool that composed the magic flying carpet from the story. It moved like a sentient being as you blinked at it in shock, and it extended one of its tasseled yellow ends to dust you off.

“How in the hell…?”

“My dove! I’m so sorry. Are you hurt?” He was gasping a bit from laughing so much on that magic carpet joy ride he must’ve just been on, the adrenaline still pumping through his system from flying within the palace’s high-ceiling rooms.

Yes, you simple-minded idiot, you hit me like a train at full speed! Is what you would’ve said if you could, but it wouldn’t do to say that aloud when others might hear and get the wrong impression. It would attract too much attention if someone was blatantly disrespectful to the sultan. “No, I’m fine––” Your backside would be aching for a whole day. God, if only there wasn't a need for formalities, you would–– “And thank you… carpet.” The thanks came out awkwardly, as you were unused to thanking carpets but it seemed like a rather harmless and curious thing.

“This contraption that the princess has brought is wonderful! You should try it!”

The sultan gestured to the carpet. For such a priceless magical item that was stuck in a cave for who knew how long, it was in shockingly good condition. It had vibrant blues, and yellow patterns and symbols etched onto its surface. Yeah, you were definitely gonna keep it once you were in charge.

“You know, I really think that my cousin Jaseer will love her! You have to meet her! And well…” He awkwardly scratched his cheek, looking somewhat sheepish as he mustered up the courage to speak the next words. His cheeks grew warm when he averted his gaze. Yet after a moment, his eyes shifted back to you. Such big innocent eyes, like the rarest of rubies. Usually you would try to admire the shine in such gems, but it was impossible to not take note of the obvious adoration within his gaze. “I was thinking, maybe you would like to join me later? We’ll be holding a banquet tonight, a party to celebrate our guests. But also, I wanted to spend time with you. What do you think? Is that alright?”

For a moment you thought about it, slightly distracted when the carpet’s tassels were brushing against your arm and it appeared to stand so close. Not that you blamed the thing. If you were trapped in the Cave of Wonders like it was for so long, you would’ve gone insane. Maybe the thing just craved company or attention. Maybe it craved freedom.

Kalim was providing the perfect excuse. You were the distraction, while Jamil could do whatever nefarious deeds he needed to complete in order for the plot to progress. However, it was already past the tipping point. Last night within those books, there was mention of the magic carpet within the Cave of Wonders. So chances are, the vizier already knows the princess is a fraud.

“Hm, sure. Why not?”

“Yes! Yes!” Quickly, he took your hands, clutching them tight. His energy was contagious apparently, because the carpet who had calmed down from the flight, received this burst of energy and was spinning around you too with great speed. “You won’t regret this! We’re going to have so much fun. And don’t worry about being overwhelmed by everyone, I know it can be a lot. So I’ll have an area set up just for us, away from the party guests, okay? That way, when we’re together and want to be alone, we can retreat there. Alright?”

Somehow with that invitation, while Jaseer and the princess whose name you’ve yet to learn, let alone care for, were likely learning about each other during the festivities and going off on their own romantic flight on the magic carpet, you were keeping the sultan distracted as the vizier had other matters to handle. Even when you were certainly not elegant or charming in even the slightest sense, appealing to the bubbly young man was surprisingly easy. Perhaps it was because he already was attracted to whatever he saw within you.

Forced to entertain his request for a dance when the music began, he pulled you back behind a curtain to avoid people seeing, much to your great relief. He had a great big smile as he spoke about various things from the happenings of his kingdom to his own personal matters.

“Do you care if I was married?” He asked a bit nervously, looking unsure if he should have even mentioned that to you. As far as you knew, the sultan was previously married, but nothing really came of the union. For whatever reason, he was single now with no children and his wife was no longer in the picture. Some creeping suspicion conjured up the possibility that Jamil had something to do with that.

“I do not care.” You answered honestly. Why was he even asking that like how a boy would shyly ask a girl he liked if they mind the fact that he dated somebody before? Talk about zero charm. Was the only reason he got married because of his status? Most likely. Even if he was filthy rich and powerful, maybe even elegant looking in a way, he wasn’t exactly marriage material. “Tell me anyway. Details. I want details.”

Surprised, he blinked at you. “Me? You wanna know about that? Well, it’s not very interesting… I would say it’s a long story, but it’s really not.” He chuckled a bit dryly, absentmindedly fiddling with the ends of the curtains where they had privacy on a balcony with a wonderful view of the port where the city met the waters. “I was young, an eighteen-year-old prince. Accidents happened to most of my siblings that were my age, so I was next in line. There’s a law that states that those next in line for the throne have to be married by a certain age. My father picked her when I couldn't decide. She was a princess from the north where apparently it’s all cold and snowy. A year or so after the wedding, my father and mother passed in an accident. Then, later on, she was gone too.”

These sort of details were never mentioned in any rendition of the story that you remembered. At least, none that you recalled. However, it had been a while since you read them, so it could just be your memory. And the fact that in those takes, the sultan was an old man. “Do you ever miss her?”

“Hm… sometimes. I thought I would miss her more, I feel like I should miss her a lot, but… I don’t.” He admitted quietly, lounging on his stomach so his arms were folded in front of him and his cheek was resting on his arm. “Over the years, I feel like I’ve lost track of all the accidents. My brother married into the royal family of a neighboring nation and urged them to wage war on our home, my sister attempted to bribe bodyguards to do her dirty work, aunts and uncles sent assassins.”

“Drama.” You hummed as you lay across from him, laying flat on your back instead of your stomach.

At your casual remark he almost laughed. Maybe that was his way of processing trauma, through humor and positivity. All this betrayal and hurt was certainly enough to drive someone mad. Maybe he wasn’t completely right in the head. “Okay, this is getting depressing, so I’ll stop. But you see why I like you? Why I trust you with my life? You’re so… so… real. It doesn’t feel like you sugarcoat things, and you’re so blunt! No one ever talks to me like that. You talk to me as if I’m just a guy, and nothing else.”

He remembered what you said that time in the market. “You are just a guy.” You repeat. And that’s all he would be. If you couldn’t get the lamp, and Jamil got his greedy hands around it first, well maybe it was worth wishing for the vizier to spare the poor sultan. Besides, he was likable. Annoying, but entertaining. “And you really shouldn’t.” Trust. He shouldn’t trust you.

“But I do!” He pushed himself up, until his head was right above yours. Those ruby red eyes gazing right down at you, his face so close to yours that his nose brushed against yours. Gold around his ears dangled, making small rings like wind chimes. Kalim peered at you so immensely, so focused, but it was a gentle tender gaze as he lowered his face closer to yours. “I trust you, so, so much…”

It only took a few moments for things to get out of hand. Oh, it was so easy, too easy. You were no tempest, but Kalim made it simple. Like toying with a doll. So after several minutes in, you hear the familiar voice of the vizier calling you, you immediately pull away and sit up. Panic was plastered over your face at the thought of being seen by that envious viper. When Kalim sat up with you, he looked much more dazed, like a lovestruck fool. To which you immediately pushed him down and hissed. “Shit! What’s he going to say if he finds me here with the sultan?”

Part of his white hair was messy, as the cloth he usually wore around his head fell off sometime ago. His short strands stuck out at some angles, and he didn’t bother recollecting his composure as he was still dizzy. “Lucky sultan?”

When he gave you a stupid grin, you pushed him aside. Luckily the spot was relatively hidden by curtains, pillows, and plush blankets and carpets. “Shut up…! Just, stay here.”

Quickly you smoothed down your appearance before exiting the area, entering the halls to search for the vizier that had called you. Apparently, the time to act was here. Mere moments ago, he had instructed his loyalest soldiers under his command to bring in the princess they had cornered.

So by the time you arrived at the vizier’s tower, there in the open window strapped to a chair atop an elevated surface of a table was the princess. Beautiful, sure. Especially when she wore such flashy garbs of pure white and purple. Cleverly she had wrapped a cloth around her head like a shayla, hiding her hair which could’ve been a key feature used to identify her, besides her face of course which she couldn’t exactly conceal under these circumstances. Her feet and wrists were bound tightly with rope, and if her chair tipped backwards she would meet a cold end in the salty waters of the sea right below.

There was a distinct hint of nervousness in her tone as she attempted to persuade the two guards that this had been a misunderstanding, that they must’ve had no idea who she was, you watched the pair of soldiers double-check the security of the ropes bounding her. While in walked the vizier. It seemed like he was busy while you were taking a… break. Now, if the princess was here, where was that cursed lamp? Your eyes scanned her figure, searching for pockets she might’ve had.

“We know who you are, Aliyyah.” The vizier spoke, sounding way too casual at the moment as he walked over to his tome situated on his desk. So that was the thief’s true name.

“Aliyyah…? I don’t know who that is–– I’m Princess Alya!”

Jamil interrupted her, as she looked increasingly anxious. “A princess from a kingdom which does not exist. And who arrived on a magic carpet told to only be obtainable from the Cave of Wonders.”

Carpet. That’s right. The carpet and the monkey the thief owned were still somewhere within the palace. There couldn’t be any loose-ends. Not when the lamp’s location was still unknown. It could be anywhere within the palace.

Silently stepping over to the door where two more guards were situated to look-out, you allowed the vizier and thief to continue their stand-off while you opened the door slightly to whisper to one of the additional guards. “Go to our guest’s quarters. There, you should find our visitor’s pet and that magical carpet. Do not let them leave the quarters. And do not go alone, bring multiple other soldiers if you have to, but this is to remain discreet. I don’t care what you do to the monkey, but I better not see so much as a loose piece of string on that carpet. Capeesh?”

Being the vizier’s vassal had its benefits. As they usually only ever responded to the vizier himself, but since you were known to be the wise young man’s trusted advisor, your words carried weight among the staff wielding weapons and wearing armor. So obediently, the soldier nodded and immediately went off to see that the task was done. Afterwhich, you closed the heavy wooden door shut to prevent any sound from escaping, and returned your attention back to the vizier and the thief.

“I’m afraid you’ve worn out your welcome.” His tone was no longer so casual. There was an icy coldness to it as he stalked closer, quickly growing tired of her adamant denial. “If I throw you off of that balcony, and you are who you say you are, you will die a watery death.”

If Jamil pushed one of his own guards into a well for even considering the action of refusing orders, well, pushing a thief turned princess off several floors into deep waters was something he wouldn’t hesitate doing. So you watched carefully as the severity of the situation was settling on the princess, as she struggled in her bonds and her seat. However, there was no lie or tricks that could get her out of this one.

“And if you survive, it can only be because of the lamp. Now…”

Waving off the pair of soldiers, they left, leaving only the thief, the vizier, and yourself. As the dark-haired sorcerer did the familiar movement of lifting the end of his spear so it was directly against her collarbone, the princess gulped and an ominous look came over the vizier’s face. When the princess glanced at you, you only grinned and wiggled your fingers like waving goodbye. However, when she turned to face you, that’s when your sharp eyes caught a glimpse of something sparkly in the cloth around her hair, right behind her neck. Slowly you walked closer.

“Where is the lamp?” Jamil demanded.

“Listen,” The young woman pleaded. She was young, about your age. And surely you knew that she would die a watery death, because now you knew where the lamp was. Whatever name she went by, or whoever she was, Princess Alya of a faraway nation or the thief Aliyyah, it wouldn’t matter. “I swear to you,” Her voice wavered with uncertainty. “I am––”

You bumped the tip of his staff, with enough pressure to tip her off the end just as you leaned forward to reach the cloth around her skull. Your grip was on the fabric, not her. So she went tumbling down multiple floors, plunging into dark brine. Her scream was cut off by the sound of a splash and the breaking of wood. The chair must’ve broken upon impact, but she went sinking down and down. The only thing preventing you from falling as well, was the curved cobra head Jamil had used like a hook around your back to secure you from falling. And in your hands, wrapped in the silk white cloth, lay what would’ve been her salvation, what was your salvation–– the lamp.

“This is convenient. Now it’s time for you to answer the same question I asked her.”

“What? Aren’t you going to pull me to safety?” You stared at him wide-eyed, as he practically dangled you above your doom. Yes, the lamp was in hand, but you couldn’t rub it to summon the genie. Not when your fingers were gripping it tightly so it wouldn’t fall into the waters below and risk hitting the jagged rocks, while your other hand gripped the golden staff to avoid falling, your toes just barely on the edge. Even the slightest wrong move, would send you plummeting to those sharp stones and salty waters so far below. Could you survive that fall? Maybe, if you could avoid the rocks. Which seemed like a slim chance.

Ignoring your growing fear, he continued calmly, keeping a steady grip on his staff. A small tremble could unbalance you and make you fall. Or, he could be so cruel as to let you drop. But, you had the lamp, which might’ve been the only reason he held on. “I know who you are, criminal.”

Down below, there was no sign of the thief emerging. The only thing that came up to the surface of the waves was a purple sash from her garbs. Something about his words was enough to tell you that he didn’t mean the role you were playing, he meant you. You who were arrested and sent here as punishment, as your own personal hell, to die for your crimes. And here you were, just as those bastard judges wanted, on the very brink of death. Literally. “You know nothing about me––”

“I know everything about you. I know your crimes, your anger, your burning hatred for those who have wronged you. I know.” Gray eyes narrowed at you, but his hold was unwavering. You couldn’t save yourself, not in this position. You were at his mercy. Even when your heart felt like it was beating rapidly, and you were thinking a mile a minute of possible ways to get out of this situation only for each idea to end in failure. You heard his words he spoke bitterly, like they had a deeper meaning. But then he added, “I know you hide a knife in your shawl, a second in your pillowcase, and a third under your mattress because you never trusted me completely. It pains me to see you reduced to this.”

No, he knew nothing about you. The real you, even if he thought he did. He could never imagine what it was like, the things you had done. Even if he somehow discovered the truth, that you were not his trusted vessel but acted like them, you weren't them. “You–– You don’t know me!”

“A criminal from another world, sent into what was like a story. You thought you could trick me and everyone else. But you underestimate me. As soon as you opened your big mouth, I knew you were a fraud. What did you call me? A two-faced snake? Ironic.”

You had called him that, while playing a role to trick him this entire time. Just as the protagonist had tried, and look where she ended up because of that. Dead. Drowned by water and salt, with a body that would either become fish food or wash ashore as an unrecognizable corpse. How did he know? There was no possible way to know! You told no one! Trusted no one!

