#Shards of Resolve | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

papiliotao · 9 months ago

Text

INDEBTED — kinich x gn!reader

content: 11.6k words, cw: mentions of abuse and alcoholism, kinich backstory spoilers + natlan 5.0 archon quest spoilers, childhood friends to lovers, mutual pining, hurt/comfort, everyone is bad with emotions, death, near-death experiences

summary: kinich has never been one to trust easily, but fate has other plans. throughout the years, he slowly comes to terms with his love for you.

a/n: i'm so normal... so normal... SO NORMAL. this was an attempt at gaining an understanding of kinich's character, so it might not be perfect, but i tried my very best to ensure the characterization wasn't too questionable. i love him dearly.

ACT I.

As someone raised by the lonesome mountains of Natlan, you have long grown used to an atmosphere of tranquil quietude, a serene symphony composed purely of nature’s music. The gentle flow of zephyrs running through seas of viridescent grass coupled with the occasional sounds of birdcall have become the soundtrack of your life. For you, an ever-enduring hush has always been synonymous with normalcy, but you are perfectly content with the status quo.

So when the sound of a choked scream shatters the flawlessly-crystalline silence of a hazy morning into a thousand shards of dissonance, you feel yourself tense. In all your six years of life, you have never had the displeasure of hearing anything so horrific.

It’s funny. The noise is fleeting, ephemeral, but it holds infinitely more weight than anything else you’ve witnessed during your short time in this world. You’re sure that it will be a long time before anything else disturbs the peace in such a profound manner, and it is for that exact reason that you resolve to investigate.

Deep down, you know it’s a stupid idea. You’re only a kid, and if it turns out there’s some grave danger, it’s more or less over for you. Curiosity alone isn’t reason enough to risk your own safety but the thought of another person facing peril is.

With hurried steps, you rush through your house, lightly scurrying through the corridors to see if anyone else is awake yet. When you’re sure that everyone is still and not a creature stirs, you grab the simple pouch of medical supplies your family always insists you take with you and exit the house in a rush.

The moment you step outside, blinding threads of aureate light twist in elaborate patterns, weaving themselves across a divine tapestry dyed cornflower and tinged marigold.

It’s way too bright, and even more concerningly, it’s way too quiet.

You feel your shoulders tense, and a shiver runs down your spine. The rapid coalescence of chaos and pandemonium is unnerving, and the ambiance makes you uneasy. However, you know you have to press on.

With as much fervor as you can muster, you run around the perimeter of your house, scouring every nook and cranny for signs of life. It’s not a large place, yet you can’t seem to find anything. Whatever it was that made that noise seems to have vanished without a trace.

Just as you’re about to give up, something on the ground catches your attention. A footprint. It’s a light imprint, barely visible, etched with the utmost precision into the dusty earth below. The size of the footprint is unfamiliar, and based on the weight distribution, it seems that the person it belongs to tried to tread lightly.

But not lightly enough.

It’s clear that the track points directly towards the stack of crates and barrels sitting behind your home, so with caution in your step, you gradually inch towards the area. As you do, the sound of shuffling permeates your ears, confirming that there is indeed something lurking behind the stacked wooden storage units. You take a deep breath before daring to peek.

The sight you’re met with shocks you to your core.

A young boy around your age is huddled between the boxes, nestled securely within a small gap. His knees are tucked all the way up to his chest, his short arms wrapped around them. The boy doesn’t dare move an inch. He simply looks up at you with eyes of molten amber, their depths bedazzled with emerald starglitter. As he moves, strands of hair spun of midnight essence shift to frame his face.

A part of your young mind thinks that he looks unreal — ethereal, but your train of thought is quickly disrupted when you notice his scraped knees.

“Are you okay?” you ask, extending a hand towards the boy. Despite your attempt at being gentle, the boy flinches, flecks of opulent gold swirling within his irises, mistrust dispersing in their wake. “I won’t hurt you.”

Your gazes lock, and you hope he can sense the sincerity in your actions. Hesitantly, the boy takes your hand, his knees wobbling slightly as he stands. He’s unsteady, but you make sure he doesn’t fall. Carefully, you lead him over to the front porch of your house, slowly sitting him down on the wooden planks. Once you’re sure he’s fine, you let go of his hand and begin taking bandages and cleaning supplies out of your medicinal pouch.

As you turn towards him, preparing to patch him up, you see him tense slightly.

He’s still scared.

“It might sting a little.”

Your comment doesn’t alleviate his face of its downcast expression — in fact, it just makes things worse.

“But it won’t last for long,” you insist. “Plus, all the adults always tell me it’s for the best.”

The boy is still deeply suspicious of you. It’s strange. You’ve never met someone so on edge.

“Would it make you feel better if I let you do it yourself?” You offer the supplies to the boy, and he curtly nods, snatching the bandages and swabs before you have a chance to process what’s going on.

He examines them closely, sunbeam-speckled eyes roaming every inch of the objects, as if shedding monochromatic tones of dandelion across their surfaces to detect any obscure dangers. After what feels like an eternity, he finally starts cleaning his wounds, barely even wincing as he brushes over them. As he moves on to bandaging his knees, you watch intently. He does everything with such ease and efficiency that you wonder if he’s used to it all.

Yet the longer he continues to work on treating himself, the more you realize that the awkward angle is causing him to wince slightly. Perhaps his wounds run deeper than you think. Slowly, you draw your hand closer to his, tapping him with a finger to catch his attention.

“Can I do the rest of the bandages?” you inquire. It seems he feels more at ease now, and you want to take this opportunity to further gain his trust. Besides, the last thing you want is for him to make his injuries worse.

The boy pauses for a few seconds, tilting his head as he regards you with apprehension. Locks of navy and seafoam mingle in the caress of the breeze, transitory weightlessness engulfing the atmosphere for only a single moment. Stillness becomes nearly tangible as equanimity envelops you. The tension only builds up once more as the boy dips his head in a gentle nod, loosening his fingers around the gauze to allow you to take it instead.

Meticulously, you continue wrapping the boy’s knees in fibres of pristine white, concealing the nasty wounds marring his skin. Despite not trusting you earlier, he’s very compliant, and he remains both calm and unmoving as you aid him.

And when you finally finish, you hear him speak for the first time.

“Thank you,” he whispers quietly, traces of hoarseness lacing his voice. It doesn’t sound like he speaks often. “You’re very kind.”

Before you can respond, the boy gets up, trying his best to hobble a few steps before staggering again. He manages to catch himself on a tree, and as he does, you race over to him. Obviously he’s not in any condition to be walking around.

“Be careful,” you reprimand him. “You can’t leave just yet.”

The boy shakes his head frantically.

“I’m supposed to be home right now,” he states gently. Although he tries his best to keep his tone flat and neutral, you notice the way his gaze becomes downcast, sullen with ashen rain clouds that dull anything and everything luminous.

“Just stay for a few more minutes?”

Perhaps it’s the concern entangled in your tone or your wide-eyed look of pure desperation that convinces the boy to give in. With a cautious sort of reluctance, he allows you to drag him back over to your old spot.

“So how did you end up here, and more importantly, how did you end up so hurt?”

It’s already very apparent that the boy isn’t big on words, yet the fleeting silence that floods your surroundings in waves of unspoken wariness unsettles you.

“I ran too fast and fell down here,” the boy states simply.

No normal person would run so fast that they dive headfirst off a small ledge without noticing, and what kind of kid goes outside without someone else along to supervise them if they get hurt?

His answer doesn’t seem insincere, yet something feels off. Doubt begins to blossom in your conscience, taking root in the form of fragmented bits of reason. Thus, you decide to try your luck and press just a little further.

“Why were you running,” you question. “Were you chased by a monster?”

“I guess you could say so…”

For a while, you continue to try to interrogate him, but you’re unable to get much more information out of him. The strange boy keeps all his secrets under lock and key, all his truths hidden within labyrinths of perplexing misdirection and nonchalant responses. Despite the frustration you feel when he refuses to comply, you understand. You’ve already pushed him far enough, but when it comes time for him to go, you try to get one last piece of information out of him.

“I never quite caught your name,” you remark as the boy steadies himself. He’s still a little wobbly but far better than before.

“Kinich,” he replies. “What about you?”

“[Name],” you say as you hand him your remaining medical supplies for later use.

Gratefully, Kinich takes the pouch, a ghost of a smile gracing his face.

“[Name], huh?” he whispers. “I’ll remember it.”

ACT II.

Nothing in the world is free. Every cost must be carefully weighed and then remunerated sufficiently.

This has been Kinich’s philosophy for as long as he can remember. No matter how desperately the sands of time and winds of fate try to erode his beliefs, they’re never successful, for his ideals have been ingrained in him since the moment he could make sense of natural order.

Ever since that fateful day where the ever-fragile threads of destiny pulled the two of you together, Kinich has been trying to think of a way to repay you, but with all the responsibilities and burdens weighing on his young shoulders, he finds it nearly impossible. When he’s not preoccupied with tending to the crops, he’s out and about in areas where only the wilderness reigns, carefully setting lethal traps to ensnare his next meal. Survival is tough, and with the ever-present threat of starvation looming over him, waiting for any opportune moment to snatch him from the gentle embrace of life, he allocates a large majority of his energy to feeding his father and himself.

It’s not like his father is much help anyway. These days, he seems to be drinking away his sorrow more than ever, losing himself as tides of despair ebb and flow, pulling him away from lucidity and into the frozen grips of oceanic melancholia. He’s been worse than ever since the disappearance of Kinich’s mother, and the one who feels the effects most potently is Kinich himself.

But everything changes on Kinich’s seventh birthday.

It’s his special day, and for once, he hopes that his father will allow him some clemency. For the first time in a long time, Kinich gathers up the courage to ask his father a question.

He asks if there has been any news of his mother.

At first, his father remains eerily silent. An ominous sense of uncertainty settles in the surrounding air, evoking Kinich to shudder as frostbite gnaws at him in a thousandfold. Bloodshot eyes pierce through Kinich’s defences, exposing him for the person he truly is beneath it all: a scared child, anxiously awaiting an answer from a man he no longer trusts.

He waits.

And waits.

Until his father rushes forwards in a sudden juxtaposition of mood. The apathy that masked his inner turmoil just seconds before is now gone, replaced by a look of pure rage. That’s Kinich’s cue to run. He’s done this enough times to know.

So he takes off. His legs, although far shorter than his father’s, carry him far more swiftly. Reflexes and strength built up through countless similar instances take over, and everything becomes muscle memory for Kinich. On the other hand, his father does not fare quite as well. He stumbles, and at times, he even trips over the creeping roots of archaic trees. It’s as if the alcohol is weighing him down, but despite it all, he never loses sight of his son.

Kinich is an elusive breeze, weightless and elegant, never once losing his foothold as he springs from one place to another. His father is more akin to the ancient petra underfoot — uncouth, clumsy, yet destructive and powerful. Even as he staggers, his resolve remains steadfast and resolute. He will stop at nothing until he’s able to give his young son a piece of his mind.

And yet fate has a strange way of intervening at the least convenient moments, ensuring its heavenly ordainment is heeded. In the eyes of the universe, Kinich’s story is not ready to end — but his father’s is.

As Kinich rushes by the side of a cliff, this becomes apparent. The sound of heavy footfalls behind him disappears before he hears a thud. Gathering his courage, Kinich gazes behind him, only to be met with the sight of emptiness where his father should have been.

Then, he makes the fateful decision to peer below.

There, lying between thickets of dense foliage lies the body of the man he once lived with — a man full of life mere seconds ago, now motionless and despondent. It feels unreal. A shiver runs down Kinich’s spine as a creeping sense of despair begins to stab at his heart. He blinks rapidly, taking deep breaths in order to calm himself, before making his way down the cliff.

Emotions are strange, and Kinich has never been good with them. He had always believed that everything would begin to look up once his father was out of the picture, but now that his father is gone for good, Kinich can’t help but grieve. No matter how horrible he was, he was still Kinich’s only remaining parent. There were better times too — times where his father would bring home a box of sweets for him and a bouquet of flowers for his mother. It almost felt like they were a real family. In Kinich’s mind, these instances pale in comparison to all the torment his father had put him through, yet he can’t completely erase his pleasant memories either.

So as one last act of respect, Kinich decides to bring his father’s body home with him.

The journey home is long and arduous. As Kinich navigates the surrounding wildlands and his newfound freedom, swinging from treetop to treetop with his father’s grappling hook, he wordlessly says goodbye to the man who had caused him so much pain throughout the former years of his life.

On his seventh birthday, Kinich becomes an orphan. He tucks himself into bed, and while other children would have had their loving mothers to lull them off to sleep in an aria of oneiric delights, he has nothing but the harsh, transient gale that rocks the thin walls of his home.

On his seventh birthday, Kinich ends up completely alone.

ACT III.

Kinich has dealt with nightmares before, but the ones that plague him after the death of his father are particularly horrific. Every night, as watercolour fuchsia and muted lilac begin to bleed into periwinkle skies, Kinich finds himself mentally preparing for the duress that lays ahead — for each time he closes his eyes, he is whisked back to the past, forced to relive events he’d much rather forget.

Sometimes he actively resists sleep, fearing the mirages that may appear in his dreams. It is on one such night that he finally recalls his debt to you. As he lays awake, trying to ward off all-consuming thoughts of eternal solitude and grief, he remembers the one other person he’s interacted with in recent times, and an idea comes to mind. He’s going to start paying his price tonight.

Kinich is usually one to take caution, but right now, he would do anything to keep his mind from lingering on his harsh reality. As such, he climbs out of bed, making his way outside to gather some of the crops he’s grown in a rugged patch of land behind his house.

It feels good to be outside again. The fresh air is a welcome change compared to the stifling atmosphere within a house that holds far too many memories for Kinich’s liking. His recollections range from saccharine-sweet to fear-evoking, yet one thing that remains constant is the fact that Kinich can’t stop recalling a past that seems oh-so-distant.

As Kinich picks up a tool, plowing through the dirt to unearth some of the grainfruit he had planted earlier that year, his thoughts drift back to his mother. She used to wrap her delicate fingers around his when he was younger, carefully guiding him as he learned to cultivate and take care of the crops. Back then, Kinich had felt a special type of fragile warmth, but now, all that remains is the chill of the evening air.

Kinich wonders if he’ll ever feel that warmth again.

He finishes gathering a respectable amount of food in no time, having had years of practice in the past. The young boy tosses the grainfruit into a sack, preparing to set off on a journey with phantasmagoric darkness as his only companion and the luminous constellations overhead as his only guide.

The sights and sounds of an enigmatic midnight distract him from the thoughts that have been running through his head on a daily basis. Kinich is sure to watch his step, although he’s nearly certain he knows the area well enough to walk through it blindfolded by now.

Finally, after around ten minutes of wandering through veils of silken achromatic, he sees the silhouette of a building in the distance, a rough outline against a backdrop of night. To his surprise, he spots a lantern emitting a gilded glow as he approaches, its incandescent light breaking through layers of obsidian obscurity, flooding it with a golden radiance instead. As he draws closer, he begins to make out the faint shape of a figure in the distance.

Strange. What normal person would be out at this hour?

As the features of the mysterious person become more defined, Kinich realizes it’s you again. Subconsciously, a soft smile begins to grace his features at the thought of getting to speak to you once more. It’s the first time he’s been genuinely happy in a while.

When Kinich steps into the dim firelight of the lantern, his features illuminated by the ember-forged halo of light, you eagerly approach him and wave. Something about the fact that you still recognize makes his heart grow just a little softer.

“It’s you,” you remark, your face lighting up excitedly.

Kinich nods, awkwardly shuffling under the weight of your gaze. It’s been a long time since someone was so interested in him. He isn’t quite used to having people regard him with such attentiveness.

“What are you doing out at this time?” Curiosity flares in your eyes, dancing in asterisms of wonder that glimmer with the brilliance of the stars above. Normally Kinich doesn’t like it when others pry into his affairs, but he thinks the look of inquisitiveness is endearing on you.

“I couldn’t sleep,” Kinich bluntly responds, “and I had a debt to repay.” He gestures at the sack of grainfruit beside him, silently weighing out the costs in his mind. It isn’t enough to pay you back for helping a stranger unconditionally, but Kinich thinks it’s a start. At the very least, it’s enough to reimburse the material costs of tending to his wounds, and he’ll deal with reciprocating your actual actions later.

“Debt?” Your face contorts into a puzzled frown. Kinich decides that he appreciates this expression far less when it adorns your visage. “You don’t owe me anything.”

“You treated my injuries the other day,” Kinich begins to explain, but you cut him off.

“And there’s really no need to repay me for that,” you interrupt. “Trust me. I wanted to help you.”

Somewhere in the depths of his heart, Kinich feels a flurry of opalescent butterflies spread their wings and take flight. Iridescent sparks of a newfound fuzzy feeling burst to life within his chest.

It’s… new. Everything is new with you.

“At least take the grainfruit,” he mutters, trying to remain nonchalant. As a young child, he still doesn’t quite understand what he’s feeling, but he’d rather not make his emotions apparent. “It’ll save me the trouble of having to drag it back home.”

You hesitate for a few seconds before agreeing, hauling the large bag inside with great difficulty before rushing back out to Kinich. By the time you return, he recalls that you shouldn’t be up at this hour either.

“If you don’t mind me asking, why are you awake right now?” Kinich asks you as you close the front door behind you.

Deep down, a part of him wants to know if there’s something troubling you so he can help you. It’s strange. It’s been a while since he last cared for someone this deeply, but he blames it all on his desire to reimburse you for your kindness, nothing more. Conveniently, he ignores the nascent emotions blooming within, repressing flourishes that take shape in frantic flickers of ruby and rose.

“It was a little too cold tonight,” you sigh, staring down at the ground. “I just couldn’t fall asleep comfortably.”

Kinich lets out a small hum of acknowledgement as the gears in his brain begin to turn, rotating in cycles of contemplation. Perhaps he’ll bring you an extra blanket next time he visits.

“Then why don’t we keep each other company for a while?” Kinich suggests. “It definitely beats being alone.” Kinich is not usually one to actively seek the company of other people, but you’re intriguing to him.

You nod, silently offering your hand to Kinich. It feels like the day you first met all over again, except under much better circumstances. This time, he laces your fingers without hesitation, allowing you to guide him through darkness fragmented only by rays of piercing starlight. He’s not quite sure where you’re leading him, but he knows he’s beginning to trust you a little.

Slowly, your destination becomes clear to Kinich. The two of you draw closer and closer to the cliffside — a spot where pure moonbeams grace the earth with their elegant touch. Kinich tenses slightly, haunting memories from a few weeks prior threatening to resurface above the murky waters of a wounded heart. However, he quells every spark of fear threatening to blaze alight.

He’s safe. Things aren’t the same as they were on that day, and the only other person around is you.

To Kinich’s relief, you settle down a safe distance from the cliff’s edge and pat the spot beside yourself, gesturing for Kinich to follow suit. He wordlessly obliges, simply relishing in the serenity that permeates the atmosphere, nearly tangible as he feels lingering traces of your body heat in the night air.

“Look up,” you whisper, laying a gentle hand on Kinich’s shoulder.

He does as he’s told, and the panoramic sight that greets him is enough to take his breath away. The skies above are the same as ever, yet this is the first time he has truly been able to appreciate their beauty. Kinich studies the constellations that burn with unrivalled luminosity, in awe of their brilliance. Diamond lights burn bright against a backdrop of deep sapphire, each shade of an abyssal ocean waltzing in a whimsical show of wonders.

Before today, he’d always been too busy caring for his mother, too preoccupied with his father’s hysteria, or too melancholy within his own solitude to enjoy anything with an unburdened heart.

But now everything has changed. He’s free, and he has you now. Yet again, he feels an involuntary smile tug at the corners of his lips, and before he has the chance to think about what all of this means, a shout breaks through the silence.

“A shooting star! Make a wish, Kinich!”

Kinich is more than familiar with wishing. He’s wished for plenty of things in his seven years of life. He’s wished for his father to stop gambling, he’s wished for his mother to come back, and he’s wished for his family to be happy together. Permanently. None of his wishes have ever come true.

But as he looks over at you, he notices hope and a childish innocence glittering in your eyes, manifesting in prismatic tones reflected from the skies above. A sense of warmth washes over him. Kinich sees a kind of purity in you that he wishes he could have clung onto for longer, so he makes a wish, if only to protect and humour you.

“I wish to be able to repay your kindness someday, even if it takes me a lifetime.”

ACT IV.

Throughout the years, Kinich’s debt to you only accumulates.

Word spreads like wildfire after the first few members of the tribe find out about Kinich’s living situation, and unsurprisingly, the news reaches your family as well. Strangers begin to graciously offer Kinich help, yet he always holds them at a distance. Nothing in the world is free, and he knows full well that there are people who conceal ulterior motives behind masks of charity.

There is, however, one exception.

You.

Deep down, Kinich knows that if the universe hadn’t entangled him within its delicate web of fate the day you first met, he would have never trusted you. It was only when he was left with no other options that he allowed you to aid him. He felt your sincerity that day, and although he’s still hesitant at the prospect of placing his wholehearted faith in anyone just yet, he lets you help him with his daily tasks. Kinich enjoys being around you, and a small part of him knows that he wants to be able to believe in you unconditionally.

You always show up early in the mornings, returning time and time again as the first traces of golden brilliance begin to graze the horizon. Kinich begins to find himself looking forward to the sunrise for the first time in his life.

In the past, Kinich would watch the last embers of twilight die out each day, violet enigma enveloped by vivid strokes of peach. He would always dread the day to come. Back then, nearly every waking hour of his life had been tedious and stressful, and thus he could only find respite in the land of the oneiric where dreams and absurdism erased the sorrow of real life.

But nowadays, each new dawn means spending more time with you.

You accompany him on various tasks. From farming to foraging to trading at the market, you’ve almost done it all.

Today’s task, however, requires slightly more precision.

As you set off towards a stretch of open plains with Kinich, you speak jovially, sharing stories from the past without a care in the world. Kinich himself doesn’t speak much. Instead, he listens, trying his best to piece together fragments of a childhood he never got to experience. Seeing your face light up with joy as you recall amusing escapades or confounding situations causes Kinich’s heart to swell slightly.

You only begin to quiet down when you draw near your destination. Kinich already made it abundantly clear that in order to get anything worthwhile from this trip, you need to proceed with the utmost caution.

Although you try your hardest to keep stealth in your step, you find that you’re not nearly as adept as Kinich, who has had years of experience traversing this territory. Occasionally, the sound of leaves crackling and twigs snapping will reach Kinich’s ear, and he’ll catch a glimpse of you stumbling. After a few minutes of painstaking silence interrupted only by the uneven rhythm of clumsy footfalls, Kinich decides to take your hand to steady you.

He tells himself he’s doing it to ensure you don’t scare away his next meal — that he doesn’t want you to mess up and feel guilty. However, behind his icy demeanour woven from years of hardship lies a small part of him that secretly enjoys the feeling of your fingers intertwined with his, the warmth of his palms mingling with yours.

Meticulously, Kinich leads you to a towering bush, its fragile emerald leaves dense enough to conceal an entire person. Its branches sprout out in piercing patterns of disorderly pandemonium, reflecting the true ruggedness of nature in its visage.

“Hide here, and don’t make a noise until I get back,” he whispers, his soft breath tickling the shell of your ear. Your proximity nearly causes shivers to run down Kinich’s spine, but years of practice have taught him to effortlessly conceal all his sentiments. “Watch closely.”

With those parting words, Kinich makes his way into the foliage, clutching a boar trap within his hand. He scans the ground for an optimal spot to place the contraption, finally settling on an area after around a minute of contemplation. As soon as he sets the device down, he leaves as quickly as he entered the area, gracefully making his way back to you without making so much as a noise.

Huddled behind the bush, the two of you watch in anticipation. Now that Kinich has left, wild boars have begun to make their ways out into the open, blissfully grazing, unaware of the peril that lies before them. An unsuspecting boar inches closer and closer to the trap, and Kinich’s breath hitches in anticipation, waiting for it to foolishly take the bait.

However, just as the boar begins to sniff the food laid within cold metallic jaws, you lean forward to get a better look. Kinich doesn’t react fast enough to stop you. Your movement is slight, yet it causes a large disturbance. The leaves of the bush you’re hidden behind rustle, and the boar looks up, its idyllic haze seemingly perturbed.

Without a moment’s hesitation, it turns tail and runs, conveniently kicking fallen debris into the mouth of the trap, snapping it closed with a sharp click. The other wildlife in the area take off as well. A rush of polychromatic wings create shadows overhead as birds fly away, leaving only tufts of delicate feathers behind. Their dissonant cries echo in an ominous ode of precaution, alerting any other living beings in the area that there is danger lurking nearby.

So much for hunting.

Kinich sighs. Looks like it’ll be another few days before he’ll be able to get his hands on some meat. He just lost out on a sizable sum of mora. Now he’ll have to spend more on keeping himself fed over the next few days, he won’t have anything of worth to sell for extra money — and all that goes without even considering the time and resources he just wasted.

“Kinich, I’m so so sorry,” you start, shrinking back a little as your gaze meets his — an unreadable galaxy of jade and peridot, accentuated by intricate borders of copper and gold.

His heart clenches when he realizes that the look you’re regarding him with is one of fear and uncertainty. He doesn’t want you to feel that way, so with an uncharacteristic haste, he reaches out to pat your shoulder.

“No need to apologize,” Kinich reassures you, his words and tone soothing like a marine zephyr on a scorching summer day. “You were just curious.”

Kinich knows he has every right to be angry, but overreacting and directing his rage towards another person is the last thing he’d want to do. He knows better than anyone else the damage of misplaced blame and unwarranted rage.

He knows that normally under such circumstances, it would be most appropriate to calmly ask the other party to pay a sufficient price, but since it’s you, Kinich thinks he can let you off the hook. Just this once.

Mentally, he notes never to take you hunting again.

ACT V.

The flow of time is paradoxical, morphing and bending as seasons change and circumstances shift. In Kinich’s case, the former years of his life seemed to drag on, each harrowing second stretching into eons and millenia, but recently, he has begun to resent the evanescent essence of his days.

It feels like just yesterday, he was that fearful seven-year-old, all alone in the world without a soul to offer him solace. Now he’s sixteen — a little older and a lot wiser. Although the hardships he’s faced have been far from delightful, Kinich has had you by his side throughout it all.

The situation is no different in the present. Another hard day of labour passes as usual, and after hours upon hours of exerting yourselves under the blazing radiance of the sun, Kinich is ready to walk you home with a bag of today’s spoils.

However, as the two of you prepare for the journey ahead, ashen clouds begin to roll in, overtaking the pristine azure that once painted the sky. The light overhead starts to die out, fading at an agonizing swift pace. Although Kinich has safely escorted you home during minor storms before, he has a feeling today will be different. Something about the petrichor that floods his senses feels like a premonition, a warning of disasters to come, and the atmosphere is electrifying.

“We’d better get going if we want to make it before it starts pouring,” you chuckle lightheartedly, seemingly unperturbed. You only begin to look concerned when Kinich doesn’t respond, his mind clouded with a daze of rumination. Upon seeing your features morph into an expression of concern, Kinich finally snaps out of his trance.

“You should stay the night instead.” The confused look you shoot his way causes a wave of awkwardness to wash over the ambience, yet Kinich continues to elaborate. “I have a bad feeling about the incoming storm. It feels different.”

“I wouldn’t want to burden you though,” you protest. “If we leave quickly, everything will probably be okay.”

Kinich shakes his head.

“You’re not a burden at all,” he whispers. “You’ve spent your precious time helping me. The least I could do is ensure your safety and offer my home as a refuge.”

Despite Kinich’s reassurances, you continue to refute his statements.