The air was a bitter cold. Moonlight shone on his face, letting you see the royal vizier’s cunning features and how he was grinning. He was grinning at your predicament, as he held your fate in his hands. Your arm was starting to feel numb from holding on for so long, but you couldn’t let go. There was no way you would let go of the lamp or of yourself, after everything and how far you got. When glory and sweet revenge on everyone was literally in the palm of your hand.

“But you leave yourself unguarded when you sleep.” That was the answer, you realized with horror. That was how he knew way more than he should! Jamil invaded your very mind, controlling it with this very cursed staff he held you from. “They wronged you, those above you. Underestimate you. We’re more alike than you would like to verbally admit.”

“Jamil, you––! Vile liar, son of a––”

“That’s sorcerer to you.” He corrected you.

That’s right–– in the story once the vizier gets a brief moment of victory, he uses his wishes to place himself atop the social hierarchy of power. First sultan, then a sorcerer, then a genie. Above a sultan: a sorcerer. But why was he skipping the sultan stage?

The vizier turned serious, stretching out his hand that did not hold the staff. He held out the palm of his thin hand, offering a twisted grin that made your stomach weave into knots. Speaking firmly, he offered a once in a lifetime deal. And it was either accept his deal, or die for the price of what was committed. “I told you, you are mine. I meant that. I plan to be something great, much greater than that simpleton. So, once I become the most powerful man in the world, you may take the title of sultan if it’s what you wish. All you have to do is hand me the lamp, my Treasured Vassal.”

#twst #twisted wonderland #yandere #yandere x reader #yandere twisted wonderland x reader #yandere twisted wonderland #yandere twst #kalim al asim #twst kalim #yandere kalim al asim #jamil viper #twst jamil #yandere jamil viper #Scarabia #damnation twst au

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cheyla-v · 2 years ago

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Chapter 2 is up!

#pillars around a flame #wip wednesday #our screaming souls

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kittyit · 8 months ago

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"The suffragettes are instructive. Their tactic of choice was property destruction. Decades of patient pressure on the Parliament to give women the vote had yielded nothing, and so in 1903, under the slogan 'Deeds not words, the Women's Social and Political Union was founded. Five years later, two WSPU members undertook the first militant action: breaking windowpanes in the prime minister's residence. One of them told the police she would bring a bomb the next time. Fed up with their own fruitless deputations to Parliament, the suffragettes soon specialised in 'the argument of the broken pane', sending hundreds of well-dressed women down streets to smash every window they passed. In the most concentrated volley, in March 1912, Emmeline Pankhurst and her crews brought much of central London to a standstill by shattering the fronts of jewellers, silversmiths, Hamleys toy shop and dozens of other businesses. They also torched letterboxes around the capital. Shocked Londoners saw pillars filled with paperthrowing up flames, the work of some activist having thrown in a parcel soaked in kerosene and a lit match.

Militancy was at the core of suffragette identity: 'To be militant in some form, or other, is a moral obligation, Pankhurst lectured. 'It is a duty which every woman will owe her own conscience and self-respect, to women who are less fortunate than she is herself, and to all who are to come after her.' The latest full-body portrait of the movement, Diane Atkinson's Rise Up, Women!, gives an encyclopedic listing of militant actions: suffragettes forcing the prime minister out of his car and dousing him with pepper, hurling a stone at the fanlight above Winston Churchill's door, setting upon statues and paintings with hammers and axes, planting bombs on sites along the routes of royal visits, fighting policemen with staves, charging against hostile politicians with dogwhips, breaking the windows in prison cells. Such deeds went hand in hand with mass mobilisation. The suffragettes put up mammoth rallies, ran their own presses, went on hunger strikes: deploying the gamut of non-violent and militant action.

After the hope of attaining the vote by constitutional means was dashed once more in early 1913, the movement switched gears. In a systematic campaign of arson, the suffragettes set fire to or blew up villas, tea pavilions, boathouses, hotels, haystacks, churches, post offices, aque-ducts, theatres and a liberal range of other targets aroundthe country. Over the course of a year and a half, the WSPU claimed responsibility for 337 such attacks. Few culprits were apprehended. Not a single life was lost; only empty buildings were set ablaze. The suffragettes took great pains to avoid injuring people. But they considered the situation urgent enough to justify incendiarism - votes for women, Pankhurst explained, were of such pressing importance that we had to discredit the Government and Parliament in the eyes of the world; we had to spoil English sports, hurt businesses, destroy valuable property, demor-alise the world of society, shame the churches, upset the whole orderly conduct of life. Some attacks probably went unclaimed. One historian suspects that the suffragettes were behind one of the most spectacular blazes of the period: a fire in a Tyneside coal wharf, in which the facilities for loading coal were completely gutted. They did, however, claim responsibility for the burning of motor cars and a steam yacht."

- How to Blow Up a Pipeline, pg 40-42

#reading list #feminism #women's suffrage #suffragette

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cryb4byem · 4 months ago

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Purgatorium Part II

Kyojuro Rengoku x ArrangedMarriage! Reader

cw: 14.1k words, canon typical violence/injury, alcoholism, mild parental abuse/neglect

part one here

Every cell. Every fiber felt like it was trying to break free from your body. You had no idea what you were about to learn, and your implosion felt inevitable if you didn’t find out.

The head of the Butterfly Mansion, the Insect Hashira, greeted you at the door. “Thank you for coming so swiftly, and by yourself. I am aware of your father-in-law's condition as well as how young your brother-in-law is.” She slid on a pair of white linen gloves before continuing.

“I’m sure you would like to know why my crow alerted you so suddenly.” If you weren’t wracked with panic, you would’ve admired her graceful, natural beauty. It seemed her almost enigmatic equanimity was the only thing keeping those around her, including you from spiraling.

Her measured countenance and calm voice couldn’t have contrasted more with the state of the room around her. Three kakushi were slumped over each other, their faces to the wall quietly crying. Meanwhile other small girls with similar butterfly hair clips went in and out of the room beyond her with a controlled franticness.

“Please listen to me carefully.” Her amethyst eyes pierced yours with a seriousness that was frankly, unsettling. “There was a confrontation between the Flame Pillar and the 3rd most powerful demon of Kibutsuji’s ranks about an hour ago.” Your breath catches in your throat, at the words. The 3rd most powerful demon?

“He sustained severe transfixion trauma to his epigastric region. We moved quickly, and kept the demon’s limb in place as long as we could, and in that time he was able to stop most of the blood loss using a breathing technique.” Your hand shakily covers your mouth, the savagery of the attack, and the horror of such an injury were almost too much for you.

“The amount of pain he is managing while conscious is unnatural, and quite concerning. We have been trying to sedate him since he arrived, but he begged to wait until you got here.” Her sharp gaze left you finally, shifting to the floor. “Despite his state, he was quite stubborn, and resisted our attempts to give it to him anyway.”

You speak in a tensed whisper, “C-can I see him?” Each syllable was dragged from the pit of your body, you needed every bit of strength to not lose all composure.

“Yes, quickly please. I trust you understand the criticality of this situation.” Shinobu looked over her shoulder to a young girl with bright blue eyes and pigtails as she turned into the room that seemed to be at the heart of the commotion in the Butterfly Mansion.

“Aoi… please pull up the sheet on the Flame Pillar.” The girl’s brow furrowed in concentration, releases as she sees you, expression softening as she nods to Shinobu before disappearing behind the room’s entryway.

“You can go ahead now.” Shinobu tells you finally. Upon her permission you begin hurrying into the room Aoi just turned into. “I just want to remind you we are doing all we can, and he is relatively stable for now… but… just be prepared…”

You look over your shoulder back at Shinobu, words failing you before going in. The air hung heavy beyond the doorway, three little girls stood to the back wall awaiting orders while the slightly older girl, Aoi lighty ran a damp cloth over Kyojuro’s forehead. Delusionally, you imagined it was due to his warmth, the perpetual warmth emanating from his body everywhere he went, and not the onset of a stress induced fever and intense pain.

He laid, left eye wrapped in layers of bandage wrapping around his head, the thin hospital bed linens drawn to the base of his neck. Each of his labored inhale and exhale audible, a testament to his will actively clinging him to consciousness and keeping the looming threat of bleeding out at bay.

His right eye fluttered open at your presence even without saying a word, the keen instincts of a warrior sharp as ever.

“My flam-ACK.” He jumped to sit up, only for a guttural cough to send an abrupt jolt through his body, putting him onto his back. Laying immobilized once again, his breathing intensifying.

“Rengoku-sama! Your wound! Shinobu-san told you not to move!” The little voice of one of the young girls behind you calls out her voice cracking, riddled with fear.

His face contorts in discomfort, straining to utter “My apologies…” The words tumble out almost as if he doesn’t even know who he is saying it to; the little girls, you, himself, or maybe someone not even there.

You look deeply into his uninjured eye, the bright golden orb that even now was completely free of clouds. You kneel at his bedside, feeling tears beginning to burn in the corners of your own eyes, you try to keep your tone as reassuring as possible and not let on how terrified you are. “Everything is going to be ok, alright?”

His lips curl into a soft smile, his gaze softens, melting into yours like a stream of amber. You waited anxiously for a response, any response.

“Are you in pain?” His gentle expression remains unchanged as if he had just awoken from an afternoon nap, looking back at you.

“Not anymore… If you’re here, I won’t feel a thing. I am fine, please do not worry.” His eye clamps shut as another searing pain courses through his body, making his breathing stutter again with a curt strangled groan. Despite what he said, it was clear he was in agony.

“Kyojuro…” Your brow furrows with concern as your eyes rake over his battered form. You look deeply into his eye intently trying to imprint every detail into your mind, as if the light may drain from it at any moment.

You didn’t even hear Shinobu’s delicate footsteps on the wooden floors or notice her until you looked up to see her at his opposite bedside, you were taken aback by her sudden presence. You shouldn’t be surprised, she is a hashira after all.

“I’m sorry. We cannot wait any longer for the sedative. The more time goes without it…” She spoke solemnly, as though she knew what she needed to do, but almost didn’t have the heart to do it, almost.

You felt one of the three small girls try to pull you back by your arm, “Ma’am please! Shinobu-san needs to work, you need to leave this room!” The words don’t even faze you, unmoving from your spot at his bedside. Making it clear to the entire Butterfly Mansion your stubbornness was only matched by Kyojuro’s himself.

“Please don’t take him from me, not now. Please don't let someone else abandon me.”

The words echo in your mind, like a cacophony of a lifetime of anxiety thrust to the surface all at once.

“She can stay. I’ll allow it.” Shinobu spoke, not taking her focus from the vial as she filled it with a solution, flicking it firmly to disperse any air bubbles.

You feel the small girl release your arm going back to stand with the other two. You kept looking at Kyojuro, scared to look away, as if it was the last time you would ever bask in the warmth of his gaze.

“My flame, let me tell you a few things.” His voice was steady but strained, each word laced with sincerity.

“You don’t need to say anything… just save your strength.” You felt as though you were pleading with him at this point.

“You’ve done enough, just rest.”

You want to say to him, but you could see the seriousness on his face. Every man deserves to do with their last moments what they wish, and if these were just that, you would not be the one to deny him that.

“Please, I want you to tell Senjuro he ought to follow the path he knows to be true, whatever path that may be. Remind my father to take care of his body.”

You look at Shinobu, almost as if to ask if there should be more witnesses to what could be the last words of the Flame Hashira, but she continued working, not even glancing down at you as she began administering the vial.

“And I want you to know that I love you.”

The tears you held in your eyes finally began to escape, your vision was cloaked in obscurity, but what did it even matter? As if anything was truly clear right now.

“I love you too.” That was clear to you if nothing else. What were otherwise the three most beautiful words one could utter to another, felt like they were just another deep wound you both inflicted each other with. Had he even heard what you said? Knowing him, he would feel personally responsible for the notion that another person would be agonizing over his condition.

The onslaught of emotion finally manifests in a strangled sob, wiping the tears from your eyes with the back of your sleeve. Seeing his golden iris enveloped beneath his closed eyelid and breathing softened, it is obvious the vial Shinobu gave him had already taken effect.

Pressing the back of two fingers to his forehead, the only thing that you can use to ground yourself is that same unyielding warmth he radiated.

—————————————

You aren’t sure how many hours you’d been in the room. Time didn’t feel like it was passing. Maybe a part of you thought that if you kept looking at him long enough, you could pretend maybe he was finally getting the rest he deserved and not in a catatonic, forced respite from the wound that should have taken his life.

“You should go home. I’ll keep an eye on him personally.” Shinobu's voice was lighter than the chirp of a sparrow. “Trust me, the best recovery is sleep. Sometimes slayers sleep for months here, regaining their strength.”

You cock your head over your shoulder to look at her, eyes wide and mouth agape. She raised a pointed finger, she was like a doll the way a perpetual contentment was painted to her face, it was a bit uncanny.

“Not that I’m saying this will happen here. I induced the comatose state he is in, so everything is controlled, I made the compound so that he would naturally awaken when his body is in better condition.”

This woman was truly a genius apothecarist, how did she even learn to make such a solution?

“I see…” You didn’t want to stand yet; you craved just a moment more in his presence. You try to smile at her genuinely, but you knew it must have looked just as contrived as hers did. You didn’t have Kyojuro’s gift—the ability to smile authentically and joyfully, no matter how bleak things appeared.

“Before you go, can I give you his personal effects?” Your eyes moved from the floor to meet hers, nodding with the same polite smile still plastered on.

Shinobu took a package that couldn’t have contained more than a couple items from one of the youngest girls that helped around the Butterfly Mansion, transferring it into your grasp.

Removing the thread and paper encasing the items, Shinobu stood unmoving before you, her eyes following your hands. Despite the smile she armed herself with, her gaze deepened, like this was something she understood all too well.

Seeing the familiar kaen pattern, you stroked the back of your hand across the sturdy fabric of the Flame Hashira haori. Only to freeze as you feel something solid wrapped inside of it. Without hesitation, you reached within the white accented garment to pull out a rectangular box.

Could it be? Sliding the lid from the basin of the firm container to see delicate metal and crystal intertwined to make a plum blossom hairpin, the same kind that had saved your life not long ago. Your hands tremble uncontrollably as you remove it from its resting place.