“But I really don’t think staying over is necessary. If you’re worried about walking back alone in a storm, you don’t need to accompany me. I’ll be okay. Promise.”

You turn away from Kinich, ready to set off. A rush of panic sends daggers of serrated trepidation to his soul. It’s unlike Kinich to lose his cool, and although he maintains a serene facade, the unsettling feeling that has been permeating his senses this entire time begins bubbling to the surface, each potential tragedy rushing through his mind in a frenzied series of what-ifs.

Without thinking, Kinich catches your wrist in his fingers, maintaining a loose grip.

“Don’t go,” he utters. He despises the vulnerability that laces his tone, but he’s more desperate than ever.

Kinich has already lost both his parents. The mere notion of losing you too is unbearable. If the storm really ends up being as intense as he predicts, he knows that muddy cliffsides, discombobulating spirals of sharp crystalline raindrops, and blinding flashes of lightning will all make for an incredibly disadvantageous situation. For a brief second, his mind flashes back to the way his father had passed, but he swiftly represses those thoughts, pushing them back into a seldom-visited corner of his mind.

When Kinich’s gaze meets yours, your expression softens. He can feel your resolve fading.

“Alright, fine,” you sigh. “You’re lucky my family has full confidence in your ability to protect me, otherwise they’d go ballistic if I didn’t come home.”

Just as you finally agree to Kinich’s proposition, the sensation of frosted drops of water prickles at his skin. The storm has begun. With haste, he pulls you indoors, quickly shutting the door to keep all the unwanted rain out.

The two of you wait it out, speaking leisurely as if nature isn’t erupting into chaos all around you. When you’re together, it feels like nothing else exists. Without a clear view of the sun in the sky, Kinich is unsure of how much time passes, but after a while, he notices that a haze of exhaustion begins to elicit yawns from you.

“Tired? You should get some sleep,” Kinich hums nonchalantly. The ambience feels tranquil, and despite the peril just outside the walls of his home, Kinich feels at ease.

You move to lie down on a dilapidated couch in the middle of the cramped living room, but Kinich immediately protests. He knows you’ll inevitably start to feel cold or uncomfortable, and that’s the last thing he wants you to experience as an honoured guest within his abode.

“Don’t sleep out here. You’ll freeze.”

Kinich takes your hand, and you allow him to pull you up. He leads you to another room — his room. For the most part, it’s barren, but Kinich watches as your eyes land on a small collection of items sitting atop an aged drawer beside his bed. Memorabilia from your various years together line the edges of dull wood — birthday gifts, trinkets that reminded you of him, and short notes of appreciation. He watches as a subtle grin etches itself into your features as embarrassment and admiration wash over him.

“You kept all this?” Slight surprise lines your tone as you pose your rhetorical question.

Kinich nods, unsure of how to elaborate. Even he’s not completely sure as to why he stores all the keepsakes you’ve ever presented him so meticulously. All he knows is that they’re important to him. You’re important to him.

“That’s sweet,” you mumble, leaning over to examine everything more closely. Your eyes linger on each object, memories flashing in their depths.

Kinich feels his heart flutter.

You spend a few minutes poring over the items and recollections of the past before finally retiring to bed. Kinich watches as you pull the covers over yourself, and he ensures you’re comfortable before turning to leave.

This time, however, it’s your turn to encircle your fingers around his arm, prompting him to stay.

“Where are you going?” you inquire, gazing up at Kinich curiously.

“Back to the living room,” he replies, gently twisting his wrist, loosening your grip.

“You said it was cold though.”

Kinich shrugs. “I don’t mind as long as you’re comfortable.”

“What if I think I’d be more comfortable with you by my side?”

Kinich tenses, and for a second, his brain malfunctions, barely processing the intent of your words. He comes to the realization that he’s not opposed to the idea. Besides, it was logical; it would help the two of you stay warm for the night.

“As long as you’re happy,” he mumbles, looking anywhere but into your eyes. Slowly, he begins to climb into bed beside you, cramming his limbs to one side in order to ensure you have enough personal space. Kinich feels unusually tense, and his heartbeat starts to spike in a melody of frantic sentiments as he begins to sense your body heat radiating from the other side of the bed.

Although Kinich tries to calm himself, it’s to no avail, especially when you shift over slightly, entangling your fingers with his. Your eyes flutter shut, and sleep pulls you under, lulling you into a whimsical land of nonsensical wonders. As frantic as the contact makes Kinich feel, he can’t bring himself to pry his hand from your grasp. The feeling of your fingers laced together is not an unpleasant sensation.

So with his hand in yours, Kinich falls asleep, and for the first night in his life, he experiences a truly restful slumber. His last thought before the tides of exhaustion drag him off to an ocean of reverie is how despite his unusual nerves, he wouldn’t mind doing this again.

And when Kinich comes to the next morning, he’s met with the most ethereal sight of his life. Early morning light blooms through the windows, tinting every corner of the room an aureate shade. The brilliance of the sun is utopia compared to the tumultuous conditions of last night, and as Kinich looks over at you, he notices the peace and content instilled within every dip and curve of your face.

You’re angelic, and the feeling of you by his side is just so right.

When Kinich comes to terms with the fact that he wants to wake up to the sight of your soft smile every single day, he finally realizes the true significance of the emotions he’s harboured towards you for years.

He’s in love.

ACT VI.

It isn’t often that you go to the market without Kinich by your side. The two of you are more or less a package deal, so when you show up alone, equipped with a small pouch of mora and without your most trusted companion, you immediately notice the whispers that follow.

“Do you think something happened to Kinich?”

“Maybe he got offered a commission that he deemed more worthy of his time.”

“Are you kidding me? Nothing is more important to Kinich than [name] — not even mora!”

The speculations range from reasonable to absolutely implausible, and in all honesty, you have no idea what Kinich is doing at the moment. All you can do is tune everything out and focus on your objective: finding a suitable friendship anniversary gift for Kinich.

Ever since Kinich became a saurian hunter and started taking commissions, you’ve been spending less and less time together. However, he’s always accompanied you to the market, helping you weigh each cost with the utmost precision. Although you’re rarely thrilled by the fact that he’s busier with his own affairs now, today is one of the few times where it works to your advantage. You want to surprise him with something special, and the absence of his presence will ensure that nothing is spoiled before the right time comes.

As you browse the goods sold by an elderly vendor, you feel a tug on the hem of your clothing. Upon looking down, you find yourself greeted by two familiar faces — Huni and Toba.

“Hey, little ones,” you say, grinning at the two children gazing at you with wide eyes. “Is something the matter?”

Huni nods furiously, Toba mimicking her actions just seconds later. You stifle a giggle. In a way, the two remind you of you and Kinich when you were younger — virtually conjoined.

“We were wondering if Kinich was okay,” Toba responds, nervously clasping his hands together.

“Ah,” you breathe out, finding yourself faced with expectant stares from all around. You can tell that prying eyes and ears have been trained on you, eager for any semblance of gossip. “Why does everyone seem to think something’s up with Kinich today?”

“Isn’t it obvious?” Huni giggles, barely able to conceal her glee. “Everyone knows he follows you everywhere because the two of you are together.”

Toba nudges Huni lightly, his gaze becoming the slightest bit pointed as he reprimands her in a hushed tone. “Huni! You weren’t supposed to say that.”

You pause for a few seconds, thinking over the implications of Huni’s statement. Surely you misheard. Surely you’re just misinterpreting the girl’s words. Surely no one actually thinks you and Kinich are a couple, right?

“Excuse me, what?” you blurt out. No other words come to mind at the moment, as you’re too shocked to muster any coherent thought. “Kinich and I are what?”

“Together,” Huni states simply. “A couple. Totally head-over-heels for each other.”

A frown clouds your features as your muscles tense. You and Kinich are nothing more than friends, and although you’re extremely close — nearly abnormally so — you’ve never even discussed the possibility of being anything more. Why does everyone around you suddenly seem to think you’re in love?

Perhaps your confusion is evident because Huni continues to elaborate in excruciating detail.

“You should see the way he looks at you when he thinks no one is watching — it’s like his eyes fill with the light of a thousand stars. Oh, he also always asks the shopkeepers if anything’s caught your eye recently whenever you’re distracted, and…”

You tune out Huni’s tangent about you and Kinich, the thoughts in your mind coming to a halt temporarily to protect yourself from the onslaught of confounding claims being made. It feels like complete blankness engulfs your mind as you remain frozen in place, each fleeting moment feeling more comparable to an eternity. The more you dwell on Huni’s assumption, the more you realize you don’t mind envisioning yourself with Kinich.

You’re only pulled out of your mental retreat when a familiar voice rings out through the discord of marketplace conversations.

“[Name],” Kinich greets you. “I wasn’t expecting to see you here today.”

To your relief, Toba drags Huni off as Kinich approaches, frantically trying to ensure that she doesn’t say anything more in front of the saurian hunter himself. You feel a sense of momentary relief, but now that Kinich is here, what are you going to do about his present?

“Yeah, I had some free time today and wanted to check out some of the new goods. It’s been about a week since I’ve come by.”

Unsurprisingly Kinich doesn’t look convinced. Doubt swirls in a faint starlight glimmer within irises of fern and honeyed sunbeams. He knows you like the back of his own hand.

“What’s really going on?” he asks, a hint of concern entangled in his tone. He watches you intently, awaiting your answer. His eyes narrow ever-so-slightly.

Busted. Although you would have much preferred keeping your gift to Kinich a surprise, you figure it’s still better to ensure he doesn’t worry that you’ve been roped into doing suspicious business. You know from experience that Kinich tends to take drastic measures when he thinks you’re in danger, and you’d rather not have him go to such lengths over nothing.

“You know how our friendship anniversary is coming up?” you explain.

A look of realization flashes across Kinich’s features. Before he can speak, a grating voice that you’ve been hearing more often in recent times interrupts.

“So my lowly servant and his pesky idiot of a companion had the same idea,” Ajaw cackles, appearing from behind Kinich. You try your best to stifle an exasperated groan. “Maybe you really are meant to be — after all, you share one collective brain cell!”

You glare at Ajaw, and Kinich sighs, nonchalantly raising an arm to send Ajaw off to solitary confinement.

“Sorry about that. Ajaw’s been acting up more than usual since the last time I put him in timeout,” Kinich says.

You chuckle before a realization suddenly hits you.

“Wait, Ajaw said you were here for the same reason as me,” you speak hesitantly. “Were you getting me a gift too?” The way Kinich averts his gaze as you ask your question nearly elicits more giggles from you.

“Looks like we caught each other at the worst time,” Kinich sighs.

You nod in agreement, and although you’re slightly disappointed you couldn’t have kept your secret mission inconspicuous, you find the corners of your lips turning up in a smile. There’s a strange sort of comfortable humour in the situation that you only experience around Kinich.

“Since we’re both here anyway, we might as well go shopping together,” you hum, taking Kinich’s hand and dragging him off. Maybe people will stop bothering you now that Kinich is by your side again.

You wander with Kinich, gaze flitting over various items on display. However, despite all your searching, nothing quite piques your interests. It’s not until rose and clematis scatter themselves across the sky in a brilliant display of mosaic-esque shards that something finally catches your eye.

On a small table tucked within an obscure corner of the marketplace sits two matching bracelets, delicate stars engraved into opulent charms hanging from each one. The woven threads of each accessory look intricately-crafted to the point where even the finer details appear flawless.

They’re beautiful, but more importantly, they remind you of that night more than a decade ago where Kinich had wished upon a star for the first time in years. They remind you of the night where Kinich found hope once more. That’s what seals the deal for you.

“Excuse me, Ms. Vendor. I’ll take the two bracelets.”

ACT VII.

No one takes death seriously until it comes knocking at their door.

Kinich comes to the realization as he trembles on the battlefield of the Night Warden Wars, his bones aching and his joints ready to give up on him. He’s exhausted, and all he wants to do is close his eyes and allow the frigid touch of death to kiss away the last remnants of warmth from his soul. However, relenting would mean admitting defeat.

Relenting would mean never seeing you again.

(And that’s the last thing he wants.)

Everyone lives as if their time is unlimited — as if tomorrow is guaranteed to come. Humans tend to assume the future is a never-ending tale, a novel with no finale, so they continuously delay, waiting and waiting and waiting because they believe they still have many years ahead of them to wrap up their affairs.

Kinich realizes all too late that he has been ensnared within the same folly. As he remains slumped on the ground, clutching at his bleeding chest, a sense of deep regret washes over him.

He never got to tell you that he loved you.

Even after all these years, Kinich has never been able to bring himself to utter those words — not even once — and now, he’ll pay the price for his hesitation. A small part of him has always been too cowardly to cross the line from friendship into the uncharted territory of something more.

Kinich hardly knows much pertaining to love, but from what little he’s seen in his former years of life, he knows it’s a double-edged sword — a smoldering flame of passion that burns with unparalleled brilliance. But when a roaring blaze grows too intense, it consumes all, leaving nothing but ashes and tears.

His parents had been in love at some point. Kinich recalls the times where his father would embrace his mother after handing her a breathtaking bouquet of flowers, his lips brushing across her bruised cheek with a rare sweetness. In those moments, Kinich’s father would whisper words of affirmation to his mother — promises and saccharine reassurances that would always remain unfulfilled.

Yet more often than not, their “love” consisted of domestic quarrels, the shattering of glassware against the walls of a derelict house or the slap of a hand across blemished skin. Love had destroyed them, and Kinich’s worst fear is the thought of your relationship falling apart.

So he’s maintained an ample distance throughout the years, keeping you at arm’s length to ensure nothing goes wrong. He’s always been by your side, close enough to share embers of his love yet not close enough to burn you, and now his caution is returning to haunt him.

Kinich is going to die before he has the chance to confess his true feelings.

As much as he wills himself to stay conscious, his eyelids begin to grow heavy, threatening to flutter shut for the last time. The sweet sensation of death threatens to lull Kinich into an eternal slumber, luring him in with a deceptively-tantalizing siren song, filled with promises of peace and an end to his suffering. A sense of fear grips Kinich as his life begins slipping away. He’s not ready to die. There’s so much he still wants to experience with you.

A million thoughts race through his mind before his imminent demise.

He thinks of Ajaw, who would be free to catalyze the implosion of the seven nations without Kinich around. As cruel as fate has been to him, Kinich doesn’t want the world to burn.

He thinks of his comrades — fallen warriors who had fought valiantly until they no longer had the strength to go on. They deserve to be revered and honoured, not lost to the sands of time.

And he thinks of you. His everything.

The weight of the star bracelet you had gifted him starts feeling a lot heavier. When you purchased it, you had told him it brought back recollections from one of the best days of your life, adding that you hoped you’d make many more precious memories in the future.

Kinich can’t let you down now.

A wish flickers to life within the depths of his soul, desperately manifesting in shades of emerald and rich forest green. Resplendent viridescent tourmaline glints by his chest where there had once been a gaping wound, fueling Kinich with revived vigor. Kinich feels rejuvenated, and with his newfound strength, he stands, preparing to face another onslaught of abyssal attacks.

This time he’s ready, and he’ll stop at nothing until he purges every last enemy.

Kinich is determined to fight — for Natlan, for his comrades, and most importantly, for you.

ACT VIII.

When a hero returns from war, they are typically met with the relieved faces of their loved ones and an outpouring of affection. However, Kinich finds that neither of these things welcome him upon his arrival home. Instead, he is greeted by the sight of an exasperated frown on your face and vitreous tears welling up in the corners of your eyes.

“You’re so stupid! Stupid, stupid, stupid, stupid, stupid! I can’t believe you almost got yourself killed!” You continue to ramble on, your words amalgamating in a panicked jumble of incoherence as Kinich wraps an arm around your waist, pulling you in for a warm embrace. Ever since Kinich told you what happened during the Night Warden Wars, you’ve been distraught.

To his relief, he feels the tension within your body dissipate as the proximity between the two of you gradually dwindles. With your face finally hidden from view, you allow your teardrops to flow freely down your cheeks in bittersweet rivulets; Kinich can tell from the way his clothing seems to dampen. Absent-mindedly, Kinich traces circles on your back, calmly running through cycles upon cycles to ground you.

“Sorry,” is all Kinich can muster, his throat feeling parched under the scrutiny of your glare as you pull away to shoot him a nasty look. There’s so much more he wants to say to you, but he can’t find the strength to put any of it into words. “I didn’t mean to worry you.”

You scoff, your tone nearly sardonic in nature, yet beneath it all, Kinich can sense how much you missed him —- how terrified you were that you would never see him again.

“Is that all you have to say?” you ask. “You nearly died, Kinich. I nearly lost you.”

The lines of your facial features, once creased in irritation, soften, giving way to vulnerability.

“I know,” he sighs, shivering as resignation chills him to the bone. He hates the fact that you’re right. Kinich reaches out to caress your cheek, gently wiping a tear in the process. “I’m still here though.”

“That doesn’t guarantee the same thing won’t happen in the future,” you choke out between hushed sobs. “What if next time you actually…”

Before you can go on, Kinich presses a finger to your lips, effectively silencing you. For a few seconds, he simply allows you to lose yourself within the comfort of his arms. He needs you to process the fact that he’s tangible, breathing, alive, before he says anything more. Kinich waits for your ragged gasps to even out before speaking.

“Do you trust me?” he asks, moving a hand to lace your fingers together.

You nod furiously, eyeing Kinich suspiciously through your sorrowful display of emotions.

“Then believe me when I say I’ll always return to you,” Kinich whispers softly.

Moments go by before you hesitantly respond.

“Fine.”

Kinich isn’t one to break promises. Ending a contract unceremoniously leads to mounting costs and debt, so he tends to avoid obliging to tasks he considers impossible. Perhaps that’s why you relent so easily. You know Kinich would never go back on his word — especially not if it has anything to do with you.

“I’m still expecting you to make it up to me though. I was unbelievably worried.”

“Sure thing,” Kinich replies, his voice breezy and nonchalant once more.

Just let me hold you for a little while longer first.

ACT IX.

Adrenaline courses through Kinich’s veins, fueling him with an urgent sort of determination. He races the wind, desperately trying to transcend nature itself. He’s always been quick, but right now, he’s not sure he’ll be quick enough.

You could be in danger.

If Kinich had known that there had been a surge in abyssal activity within the territory of the People of the Springs, he would have never let you accompany Mualani and the Traveler on their excursion; he wouldn’t have sent Ajaw away on a special mission in the dead of night in an attempt to seek some peace and quiet either. However, Kinich only found out a mere hour ago, and now he’s scrambling to reach you without the aid of his flying companion.

Kinich knows very well that he could arrive just to find that nothing serious is going on, but the thought of not being by your side to protect you in the case that something actually does happen glazes his soul over into a thousand fractals of crystalline fear.

That’s why he runs with as much haste as he can muster, guided by gilded lights reflected in untamed waters, their glow casting a luminous sheen across the wavering ocean surface. As Kinich draws closer, he senses a feeling of foreboding in the air, charging his surroundings with the essence of an ominous premonition.

And then he hears it — an ear-shattering scream.

No matter how much Kinich’s legs scream for respite, he rushes on. With every step, his pace only accelerates. The sole thought on his mind is getting to you in time.

When he finally reaches the village, pandemonium is the first thing to make his acquaintance. Warriors from the tribe fiercely attempt to fend off the incoming assault on their homeland, parrying the attacks of each monstrous entity with precision developed throughout years of rigorous training. Kinich knows they’re skilled at fighting. He trusts them, so instead of delaying, he rushes to more secluded corners of the town, fending off any monsters lurking around the outskirts in the hopes that he’ll run into you on the way.

He swings his claymore as if it's instinct, warding off all peril as he desperately searches the din of discombobulating havoc for any sign of you. His first potential lead comes in the form of a cerulean blur, followed closely by a flash of gold — two of Kinich’s few friends. Before Kinich can call their names, they’re already out of earshot. However, as he turns away to continue his search, a small fairy-esque creature barrels into him, swaying slightly as a ferocious gale attempts to send her flying into disarray.

Kinich reacts quickly, his body working faster than his brain. With ease, he snatches the entity from the sky, effectively pulling her out of harm’s way.

“Hello, Paimon,” Kinich says, fighting to keep his tone neutral. With great difficulty, he suppresses all the anxiety, facing Paimon without betraying so much as a hint of emotion. Truthfully, he’s a wreck on the inside.

“Kinich!” Paimon exclaims, her high-pitched voice cutting through the cacophony of noise ringing out in the turbulent night. “What are you doing here?”

“Looking for [name]. Have you seen them around?”

Kinich doesn’t realize he’s holding in his breath until he hears Paimon’s response. A small gasp slips past his lips.

“Um, last Paimon heard, they were heading to the east part of the village. There were some kids playing there earlier without supervision.”

Of course. Kinich should have known you were off helping others. You had always been willing to lend a hand to those in need, even when you first met Kinich. It was one of your many traits that charmed him all those years ago.

“Thank you, Paimon,” Kinich says, trying his best to keep a building sense of dread at bay. “You should catch up with the Traveler now.”

“See you soon, Kinich,” Paimon chirps before zipping away.

Now that he’s alone, Kinich finally allows the panic to set in. With even more fervour than before, he speeds off in your direction, grasping at various ledges with his grappling hook to move quicker. Kinich is all but weightless, akin to a delicate feather drifting through the breeze. However, it’s still not enough.

You’re cornered and alone when he finally spots you, backed to a wall as two beastly hounds eye you hungrily, sparks of violet electricity igniting in their irises. Just as Kinich figures that the kids have been brought to safety, one of the creatures lets out a guttural roar, a horrific sound unlike anything from this world. You cower in response. Time seems to slow as Kinich watches the abomination extend its claws, ready to rip into you without mercy.

Before he can spare another thought, Kinich’s body reacts. He flings himself through the air, landing precariously fast and skidding along the grass. As he starts slowing to a stop in front of you, he swings his claymore, countering the abyssal wolf’s attack.

Kinich shields you. No matter how perilous the situation becomes, he knows he will need to remain steadfast and resolute.

As the dust settles, you finally catch a glimpse of Kinich. He hears you call his name, feels your hand brush against his shoulder, and senses you shuffling next to him.

However, danger still lurks before you, so with one hand, Kinich lightly shoves you back, taking caution to ensure you won’t end up injured.

“Let me handle this,” he says, extending an arm to prevent you from taking another step forward. He changes his stance and faces the hounds head-on.

The monsters prepare to attack again, and Kinich takes it as a sign to charge forth, swinging his claymore with as much force as he can manage. Although the beasts are fearsome, Kinich lands blow after blow, gradually weakening them with each hit. The only thing on his mind right now is his desire to protect — to save you like you saved him all those years ago.

Kinich allows his instincts to take over, relying on the battle experience he’s accumulated to guide him through the abyssal skirmish. Suddenly he feels as though he’s back in the Night Warden Wars, fighting with all his heart to ensure he’d see you again. His resolve steels, and with one final strike of his weapon, he dispels all danger, banishing the hounds before him to the precarious realm from whence they came.

As soon as Kinich has ensured that the situation has settled, he turns back to inquire about your wellbeing. However, before a single word can slip past his lips, you run up to him and collapse in his arms, trembling like a leaf within a harrowing autumn squall.

“You’re safe now,” he whispers, his breath tickling your ear. Kinich holds you tighter, his grip so secure that even death wouldn’t be able to pry you from his grasp. “I’ve got you.”

“I was so scared… that I’d never see you again,” you gasp between shaky breaths, your panic slowly beginning to dissipate.

Kinich feels a lump in his throat and a pang in his chest. He knows better than anyone how you must have felt, what you were thinking as you lived out what you thought were your last moments. He was in your exact situation once, and all he can recall is his final plea to Celestia — his wish to return home to the welcoming sight of your radiant visage at least once more.

“I couldn’t die before I told you that,” you hesitate, your words catching in your throat, “before I told you that I loved you.”

Kinich’s breath hitches. His body freezes, and his surroundings become all but null. Maybe you really are telepathically linked because that had been his exact thought as he felt his life ebbing away during the Night Warden Wars, ascending to a divine plane in chapters of fragile mortality.

“You love me?” Kinich breathes out. In the mayhem, all is momentarily forgotten as blissful euphoria overtakes his heart, sending zephyrs of rose-tinted elation through his mind. After an eternity of waiting, Kinich finally realizes his feelings are reciprocated. “I love you too.”

The look on your face softens as sensibility and coherency begin to overtake you once more, but before you can return Kinich’s affections, dissonant screams and crashes shatter your transient utopia.

Right. You’re still in the midst of chaos.

“Do you know where the Traveler and Mualani were headed?” Kinich questions you urgently, recoiling slightly as he ruins the moment. He hates the fact that he’ll have to push aside the implications of your confession for now, but at the moment, people’s lives are still in danger.

You nod vigorously.

“I’ll take you over to them and then head back to the village to assist in resolving the crisis. We can talk more tonight.”

ACT X.

The festivities of the People of the Springs stretch well past midnight that evening, celebrating the triumph of their heroes and the recovery of the esteemed warrior Atea. Lively melodies ring out in the refreshing night air, filling the evening with songs of invigorating joy and glorious victory. Even from atop a cliff overlooking everything, the warm atmosphere still engulfs you. Although you had stayed for the commencement of the party, you and Kinich eventually decided to retire to a slightly more secluded area to pick up your conversation from earlier.

“So,” you start, your nerves beginning to flare up in a culmination of resplendent flames, “where do we start?” Subconsciously, you begin to toy with your fingers, and you don’t notice until Kinich stops you, taking your hand in his.

“Well first things first, we know we love each other,” he states, looking into your eyes. Ardor dances within his gaze, making itself at home between brilliant murals of malachite and topaz. The way moonlight catches in his irises, illuminating his features with a certain softness, makes your heart melt.

Now that Kinich no longer has to hold back, his immense love for you becomes tremendously apparent. As he traces circles into the back of your hand with his thumb, you realize that even the silences are adorned with gentle reminders of his feelings for you.

“It seems so obvious now,” you laugh lightly. “I wonder why we didn’t end up confessing sooner.”

Kinich hums nonchalantly, averting his eyes for just a second before turning back to you.

“Would you believe me if I told you that I was scared?” Kinich asks.

Amusement graces his features as you shake your head. Nowadays, Kinich is usually so calm — so composed — never allowing his demeanour to betray even the slightest hint of distress. From hunting saurians to extreme sports to tolerating Ajaw’s creative threats all the time, Kinich has endured everything with a brave face, but now you’re starting to realize that perhaps he isn’t quite as fearless as he appears.

“What were you scared of?” you inquire, tilting your head slightly to examine Kinich.

A pause ensues as Kinich mulls over his response, mentally preparing himself to pour out his heart. He’s not used to it, but he’s ready to start trying for you.

“Ruining the best thing life has ever given me,” he whispers. “You know you’re everything to me, right?”

You’re breathless as you stare at Kinich. The pure emotion behind his words is enough to widen your grin. Your heart feels like it’s ready to pulse out of your chest, speeding up in a grand accelerando and growing louder in a magnificent crescendo.

Everything is perfect.

Everything is as it should be when you’re with him.

This is your flawless elysium.

“May I?” You cup Kinich’s face with one hand, leaning towards him. Your gaze falls on his lips, and you hear him breath in softly.

Kinich nods, reciprocating your actions as he bridges the gap between you.

Time seems to slow as your lips meet in an incandescent flash of effulgent sparks. The night gleams in shades of starlight and utopia, illuminating the moment with a brilliance that encapsulates nothing less than pure love. Perhaps your souls have been intertwined since the beginning, or perhaps destiny pulled some strings to bring the two of you together, but you’re absolutely certain that from this moment on, you would only part in death.

As you pull away from Kinich, a strange smile adorns his features. Before you can question him, he speaks.

“I finally repaid you,” he says, “after all this time.”

You laugh. He’s still worrying about that?