“We found it in his pocket, even with the aftermath of the battle and the panic as he was rushed in, he implored us to be gentle in handling it…”

After your first hairpin broke he must’ve planned to bring a new one for you that morning. Even with a gaping wound, he was concerning himself with being able to offer you an undamaged gift to replace the one he initially gave you when you arrived.

You clutched the package as if it was sacred, like maybe that if you didn’t, it would all slip through your grasp and cease to be like everything seemed to at the moment.

“Thank you for everything…” You finally broke the silence, your voice barely above a whisper. You lower yourself to bow to Shinobu, before leaving, perhaps leaving a part of yourself behind as you do.

—————————————

There was a general malaise of silence at the house in contrast to the mid morning light, seemingly blanketing the grounds as if it was just another day. Something felt wrong about returning here alone from the Butterfly Estate. You scoured for the younger Rengoku, no doubt wanting– needing an update on the state of his older brother.

You finally found him sitting alone in a room holding a sheathed sword in his lap. His head lowered as if in surrender, he was trembling as if terrified of what laid beneath the sheath.

You didn’t even know Senjuro owned a blade, it seemed ornamental at best. It looked as though it had never used a day since it was forged.

Upon seeing you, his hazed and shaky expression was replaced with a mix of worry. Before he could ask you the burning question that had no doubt been haunting him, you notice a patch of tender skin on his cheek, an abrasion that looked as though it would bruise.

“What happened to your face?” You lean lower yourself next to him to inspect, running your thumb over the skin, flushed red and running warm from the inflammation.

He turned his face to conceal the sore cheek from your view, putting his own hand over it. “One of the other swordsmen that joined brother on the mission came by the house…” His gaze faltered, shifting to looking at the ground. “He wanted to apologize… he was ashamed, for not being able to do more in that battle.”

“Father began insulting my brother, then suddenly was enraged by the slayer. Things began escalating. I tried to protect the slayer, and Father hit me…”

You couldn’t believe the words you heard. You were sickened to your core. Beyond the scope of a Hashira, the scope of a patriarch, how could a father act this way?

Words are one thing, as merciless as they were, especially to a man fighting for his life, but to strike someone so much smaller and weaker was despicable. Both were so egregious, it was impossible to even say which was worse.

Taking a moment, you calmed yourself down, grounding your thoughts before responding. “Are you ok?”

Senjuro kept his face angled down and the evidence of the violence that had occurred in your own home while you were out.

“I’m fine… this is nothing.” He dragged his sleeve across his eyes with a soft sniffle, you could see how hard he worked to hide his emotions coming to the surface, there was something more important to him. “My brother… is he…?”

“He’s… sleeping, that’s all. They’re doing everything they can… ” You feel a lump forming in your throat at the words. You didn’t want to acknowledge what you were both thinking just as much as Senjuro didn’t want to.

“I-I see.” His gaze stayed low to the ground, even as his fists balled at his sides with resolve. “Maybe… it will work now. It has to.”

Senjuro shakily removed the blade from its cover, sticking it straight in the air, looking up at it with anticipation. The sword quivered in the trembling hands of the boy. He looked up at it as if it was a beacon with the ability to connect him to a higher power. He stared up, waiting for something, anything to happen. Releasing a resigned exhale, his head dropped as the tears he had desperately held back began to flow freely.

“I really don’t have any talent at all.” He looked up at you, dejection etched into every one of his features, “I prayed this day would never come, I knew I wouldn’t ever be able to carry on the Flame Hashira. This time, more than ever, my nichirin sword needed to change color. But even now, it refuses to. All because I simply don’t have what it takes.”

He set the sword down, his palms face up on his knees, silently sitting on the tatami floors. You wrap your arms around him, feeling him starting to shudder against you punctuating each sharp sob.

“Do you want to know what your brother told me to tell you before he fell asleep?” You lower your voice to a murmur.

“Wh-What did he say?” he stuttered, his lips pursed and voice trembling, but there remained a glint of hope evident as he stared at you, waiting intently to hear.

You spoke steadily, trying to fully encapsulate the sincerity of Kyojuro’s words, hoping if he could hear his brother’s voice through you, maybe it would comfort him in ways you never could. “‘Walk the path you know to be true, whatever path that may be.’”

He looked up at you, his glassy eyes widened, you could see him absorbing every syllable as if it was from a holy text leading him into enlightenment when the shoji door flew open to both of your shock.

“Senjuro! What did I tell you about the blubbering? I can hear your pathetic crying from across the house! As if Kyojuro hadn’t done enough, you had to show that Sun Breather how weak you are too! As if our family couldn’t be any more humiliated!”

Senjuro’s face drained of color, his pupils trembling at the intimidating figure in the doorway.

“You’re the eldest son of this family now, so learn something from your fool of a brother!” He gritted his teeth, now speaking to no one in particular. “Trying to supplement his own inferiority, trying to make up for our insignificant bloodline, I have no doubt he used that cursed form to try to salvage a battle he was doomed to lose from the start. He should’ve never even picked up a sword to begin with!”

Cursed form? Sun Breather? Did he mean the boy with the earrings that Senjuro spoke of? You had learned to ignore most of what Shinjuro said; these ravings were likely just another temper tantrum fueled by the stuporous overindulgence he found at the bottom of several bottles.

The discomfort hung like a chill in the air, filling the space between the fragmented inanities of the harsh words echoing through the room. Shinjuro finally lumbered away, the jug still tied around his wrist. You sat in the silence left in his wake, almost envisioning Kyojuro in that hospital bed, each breath he took and each pound within his chest a cry of hope.

You close your eyes for a moment before speaking in a hushed voice to Senjuro, “Your brother believes in you, always has. He’s fighting so he can be sure to come home and remind you of that himself.”

—————————————

“This hurts like hell!” The Sound Hashira grumbled to no one in particular. Kyojuro could only watch as his fellow Hashira limped from the doorway into the hospital bed the Butterfly Mansion staff had apathetically pointed to.

The young nurses reassuring him that the Insect Hashira would be there “when she gets the chance” to treat his injuries. The adrenaline from battle must’ve finally dissipated by the time he reached the Butterfly Mansion.

After settling in with a few labored breaths, the man finally turned to his side, noticing Kyojuro in the bed beside him.“Rengoku? How long have you been up? Why are you still here?”

“A few hours. Kocho has been keeping a close eye before she discharges me, but I should be good to go by now. Nevermind that though, what happened to you?” He had never seen the Sound Pillar as battered and bloody as he appeared before him now.

“Remember how I was organizing some infiltration into the Entertainment District? Looking for an upper rank?” Kyojuro nodded intently, he was well aware of the operation in the Sound Pillar’s sector before he even boarded the train.

“Well, we found it. The district is leveled, but we defeated the threat. And look, the two of us are matching now, and I even got one up on you.” The man gestured to his own covered eye before waving his left arm, permanently disfigured.

Even in this state, Uzui always had something to say to lighten the mood. Kyojuro always respected that trait in him, it was one of the primary reasons they got along as well as they did.

“You didn’t…” Kyojuro searched for the right word to describe the Sound Pillar's hobbled gait as he made his way from the entrance to the cot where he was now confined, as respectfully as possible. “Ambulate… yourself all the way from Yoshiwara I hope?”

“Oh, absolutely not.” The Sound Hashira shook his head with pride. “My wives were there for me, of course. But Kocho said they couldn’t help me inside. Something about a very strict rule with spouses not being allowed to enter the Butterfly Mansion for any reason.”

Uzui spoke with restlessness, trying to get comfortable in the hospital bed clearly not befitting his frame before trying to read the face of the Flame Pillar beside him. “Did she tell you about that too?”

Kyojuro’s eyebrows knit together. “I was not aware of such a policy…” He said slowly, as if he was trying to figure out what his fellow pillar was referring to with each word. He affixed his gaze upon his comrade’s arm, bandaged shoddily in the heat of battle, severed at the wrist.

“As a dual wielder…” His lips pursed as he analyzed the sight before him. “You may have to adapt your swordsmanship.”

Kyojuro chuckled before resting his hand lightly on the covered wound punctured into his abdomen, “I was quite concerned for myself, but fortunately recovery is an option for me as well. It’s all of no matter, we will just have to train harder and get back to where we were!”

Uzui studied the face of the Flame Hashira looking for any shred of sarcasm. “A-are you serious?” His eyes widened with shock, glancing down at the tightly wrapped bandages over Kyojuro’s chest.

“Of course I am, what are you trying to say?” Kyojuro looked at the Sound Pillar inquisitively.

The Sound Hashira exhaled sharply, lowering his eyes resolutely with a soft smile, “I’m stepping down. I’m done fighting.” Upon processing the rest of what Kyojuro confidently announced to him his head jerked to face him in disbelief. “You aren’t actually considering going back are you?”

“But as pillars-” Kyojuro was cut off mid sentence, his curiosity now only building with what his friend was telling him.

“I like to think I’m Lord Uzui Tengen before I’m the Sound Pillar.” He declared matter of factly, before his tone devolved back into its characteristic quippiness. “You’ve always blurred that line, but most bastards lucky enough to take a hole in the chest and live would see themselves the same.”

Kyojuro tried to think back to the exact moment of impact, the demonic fist piercing his flesh, in the face of what could only be described as certain death had he drawn a distinction between the two?

Kyojuro’s ponderance was interrupted by the petite form of the Insect Pillar shadowed by the younger girl with blue eyes and pigtails coming in the doorway seemingly with no urgency at all. “Thank gods!” Uzui exclaimed, the exasperation ripe in his voice. “I thought you all forgot about me!”

Kocho spoke her voice sweet and light as ever complimented by the poignant, contented countenance she always had. “Oh dear! Of course not!” She gestured to the three youngest Butterfly Mansion girls to bring her a tray with some instruments and antiseptics.

Tears formed in the corner of their eyes as they approached the Sound Hashira’s bedside to hand it off to their master, clinging to each other and hurrying away once they did as they were instructed.

“Hey Kocho, do you have any painkillers or anything before you stitch me up?” Uzui spoke with a tinge of desperation, one he was clearly trying to suppress in the presence of others.

“Unfortunately, I don't recall we have anything strong enough for you here.” The Insect Pillar spoke with a curt sharpness.

The blue-eyed nurse with pigtails was much easier to read than her master. Even with the grimace she typically bore while concentrating on work, there was a particular scorn in her eyes that seemed to run deep. She stared daggers at the Sound Pillar, it was truly a distaste only unpleasant familiarity can foster.

The Insect Pillar worked, doing little to prepare her patient for her next action, hastily attending to the injuries of her fellow Hashira. Her doll-like smile unchanging as heavy handedly she doused his deep lacerations with antiseptic before stitching them shut with fresh bandages.

Upon finishing, she walked away without another word or so much as a check in to ask how the Sound Pillar was feeling now, even though she hadn’t seemed to be rushing to another bedside as she retreated without a second glance

Uzui released the grit of his teeth following his treatment, sincerity filling his tone. “About your injury, sorry I didn’t come see you. I had my crow watch closely; it told me you were stable in Kocho’s care, although maybe that should’ve been something that worried me more than it did.” He squirmed in place momentarily, no doubt feeling some residual discomfort in the absence of anything to ease his pain before being treated.

Kyojuro shook his head “No, the staff here is the picture of gentleness and care for its patients, Kocho and all her sisters treated me with the utmost kindness and consideration.”

Uzui looked out the doorway to see the three youngest Butterfly Sisters looking at him with aversion, still on the verge of tears, while the blue-eyed pigtailed nurse’s contemptuous stare only intensified in her master’s absence.

The Sound Hashira chuckled to himself blithely. “Huh. You don’t say.”

His gaze moved from the main room beyond the doorway back to Kyojuro in the hospital bed beside him. “I just couldn’t bring myself to leave the district once I stopped getting updates from my girls.” A playful smirk crossed his face again as his solemn tone brightened, “I figured mere Upper Three wouldn’t be enough to take you out. I trust you understand.”

Kyojuro looked at him knowingly with a reassuring smile, “Of course. No need to explain any further.”

“You know, the kids that were on the train with you volunteered to come to the district with me. The Kamado boy in particular gushed on and on, don’t be surprised if you start getting fan mail from him.”

A warm smile crept across Kyojuro’s features at the mention. Hearing they had all recovered quickly and been assigned another mission while he had been out, made every drop of blood shed feel all the more worth it. He really had been able to protect them as he was expected to after the train incident, even if he in the end failed to finish off the upper rank.

“Ah yes, young Kamado. Truly good natured. I’m sure he would speak fondly of anyone who fought by his side.” He folded his arms across his chest assuredly as he always seemed to when he felt idle.

The Sound Pillar moved his one good arm casually behind his head. “I don’t think just ‘anyone’ could have done what you did in the first place.”

Uzui sighed. “You’ve done good, Mister Flame Pillar. I think you deserve to just be Rengoku now.” Kyojuro tried to hide the thoughtful pensivity welling behind his eyes before spreading across his face. Kyojuro knew he had always been able to read like a book, trying as he might to hide how he felt.

“Ugh. No need to do the Tomioka face.” The Sound Hashira said less than affectionately, He feigned annoyance, but his genuine concern was evident. “It’s up to you of course, but I think you should take a cue from me and go home to your wife now. Give my best to your mini-me.”

—————————————

By the time Kocho had let him leave the Butterfly Mansion, she wrapped his bandages extra taught, surely expecting he would have removed them the minute he was out of her sight. She was not wrong, he had definitely contemplated tearing them off before he returned to his home.

But he knew he ought to leave them for now. Show the bare wound? Too disturbing. An eyepatch felt too drastic, permanent. Even though he was told to be cautiously optimistic at best on recovering his sight in that eye, bandages gave the hopeful impression to both his family and himself that regaining his vision was not out of the realm of possibility just yet.

And there was the matter of crutches. He’d declined the nurses’ offer without a second thought. He wasn’t above using them, of course—he had used crutches before when it was necessary.

But this time felt different. This time, he had come closer to death than he ever had before, closer than he had ever imagined. The weight of that knowledge was still fresh, he liked to think that was to blame for the piercing sensation beneath his ribs rather than the obvious.

Turning the corner into his ancestral home, he was not surprised to see his brother doing his daily chores per usual. Senjuro swept the entryway with a thousand yard stare. His gaze was unfocused, the bristles haphazardly brushing over the floor as if he wasn’t truly seeing it beneath him. He seemed to move mechanically as if the incessant noise in his head left him catatonic.