“Thank you, love, but it doesn’t matter to me anymore,” you respond. A part of you finds it endearing that he’s still trying to make things even after your countless seasons together, yet you feel obligated to reassure him he never has to reimburse you again.

Kinich gazes at you inquisitively.

“There’s no debt between lovers, silly — only pure adoration and happiness.”

FIN. tysm for taking the time to read this fic <3

#r.archives *ೃ༄#kinich x reader #kinich x you #genshin impact x reader #genshin x reader #genshin imagines #genshin headcanons #genshin impact #genshin #genshin fanfic #genshin kinich

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with-my-calamitous-love · 8 months ago

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burnt toast, sunday / i wanna teach you how forever feels

katsuki bakugou x reader

the morning after a fight with katsuki. for the yail series ❄️

inspired by all of the girls you loved before

bakugou sat up, groaning a bit as his back ached. he looks around, hit with his surroundings. he slept on the couch, in the midst of the living room torn apart from arguing.

he knew you were probably still pissed at him. worst of all, he couldn't even fully recall why you two had been arguing the night before. he only remembered that it was really, really bad, and you had ended up locking him out of the bedroom. just the thought of not sleeping next to you hurt blonde’s chest.

he lets out a sigh as he got up from the couch and headed to the kitchen to make coffee. when he sits up, he sees you walk in.

he cringes slightly, seeing your puffy red eyes. you had been crying all night, probably.

“…hey.” you say, softly.

he grunts in response, his words unable to reach his throat.

its a sunday, a quiet morning to contrast a loud, abrasive saturday night. the two of you resolve to make coffee silently, only speaking when you need a spoon he’s standing next to or when he needs you to move so he can grab the sugar.

the silence felt incredibly awkward. the two of you just stood there, quietly making your own cups of coffee. the only noise in the room was the sound of the coffeemaker brewing. bakugou’s thoughts were a mess. he couldn’t believe the two of you had gotten in such a big fight, and he wasn't even entirely sure why it happened. but he knew he was probably at fault, he was the one with the explosive personality after all.

he curses at himself quietly when he realizes he grabbed two pieces of bread. he does that normally- one for you, and one for him. but right now, you’re pissed at each other. he’s a little worried that making two pieces of toast will be seen as a violent act of aggression.

he moves to grab plates, too absent minded to notice that the toast is now burning. you take it out for him. thats when he noticed you’re still wearing his shirt, even though you’re mad.

he picks up his phone and scrolls, trying to distract himself. thats when he remembers what the fight was about.

whoever it was that got ahold of katsuki bakugou’s dating history was really obsessed or really, really bored, maybe both. for whatever reason, his fans were now talking about all his previous partners, the good and the bad. and, because you’re dating a celebrity, they just have to question your worthiness to be dating the handsome and strong dynamight.

he feels his anger flare up as he doom-scrolls some more. it pisses him off, thinking about how people would so mindlessly say things. it pisses him off more that its getting to you. don’t you know that he loves you?

he has yet to do anything about it, to address his dating life and who he’s with now. truthfully, katsuki doesn’t feel like he should have to. his pr team already works overtime for his asshole-self, anyway.

he’s so distracted by his own thoughts, he fails to notice the way his elbow knocks over your mug, sending it shattering on the floor. maybe its the silence, but you honestly jump a little when it happens.

both you simply stand there at first, blinking. did he do that on purpose? no, he wouldn’t break his own mugs.

maybe he just wanted your attention.

nonetheless, you wave it off with a soft “its okay” before kneeling down and carefully cleaning up the shards. he’s silent as he gets down in front of you, helping you clean the mess he made.

he wants to tell you its okay, and that he’ll take care of it. he wants to tell you that he’s sorry and that he loves you. but this is the closest he’s physically been to you since the argument, and he wants to relish in it for a moment.

“are you still mad at me?”

he almost flinches when he hears your meek voice. why would he be mad at you?

“..what are you talking about, babe?” he sighs, his voice gruff.

he is mad, but not at you. mostly at himself for not seeing how the recent speculations about him had been bothering you.

“i don’t wanna repeat myself. i just… i don’t know. i know you don’t want me to care about what everyone else is saying, but, i do.” you admit, still on the floor in front of him. at this point, you’ve both forgotten about the coffee and the shards.

he can see how upset you are, and it makes his chest tighten. “yeah, well… i don’t want those shitty extras getting to you. even if what they’re saying is the farthest thing from the damn truth.”

he so desperately wants you to know that he loves you. that when he’s with you, he doesn’t think of all the times he woke up to someone else, feeling alone. he doesn’t think of late night arguments that left him feel empty. when he looks into your eyes, he’s reminded of everything he wants to protect.

but you don’t see that as clearly as he does. “i guess i just… wonder if you agree with them. you never say anything to address those rumours, about your exes. and its not your fault, i get you don’t want to get involved, but, still…”

bakugou’s heart twinges as you bring up those accusations. he hates that you wonder such things, that you wonder if he agrees with those rumours or not. he wants to reassure you that you are the one he loves, the only one he loves. but he knows you wouldn't believe him right now, especially since he's been acting so shitty towards you lately.

“damn it, dumbass, i just want you to know that i love you. not any of those other bitches.”

“i don’t like when you call them that, katsuki.” you correct him. he nods, though both of you should be used to his sailor tongue by now.

“they’re people you’ve loved before… and thats okay. sometimes i just wonder if you love me more. i know its stupid.” you sigh.

he finally gets the courage to hold your hand, his calluses gentle against your skin. “..i feel i shouldn’t have to say it, i guess. in my head, you’re the only damn person in the world who matters.”

“maybe i’m just insecure.” you chuckle, self deprecatingly. you’re both tired of the arguing, now. “you’re #1, you’re gorgeous… and i’m me.”

he looks at you like you’re a complete idiot for that.

he hated hearing you say those things about yourself like it was a bad thing, that you were just you.

“just you? you really think it’s a bad thing to be you, dumbass?”

he pulls you in tighter, wanting you to really hear what he says.

“you’re amazing, you're incredible. there’s no one else I want to be with. I don't want anyone else, just you. you’re way too good for me, [y/n], in more ways i can count.”

“…you really mean that?”

he scoffs, a beautiful smile on his face. “yeah, i mean it. i love you.”

you give him that smile he loves, the one that made him fall so deeply in love with you all those years ago. “thats all you had to say, kats.”

your past and his are parallel lines. he isn’t sure how he got so lucky. how, by some cosmic miracle, the starts aligned so he could intertwine with you. you’re all he needs.

he hugs you deep, burying his face into your neck. he loves how you smell, how smooth your skin is. theres bot much proof, but he sees enough in you. he feels enough when he holds you, his entire world in his arms.

“i’m sorry.” he says, quietly for only you to hear. “you’re everything to me. i’m in love with you.”

your heart swells, ignoring the burnt toast and spilled coffee. you’re wearing his shirt, and he’s keeping his word. thats enough to make you melt, hugging him back, arms thrown around his muscular back. “i’m sorry too. i shouldn’t have doubted you. i love you too.”

he pulls back slightly to kiss you, making sure you’re in front of him and that this is real. for once, he let’s go of all of his fears and his ghosts. you’re his best friend, the love of his life and every beautiful thing he loves. he hears it in the silence, on his way home, and in your voice.

“if anything, i think i’m grateful for everyone you’ve loved before.” you chuckle, face close to his. his blonde eyebrows knit in confusion. “what do you mean, babe?”

“because the people you love make who you are, even if you’ve only loved them for a moment.” you say, squeezing his hand. “all those dead-end streets led you to me.”

he pauses, strange look on his face when he realizes you’re right. all that fake love, the teenage heartbreak and pains he’s been through- it’s made him the man you love. all those breakups, those unsaid goodbyes, they’ve led him hear.

he huffs, and then smiles, pressing his forehead to yours.

“i wouldn’t change a damn thing, then.” he says. “it all led me to you, dumbass.”

you stroke his cheek affectionately, pressing a kiss to his temple. his eyes close when you do that, relaxing into your touch. everyone that he knew brought him hear. and now, he gets to know what forever feels like.

“and in the end, it doesn’t matter who loved you before.” you conclude. “cause i love you more.”

he almost laughs at how cliché it is, resigning to press kisses all over your face. “i love you more, i’m not arguing on that.” he says, holding you in his lap. he’s tough, and explosive, and “too good for all that clingy couple bullshit”. at least, thats what he lets the world believe.

you’re his, and he’s yours. he’s so god damn thankful for everyone you’ve loved before. ‘cause now he gets to love you 10x more.

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inthedarknessofnight · 7 months ago

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Thinking about struggling musician Eddie who makes a living singing and playing guitar in a Metallica tribute band.

Thinking about bartender Steve who thinks tribute bands are the cringiest, most insufferable things to ever exist.

Thinking about Robin, his coworker, who made a bet on the very first day of their new job that Steve would eventually hook up with someone from a tribute band.

And the thing is, he almost makes it. Three years and he’s got a completely clean track record. Well, at least until the night some random Metallica cover band’s frontman has Steve questioning his sanity from the moment he sets foot on stage. Because Steve is mesmerized. By the way his lithe figure moves under the bright stage lights. By the way his fingers slide deftly along the neck of his guitar. By the way his voice permeates the room, filling the air to the point where Steve thinks he must be breathing the music into his lungs. And then, the motherfucker has the audacity to take off shirt his mid-performance, putting on display a well-curated collection of tattoos. Steve feels like an ancient deity has descended from the heavens and decided to play fucking Metallica, on a fucking Tuesday, in the shittiest fucking bar in all of Inianapolis. Well and truly distracted by the action on stage, Steve doesn’t register the glass slipping slowly out of his grasp, until the damn thing has hit the floor and broken into a thousand pieces. When he turns to examine the mess, Robin is already there, broom in hand.

“You might wanna think about closing that mouth, dingus. I don’t think you drooling all over this pristine countertop is good for business,” she says with barely contained laughter, quickly sweeping the shards into the dustpan.

“Yeah, yeah, laugh it up,” he retorts, rolling his eyes, suddenly very aware of just how much he was staring. Instinctively, Steve shakes his hand to drive away the haze, grabs a new glass, and tries his best to focus on the task at hand.

It isn’t until the final number of the evening that Steve’s resolve truly crumbles. He’s all but managed to tune out the goings-on around him, which is why he nearly has a heart attack when he suddenly finds himself face to face with the beam coming straight from the main spotlight.

“Can we- Yes. Perfect. There he is,” says a low voice coming from the very center of the stage, followed by a cacophony of loud cheers.

And… Oh no.

“What the-,” he mutters, a hand flying up to shield his eyes from the blinding light. That’s when he sees him.

“Hey, pretty boy behind the bar. Get me some whiskey up here on this stage, will you?”

And Steve is so so so incredibly fucked.

He stares dumbly for a few seconds. Having seemingly lost any and all ability to think independently, Steve brain shifts into autopilot, causing him to grab the full bottle of Jack sitting on the shelf behind him, stroll towards the stage as if possessed, accompanied by the sound of cheering, which only grows louder with every step he takes. He climbs the steps leading onto the stage. As soon as he reaches the top, he finds himself face to face with…

He’s so close. For a brief moment, Steve wonders if he knew prior to this moment that a person can be this beautiful. They��re chest to chest. The guy is ducking his head to whisper something to Steve, his breath hitting the sensitive spot just below the ear as he does so.

“Thanks, sweetheart,” he says, his like voice smoke, and milk, and honey, and all things Steve wants to breathe in, and drink, and savor. He plucks the bottle from Steve’s hand, ringed fingers grazing his.

He winks at Steve as he takes a few steps backwards, a devilish smile playing on his lips. Then, without breaking eye contact, he tips his head back, opens his mouth, and begins pouring the amber liquid until it spills over he edges, running down his neck and the length of his torso. After what feels like hours to Steve, the guy finally swallows the remnants of the drinking in his mouth, immediately leveling Steve with a dark gaze.

“Now you.”

Positively transfixed, Steve realizes a little too late that he has, in fact, missed his window to flee, and is headed head-first for whatever public humiliation the guy has in store for him. A strong, sure hand grips the back of his neck, long fingers tangling into the hair at the nape, tugging ever so slightly.

“Open.”

It’s not gentle. It’s a thing of lust. A command. Steve feels it in his bones. And he can’t look away. His body is not his own when he gives into the pull of the musician’s hand, his jaw going lax, mouth automatically falling open. The guy brings the bottle up to Steve’s mouth, pouring in a generous amount. Before Steve even gets the chance to swallow the liquid already burning its way down his throat, the bottle is being shoved rougly into his hand, the guy bringing his other hand up once again, only to press the palm under Steve’s chin, forcing his mouth closed. Forcing him to swallow. Steve nearly chokes.

“Good boy,” he says with a wicked grin, before pushing a spluttering, coughing Steve back in the direction of the stairs, causing him to nearly topple off the stage. The guy laughs maniacally into his microphone and the crowd goes wild, the drummer already counting them into the final song.

Still bewildered and absolutely dumbfounded by whatever just happened to him on that stage, Steve chances one last glance in the singer’s direction as he descends the stairs.

This time, however, he isn’t met with a sultry, dark look, or one of the guy’s infamous mischievous grins. Instead, he finds a pair of soft brown eyes staring back at him, and plush pink lips curved into the dopiest, most endearing smile Steve has ever seen.

…

By the end of the night, Steve has found the love of his life and Robin is collecting money from nearly every employee at the bar, sporting a smug, I-told-you-so expression on her face.

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idkwhylou · 23 days ago

Text

𝐈. 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐰𝐨𝐦𝐚𝐧 𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐞𝐞𝐬 𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐧 𝐡𝐞 𝐜𝐥𝐨𝐬𝐞𝐬 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐞𝐲𝐞𝐬

Summary : Torn from your coastal homeland to seal an imperial alliance, in a wedding crafted for power, not love, you vow to fulfill your duty and perhaps find something more. But on your wedding night, you discover a colder truth: Marcus’s body is yours, but his heart is somewhere else. Still, you are determined to prove your worth, to decode his silence, and to uncover the man behind the armor.