As much as he wished Senjuro would let others help him, he knew productivity usually brought him peace of mind. Likely now more than ever thanks to his extended stay at the Butterfly Mansion riddling them all with uncertainty.

Upon seeing him, Senjuro dropped his broom, his hazed expression replaced with overjoy. He ran over stopping himself in his tracks before jumping into his still recovering older brother’s arms.

Senjuro’s smile faltered as he took a small, hesitant step back, his gaze flickering down to Kyojuro’s chest, then back up to his face. He looked scared to get any closer, as if Kyojuro was made of glass and the slightest touch would make him shatter before his eyes. Kyojuro slowly opened his arms, donning his iconic smile brimming with warmth and familiarity. A simple reassurance.

That was all needed for Senjuro’s momentary unease to be erased. Without a second thought, Senjuro closed the distance, throwing his arms around his elder brother in a tight embrace.

He let out a slight hmph slightly faltering backward for a moment. The pressure against his abdomen was not exactly comfortable, but that did not stop him from tightening his own arms around his little brother.

“Thank gods Kanroji-san brought some sweet potato and sakura mochi earlier! I would’ve made more if we had gotten a crow you were discharged!”

Kyojuro did not have the heart to tell Senjuro he had been living off extra salted miso soups and herbal tea since awakening, and was told to continue doing so until breathing was more comfortable.

Kocho had mentioned that at least three times as he left the manor. She must’ve correctly suspected yet again his own appetite was a potential hazard to his recovery. Even castella cake was too solid and dense for him to consume in his condition.

“I will have to thank my former tsuguko for her thoughtfulness when I see her next!” He tried to remain as lighthearted as possible as he declared what no one ever believed they would live to hear him say. “As delicious as that sounds, I am not hungry at the moment!”

“Not hungry?” Senjuro repeated, his voice tinged with disbelief. “You?” His eyes raked over his elder brother searching for the cause of such an anomaly.

Just as Senjuro inspected the state of him, Kyojuro noticed the dark circles beneath his brother’s eyes, and the complexion of his face paler than he remembered.

“I am simply so full of energy and vitality I have no need for anything to eat! Why don’t you off from your chores for the rest of the day, Senjuro!”

“A-are you sure?” Senjuro swiftly took his broom back into his hands as if to prove he had no reason to not continue as he was.

Kyojuro put a hand on his brother’s shoulder, a gesture that always seemed to make Senjuro feel more at ease. “Certainly, you look as though you could use rest. I will take over for you”

Not being deterred in the slightest Senjuro replied, “No I can do it I promise!” Senjuro swiftly took his broom back into his hands as if to prove he had no reason to not continue as he was before Kyojuro came.

“She’s doing the laundry for me already outside. So at least let me do the rest of the chores!” The younger Rengoku boy seemed almost frantic as he tried to prove that he was still more than capable of carrying out his perceived responsibilities.

Kyojuro was momentarily taken aback looking into the fuzzy silhouette of a reflection of himself, one that went deeper than their appearance.

He had spent the better part of his life encouraging and reassuring his brother, for this exact reason. He had foolishly believed that maybe that would be enough for Senjuro to ignore the example that had been before him since their mother had died nearly a decade ago.

There were many things he was capable of protecting him from, however there remained some things he could only try to ward off. He was more than happy to act as a human shield to all the unpleasantness of the world he had dealt with himself.

That was not to say his brother was delicate. Senjuro’s meek and sensitive exterior was not beguiling of his fiercely loyal and indomitable spirit. His patience was seemingly boundless, while being the most empathetic person Kyojuro had ever met. Senjuro’s maturity was indeed far beyond his years.

In spite of all of this, Kyojuro wanted him to have had a normal and carefree childhood. Maybe if they were another family under different circumstances, in some kind of a perfect world, Senjuro would not be confined to doing household work all day. He would have a plethora of friends to enjoy the blissful innocence of juvenility, with two loving parents at home, and no perceived expectations he was forced to inherit or self-condemnate over.

Most of all he would not feel the need to fight for the validation of others, or establish his worth in his actions. While he could not protect him from loss or neglect, surely he could do that much even now.

There was no use grieving over what could have been, the reality was Senjuro had begun to take after his own tendencies. Something he could never forgive himself for being the cause of if it went too far. His own resolve was still strong, but he could at least try to set an example of self preservation when Senjuro was watching.

He took the broom from Senjuro’s hands once again, leaning it against the wall beside them.”Why don’t we both take some time off today!” He proclaimed as confidently as possible. Senjuro’s shoulders, which had been taut with unease, dropped and with them Kyojuro breathed his own sigh of relief.

He no longer protested his elder brother’s suggestion to get some rest. Kyojuro walked his little brother to his room. As he followed, the younger boy barely lifted his head, his gaze still unfocused, lost in the exhaustion that clung to him.

Tucking him into his futon, Kyojuro adjusted the pillow beneath his brother’s head, fluffing it gently, even though he knew Senjuro wouldn’t mind either way. He moved deliberately, his smile unchanged despite his mind spinning. He couldn’t help but hope that his little brother wouldn’t notice the subtle shift in Kyojuro’s actions today—the slight urgency in his insistence.

Perhaps fatigue dulled Senjuro’s emotional intelligence enough that he failed to detect the thinly veiled half-heartedness behind him emphasizing they deserve to both call it for the day. He had been home for moments, and on bedrest before that while Senjuro had been beside himself with worry, maintaining their home. Kyojuro felt dread pool in his stomach, the thought nearly sickened him.

Once making sure his little brother was comfortable in his futon, he rose from his crouched position to his feet again, clamping his eyes shut with a sharp exhale at the shooting pain through his abdomen at the sudden movement.

Luckily, Senjuro had succumbed to exhaustion the moment his head touched the pillow, sparing him any more anxiety over his big brother’s condition.

He was embarrassed at how rapidly even the simplest tasks; walking, standing, really had exhausted him. Kocho had not necessarily given him advice on activity now that he was no longer in critical condition, she just reiterated not putting “undue strain” on the body. As vague as that was, he figured he must be experiencing some version of that as his breath became more labored as he walked through the corridors of his own home.

Almost as if moving against his will, he lowered himself into his futon. He hoped maybe he could get some sleep as soundly as Senjuro, his head barely made contact with the pillow before he drifted off even with rays of early evening daybreak still illuminating the sky.

He was happy he had managed to soothe the terrifying thoughts eating his little brother from the inside while he was recovering at the Butterfly Mansion.

Hopefully, Senjuro genuinely believed things were right in the world again, and that he had no need to prove himself to those around him any further. If he did genuinely believe that, Kyojuro envied it.

—————————————

The laundry had kept you busy from the late afternoon until the sun hung low in the sky, and you were grateful for the long days of summer, which offered a grace period of a few more hours of safety outside.

You must have looked strange in your tsumugi woven silk kimono, churning laundry by the creek. You wiped a bead of sweat from your brow, before brushing your hands over your hair to ensure the hairpin was still in place. You refocused on the task at hand, gripping the sentakubō with both hands once again.

The water stirring and forming small whirlpools as you plunge the wooden paddle into the melange of soaking garments with a slosh. You raise the paddle up before submerging it again, fabric swirling in the sekken infused water.

These were the ancient methods Senjuro had told you had been used for centuries in the family.

“Drinkable well water is too precious to be used on clothes, there is flowing mountain water just beyond the gates by a small grove of wisteria trees. That’s where we have done laundry for as far back as I know of.”

The fatigue evident in his every motion momentarily ceased for him to give you particular instructions before you handle the household laundry on your own for the first time.

In Tokyo, you heard some families had found ways to pump water into their homes. No access to wells or streams necessary. You were unsure whether to be skeptical or amazed at the Western innovations being integrated at breakneck speed into the capital, but the Rengoku family seemed utterly disinterested and unimpressed by anything that brought them away from the techniques of the past.

Regardless of the flow of time, the Rengoku family had yet to betray the techniques of their ancestors that had never failed them before.

Perhaps they felt both indebted and venerated by the practices that had upheld their name through generations of Flame Pillars and centuries of war against man-eating evil. Each Hashira over the ages living long enough to pass on every aspect, no matter how trivial, of traditional lifestyle to their children and then their children’s children.

Proof of demons and time alike being unable to erode them into nothing more than history, a bloodline persisting even today, against all odds.

Your nose prickled at the herbal scent of the laundry solution you had handled for the past few hours soaking, scrubbing the items against the ridges of a washboard before draping each clean textile over a clothesline to dry in the tepid air.

It was dull, tedious, and somewhat exhausting work, but anything to take your mind and a piece of your heart from the Butterfly Mansion was a welcome distraction.

As you carried out mundane household chores as of late, you had made it more engaging by picturing Kyojuro watching you with pride, a glint of familiar affection in his eye.

It only pushed you harder to put your all into everything you did, regardless of how unremarkable it may seem to others. That was what he would no doubt do in your shoes.

—————————————

You had expected Senjuro to be milling about getting things done for the same reason when you arrived back at the estate.The broom leaned against the wall of the engawa was telling enough to you he must’ve finished his daily tasks up and retired into the house for the time being. It might have been slightly unusual, but not anything provoking much cause for concern otherwise.

You looked forward to idleness for the remainder of the evening. Slipping into fresh clothes, you made your way to your room, eager to lie down and rest.

As you walk the corridor, a blur of fiery colors ignites in your peripheral vision beyond the sliding door of a room that had sat empty as of late. Was that? You freeze in disbelief.

“Kyojuro?” The name slips from your lips before you can stop it, even though you know the chances of him hearing you from this distance without even seeing your lips were low, but it doesn’t stop your heart from leaping in your chest nevertheless.

Eventually he must sense your presence, his unwrapped eye meeting yours, and in that instant, it feels like everything else fades away. He shifts from his reclined position to sit upright. Even just sitting up in his futon, you notice the subtle tension in his body, the familiar way his arms instinctively cross in front of him—, a pose you know he adopts when idle, as idle as he was capable of being anyway.

You had seen him like this before, when he was always on guard, always ready for battle. The weight of responsibility had never left him, even when he wasn’t fighting. But now, in this quiet moment, it felt almost surreal. You felt a wave of relief flood over you—he was here. He was home.

You didn’t know whether to run over to him, break down into tears, fall to your knees thanking every god and spirit that was looking out for him, or all three at the same time. He watches you with that familiar intensity in his eyes, but there's something softer now, an unspoken heaviness in his gaze

“You were resting… I’m sorry for the disruption.” You did something you hadn’t done since you arrived at the house, lowering your head into a bow. It simply felt appropriate, the least you could do was show your respect, as unnatural as it felt. Kyojuro blinked, taken aback by your gesture, his brows clenching together in confusion as he watched you.

There was a moment where his eyes seemed to search yours, as if uncertain how to respond, had a distance that great grown between you? You raised from your bow before he could tell you it was ‘not necessary for the likes of him,’ your grasp taking hold of the edge of the shoji door to drag it shut.

“I’ll let you enjoy some peace and quiet.” Your words felt inauthentic as you spoke, it wasn’t what you wanted, but it felt like what you deserved. You wished you knew what to say to him, but how could you? You could do nothing but watch helplessly while he writhed in pain waiting for you at the Butterfly Mansion.

Standing by watching the sparks fade his eyes, feeling the room grow colder and colder still. Was that really all you could do?

Every night since then, you had hoped for a miracle, that you would wake up and he would be back. Now here he was and all you could do was grapple with the futility of your every effort against the inevitable, one that would have come to pass with or without your consent. Like almost all else in his life, he overcame this on his own.

He tilted his head to the side trying to catch your downturned gaze with a soft smile, “You know” He paused until your glassy eyes met his. “I’ve had enough ‘peace and quiet’ for this lifetime.”

He hesitated for a heartbeat, there was an almost imperceptible urgency in his tone, as though the simple request held more than he could express. “I would enjoy your companionship…” His eye locked onto yours, and you could hear him telling you what he truly felt, but couldn’t bring himself to say, “Please don’t leave me alone…”

Your fists closed around your sleeves as you looked on from the doorway.

“Could I lay beside you?” You meant to ask gracefully, but a tremble caught itself at the end of your words. In spite of you both being wedded, something ignited embarrassment within you at your own request. You weren’t quite sure what his experience with such things were, but you certainly had none to speak of.

You had been confident everything would be ok, but a part of you filled with dread at every crow that flew overhead. Terrified, one of them was Shinobu-san informing you regrettably that they had failed, and he was gone. You just wanted to be close to him, close enough to hold onto and hope he wouldn’t come so close to slipping away from you again.

“Absolutely!” His boyish excitement quickly commanding sincerity, his voice lowering to just above a breathy whisper “I mean… you do not need to ask. I am yours after all.”

If anything was capable of soothing the apprehension you felt, it was hearing him deliver an enthusiastic exclamation. You studied him, your eyes drifted down again to his arms crossed on top of his chest. Whether be a barrage of responsibility or self doubt, he always carried a tension palpable in every fiber.

In a gentler world that asked for less of someone like him, maybe he wouldn’t need to. But even if he was not of that world, you could create a piece of it for him to dwell in. A place both his weary body and mind could be at ease.

You lowered yourself into the futon, trying to not focus on your heart, beginning to quicken, as the sound of his breath became audible each inhale and following exhale affirming to you he was alive, and he was yours.

“Am I making you nervous?” You asked genuinely, seeing his shoulders tighten and arms stitch together more tautly and a rouge flush across his cheeks even in the low light.

He conveniently subverted your inquiry, rebounding it back to you.“You are not nervous, are you, my flame?” His tone seemed to waver in its usual certainty.

“Not with you…” Even the intoxicating stillness, you cannot help but notice his strained comportment. “You’re so stiff…”

He spoke no doubt a bit louder than even he anticipated, “Not stiff!” His sudden surge in volume took you back, the abruptness of his response leaving you momentarily unsettled. But as his words settled into the space between you, you quickly found yourself adjusting again into comfort.

“Just a habit, I assure you.” His voice was softer this time, a hint of something more raw slipping through his usual certainty. “I have been trained to be vigilant, at all times. I suppose it’s just how I’ve learned to exist.”

“Hm. I see…” Your brow furrowed, pursing your lips together almost imperceivably. You extend your arms to place one hand on each of his shoulders, meeting his gaze you search the embers of his unbandaged iris for any sign of discomfort before cupping your hands.