Marcus Acacius x f!reader

Warnings : arranged marriage, mentions of politics, smut, cold behavior, age gap ? (not really mentioned or important), infidelity (towards reader), secret relationship, no y/n

Words : 5,8K

A/N : alright first part of the request ! Thanks again @negrita2345 for your excellent idea, hope you'll like it. Kind of anxious bcs I hope it’s good, I mean in the way you imagined it. Anyway if you have a better title, I'll take it lol. Anyway not much of angst but we need to start slow and setting the context

masterlist | next chapter

⋆.⋆༺𖤓༻⋆.⋆

The olive groves whispered like priests in prayers, swaying beneath the salt-heavy breeze that rose from the sea. From your terrace, the horizon gleamed, a stretch of molten silver where sky met water, endless and unreachable. White sails drifted across it like wandering souls: merchants, imperial messengers, galleys bearing soldiers with polished helmets and unseen orders.

But today, the wind carried no peace. It was too quiet. Something had shifted, you could feel it long before anyone spoke it aloud.

The household moved with unnatural quiet, servants murmured behind closed doors and hurried theirs steps as though silence might shield them from whatever was coming. Your father had not touched his breakfast. And you mother—your serene and inscrutable mother—sat rigid at the head of the table, her fingers endlessly smoothing the same fold in her silk robe, over and over, as of the repetition might erase the tremble in her hands.

When a servant found you in the gardens and bowed deeply, announcing with careful reverence that your presence was requested in the atrium, your feet already knew where to carry you. The click of your sandals echoed off sun-warmed stone as you passed under the colonnade. It smelled faintly of crushed herbs and old parchment, your father’s scent, the scent of duty and legacy.

Then you saw them, your father stood as though carved from granite: arms behind his back, posture impeccable, chin lifted with imperial resolve. His face was unreadable, but not empty, no. There was something behind his eyes, calculation, or maybe regret. Your mother was seated beside him, her back stiff but her gaze soft, resting not on you, but the floor.

Two imperial envoys flanked the far pillars. Strangers in gleaming bronze, with helms tucked beneath their arms and scroll slung at their side. Their armor shone like mirrors, catching shards of sunlight that danced across the walls. One of the scrolls had a seal on, a red wax pressed with the mark of an eagle glinted like fresh blood.

Your heart stuttered once in your chest. Not fear, not quite. Just the cold certainty that your life was about to be unmade. You stepped forward, voice calm and practiced. The same voice you would use at your father’s side while translating foreign decrees and entertaining Roman governors at the harvest feasts.

“You summoned me, Father ?”

He did not look at you right away, instead, he dismissed the nearby servants with a flick of his fingers. Only when the last one bowed out the room, did he extend one hand toward the envoy. The scroll was handed over in a heavy silence, consuming a part of your soul.

You watched the wax break under your father’s thumb, a clean sound, like a lock opening. He read aloud, his voice loud and clear, “By order of the Roman Emperor, and with the blessing of the Senate, a marriage is hereby decreed…” He continued, but the words grew distant. Your ears filled with the sound of your own blood.

A marriage ?

You felt the floor tilt slightly under your feet, your stomach tightening as though braced for an all and your head spinning. Your breath snagged in your chest as you looked around for something—your mother’s eyes, the sea, anything steady—but the stone walls began to feel too close.

Still, you did not speak. You took a breath, deep like diving into cold water, and moved to your mother’s side. Her hand reached instinctively for yours, but you remained still.

Your father’s voice dropped in tone, “You have been chosen.”

You had always known this day would eventually come. But you never imagined it would happen like this…. Not so early.

Your knees bent beneath you, and you let yourself fall beside your mother. You looked straight ahead, heart beating heavily, like a drum echoing down a long and empty corridor. You let the silence stretch until you had the strength to speak.

“To whom ?” you dared to ask because not asking would have felt like a surrender.

Your father eyes finally met yours, “General Marcus Acacius,” he read, “a man held in highest favor by the Emperor himself.”

Each word struck with brutal precision. Marcus Acacius. A name carved into the bones of the Empire. You had heard it before, whispered with reverence by soldiers passing through your father’s court. Stories of battlefield valor, of loyalty, of a man more iron than flesh. You had never seen his face, but now his name felt heavier than gold.

Your throat tightened. Rome. You were being sent to Rome. Your lips parted, but no sound emerged. You pressed them together again, holding in the cry that threatened to escape, just a crack in something old and unspoken.

Your mother stood then, as if stirred by some silent storm. “Aretas,” she said, her voice urgent. “The General-”

“-is a man of honor”, your father interrupted sharply, giving her a warning look. “And this is not a request.”

“Aretas,” your mother hissed, stepping toward him, voice sharp with fear and something dangerously close to rage “You would send your own daughter like a sacrifice ? Offering her like some- some tribute to the Gods of war ?!”

Your father turned his head slowly, his jaw clenched tight. “Mind your words.”

“She is too young !” your mother snapped, the tremble in her voice now pushed aside by fury. “She still walks barefoot in the garden. Still sleeps with the shutters open to hear the sea. You promised she would have a say, that there would be time-”

“-I promised,” your father cut in, louder now, “that she would be protected. That she would have a future.”

“She is not livestock to be bargained for land and influence !”

“She is the daughter of this house !” Aretas barked, the echo of his voice crashing against the walls, as one of the envoys shifted uncomfortably, “She bears my name and my blood. And that blood will mean something in Rome. Do you think I have not considered what this will cost her ?” he turned away as if the sight of you was too much. “what it will cost me ?!”

Your mother pressed her fingers to her temple, massaging them as she tries to steady herself. Then she looked at him again, her voice aching. “She was meant to be more than this…” she whispered as a cried escape her throat, “meant to choose who she loved.”

“She was born into a world where we do not get to choose,” your father replied calmer now, but his voice sounded like a man bearing the weight of a boulder no one else could see. “Not you. Not I. And not her.”

Your mother’s voice cracked, “You would give her to a man she has never met.”

“I would give her to a man who commands the loyalty of Rome. A man the Emperor trusts himself.” He glanced at you finally, “A man who will keep her alive and safe.”

“And what of her heart ?! What of her joy ?”

“Mother-” you tried to calm her down.

Your father looked away. “She will learn without it.”

She turned back to you and grasped your hand tightly, and this time, you let her. Her fingers trembled. “You do not have to accept this,” she whispered. “You are not a piece on the board.”

But you were. You had always been. And you knew it.

You rose slowly, gently letting go of her hand, and walked to the terrace again. The sea stretched before you, wide and glittering and full of vanished sails, the scent of salt stung your nose. A warm wind lifted the hem of your gown. You remembered running through those olive trees, chasing shadows between the rows. You remembered laughing, barefoot and free, before anyone asked anything of you.

You closed your eyes and then you nodded. “I will go,” you simply said.

Your mother gasped loudly, like something inside her had crumpled. She turned away, pressing her fingers to her lips.

You stood still, facing the horizon. “I will do my duty,” you whispered.

That was the beginning. The moment the Empire reached across the water and placed its claim upon your life.

⋆.⋆༺𖤓༻⋆.⋆

The marriage was held beneath a sky as blue as tempered steel, Rome’s finest stage set for politics disguised as ceremony. Marble gods stared down from their pedestals, unmoved by the day’s union. Senators stood in rings of gold-threaded togas, murmuring among themselves like old crows. Red petals were scattered over the flagstones, crushed underfoot like drops of blood. Every detail had been carved and calculated with purpose.

Not for love, but for the Empire.

The Forum itself had been cleared, roped off by imperial guard. Lictors lined the periphery, their fasces polished, gleaming in the sun. A choir of flutes and lyres played from the steps of the temple, slow and solemn, not joyful but dignified, like the funeral of your freedom.

And yet, when you looked down the aisle, past the priests and the marble gods, you saw only him. He stood like he had been carved into place by fate, a figure of stoic poise and discipline. He wore the ceremonial breastplate of a General; gold and leather laced over his chest like armor made for myth. A dark crimson cloak draped over one shoulder, clasped with the mark of the Emperor’s seal.

He was taller than you had imagined, broader too. There was a steadiness to him that unnerved you. Not exactly stillness but what seems to be contained power. His face was carved from shadow and sunlight, jaw squared, and eyes the cold color of rain-smoothed stone. A thin scar curved along the left side of his jaw, not disfiguring, but sharp, like a signature. And those eyes, when they finally found yours, held no flicker of joy, no welcome. They were grounded, unreadable—everything but empty.

You had expected indifference, arrogance, perhaps. But what you found was something far more dangerous. Intrigue. He inclined his head in a silent greeting, a soldier’s nod; respectful and impossibly formal. Not a smile, not a spark. But not disdain either. Your breath caught when he looked at you, like a man preparing for a siege. And yet, something in you shifted. Not in fear, not even in disappointment, maybe… fascination ?

Your gown swept the marble behind you; white silk, embroidered with silver and copper threads in the style of your homeland, a small rebellion your mother had insisted on preserving. The veil shimmered behind you like mist, long and soft. At your side, your father walked stiffly, his expressions carved into diplomacy. He held your arm like he held his blade, firmly, not quite gently. Then, he had to leave you, let go of your arm and give you to the stranger you were about to marry. The man that would now take care of you.

The altar was lined with fresh-cut laurel and pomegranate. The priest chanted the sacred rites. Your name, and his, spoken aloud and you did not even know the sound of his voice. Yet, your fingers touched when the rings were passed, and that single brush of skin sent a whisper of something electric up your spine.

His palm was cold. Yours trembled once. He did not look at you, not directly. But you saw his jaw tighten, like he had felt it too, and did not know what to do with all that knowledge. You wondered, absurdly, if he was nervous. The rings were slipped on, and the oaths exchanged, a scribe to the side of the altar wrote everything down on a parchment.

And then, it was done. The General slowly bowed his head to you, like a man offering deference. As if you were a queen or at least something close enough to one. You barely breathed and then, without ceremony he stepped closer and pressed a kiss to the corner of your lips. It was not a kiss of a lover, nor even a husband. It was warm, brief, controlled, a brush of lips against your mouth—soft as breath and gone before your body could register it fully. It felt more like a vow than anything spoken aloud, enough to give the impression of a real kiss to anyone in the room. A promise, you told yourself, or at least, the possibility of one.

When he pulled back, his face remained unreadable, but his eyes lingered just a second longer than necessary. Your pulse caught and something in your chest uncoiled, just slightly.

He offered you his arm and you took it, not because you had to, but because in that moment you wanted to. The applause rose behind you, Rome roaring her approval. The marriage had ended not in intimacy but in spectacle. Trumpets blared, laurel wreaths were raised, a sea of dignitaries, senators, Generals and foreign envoys surged toward the newlyweds like waves crashing. Rome really knew how to honor herself with grandeur.

You followed the General—now your husband—through the ceremony’s afterbirth, your arm still looped lightly around his. His pace faltered, but he did not speak, not a word since the vow. He only nodded to those who saluted him, eyes scanning the crowd like a commander in unfamiliar terrain; polite, present but unreachable.

He escorted you up the steps of the banquet hall, a domed, opulent chamber overflowing with gold-threaded cushions and garlands of flame-colored flowers. Long tables were set with silver bowls of figs and honey-glazed. Musicians played a slow, elegant melody that failed to cover the growing thrum of conversation and political hunger. You were sat beside him on the raised dais. He poured your wine without being asked, a gesture so rehearsed it barely felt real.

“Is everything alright ?” he asked at last. His voice was low and measured, like someone asking after a guest, not their wife.

You looked at him, studying the face everyone in Rome revered; hard lines, eyes like winter stone, no warmth and no cruelty. He had done nothing wrong, but he also had done nothing at all.

“I am fine.”

He gave you a short nod, then returned to scanning the room. You sat in silence for another few minutes, listening to the rustle of silk, the laughter of people who knew how to perform joy. Rome was a chorus of masks, and you had not yet found your own. Suddenly you could not breathe under the weight of it all, the crowd, the wine, the stifling future curling around your throat like incense.

“I need a moment.” You murmured.

The General turned slightly, “Do you want me to come with you ?”

You hesitated when you thought you saw a hint of concern in his eyes, until you realized it was more impatience. As if he was waiting for you to leave in a hurry and that you will not ask him to follow you. His question, actually, was not a question, just an illusion of goodwill. “No. I will manage alone.”

You slipped away down one of the side corridors, grateful no one stopped you. The quiet found you quickly, pressed between the walls and the cool hush of shadow. You exhaled as your footsteps slowed. And then, you saw her. She stood beside a bronze basin, one hand lightly skimming the water’s surface, she had the posture of someone who belonged to every palace she ever entered. The low torchlight painted her in gold and shadow. The gown she wore was violet—not just beautiful, but deliberate. Imperial.

You had never seen her face before, even not during the ceremony, or at least you thought so. There were so many people today, that, you had not even been able to talk to your own mother since the ring around your finger sealed your future. The woman was older than you and impossibly poised, the kind of woman whose presence made others instinctively stand straighter. A circlet of hammered gold rested in her hair.

“Oh,” she said, her lips curling into the beginnings of a smile, a kind expression on her face as she turned to see you. “You needed a moment too ?”

You paused, just outside the doorway, unsure if you were intruding. “Yes,” you said. “The hall is... a storm.”

She gave a quiet laugh. “That is a generous word for it.”

Her voice was soft but assured—a voice trained in courtrooms, or perhaps something even older. She stepped slightly away from the basin and folded her hands loosely before her. “I watched you, during the ceremony,” she continued gently. “You carried yourself well. I remember my own wedding…my knees would not stop shaking.” She adds with a chuckle. There was no bitterness in her tone. Only memory.

“Thank you,” you said, your voice more honest than you had expected. “I had no training in how to marry a stranger.”

She tilted her head. “No one has. Not really.”

There was a quiet, companionable moment. And in it, something settled. Her gaze on you, curious, thoughtful, without a hint of superiority. Just as you began to ask something—anything, out of instinct more than strategy—footsteps clicked at the far end of the corridor. A servant appeared in a rush, breath shallow, eyes darting between you both.

“Domina—” the girl began, before catching herself. “Mar— the banquet awaits your return.”

You turned your head, but not before seeing her expression falter, just for a flicker. Not shame, just the lightning-fast reflex of someone used to secrecy.

Her smile then returned effortlessly. “Of course,” she said, with a nod. “Thank you.”

The servant bowed and backed away quickly. The still unknown woman looked at you again, her voice calm. “It is never truly your night, is it ? Not in Rome. Every moment belongs to someone else.”

You did not know what to say. Her eyes searched yours, not intrusively, but with a strange gentleness. “I hope,” she said softly, “that he will be kind to you.”

And then she turned, leaving you in silence, the scent of myrrh and rose trailing after her like a veil. You stood alone for a long minute, your breath lodged somewhere between your ribs.

⋆.⋆༺𖤓༻⋆.⋆

The villa was quiet now, the revelers long since departed. Torchlight flickered along the walls of your new chambers. Servants had come and gone, laying out fruit, wine, flowers. Silk robed folded neatly, oils on the table and perfumed water in basins in which you had bathed and dried your hair with trembling fingers.

The door closed behind him without a sound. You had been sitting by the window—watching the night spill over the city like ink. The moon hung heavy and indifferent as its rays reflected off your skin, a strange shade of blue—the silk robe clinging to your skin still damp from the bath, the scent of rose oil ghosting over your collarbones. You did not look up at first, you had imagined this moment so many ways that the real thing felt too fragile to meet head-on.

But when you turned, you saw him.

He stood there in the glow of the fire, freshly changed into a dark linen tunic. His formal armor was gone, replaced by something quieter, more intimate, though the presence he carried made the room feel no less like a battlefield. He was… handsome, yes—striking, even. The sculpted kind of man you only ever saw carved into stone. His brows furrowed as if in thought, or perhaps weariness, and his eyes watched you like a soldier scanning a map before a march.

Still, you could not help the way your heart stuttered when he finally stepped closer. “My lord,” you said, quieter than you meant to.

At that, he tilted his head slightly. A single dark brow lifted, not unkindly, more like curiosity. “You may call me Marcus,” he said, his voice low and even. “We are husband and wife now. No need for titles in private.”

There was a careful courtesy in the way he said it. Not warm. Not cold. Like a gate held half open, daring you to enter but offering no welcome.

You nodded once, unsure it that was kindness or obligation. “Marcus,” you repeated, tasting the name.

He crossed the room with military precision as you rose to your feet slowly, smoothing the folds of your robe with shaking hands. And for a long moment, silence stretched between you like a blade unsheathed but not yet used. He wasted no time in catching your eye and slipped into the sheets of the—your sharing bed.

“You are not what I expected,” you murmured before you could stop yourself, moving unconsciously in his direction.

That made him pause. “No ?”

You shook your head. “You are… quieter.”

A breath of something like amusement crossed his face, not quite a smile, but the ghost of it. “Most Generals are quieter after the wedding than before it,” he said dryly.

That startled a soft laugh from you; small, nervous. He turned his face then, as if your reaction had caught him off guard. He looked at the wall, then the floor, anywhere but at you.

You studied him.

There was something about the way he carried himself. The way his fingers flexed once at his sides and then stilled again, that felt like he could control fire. And it drew you. Even now, even as you knew this was not a love story, maybe not yet, or maybe never—but you were drawn to him.

After this evening at his side, you had expected nothing from a man like him. Still, as you sat across from him at the imperial banquet—smiling politely, answering questions from governors and senators who barely remembered your name—you could not help glancing at him in those small, unguarded moments.

Marcus Acacius was every inch the legend you had heard of: carved from silence, shaped by discipline. His posture never faltered, even when seated, and his replies were devoid of warmth. But what struck you most was the restraint in his gaze, like there was something caged behind those irises. And yet, when his eyes landed on you, even briefly, something changed.

A flicker, gone before it could fully become a thought. A hesitation, as if there was a war behind those eyes that had nothing to do with you. You did not flatter yourself into thinking he was pleased by the match. No one truly was. This was not a marriage woven of love or even desire. It was strategy, diplomacy, obedience. A bargain between Empires, in which you were the treaty dressed in white.

But you were determined to be more than that. You had promised yourself—there, on the terrace of your homeland, when the sails of your old life disappeared behind you—that you would not enter this marriage meekly. You would do your duty, yes. But more than that: you would try to love. You would give this cold stone the warmth of yours hands, even if it never warmed in return.

He had barely spoken to you since the ceremony. A bow. A glance. He had offered his arm but not his voice. You watched him, not as an infatuated girl—you were not that foolish—but as a woman determined to understand the man she had been given to.

There was something in him, you were sure of it. A kind of tension, as if every movement was measured to avoid some fault. And it made you wonder what lay buried under all that discipline ? Even the greatest Generals were made of flesh, even marble could cracked under pressure.

You wanted—needed—to know who he was when the armor came off. And tonight, in the hush that followed the ceremony… you would begin to try.

“I will not force you,” he said suddenly, voice tight. “If you would prefer to wait, I-”

“I do not want to wait,” you said, before you could give yourself time to retreat. “This is our wedding night. I would rather… not be alone.”

He looked at you then. “Very well,” he said simply.

You sat on the edge of the bed, near his feet, leaving just enough space between you to preserve modesty, and just enough closeness to feel the tension like a thread drawn taut between your bodies. The room was dim, lit only by candles flickering near the carved columns. Somewhere beyond the walls, musicians still played for the last drunk guests, but their music had thinned, like it was too hesitating.

For a moment he grimaces, a faint tightening around his eyes, as if settling into something that did not quite fit. You turned your face fully toward him now, unsure whether to speak, unsure whether silence would offend or comfort. When he adjusted his posture and leaned back a little, his gaze slid toward you again, and then, down.

Your robe clung faintly to your skin in places that left much to the imagination, thin and delicate, the firelight made suggestions of the shape beneath it. You had not meant it to be seductive, but you had not stopped it either. His eyes lingered, no longer guarded. After all he was a General, not a monk.

A muscle in his jaw tightened, his hand curled, crumpling the sheet at his side. You bit your lower lip, almost without realizing it, heart thudding. You had imagined wanting from him, but it was just a thought. Maybe something you could use to reach him.

Just for a breath, he looked at you not as duty, but as a woman.

And something flickered across is expression, as if torn between distance and desire—no, worse; as if he had fought the feeling and already lost.

You took a breath that trembled in your chest and let the courage carry you forward. Slowly—almost reverently—you crawled across the sheets, each movement delicate. The soft rustle of fabric beneath your knees was the only sound as you were now on all fours, looking at him directly in the eye. You kept your hungry eyes fixed on him, searching his face for any kind of reaction. He was statuesque in the low light, his expression unreadable once again, though his body seemed to betray him as you could feel his already hard cock beneath the sheets, which made you smirk.

A flush of warmth spread through your chest as you did not know how to begin. You straddled him gently, your thighs sliding over his, your breath hitching as your bodies aligned. His eyes flickered open, and for a moment, just a moment, there was something there—not desire, not affection, but… permission. And, you could work with that.

You stood over him with your arms embedded in the mattress, you leaned down and placed a soft kiss on the corner of his mouth—a quiet echo of the one he had given you at the altar, but his lips did not move, they did not even flinched.

Undeterred, you continued. A kiss on his cheek, then another along the edge of his jaw, yet another just below his ear, a trail down the column of his throat. You felt him shift beneath you, a ripple of muscle and restraint. A sound escaped him, almost a sigh, but muted. His hands came hesitantly to your hips, trying to push you away carefully. But, you rocked your hips once, lightly—testing, and his grip tightened—more by instinct, like a simple reflex but—pressed your body a little closer to his.

You smiled faintly and rose, looking only at him with a burning desire, slowly peeling back the sheet between you. His eyes snapped open with surprise, maybe a quiet resistance ? His hands slid over your thighs and he closed once again his eyes, taking a deep breath. You did not pause anyway. Your hands moved with a confidence you did not quite feel, lifting the hem of your robe and slipping it over your head. Revealing your warm and naked body to him, as the air kissed your bare nipples. You saw his gaze moving over you, and for a breathless heartbeat, you felt seen.

But then, suddenly, it was gone. His eyes drifted to the side, unfocused and his jaw clenched. You tried not to falter.

He leaned back against the headboard as you settled atop him again, you took advantage of this moment to lift yourself gently and removed the covers that had separated your bodies until then. He looked at you with intrigue, certainly not expecting such gesture and ardor from you. Then, lifting the edge of his tunic to free him, you licked your lips impatiently. His cock was rock hard—thick and ready—but he barely reacted to your touch. No smirk, no words, no heat in his eyes.

Still, you guided his fat cock to your entrance, offering a last glance—a silent plea to meet you there, even if it is just for a moment. You sank down, gasping at the stretch, your body trembling as he filled you completely. Slowly you took him inch by inch, your breath breaking into gasps as your body stretched to accommodate him. Just too much at once, a new world splitting open inside you and your moan broke the silence like a confession.

He grunted softly beneath you, but you moved anyway, riding slowly. As he spread your walls, you let out a loud moan, scrunching up your face from the slight pain. Your hands braced on his broad shoulders and your breath mingled with the scent of his skin. You bit your lip, letting soft sounds escape, trying to give yourself fully. He was so deep inside you, you could feel his cock in your stomach, and the sensation was just delicious, you could not stop yourself anymore.

He let out a few careless whimpers, as your hands found support on his broad shoulders, allowing you to keep your balance and find a rhythm that suited your desires. You bit your lower lip and moaned once more, his hands shyly roaming your body as you surrendered yourself completely to him, leaving no room for hesitation. Suddenly he frowned and sighed through his nostrils, then look at you—properly—just once, a long and unreadable gaze.

Your hands clenched at his shoulders, as he made no move to guide you through it. So you set another rhythm, slower—rolling your hips to feel every inch of him inside you. Your hands found his chest to steady yourself, and your thighs trembled with the effort. His hands left your body and found the sheets beside him. You let go and tried to make him want you again, but it was as if he had barricaded himself in, letting you use his body as you pleased. You leaned in, trying to draw him back, but he moved his head slightly, preventing you from kissing him or even making contact with his skin.

The warmth between your legs grew and you began to ride him with growing confidence, chasing something unspoken between you. You tried to catch his eyes, but he was not looking at you anymore. His head tilted back; eyes closed, lips parted slightly in some imagined reverie. Your fingers traced along his collarbone, but he did not stir. It was as if he was unable to face the sight of your body on his.

Still straddling him, your movements reduced to a fragile rhythm. Not for pleasure anymore, but for your dignity. To convince yourself there was still something happening between your bodies. But he was limp beneath your touch, his body remains inside yours, but something in him was… gone. You looked down at him, pleading, and saw the furrow between his brows, the ways his lips seemed to mouth something you could not decipher.

You slow to a stop and stay still atop him, your breathing uneven and shallow from the thrum of something colder uncoiling inside you. The rise and fall of his chest beneath you were distant, absent. His hands no longer held you, his eyes had closed again, retreating into some private place far from where your skin met his.

And then, the question tumbled from your lips before you could bury it. “Am I…” you paused, voice tight, “not doing it right ?”

The words hung in the air between you like a mist that refused to lift. He opened his eyes and looked directly at you. Not at your body, your mouth or your hands, even less the place where you were joined. But at your eyes, like a man stepping into a memory he had not meant to find.

There was no irritation in his expression, no hunger. Just softness, and what seems like pity. And that, somehow, was worse. His voice was almost careful when he responded, “No. You are alright.”

But he did not say what it was. Your fingers, unsure, rested on his chest where his heartbeat barely stirred beneath your palm. You leaned forward slightly, a whisper of movement, your voice fragile now. “I can try something else, if you want.” A thread of hope knotted tight in your chest. “If you tell me what pleases you, I-I can try…”

For a moment, silence. Then a quiet breath and a small shake of his head. “I am just tired,” he murmured. “That is all.”

Just tired.

That simple.

That final.

You stayed there, frozen in that moment, as if stillness might hold something together—whatever this was supposed to be. But the thread between you had already slackened. A tender, desperate intimacy folded into something formal. As though your body had become just another offering to be endured.

He shifted, gently—not urgently—adjusting the blanket, reaching for the edge of the sheet. You took the silent cue, sliding off him with grace you barely possessed in that moment, pulling the cover over yourself in one practiced motion. You turned away so he would not see your face, because you were not sure what expression you wore.

Marcus settled back into the mattress with the weary composure of a soldier finished with duty. His arm fell across his chest and his eyes shut again, for good this time. You lay beside him a long while, watching the gold-leafed ceiling flicker with candlelight. Somewhere beyond the walls, music still played.

You slipped from the bed, eventually, quiet as the dying flame of the candle next to you, and walked barefoot to the far end of the room. You wrapped yourself in the nearest robe, not for modesty, but for armor. You settled back into bed beside him, leaving as much distance as possible before closing your eyes. And just as you felt yourself drift off into a deep sleep, a solitary tear escaped your eye.

⋆.⋆༺𖤓༻⋆.⋆

masterlist | next chapter

#pedro pascal #marcus acacius x you #marcus acacius smut #marcus acacius x reader #marcus acacius #gladiator ll #gladiator 2 #gladiator ii #general marcus acacius #arranged marriage #pedro pascal characters

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sukunahs · 19 days ago

Text

to distant lands - ch.2: dirt | ryomen sukuna

pairing: ryomen sukuna x fem!reader (medieval fantasy au)

summary: The Knight who has watched over you since childhood is retiring and, much to your dismay, your father decides to put his best soldier on the job as his replacement - Ryomen Sukuna, the Kingdom’s most vicious warrior and far from your biggest fan.