You, for only a moment, feel the heat of his gaze rake over, consuming each inch of your form. It was enough to make your skin prickle under its blistering intensity. Being used as its fuel, a slow burn ignited in your chest, radiating outward in waves, trailing sparks down to your fingertips and toes. You pry your eyes from your own hands back to his blistering stare to catch his lashes flutter briefly, clenching his eyes shut as if mentally reprimanding himself.

Your palms take in the dense sinews forming sharp lines and curved ridges beneath your palms, before you push them down from their contraction. His arms finally dropping from their cross to his sides. You try to cut through the tension imparting a squeeze in a circular motion to the corded muscle between your thumb and fingers.

As the pressure deepened, a soft, involuntary shudder rippled through him, a sudden tremor that surged from his shoulders down to his spine. It caused him to partially heave forward, his posture faltering as his head tilted to the side. A strangled sound—somewhere between a gasp and a whimper—escaped his lips.

You pull back your hands instinctively. “I-I didn’t mean…”

He shifted slightly, avoiding your gaze for a brief moment, the blush deepening down to his neck. “I... I think I made a rather odd sound just now... My sincerest apologies” He spoke just above a murmur, his tone uncharacteristically timid, and pupils blown wide. “I must have broken my Total Concentration Breathing. I-I just… did not expect that to feel so good.”

After a moment, his voice came again, a little more vulnerable than usual, almost tentative. “May I hold you?” For a man so often brimming with confidence and conviction, this sudden bashfulness was endearing, almost disarming.

You echoed the words that had made your heart flutter since you heard them, “I am yours after all.” As the moments stretched on, the world outside began to blur, your breaths falling in sync with his. His hand trailed absentmindedly through your hair, his touch lulling you closer to sleep. Just before the haze of slumber overtook you, you felt him press the lightest kiss to your temple, his lips lingering as though committing the moment to memory.

And so, wrapped in his embrace, safe within the steady glow of his presence, you drifted off. For even in sleep, you knew you were wholly his, and he, yours.

—————————————

Kyojuro found himself restless with the first breaks of light, the flecks of dawn slowly spreading from the base of the horizon as the sky remained inked with the deep indigo of night.

He sat up, given the opaque darkness of the sky it was hard to believe that golden rays of light would cut through the boundless pitch black expanse above him.

Since he had awoken, he had begun to be enchanted by things he had never paid much mind to before. The way the dawn happened to bleed into night, if there was nothing else you could rely on in this world, there was solace to be found in the consistency of daybreak.

No matter how empty the void of night seemed, the dawn would overcome it anyway, illuminating the heavens without fail. Admirable. It was truly admirable.

Turning his gaze toward you, his heart softened even further. You lay curled beside him, your expression serene in the half-light, your hair tousled from sleep. Kyojuro couldn’t help but smile—bright and warm, though he kept it quiet, not wanting to disturb you. He leaned down and pressed a feather-light kiss to the crest of your hairline, lingering for a moment as if to savor the touch.

"Rest well," he whispered, his voice low and affectionate. Carefully, he slipped from the futon, each movement deliberate and gentle so as not to disturb the stillness that wrapped around you like a cocoon.

While cooking was outside his expertise, he was more than capable of boiling water in a hagama with tea leaves.

As he entered the main room to prepare it, he noticed his father already seated with his gaze fixed on the sky. Kyojuro’s instincts made him want to turn around and recede right then and there, before stopping himself.

“You are up early, Father.” Kyojuro shifted his head to the side almost as if to hide his face. He could hardly bring himself to face the former Flame Hashira. In his father's eyes, the cold sweat on his brow and the ghostly pallor of his skin would no doubt serve as a (half) living testament to the very words he had insisted upon to Kyojuro for years.

His hand quivered as he sprinkled a spoonful of the tea leaves into water before beginning to boil them together on the wood stove.

Shinjuro hardly acknowledged the presence of another behind him more than a quick glance over the shoulder. His expression was as equally austere and annoyed as usual.

Similar to how Shinjuro kept his eyes firmly locked onto the slow ascent of the sun, Kyojuro relegated his own gaze to the kettle on the stove, barely looking away as the silence was intermittently broken by the sound of chimes swaying in the breeze.

When the water adopted the greenish hue from the tea leaves, he removed the hagama from the heat.

“Uh... tea, Father?” Kyojuro said as he set out two cups just in case. It was unusual enough his father was awake at dawn, and out of his room. He rarely saw Shinjuro eat or drink much, usually sleeping or drinking the day away, it would be even more unusual for him to break that pattern. But, he felt obliged to ask him anyway.

Shinjuro spoke, his voice gruff as it had been as long as Kyojuro could remember. “Sure.” He paused for a long time before adding, “Thank you…”

Kyojuro looked up with shock, but only to look at the back of Shinjuro’s head once again. He poured the liquid into the cups, curls of steam wafting from each one with an earthy aroma.

With one in each hand he brought it over to where his father sat at the edge of the room, the sky fading from nox to a peach tone as the apex of the sun became visible over the horizon line.

He lowered his head as he placed the cup on the ground, Shinjuro’s scarred hand wrapping around it where it sat. Kyojuro slowly backed away from where he resided to leave him be.

“You can sit, son.” Shinjuro said, finally turning over his shoulder to meet Kyojuro’s gaze. Kyojuro moved closer again trepidatiously before lowering himself to the ground with a sharp exhale, the pressure on his wound making his face twist momentarily as he did so.

Kyojuro could not help but notice the thick, pungent smell of sake—a scent that had been a constant companion to his father for as long as he could remember—was completely absent this morning.

“In nearly 20 years as a pillar, I used that damned form three times.” Shinjuro spoke, his eyes not leaving the sky as he took a sip of the tea in his hand. “You’ve used it twice that I know of, but it’s been more times than that, right?”

Kyojuro did not even want to reply to his father’s probing, it would not matter anyway, they both knew the answer to the question.

The former pillar’s jaw clenched in grim recognition of Kyojuro's telling silence. However, the response was not angered, but seemed shackled with the heaviness of frustration.

Kyojuro took a long drink of the cup of tea in his hand, it was easier than thinking of the right thing to say.

Shinjuro continued, his voice steady but carrying a hint of weariness. “I practically memorized each word of the chronicles. The Breath of Flames like every other breath will always be derivative. Yet our swordsmen are the only ones who refuse to believe that. Neither the chosen ones nor those blissfully content with their own mediocrity use anything as foolish or self destructive as that damn 9th form.”

Kyojuro knows the destruction he spoke of all too well. The gelatinous cartilage protecting the shoulders, knees, elbows, hip flexors, ankles, spine, it was all fickle.

Once the body has worn it down, usually through decades upon decades of usage the grating discomfort of bone on bone friction rarely goes away, in many cases it can leave one chair bound from the intensity of every joint aching.

While all such an affliction can happen naturally with the flow of time, but the amount of power emitted from the 9th form was anything but natural.

The records of the ways of Flame Breathing made this clear to the user. Even by the standard of breath forms, which already amplify the body beyond its innate threshold, the concentration of power in the 9th form of Flame Breathing was exceptionally great.

The amount of strain on the body by the 9th form was more than some could handle. Some Flame Pillars of the past did not have the composition to use it more than once or twice at absolute most. The immense pressure on the body had a way of hastening degeneration. The form was strictly a last resort when facing a foe that needed to be defeated at all costs.

The brighter and hotter a flame burns, the sooner it flickers out. Yet each time he was left with no other option but to use it, he did so without hesitation.

He had always fought to save lives with his body as little more than collateral in the grand scheme of his duty, so what did a few adverse side effects matter if it allowed him to prevail against a powerful demon that could go on to devour dozens?

Shinjuro muttered under his breath bitterly as if trying to suppress a visceral growl gathering in his lungs at the words alone. “The Breath of Flames, the Flame Hashira mantle, all of it, who gives a damn about a line of talentless fools breaking themselves just to end up average. It’s just a pitiful tale, nothing more. I’ve asked myself over and over why anyone would want to pass that on to the next generations.”

He shook his head slowly with an exhale, his knuckles becoming lighter as he gripped his cup more tightly before releasing it again. “I knew I should’ve destroyed the infernal pages of the Flame Hashira Chronicles a long time ago.”

Kyojuro’s tone became calmer than even he knew it to be, almost as if unconsciously imitating the softness of how his own mother spoke to him all those years ago. “Whether it is pitiful or not, it memorializes their will. Their triumph, their struggle, none of it will go unnoticed, and they will be remembered fondly for their bravery and their role in our history.”

Shinjuro was quiet for a moment, his gaze distant still settled on the peach streaks as they became gold across the sky. “Did you ever read about my predecessor?” He grumbled with narrowed eyes.

Kyojuro’s brow furrowed into thought before replying. “Our grandfather, yes of course. I read about every Flame Hashira. It is a shame Senjuro and I never met him.”

“Trust me, you’re lucky you only ever read about him.” Shinjuro let out a forced chuckle before taking another sip. “Obsessed with the family legacy, he’d probably have carved ‘Flame Hashira’ into my chest the day I was born if he thought it would keep me from forgetting who I was meant to be. And just my luck—I happened to be the bastard’s only child. That meant all his expectations, all his delusions about immortality through legacy, fell squarely on my shoulders.”

Kyojuro heard a pain in his father’s voice that he had only caught a handful of times before—a rare, almost fleeting vulnerability that Shinjuro rarely allowed anyone to see. His mind drifted back to faded, gilded memories. When his father’s smile had been constant, his pride unwavering. He could still recall the way his father’s eyes would light up as he passed down his sword skills to him and Senjuro, enthusiastic and patient.

Those memories were growing hazy with time, as though they were trapped in the mist of nostalgia, but the warmth they stirred within him was unmistakable. It was the kind of warmth that invigorated him—like the very ichorous blood of the Flame Hashira flowed through his veins, and he was destined for greatness.

“Perhaps…” Kyojuro murmured, his voice wistful, “Perhaps… He must have seen potential in you… " His eyes fell to the ground, his chest felt hollow as if the air was being drawn from it. "And that was the reason he pushed you so hard and did not ever give up on you...”

Shinjuro’s lips pressed together into a firm line. “Potential? No. He didn’t see me. Not as a person. I was a tool, a means to an end—a way to keep the Rengoku name alive, to make himself feel like he mattered.”

Shinjuro's voice held calm, but kept carrying the crushing weight of resignation.“Part of me wanted to show him I would be the last Flame Breathing user,” His eyes stayed distant, unblinking.

“Just let our name die out, fade into oblivion as a fragment of history. Just so my miserable old man’s last thought would be regret. That nothing he tried his damndest to maintain would last after one generation. I refused to be another cog in the perpetual machine.”

Kyojuro looked down at the swirls of green fluid in the cup as he held it in his lap. His voice curious as he looked over, as though trying to understand a piece of the past he had never been allowed to see. “What changed your mind?”

“Your mother…” Shinjuro’s lips twisted slightly, but not with anger—more like a quiet bitterness that he no longer had the energy to hide under anger or indifference. “But just like everything else, it was all futile, just a beautiful dream she was kind enough to let me believe in. Even for just a little while.”

Kyojuro’s eyes flickered, a quiet understanding passing between them at her mention.

Shinjuro let out a long sigh, setting his cup down with a soft clink, though his movements remained languid. “I don’t know if she fell victim to the suffering fate has ordained for us by becoming my bride. Maybe she stood a chance before then. But not us, if you’re born into it, you don’t have a choice, it's your cross to bear whether you want it or not. That’s the cruel joke. That’s the purgatory we’re bound to.”

The sun was higher now, and the colors in the sky deepened, casting a warm glow over everything.

Shinjuro’s voice broke the stillness again, his voice softer now than Kyojuro had known in so long. “I never wanted to be the kind of man to force a son to swing a sword until he vomited and his hands were torn open and bleeding. I should’ve never let either of you boys touch a blade. Just let the cycle end and be free. But you and Senjuro... you were always drawn to it. Always. I could see it in your eyes.”

His gaze turned, albeit reluctantly, to Kyojuro, meeting his gaze in earnest. “We can’t help it, can we? It's in our blood I suppose.”

The sun was fully risen now, casting a golden glow over the room, spilling warmth across the tatami floor. Shinjuro, still staring out at the horizon, sighed deeply, a silent self condemnation. “I wasn’t capable of protecting Ruka, or the many junior swordsmen, or countless civilians, but I once hoped even a good for nothing father could protect his own children if nothing else.”

Kyojuro’s eyes lingered on his father, the warmth of the rising sun casting a gentle light on the hard lines of Shinjuro’s face. He didn’t know what he could possibly say.

Kyojuro sat in the silence that followed his father's words, the weight of Shinjuro’s rare admission lingering in the air. He could feel the old, familiar tension between them, but it was softer now—more fragile, like the delicate balance of the morning light spilling across the floor.

Shinjuro’s voice was both steady and solemn. "Kyojuro, you are a better man than I. You and your brother both. A strong man can learn from a weaker one how to become even stronger."

The words were unexpected, catching Kyojuro off guard. He glanced up at his father, his eyes searching the features of Shinjuro’s face for some sign that this wasn’t just another passing moment of wistful resignation. But there was no mistaking the sincerity in his tone. Kyojuro’s chest tightened, though he didn’t fully know why.

Shinjuro took a breath, his gaze fixed on the distant horizon, a faraway look in his eyes. “Just remember, you have a whole life ahead of you. It’s yours to do with what you wish.”

There was something in Shinjuro’s words that stirred in Kyojuro—a faint flicker of hope, like a spark in the dark. He wanted to say something, to respond, but the weight of the moment was so heavy, so rare, that all he could do was nod.

Shinjuro shifted slightly, the moment passing as quickly as it had come. He stood slowly, his movements deliberate, before leaving on heavy footsteps.

Shinjuro shifted slightly, the moment passing as quickly as it had come. He stood slowly, his movements deliberate, as though the weight of his own body was a burden he carried with resignation.

He gave Kyojuro one last look, something softer than usual in his eyes, before he turned toward the door. "I’m going to go check on Senjuro. He’s been having nightmares lately."

Kyojuro’s gaze lingered on his father’s retreating back. The room felt quieter now, the silence settling between them like something solid. He wanted to speak—wanted to say something that could erase the years of distance between them, and his father’s regrets.

The warmth of the sun seemed to spill into his very bones, filling the hollow places with a kind of quiet understanding. It wasn't a resolution. It wasn’t a grand moment of reconciliation. But it was something.

A rare crack in the wall that had always stood between them. And for the first time in a long while, Kyojuro thought maybe, just maybe, it was a step toward something else. Something better.

—————————————

He awoke to start the day as he had nearly every day for the past. Getting ready at dawn as he always did, cautious not to awaken you in the room beyond the thin panel walls. Donning his corps uniform kaen haori, against Kocho’s advice to receive help.

Moving deliberately he raised his arms to twist the thick honey blonde layers of his hair, he felt a sharp pang in his abdomen. He froze in place, his eyes widened before clenching shut. The pain forcing him to grip the edge of the nearest furniture for support.

His hand moved from his chest back to his sides as he opened his eyes slowly, a hint of embarrassment creeping over him. It was as if he feared that when his eyelids lifted, he would find disappointed faces gazing back at him.

He continued the routine that made him worthy of the rank of Hashira. His resolve only strengthened, it would not matter so long as he could prove to himself, he was still strong, the capable protector of others.

The sun’s early light casting across his face, he moved with purpose across the same grounds that he and generations of Flame Pillars before him honed their skills in the heart of the ancestral estate. The ground beneath him was packed earth, worn smooth from endless footfalls.

Unsheathing his katana, he took a deep breath, grip tightening on the handle of his garnet nichirin sword. But the blade that was once a weightless extension of himself felt heavier, more cumbersome.

Performing the stances he had forged into his very bones with the years. His fluidity between each form was lacking. Even in total concentration he found himself sputtering if his chest expanded too much on the inhale. Beads of sweat rolled down his temple in the Summer sun, the brine making the unhealed gash across his eye socket sting lightly.

He was not blessed with the near supernatural acuteness of sense others possessed. Some of his comrades had such heightened perception, blindness itself was not even a burden. But he was quite the opposite, since the mission he lost most of his hearing, he had learned to instead rely on his vision to be fully aware of his surroundings at all times.

In the line of duty, he even had trained himself to reduce the frequency of blinking so as to not let his own inability to perceive his surroundings with his other senses create an opening for an enemy to strike.

Each swing and subsequent sharp ache in his abdomen was a reminder that not long ago, a demon had punched straight through his body as if he were hollow. A lifetime of working towards becoming a paragon of invincibility rendered worthless in an instant.

He had spent his life mastering control over every part of his own body. Every fiber, every nerve ending. The idea he was spared by chance was nauseating. By chance, the blow didn’t destroy any vital organs, killing him instantly. By chance, the kakushi were able to move him quickly enough. By chance, he managed to wake up from Kocho’s induced sleep at all.

Kyojuro shifted into the next stance, forcing his body to remember the rhythm of each fiery surge of power. He longed for the zone he could so easily slip into. When each cell of his body felt as though it burned with the intensity of his soul, no amount of pain or exhaustion could dampen it.

The searing tenacity, the flow. Wiping his brow he found the warm flow he desired, albeit in a drastically different form. A crimson streak across the back of his hand was the last thing he saw before sanguine blood obscured the vision in his left eye once again. Pressing the heel of his hand against his eye once again in an attempt to stop the seep from the wound.

—————————————

You were well aware of Kyojuro’s routine, if he was off bed rest chances are he would go back to it even against the better judgment of others, and probably himself too.

So when you saw him sitting with his back to the house, cross legged in the middle of the training field, his katana sheathed on his right side a change from it usually placed on his left. Stranger than that, you had rarely seen him take breaks much less fully sit down on the grass.

“Are you alr-You’re bleeding!” Once you were within his earshot, you

He looked over his shoulder with his right eye anxiously following your exclamatory reaction. He assured you with a forced cheerfulness, though the flicker of uncertainty in his voice betrayed the bravado. “Although,” he continued, his tone lowering slightly, “I fear if Senjuro sees me like this, he might go into a panic…”

As much as you wanted to scold him for neglecting his own wellbeing for the sake of others yet again, he had a point. Senjuro had just been in a state of shock wondering if he would ever see his brother again. The last thing he needed was to see Kyojuro hurt yet again.

“Yes! I-I’ll get some first aid!”

You moved briskly back to the house to retrieve some standard medical supplies. Coming out to sit on his left side in the grass, mimicking his seated position with his back to the home. From the way you angled yourself, legs folding to your side, if Senjuro happened to walk by, perhaps he would just figure you both were basking in the sun on a nice day and nothing more.

You slowly shake your head as you begin to wet the clean cloth with rubbing alcohol. “You are an exceptionally lucky man, you know that?”

He chuckled lightly, a glowing smile spreading across his face. “I suppose I am if a beautiful lady is willing to take care of me.”

You sigh, glancing down for a moment fighting back a grin that will no doubt spread to you like a contagion. “Look up please.” As you asked, his irises shifted upwards as you moved the cloth in your hand toward him, the laceration across his left eye freshly reopened on full display, stretching clear across his eyelid and nearly severing his eyebrow.

“Flattery will get you nowhere, Kyojuro Rengoku. You know what I mean.” You can’t help but smile through the scoff you force out, your attempts to remain stern and impress upon him seriousness foiled.

Holding the damp cloth with a steady grip, you approach his eye with utmost caution, ensuring you don’t accidentally brush against his ink-black lashes. You carefully touch the rag to his face, disinfecting the length of the wound, your movements deliberate and gentle.

“No! I am merely speaking the truth you are-” His proclamation was halted by a wince at the sting from the antiseptic’s contact with the raw wound.

“I’m sorry if that hurts.” Your brow furrows as you pull the cloth away, necessary as it was to do, it pained you to be the cause of any further bodily discomfort for him.

You take a minute to find the most appropriate way to say what you mean, for both of your sakes. “First they weren’t sure you would…”

You meet his gaze tacitly before continuing. “Then Shinobu-san tells you the chances of retaining sight in your left eye was nonexistent, and here you are breathing and seeing and yet you still keep pushing yourself to the point of coming apart at the seams.” You try to mask your unease, seeing him continue working himself beyond his limits, when he is already so fragile at the moment.

“At least wear the eyepatch the Butterfly Mansion issued you!” You implore with something of a half smile. The sheer stubbornness with which he dismissed every injury, no matter how serious, would be humorous if it wasn’t so deeply concerning.

“Oh please, I need no such thing! I’m doing nothing I cannot handle, I assure you.” That authoritative voice, brimming with optimism. It was so easy to hear it, and blindly take each word as fact. But you know better by now, you could’ve told him every bone in his body was broken beyond repair and he would probably still respond that way. Even so, you want to trust him to stay within his means.

“Ok, ok you’re ‘fine.’ I understand.” You reply resignedly speaking on your exhale. “Just please just take care of your eye. You’ve always had the most lovely eyes…” You say looking deeply into the golden rimmed eyes of the man before you.

Usually, when those spoke of the Rengoku family, they used the word "powerful" to describe their distinctive features—sharp cheekbones, avian-esque orbs, blazing hair, and the aura of intensity that seemed to radiate from them. They served as yet another irrefutable motif that connected each Flame Pillar to the long legacy of unrivaled swordsmen bearing the Rengoku name.

“Powerful” was no doubt a compliment. He had always taken pride in the honor of possessing the iconic visage of his courageous ancestors. “Lovely” was different though. It felt intimate, a word that captured a softness. One rarely used when likening the fierce warriors of the Rengoku lineage with description, or him by that association.

“If you like them, then I am only more excited by the prospect of passing them onto our children one day!” He exclaimed, the ever present ember burning behind his gaze billowing into a roaring inferno with joyous fervor.

Your cheeks flushed like a watercolor canvas, rosy hues blooming across your complexion. He could only surmise in that moment the evident dilation of your pupils to be a product of shock, at worse maybe even discomfort.

He had gotten overzealous again, it was all too easy for him to put his foot in his mouth and take someone aback when he felt impassioned enthusiasm overflowing from him. However, you didn’t seem jarred or off put by his sudden pronouncement. You gaze warmed, softly smiling back at him.

“Yes, me too.” Your voice on the gentle breeze was as steady and sincere.

But for a moment, it all fell away. The corps, his family legacy, the pillars, all of it. Holding her knees gently on the grassy Earth beside him, looking back at him. Rays of light catching against her skin, wrapping around her like a golden embrace, illuminating her form with a radiance that seemed almost otherworldly. Her hair danced in the breeze, tousling it to frame her face with an effervescent allure.

He felt warmth creeping up his cheeks, just as it had for her moments ago. He desperately tried to suppress the flush as he turned his gaze downward, focusing intently on the ground.

Death or disablement. Kyojuro knew these to be the only two circumstances in which a pillar could honorably resign from their post. Here he was, neither dead nor maimed. The verdict ought to be clear as day. He was more than aware of the inevitable weakness that all humans must experience in time.

But to face that inevitability when he could still do so much? If he could swing a katana, he had a duty to serve. Right? His father should have continued serving as the Flame Hashira until he lost his sharpness to age.

But the day Mother passed, something died in Father, or maybe something already dead within him had begun to fester. Kyojuro always told himself that he would not succumb to the same fate, despair would not be the death of him, certainly not if even an Upper Rank wasn’t.

“I have… a friend… who is thinking about their future as a Hashira.” Kyojuro spoke with an uncharacteristic softness, fingers fidgeting with the hilt of his sword.

You looked at him inquisitively before having what you believe to be a revelation. “You mean the Sound Pillar?”

“Oh… right, yes. Uzui, of course.” Kyojuro's words stumbled out, a nervous smile flickering on his lips, eyes darting away, as if relieved to hear you identify the former Hashira, already settled on retirement.

“If he decides to retire, does it mean he has lost his passion? Or maybe he is running away?” His voice raised closer to its usual vivacity, but the typical enthusiasm felt infected with an air of apprehension. His fingers tightened around the sword’s hilt, outlining the flame insignia swordguard with a deliberate motion of his thumb.

Before you could even think to answer, he pressed on with another question, his urgency palpable.

“What if…” He paused, lightly clearing his throat adding the aforementioned yet again, his cadence returning to its equilibrium. “My friend…”

He looked deeply into your eyes, the bright vermillion honeycomb pools poured into yours like a gentle ray of sunlight at dawn, adorning everything within with its warmth. His words regained their normal directness in earnest. “Is worried the person he loves might not want him anymore, if he isn’t strong?”

You tilt your head, your gaze previously riddled with intrigue tempered tacitly at his probing, you understood now. “I’m certain the people in his life value him for more than something as superficial as his strength.”

You put your palms flat behind you on the tufts of grass leaning back to feel the sun warm your face.

“I don’t think of ‘strong’ as a person, I think of it as a state of being. We are all allowed to be weak and rely on the strength of others, and when others are weak we can give them our strength. No one person has to be strong all the time.”

More importantly, you saw through the electric personality of the natural born leader to all and the brave exterior of the warrior. You saw the man beneath it all. The kind of soul that was as tender as it was resiliently fortuitous.

Hanging on every word you notice the intertwine of his arms, crossed against his chest as he clung on your every word with rapt attentiveness. You straighten your posture leaning toward him, interlocking your fingers to the corded sinews of his forearms, pulling them from their interwoven tensed state as you had done before.

You took his worn hands in your own. “Well I hope you tell ‘your friend’ as much. Although, I would like to ask you something now if you would allow me.”

“Of course my flame, anything.” he replied, his voice filled with earnestness, a bright smile spreading across his face.

“Did you remember what I told you in the Butterfly Mansion? The last thing I said to you before you lost consciousness?”

His eyes narrowed as they trailed off into thought. He racked his brain for the last moment of light before his eyelids fell heavily as the sounds around him dissipated into silence. Before the oblivion of the serum he was injected with took effect, only muffled words cut by sobs come to mind.

“Please forgive me, I cannot recall.” He bowed his head remorsefully before meeting you again with a hopeful countenance. “Would you tell me again, my flame?”

A rosy hue rouges your cheeks as you fidget from side to side where you sat, part of you didn’t want to tear your gaze from the safety of the trodden Earth . But you couldn’t stand the idea of missing a moment basking in the bright eyes of the man you nearly lost.

“I told you that I loved you...” Your voice was a murmur, barely above a whisper, and as your heart skipped a beat in your chest. “I love you. I meant it, I love who you are. That will not be changed by what you are.”

“I have never found many things in life that I could not bring myself to love, or so I thought.” “What a fool I was. I did not even know what that word meant back then. What a truly lucky man I am.”

You would’ve liked to sappily argue that it was, in fact, you who was the lucky one. However, you knew the endless back-and-forth that would’ve followed if you did.

So instead, you let both your body and heart bask in warmth from two separate suns—one worlds away, and one right beside you. You let the moment linger between you, content in the quiet truth that you didn’t need to say it aloud for him to know you felt the same.

To be continued...

Taglist: @rift-and-rise @leannathespacewerewolf @hellscampcounselor @hauntedaugust @obsidianlive @oh1boy @chocolatebannana2 @erexart @vaelzz @kalypsoox @jiy-une @mayyhaps

#kyojuro rengoku x reader #rengoku x reader #rengoku kyojuro #kny x reader #kyojuro rengoku #kyojuro x reader #rengoku kyoujurou #rengoku kyoujurou x reader #kyojuro rengoku x you #demon slayer x reader #rengoku kyojuro x reader #demon slayer x you #kimetsu no yaiba #demon slayer #rengoku x you #kimestu no yaiba

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lyrefromthesea · 10 months ago

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Male pillars x Reader - sitting on their lap

author's note: I'm strictly against any kind of sexual interactions with minors. That's why I will either exclude Muichiro from such fics of or portray a wholesome interaction instead.

pairing: Tengen x reader, Obanai x reader, Rengoku x reader, Sanemi x reader, Giyuu x reader, Muichiro x reader, Gyomei x reader

content warning: suggestive words and actions

Tengen:

"excuse me? I'm married!" he dramatically exclaimed, looking down at you. the man was already trying to refrain from smiling, watching you turn your head towards him.

"i'm sure Hinatsuru, Makio and Suma will forgive me." you answered, showing him your hand. he smirked at the all too familiar ring. he was glad he had married you.

"just playin', i could never disappoint the flamboyant person i married!" he laughed, clearly proud of himself. when you cocked your eyebrow at him, he let out a dramatic gasp, pulling you closer.

"are you trying to say i'm not the most perfect husband you could imagine?" he asked, displaying a huge amount of shock. you knew he was just making fun, especially when he pressed your back against his chest, bringing his lips to your ear.

"you were saying entirely different things yesterday." he said, watching you shudder at his words. you slapped his knee, scolding him for saying such things outside.

"come on, you know you love it!"

Obanai:

he freezes, his brain nearly malfunctioning. it's not like you've never sat on his lap before, but you usually gave him a warning first - asked for his approval.

"[name]? what's-" he asked, surprised when your arms wrapped around his neck, barely giving Kaburamaru time to slither away. words got stuck in his throat, feeling your lips against his mask - right above his own.

"nothing. i was just feeling affectionate." you answered, shifting to wrap your arms around his torso. he looked down at you, letting out a quiet yelp when your hips moved a bit too much on his lap.

"oh..?" you looked at him, a smile slowly forming on your lips. a blush made his way towards his cheeks, luckily covered by his mask. at least he felt lucky, you would've liked to see him blush.

"it looks like you're feeling affectionate too, Obanai." you chuckled, purposely drawing light circles with your hips. of course you had noticed the growing bulge in his pants, his hands now holding yours.

"don't tease me, [name].."

Rengoku:

"little flame! how was your day?" he enthusiastically asked, his arms wrapping around your torso. he pulled you closer, placing his chin on your shoulder.

"it was okay, i missed you." you answered, leaning against his chest. he smiled at you, enjoying the way your bodies were pressed together so gently.

"we can't have that, little flame! how about we go eat later?" he asked, holding you a bit closer. you chuckled at his words, he really loved taking you to new places - especially restaurants.

"i'd like that. let's go eat something later."

Sanemi:

"and what the hell are you doing?" Sanemi asked, feeling you make yourself comfortable on his lap.

he had cleaned his sword moments prior, hearing the door open - it was you. you moved towards him without warning, getting between him and his sword.

"getting your attention." you answered, moving even closer. don't think he didn't notice the way you purposely squished your chest against his own.

"yeah? didn't I give ya enough attention, sweetheart?" he teased, watching you pout in response. you had been alone for far too long, you finally wanted to spend time with him.

"you've been working on your sword for two hours now.." you complained. he placed it down, knowing that you were right. he just felt like the proper care could safe his ass one day, though a shiny sword probably wasn't that important.

"fine, ya win. this was getting uncomfortable anyways." he answered, almost making you question what he meant until he pressed his hips against yours more. oh, now you could feel it too.

"does that mean you want my attention as well-" you asked playfully, getting cut off by his lips pressing against yours before you could finished talking.

Giyuu:

"is everything alright?" his voice broke the silence, you've been sitting on his lap for almost 5 minutes now, not saying a single word. he was confused, not sure if you were fine or needed help.

"Giyuu, attention?" you asked, feeling him relax under you. he had been tense, thinking you could've been hurt somewhere. your words instantly calmed him down, his lips pressing against yours gently.

he didn't expect you to turn his soft kiss into something more passionate. his hands slowly came to hold your hips, tongues swishing against each other.

you broke the kiss, panting against his lips. he pressed his forehead against yours, pulling you a bit closer, only to have your hips start grinding slightly.

"l- love.. t- that's not.." he muttered, his cheeks visibly growing more red. hands squeezing your hips more, trying to create more friction. he could only moan when you finally started grinding against him properly.

"i.. i need to go on a mission later.." he panted against your lips, but he didn't object when you kissed him again, your hand wandering to his belt.

Muichiro:

"Muichiro! i finally caught up to you.." you heaved, letting yourself fall onto his lap. you had been running for nearly twenty minutes now, watching the boy leave his estate without food. being the good friend you were, you ran after him.

"[name]? what are you doing here..?" he asked, letting you lean against him. your cheeks were flushed from running. it would've been different if you also were a hashira, but you still had much to learn.

"you.. you forget your food, Mui.." you panted, reaching into your pocket. he looked rather surprised when he saw the small box of food he usually brought with him.

"thank you..! i've completely forgotten." he laughed, eventually coaxing a smile out of you. you gave him the box, seeing his eyes lit up at the promise of food.

he wanted to dive right in before he had a quiet growl come from your stomach, making your cheeks flush. "do you want some?" he asked, watching you shake your head.

"i brought my own!" you countered, grabbing into your back once more. silence filled the room when you noticed you had only brought his food.

his arm wrapped around your torso, forcing you to stay on his lap a while longer. "let's share." he said, offering you some of his food. you knew he wouldn't let you go until you have had a healthy portion.

Gyomei:

"welcome back." the giant said, feeling you plop onto his lap, nuzzling against his chest. you let out a tired hum, feeling a large hand soothingly rub over your arm.

"is there something wrong? you're more quiet than usual." he asked, gently bringing your head closer with his hand - allowing you to be closer to him. you could hear the gentle rhythm of his heartbeat.

your day had been stressful, but he somehow always managed to calm you down. his warmth. his voice. his actions. they put your mind at ease.

"i know it's ridiculous, but i've felt really stressed out lately. i just want a break.." you muttered, closing your eyes. you were trying to focus on his heartbeat and ignore everything else around you.

"it's not ridiculous, you deserve a break. perhaps a visit to the hot spring would help calm you down?" he offered, feeling you nod against his chest. you felt warm hands rub over your thighs, his head now closer to yours.

"and i could pamper you a bit more after that.." he muttered against your ear, your eyes opening again. the warmth pooling in your gut could probably rival the hot spring's temperature

#kny #kny x reader #kimetsu no yaiba #demon slayer #demon slayer x reader #tengen uzui #tengen x reader #obanai iguro #obanai x reader #rengoku kyojuro #rengoku x reader #sanemi shinazugawa #sanemi x reader #giyuu tomioka #giyuu x reader #muichiro tokito #kny muichiro #gyomei himejima #gyomei x reader

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chatsukimi · 1 year ago

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ｓｃａｒｓ： "ᴛʜᴇʏ ꜱᴀʏ ɪᴛ'ꜱ ᴡʜᴇʀᴇ ʏᴏᴜ ᴡᴇʀᴇ ᴋɪʟʟᴇᴅ ɪɴ ʏᴏᴜʀ ᴘᴀꜱᴛ ʟɪꜰᴇ"

Sukuna x deceased reader. pt 1.

Sukuna whose flames are unleashed solely on special occasions. One day, when Yuji wonders aloud why he has two, he tells the brat to "shut up and get yourself your first technique before asking for seconds." Yuji winces, shutting up nevertheless.

Sukuna who quietens next to the bonfire on New Years. The open conflagration bursts and wanes. He peers at the sparkling flames, dancing before Yuji's worn out sneakers. He wills the boy to let him switch places- one minute, just as he had promised when Sukuna restored his heart. Now the Devil will restore his own.

Sukuna who appears, silent, next to a mossy pillar in the middle of a redwood forest; a trick of Cursed Technique, long lost. He only has a minute: prepare the incense, plant the prayers, spare one longing gaze at your statue. He clenches his teeth as he hears Yuji banging on inside his mind, but it's the one chance he has of being with you, alone.

Sukuna who had always been concentrated compared to the other Special Grade sorcerers, capable of miraculous devotion. Suffice to say, he likes it best when there aren't passerby's, mistaking zeal for shortcoming.

He sinks to the ground, bowing his head, pressing his palms together, before wisps of flame start drifting from between them, touching every candle and incense to life. Wisteria scents float over him.

In this forgotten corner of the world, all who remember you are the monks who tend this shrine, and the strongest of them all.

When Yuji wakes up, on the stone floor of the Fujiwara Clan's tombs, sputtering at the cold. Shocked, later on, by the violent burn in the middle of his chest he had never seen before.

"Curious..." Gojo murmurs, inspecting the wound. "Yuji, you're growing more and more like him."

This used to be his scar.

Sukuna who doesn't come out for days when Gojo informs Yuji about the Fujiwara Clan's destruction. What was he doing at the shrine? Why did he kill them all, the children, the soldiers, the wives?

Everyone assumes Sukuna's just tired of Yuji's moral clamouring. No one suspects he is drowning in the shadows of his domain, his head collapsed back onto the animal skulls, exhales spilling out in long drawn out phrases, in the nightmare he created.

Sukuna who used to hate fire because it quashed the dark, until he saw you manoeuvre flames and arrows as though they were a second skin. He was the Disgraced One, but you- you were kind.

Sukuna who was killed by you, when he killed your clan. He was promised your technique when he said he would protect you. He made a vow. He had to keep it.

So, when it came time, he had simply let you press your burning hand upon his chest and feel him recline in agony. He knew it would be the last time you touch him. He wanted to feel it burn.

"Sukuna, you told me you would try to get better. You told me you didn't care how the others saw you, about us- how could you lie to me?"

He never wanted to lie to you, of all souls. If it makes you feel better, he still thinks of you when he uses your flames, only on special occasions. Your strength, your grace, and the look you wore as you killed him, they all come wobbling, like moth to a flame. Like a lowly cast-away boy on his way, in rage, to destruction.

Sukuna who thinks to himself, "you have given your technique to me, but what if I had asked for your soul with mine forever?", looking for your voice in the flames.

It only cracks and cackles.

It is Yuji who first notices you on the street.

"Hey! Hey!"

You turn around. A boy with pink hair is jogging towards you. He waves.

"Oh. Hi, do I know you?"

"Don't think so. You just look really alike to someone I saw a while ago at a shrine."

You can't pinpoint what but the slit on his face... you can't tear your eyes from it. You shake your head. What is wrong with you today?

"I don't go to shrines," you say. Your fingers itch to reach out to graze his cheek. "... that's a cool scar you've got there. Both sides of your face. They say scars are where you were killed"

"Oh I've got many scars," he mutters sheepishly. "A big one on my chest, s'kinda lame though, 'cause I don't remember how I got it."

You laugh. "Me too." You drag your T-shirt neckline down just an inch, pointing at it with your thumb. "I was born with mine."

A scar.

A burn.

A flaming arrow.

Right above your heart.

#ryomen sukuna #sukuna #sukuna x reader #sukuna angst #heian era #jjk #jujutsu kaisen #jjk x reader #sukuna x you #sukuna jjk #jujutsu kaisen x reader #yuji itadori

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hxney-lemcn · 7 months ago

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The Dragon's Savior — Malleus Draconia x gn! reader

summery: you were tasked with slaying the dragon...so how did you end up living with the fae prince?

tw: death (?), idk (if I miss something tell me)

a/n: I'm so tired and I wanted this to be done, so sorry if the ending is a bit rushed.

wc: 3.9k

Master List

The dungeon was dimly lit, dank, and eerily silent. You were unsure how the torches were alight as this dungeon had been long abandoned. A plume of green flames in the distance seemed to answer your curiosity. You had been ordered by the high king to slay the beast. You were no knight or hero, but it seems like they were running out of men to send. Honestly, you didn’t want to do this. Everyone who’d entered this place hadn’t been seen again, and you didn’t want to become another victim of the scaly beast, yet it was either death by dragon or locked in prison for life. You’d take your chances with the chained creature.

You weren’t sure how such a creature was chained down. As you continued on, you wondered why they only locked it up instead of killing it. As you continued through the giant halls, you paused at the entrance of a giant room. Large pillars rose on both sides, the room empty except for the metal of armor and bones that littered the floor…well, there are the previous knights and heroes that had their try at the dragon. Unlike them, you stood in just your tunic, a small sword and a satchel of miscellaneous items you brought just in case. As your eyes roamed the cavernous room, they landed on ink black scales, green slitted eyes narrowed on your figure.

As you stood there, staring at the beast as it snarled at you, you felt your heart twist and break. You had never seen anything so beautiful before. A muzzle laid hazardously over its snout. The metal of the muzzle twisted and singed, the leather straps frayed if not completely snapped. You could hardly call it a muzzle as it rested above its snout, not covering its snarling mouth in the slightest. Perhaps whomever put this creature here planned for it to starve? Then your eyes landed on the chains that were clasped around its four limbs, a shiny silvery color, glittering gallantly under the green puffs that threatened past the dragon's lips. You were surprised it hadn’t killed you already, the two of you watching the other cautiously.

Rage had started to consume you. It reminded you of a dog that had been abused and was going to be put down. A cornered animal that was merely trying to keep itself alive against whatever threatened it. Such a beautiful creature, whether it was a danger to people or not, had no right to be treated so inhumanely. You’ve only read old tales of dragons, they had nearly been wiped out, and the ones left remaining were in hiding. Apparently they lived for hundreds, if not thousands of years, and you wondered what all the dragons in front of you had witnessed. How long was its life spent in a cage, hunted and threatened? The dragon was clearly here first, humans had no right to put them on a leash.

Slowly, you lowered your sword to the ground, “Hello.” It’s ear twitched, eyes never leaving your form. It let out a huff and you took that as your cue to continue. Telling the creature your name, you felt a little silly, but it seemed to comprehend what you were saying, “I was sent here to kill you.” Maybe you shouldn’t have started with that as the being snarled, the frills on the side of its head standing. “W-wait, sorry, I just want you to know I’m not going to do that!” Its eyes narrowed, not seeming to trust you. Perhaps someone’s done this before, but tried to kill it when they got close enough.

“I swear!” You exclaimed. “Here, I’ll kick the sword out of the room so I’m harmless.” When you did what you said, the dragon slumped down once more. It felt unnerving, having such a scary beast watch you so intensely, but you decided to continue on, even if you ended up becoming the beast's next snack. “Can I take your muzzle off?” You hoped that would show your intentions were pure, that you’d put your trust in the beast’s claws so it would let you help it. If you were going to jail for life for failing to kill it, you might as well let it free, no? You fidgeted as it watched you for a few seconds, seeming to contemplate your offer. You never realized how smart dragons were, it was almost like it wasn’t just a beast.

You jumped as the dragon set its head on the stoney ground and let out a small huff. Hesitating, you asked if that was it agreeing, in which it nodded. Taking in a deep breath, you felt yourself shake with each step you took. It really set in just how big the creature was when you finally were face to face. With its head fully on the ground, the top of its head (excluding its horns) reached up to your thighs. You stated your next move before you did anything, not wanting to startle it. Gently, you managed to remove the muzzle although it took a bit of work with the frayed edges. Out of nowhere, the dragon hit the piece of metal, quickly tossing the offending mouthpiece out of the room with a growl. The quick movements caused you to jump back, lifting your arms in a weak defense. When its mini tantrum was over, it let out a low grumble at you, its head once again resting on the ground. Blinking owlishly, you realized it was trying to calm you, almost looking sorry for its previous actions.

“I…I can try to get y-your chains off,” You mumbled, trying to calm your shaking limbs. Its head tilted, so you explained, “I-I don’t have a key or anything, but I brought my lockpicking set. I’m pretty good at it, so I can try to remove your chains…”

With its huff of approval, you dug through your satchel, taking out your lockpicking set. Kneeling down in front of one of its powerful front arms, you took in the type of lock and what best to use. Expertly, you stuck in two picks, slowly moving your tools until you heard the soft clicks. After a few minutes of trial and error, you managed to get the lock to open, and you gently tugged the metal off its wrist. To your horror, its scales seemed to have rubbed off, its skin a bright red. You felt yourself fret, now searching for anything you may have brought that can ease pain. What lowly, disgusting people to harm such a creature. Your scowl diminished when the dragon lightly nuzzled you with its nose, its eyes brightening slightly, then it motioned to its other wrist. Against your wishes, you ignored the chafed wrists of the being, focusing on lock picking the three remaining chains instead.

When you finished, you weren’t sure what to expect. You hoped you had proven yourself worthy to the dragon, that you were worth to be left alive. Though, you wouldn’t blame it if it swallowed you whole, as it probably hasn’t had anything to eat in a while. To your shock, the dragon laid flat, fluttering its wings lightly. It stared at you expectantly, its head motioning to its back. Wait…it wanted you to ride it? You saw your life spiraling before your eyes…perhaps it was the moment it was declared you were to kill the beast. Between going to jail for life or…being a dragon's friend (?) you decided the latter wouldn’t be too bad. So you carefully climbed onto its back. You felt like you were on top of the world as it walked through the dungeon. As it climbed up the steps, you realized this dungeon must’ve been made specifically for dragons as everything was to scale for the giant beast.

The bright sun shone on you both, the inky black scales turning an iridescent purple, its green eyes glittering. Your heart swelled at the sight, if you thought it was beautiful before, it is absolutely stunning now. You were quickly snapped out of your reverie when it snapped its wings, lifting off the ground with a gust. Trembling once more, you wrapped yourself around the dragon to your best ability to keep yourself from falling to your doom. You weren't sure how long the flight was as you kept your face in its neck, only glancing out every now and then. Your surroundings grew darker as clouds filled the sky, looking out, you noticed a castle that was surrounded by thorny vines. You blinked as that seemed to be your destination. The castle looked abandoned…and you suppose it was since the dragon was held prisoner. The place looked uninviting. Your dragon friend landed gently on the land in front of the castle, and you slid off slowly. Your legs shook, unused to riding any type of mount, but it didn’t seem to mind you holding onto it for stability. The stone bridge that led to the castle was completely covered in the thorny vines, the stones crumbling slightly. It seems the only way in or out was to fly.

Once you trusted yourself to walk, the dragon led you into the castle. The dark bricks that built the castle made the space feel small even though it was grand, the silence felt unsettling and you felt a shiver run up your spine at the chill that filled the space. Even for how old the place seemed to be, it was still mainly all intact. Some debris here or there, but the stairs you passed seemed safe to climb and the walls weren’t crumbling. The dragon stopped in what seemed to be a throne room, two empty chairs sat up ahead, dust collecting over the room. Sitting, the dragon faced you, its eyes blinking at you like a lost puppy. If anything, you were the lost puppy here.

Before you could speak up and question what the course of action was now, a figure appeared out of seemingly nowhere. He looked human, but some of his features were warped. Pointed ears, slitted eyes, fangs. You felt your heart jump when you realized he was a fae, a being that was thought to be wiped out, the only proof of their existence being dilapidated buildings (that were slowly being taken over by humans) and mentions in history books of the great fae war. You coward next to your dragon friend, watching as the fae knelt to the ground, his next words shaking your entire being.

“Prince Draconia, it’s good to see you back.”

Prince? Prince of…the fae? You…what have you got yourself into? The surname Draconia has been drilled into your head when you read history books. The terrible Fae War that was meant to save humanity. To fight against the Draconia lineage and get rid of fae once and for all. Apparently the books had missed one important issue. And now you were in the dragon's den, literally and figuratively.

“It seems like you’ve brought a friend,” The fae continued, crimson eyes falling onto your figure.

The dragon beside you shifted, his form turning more human in nature. He could’ve fooled you if it weren’t for the horns that sat on top of his head or the green slitted eyes that seemed to stare through you.

“This child of man broke me free from the prison they held me in,” Draconia explained, his bright eyes softening when they landed on you. “A truly strange individual indeed.”

“Should I prepare a room?” The fae responded, his smile seemed more mischievous than anything.

“Yes,” Draconia nodded calmly while you felt like you were going to explode. This was all happening too fast. You thought you were going to be eaten by a dragon for Pete’s sake! Not end up saving a prince that humans wanted dead and end up as a guest in his palace! Although you felt like a whirlwind was storming through your mind, you were too meek to speak up, left to watch the events unfold before you.

“I shall inform the servants of your return then, my liege,” The fae nodded. “Silver and Sebek shall be here shortly.”

Then in a poof, the fae disappeared. You turned to Draconia, unsure what to do or say. You were a mere peasant. A pickpocket, a lockpicker. You were not prepared for such a situation as you found yourself in.

“Thank you, dear child of man,” The fae prince bowed his head towards you. “If not for your kindness and bravery, I would not be here for my people. In return, you will be granted whatever your heart desires.” Once again, you found yourself blinking owlishly, and saying the first thing that came to mind.

“That’s a dangerous offer.”

Stupid. Why the hell would you say that? Now he’s going to think you’re a threat and-

Is he…chuckling? Why was his voice so smooth? What the hell is going on? You needed some time to yourself to clear your thoughts.

“Perhaps it is,” Draconia nodded, a fond smile resting on his lips (his fangs made it look a bit sinister but you could tell he wasn’t trying to be intimidating). “But I have trust in someone who was selfless enough to save not only a prisoner, but a dragon.”

You bit your lip nervously, unsure of what to ask for, “That’s a lot of trust for someone you don’t know.”

“Hmm,” He hummed, his amusement shining through his eyes. “Then perhaps we should get to know each other better.”

Damn he was smooth.

…

You found yourself not so easily forgetting about your past. The life on the streets, swiping food when you could, stealing others hard earned money. You weren’t proud, in fact, it was always like a cloud hung over your head. You could never keep a job, not that they paid well. And when you got the notice from the high king to slay a dragon you knew it was karma for living a dastardly life.

But now you found yourself living in luxury, something you found hard getting used to. A bed bigger than you’ve ever seen, sheets so silky you felt like you were sliding around, meals so extravagant your stomach hurt just looking at it. Not to mention the handsome prince who’d watch you like you’ve hung the stars.

It all felt wrong. Like you were an imposter. You have hurt people. It didn’t matter if you felt guilty because innocent people still dealt with the consequences of your thievery. How many went hungry because they ‘lost’ their coins? How many only broke even because you got your hands on their food without them noticing? You didn’t deserve the royal treatment you were currently receiving. Especially when your original goal wasn’t to save any prince or prisoner. You were sent there to kill a beast, and you merely found yourself empathizing with it. It was like stumbling upon a poor rabbit stuck in a trap, it would feel wrong to let it struggle until it died.

You felt sick as beautiful fabric draped over you, tailored to fit your every curve to the t. Jewelry covering any spots that may show skin. You weren’t stupid, you saw the way the servants would gaze at you coldly, the whispers that they carefully covered as small talk. Not only were you terrible to humans, but you were also a human. To fae that was the harbinger of doom. Apart of a people who attacked the fae for merely being different. Yes, fae were more powerful, but they kept to themselves.

You were practically drowning in riches, and you could only think about the people who could use it more than you. Sure you’ve had your fair share of going to bed hungry, sleeping outside and being dirty more than you’d like to think, but you weren’t the only one. Perhaps you weren’t as built for living rich like you thought you were, you couldn’t help but muse. Oh how naive you were when you dreamt of riches beyond your imagination.

Malleus observed your downtrodden state. How reluctant you were during meals, or how you looked at the jewelry adorning your body with so much disdain he could nearly feel it. You had managed to worm your way into his heart. Like in those human tales of the knight rescuing the royal, he found himself falling for his savior. Not because you were tasked to save him, or that you could’ve killed him but didn’t (it was clear the power imbalance between you both). It was because you saw him, in his full powerfully dangerous glory, and instead of choosing to kill, you chose to help. Something he hadn’t seen in any human before (not that he’s met many). You continued to surprise him. You were clearly not from noble descent. Your ragged tunic and chipped sword were clear indicators of that when you both met. Not to mention how you seemed so afraid to touch anything, even after he stated you could have what you want, you were still considerate of him and his property. Instead of asking for riches or gems, you seemed lost. Unsure of what you may desire. During your stay, your personality truly shined. You were naturally polite, treating the servants and knights like they were people instead of objects (something even most nobles failed at). So when your curious shining gaze turned into one of guilt, Malleus couldn’t just do nothing.

It was a gloomy afternoon. Briar Valley wasn’t the sunniest of places, you had learned. Malleus had invited you to have some tea in the palace garden, and who were you to deny him? You both sipped at your tea in a pleasant silence.

“How has your stay been?” Malleus was the first to break the silence. His bright green eyes watching you intently.

“More than I could ask for,” You replied, gaze falling onto your teacup.

“...and that is a bad thing?” He read you perfectly.

“I…I just don’t feel like, like I deserve any of this,” You muttered. ��I’m not a good person. Not in the eyes of my people or yours.”

“So that’s the problem,” Malleus hummed. His features softened, but determination shone clearly in his eyes. “I promise you that you are not as bad as you view yourself, child of man. You have been nothing but lovely since the day I met you. Your heart is truly bigger than most, you’re intelligent, and you’re strong. I couldn’t think of a better person to spoil.”

“I think you have a bias,” You grumbled, trying to recover from how easy it was for him to fluster you.

“I think you have one as well, dear child of man,” Malleus chuckled.

…

You felt yourself slowly warm to your new life. Looked forward to seeing Malleus in the morning, seeing him off to his princely duties (as well as bidding farewell to Lilia). Although Silver and Sebek were Malleus’ retainers, he had ordered them to watch over you. At first it was daunting, but Silver was a sweetheart, and you slowly learned that Sebek didn’t actually hate you (hopefully), he was just very invested in Malleus’ wellbeing.

Over time, you found yourself wanting one thing. One thing that seemed impossible for Malleus to grant. You wanted to stay. Not just as some random human who saved the fae prince, but as a part of the weird family that they seemed to shape. You hadn’t felt so happy in a long, long time. You couldn’t recall the last time you had no worries, felt relaxed, found someone so comforting. And as you sat at the dining room table, pushing around your food, Lilia decided to point out the very thing you’ve been avoiding.

“So,” The pink and black haired fae said your name mischievously. “Have you thought of what you desire from Prince Draconia?” This question caught the attention of said prince, his gaze steady like he was pinning you down.

“Not really,” You smiled, waving off the question.

“Really?” Lilia asked with a fake pout. “‘Cus I’m pretty sure you thought of something quite specific.”

You tensed, shoulders raising, could he read minds? Was that even possible? Is he bluffing? Did your body language give you away?

“Did you have something in mind, child of man?” Malleus joined in. When you glanced at him, you noticed how he seemed a bit deflated.

“W-well…I have…” You stumbled. “I don’t…I don’t think it’s something you can grant…”

“You won’t know if you don’t ask~” Lilia chirped with a wink. “Malleus can grant more than you could imagine.”

“Lilia is right,” Malleus agreed. “There is little I won’t give you.” Your heart raced at his deeply sincere vow. You kept yelling in your mind that he didn’t mean it romantically.

Biting your lip, you decided to spill your wish, “I want to stay here…with you all…”

“Is that all?” Malleus asked, a bright grin tugging at his lips (it would be quite off putting as he always seemed so stoic, but you were too lovesick to think such a thought). “I would be delighted to host you here for as long as you wish.”

“Really?” You couldn’t help but ask. “Won’t that be weird? I’m no noble, or royal, or related to anyone here.”

“If that is a problem for you, there is a way to solve such a problem,” Malleus declared.

“Khehe~” Lilia giggled. “It seems we’ll have some planning to do.”

You stared at the two confused, and they refused to elaborate.

…

“Thank you,” You spoke up one evening as you stared at the roses that littered the garden. Malleus stood by your side, watching you lovingly. “For everything. You’ve done so much for me I can’t even explain it all.”

“I must thank you as well, child of man,” He replied in kind. “You have also shaped my future to be significantly brighter.”

“I suppose being freed from prison does that,” You teased, but Malleus didn’t smile nor did he laugh.

“You’ve done much more for me than merely unbuckling chains,” Malleus stated, gaze intense with an emotion you couldn’t put a finger on. “You have also unburdened my heart from its lonely cage, each day is brighter with your smile, with your love, with your kindness. I wish for you to stay by my side for as long as you’ll have me.”

You hadn’t expected your small gratitude to be taken to such an extent. You felt your heart flutter and your knees get weak. Just what was he leading up to? There was only one end in sight and you weren’t sure if you were ready for such a proposal.

“Would you do me the honor of ruling Briar Valley by my side?”

“M-mal…” Your voice trembled. You stared at him wide eyed, all the ways this could go wrong running through your head. “B-but I’m human…”

“Such trivial things do not matter to me.”

“But your people!” You exclaimed. “Th-they’ll riot!”

“My people trust in my judgment,” He muttered. “Besides, isn’t this like your human tales? The knight marries the royal and they live happily ever after?”

Malleus was right. You were truly living in your own fairytale. Sure, it was a bit backwards, but as you stared into his bright green eyes, you knew you wouldn’t have it any other way. After all, what knight wouldn’t choose the dragon?

#twisted wonderland #twst #twst wonderland #twisted wonderland x reader #twst x reader #twst wonderland x reader #malleus draconia x reader #malleus draconia #x reader #one shot #imagine

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