Little did you know that Sukuna would end up tangling himself in your life in ways you never could’ve anticipated.

word count: 11k

chapter content: 18+ mdni, smut, princess!reader, enemies to lovers, slow-burn(ish), forbidden relationship, medieval fantasy setting, fluff, angst, protective sukuna, fingering, spanking, sex dreams, violence, parent death, grief, confusing emotions, reader is chaotic!

authors note: I feel like I keep making reader act like an evil little gremlin in this one I just can't help myself.

series masterlist | AO3 | previous chapter | next chapter

Sukuna was elated.

He’d expected this post to be boring, but you were certainly doing your best to keep him on his toes. The fact that you’d actually had the resolve to slip out of the castle last night had come as a surprise to him, he’d always figured that you were a little bit too meek for that.

Clearly he was wrong.

Through his eyes, you had been nothing more than your run-of-the-mill princess. Polite, quiet, lacking in any real knowledge of the world, and steadfast in your belief that everyone had to treat you with kindness just because you happened to be born in a position of high status.

For that reason, he’d never really cared for you. That first meeting between the two of you, where you’d been all wide-eyed and hopeful, had really pissed him off. He didn’t want the awe of some little princess who couldn’t live in the real world - it had no worth to him.

He’d grown up with nothing. His family was poor, and his dad was cruel. He’d stolen and he’d fought and he’d ended up in the army at sixteen to make sure that his twin brother didn’t starve to death.

So when you’d given him that medal, your soft hands brushing against his shoulders and your voice so melodic in his ears, all he could feel was rage. You were pretty, he’d noticed that instantly when he’d looked up at you, but there was no trace of age or weathering on your face, nothing about you that said you’d ever suffered for a single moment in your life.

And he hated that.

He despised the way you thanked him for his service, as though he’d done anything for you, like he would fight for the safety of some air-headed fool who knew nothing of the world beyond her own perfectly decorated chambers. He hated that you got to live such a lovely, pristine life, while he had scrambled around in the dirt for years. He hated you.

But there was something about you, in the way that you reacted to him, that had him going out of his way to bother you. Maybe it was the way that he’d seen the light die from your eyes that moment that you gave him his medal - he’d stolen away at least a shard of your innocence that day and the sadist in him wanted to keep taking more, wanted to drag you down at least part way to his level.

He’d gotten a reaction from you once, not long after he’d first met you. You’d pulled him aside and essentially screamed in his face. It had come as a major shock to him, he had been confident that you didn’t have such a thing in you, always coming across as the type of person who’d never hurt a fly. And yet there you were - the human embodiment of a baby bird, listing off some of the most heinous curses he’d ever heard.

That had given him a thrill like no other, and in that moment he had been resolved to get you to do it again. You were usually so practiced in your reactions, and it had become evident to him that you would absolutely never cause a scene in front of your subjects. But in private? Clearly all bets were off.

He’d tried his hardest over the years to rile you up, but you never pulled him aside again, always choosing to ignore him, treating him as though he wasn’t worth your time. That irritated him beyond belief.

He couldn’t really pinpoint why it was such an issue for him. He didn’t like you - that was why he tortured you in the first place, he just wanted to inject at least a little difficulty into the life of a girl who never had to want for anything.

And yet, every time you brushed off his attempts to bother you he felt a pang in his chest.

He just chalked it up to another thing that he hated about you, some stupid royal magic that you probably had where you could make people feel negative emotions whenever you wanted.

Yeah that was it.

But his own feelings aside, these little ploys that you’d been running recently to get rid of him were excellent. He’d really been trying to get you to yell at him again when he read that book aloud to you, but you gave him something even better with your grand scheme to run away. The game of cat and mouse that you’d set up for him was almost as good as being on the battlefield.

Who knew you had it in you? Thanks to your antics, this position wasn’t as boring as he’d thought - not that he’d ever be telling you that.

It was almost amusing, you’d been doing the absolute most to be a nuisance and drive him away, but playing these games with him was just having the opposite effect. Now he was curious to see what else you had up your sleeve.

Not before he played a little game of his own though.

He’d stayed awake in his chambers for a few hours after he’d tucked you into bed last night, considering what he could do for a little bit or retribution. It couldn’t be anything too serious or Kashimo really would get rid of him. No, he needed to do something that was reasonable for him as your Knight.

Thus, he had arrived at the perfect plot.

Sneaking into your room late at night he approached the windows, locking up each of them and taking away the keys that usually laid on the windowsill for you to use at your pleasure. There’d be no more sneaking out from you on his watch - he’s sure that your father would approve of that.

As he headed back towards the door, he found his gaze drawn to you. You were curled up in a ball beneath the duvet, a little drool dripping from your mouth onto the pillow below. Your plushie, Sir Bounce-a-lot, was clutched tightly to your chest, your arms shielding him protectively as though someone would steal him away from you.

Sukuna smirked as he considered throwing the ratty little toy out the window. It was quite the eyesore, and he was sure that you’d yell at him then. But the way that tears had sprung to your eyes when he threatened it before told him that it might just be a step too far.

Sure, he was mean, but he wasn’t downright heartless.

Besides, he had thought that the name was cute. He and his brother Jin had been a big fan of the Arthurian Legends growing up. His favourite had been the story of Sir Gawain of Green Knight - back then he’d hoped that he’d become just like one of those brave knights, striking out on noble adventures. But reality rarely lives up to the fantasy, and those Knights of old were no more than simple legends.

His gaze stayed on you for a moment longer, brushing aside the strange feeling that swelled in his chest at the sight of your sleeping form.

Making his way out of your room, he quietly closed the wooden door before locking it from the outside. He was pretty sure that you’d throw an excellent tantrum when you realised you were stuck in your chambers tomorrow morning. Maybe he’d even get to hear some begging from you for him to let you out, that would be a real treat.

However, the next morning you’d given him anything but a reaction. You’d slept in late, that wasn’t really new for you, he was used to you stumbling out of your chambers at 11am. Not to mention, your little midnight adventure probably meant that you were even more keen to sleep in than usual.

That didn’t explain why, when you did eventually rise from your slumber, you were surprisingly docile in your attempts to escape the room.

He’d watched with glee as you tried the door handle, snickering to himself when it didn’t budge. He thought he could hear you sighing softly behind the wood, but he couldn’t be sure.

“Please let me out.” You asked. Your voice sounded tired, as though you were completely uninterested in engaging with this situation.

He weighed up the thought of leaving you in there a little bit longer, stoking your frustration until you really lost it on him, or maybe until you were crying and begging for him to let you out. But, he supposed that would give you too much ammo to use against him if you were trying to convince your father that he was a bad personal Knight. It would become clear that he was taking this opportunity to torment you rather than simply keeping you safe.

“Just making sure you can’t run away again, princess.” He said as he unlocked the door. “Clearly I need to keep an eye on you now, since you’re so insistent on putting yourself in danger.” He didn’t really mean his words, he knew that you likely wouldn’t try running away a second time, considering the embarrassment that you suffered last night. He was only really saying it to rile you up.

He’d expected you to yell and scream at him once the door was open, assuming that your initial muted response had been because you’d thought he’d drag things out longer and keep you locked in there if you started throwing a tantrum while still stuck in the room.

Yet, as he released you from the confines of your chambers he was met with a sheepish look, an odd guilt-ridden expression that he wasn’t used to seeing on your face. You seemed to study him for a moment, as though you had something to say, before sharply turning away from him and heading down the hallway.

That was odd. Shouldn’t you be at least a little bit angry with him?

“Good morning to you too.” He said sarcastically as he caught up to you. You were striding quickly through the halls, as though you were desperate to put some distance between the two of you. That was easier said than done though, his legs were far longer than yours and the green velvet dress that you were wearing that day certainly wasn’t helping you move quickly.

“What’s good about it?” You mumbled in response. Your tone was surprisingly defeatist, leaving him at a loss as to what could’ve happened in the few hours you’d been apart.

—

The gods were sick. Of that much you were certain.

Because after you were tucked into your plush bed against your will, you were cursed with dreams that your waking mind would’ve never entertained. Those thoughts certainly didn’t belong to you, so some divine force must be inflicting this upon you for its own amusement.

That was the only explanation. Because there was absolutely no way that you chose to dream about Sukuna in the way that you did last night.

In this sick and twisted nightmare that had plagued your subconscious, you'd been thrown back to where you were last night: tossed over Sukuna’s shoulder in some dark alleyway. But instead of the reality of the situation, you were stuck in some little fantasy retelling in which Sukuna’s hand had found its way under your dress.

He had one arm wrapped around your waist, keeping you pinned firmly against his shoulder, while his other hand ran leisurely up your thigh, fingers finding their way to your panties, tracing the outline of your pussy through the thin fabric.

It was hazy, but you were sure you must’ve resisted somewhat, ever true to form even in your dreams, because you’d wriggled about so much that he’d firmly slapped your ass and ordered you to stay still before going back to play with your pussy.

There was no doubt in your mind that he had teased you, had mused about why you were so wet, about how he thought you hated him. But in his strong arms you had no choice but to hang there, gaze fixed on his back while his hand slipped beneath your panties, fingers brushing along your folds and dipping into you.

The rest of the dream was a haze, but you vaguely recall his fingers pumping into you with vigour as he mocked you for moaning and whining like you enjoyed it. And, if you were being honest with yourself, you had enjoyed it. You know he’d made you cum at the end, you recall clawing at his back and yelping out his name as your body shook, clenching around his thick fingers.

And just for a moment you were on cloud nine - the best you’d ever felt.

But then, you’d woken up.

Embarrassed. Horrified. Your panties drenched in slick, and need pulsing through your gut with the dream still clearly etched into your mind. All you wanted to do was forget about it, but that was hard when your own traitorous body was practically begging for release, desperate to be touched.

Gods, this was humiliating.

It wasn’t like you could even do anything about it. You could pleasure yourself, but Sukuna’s revelation last night about overhearing your conversation with Shoko gave you pause. If he could hear your hushed voices then who knew what else he could hear.

You were sure that you’d never be able to live that down.

So instead you headed into your washroom and drew yourself a cold bath, submerging yourself in the freezing water and expelling that burning need from your gut. You were not about to let Sukuna have any sort of victory over you, even if that victory was only in your own head.

Fuck him. He probably used some weird mind powers to make those thoughts manifest - he was the absolute worst.

Once you were bathed and ready to go down to the dining hall you found that he’d locked the door to your chambers. Now that you were thinking about it the windows were shut too which was odd, you’d usually leave them open throughout the spring and summer to let in a breeze - it always got way too hot in the castle.

He must’ve come in during the night to lock them, which you were not a massive fan of. A part of you wondered if he’d done anything creepy to you while you were asleep which might’ve led to the nature of your dream last night, but you knew in your heart that he hadn’t. He may be deeply unlikable, but there were lines that you knew he wouldn’t cross.

To get him to free you from your captivity that morning you’d stayed very calm, asking politely for him to let you out and choosing not to completely lose your shit. Not because you weren’t angry - you definitely were, but more because you were afraid of how your body would react if you interacted with him too long. You could only imagine how humiliating it would be if you went to yell at him only for your cheeks to involuntarily turn red at the sight of his frustratingly handsome face.

Avoidance was the best policy for today, at least until you could get a grip.

Luckily for you, avoiding Sukuna on that particular day was going to be easy.

He’d taken you down for breakfast as usual and you’d sat in silence, your eyes down on the plate of bacon and eggs that sat in front of you, unwilling to acknowledge his existence. You’d pushed the bacon around your plate, pretending to be unaware of the way that his red eyes were honed in on the side of your face.

Surprisingly, it was your father who had come to your rescue. Approaching your table and claiming that he needed Sukuna to assist him with something for the next couple of hours. He’d then given you a stern look and a full-blown lecture about staying put in the castle while Sukuna was away, no gallivanting about outside the walls without an escort.

You’d shrugged your shoulders apathetically and mumbled that he was free to keep Sukuna forever if he wanted.

Kashimo, in his advanced age, was certainly not sharp enough to hear that comment. The same couldn’t be said for Sukuna, who shot you a condescending grin. “Aww, don’t worry princess! I’ll be back later - try your best to manage without me.” His tone was so sweet that it made you feel a little sick.

You gave him a wholly unamused look before going back to your breakfast. It didn’t matter, you weren’t going to let him ruin this rare opportunity to be away from him. With him not constantly breathing down your neck, you might actually have the opportunity to dig up some dirt on him and get rid of him altogether.

Considering that he wasn’t going to quit of his own accord and that he was too good at the job to be fired for incompetence, you were running low on viable options to get him removed from his post. But you did have one more plan, and that was uncovering wrongdoing from his past. A guy like him, who revelled so much in feats on the battlefield, had to have a few skeletons in his closet. If he did, you were going to find them and proudly present them to your father - then maybe he’d think twice about leaving you alone with his favourite Knight.

The only issue with this plan was that you weren’t entirely sure where you could get dirt on Sukuna. You knew essentially nothing about him from before his appearance in your life four years ago. You were aware that he officially joined your father’s forces ten years ago, when he was just sixteen years old, but as for anything before that? You were clueless.

It did strike you that sixteen was exceptionally young to be starting out in the army, usually soldiers were at least eighteen before they got started. Maybe there was something worth digging into there? Perhaps he’d been a criminal in a different kingdom as a youth and had run to join your father’s forces to start over in a new life?

If there was such ugliness lurking in his past, then you were going to find it.

—

You started your search over at the Knight Barracks. Sukuna had moved into the room next to yours once he became your personal Knight, but for the ten years before that he would’ve been living in the pristine quarters located on the east side of the castle grounds. Perhaps his old room, or one of the other Knights living in the barracks, would be able to provide some insight into his past.

It wasn’t an area that you visited much, these days you didn’t really have a reason to. When you were young your mother would often take you out to watch the Knights engage in their weapons training on the field just outside the barracks. You had loved watching them partake in duels, the clashing of their wooden training swords an absolute thrill to your eight year old self.

You were less impressed by it now - in fact, you didn’t think you’d been impressed by a Knight in the last four years, Sukuna had completely shattered that illusion for you.

As you approached the entrance to the barracks, a couple of the Knights who were sitting around outside instantly dropped onto their knees, bowing their heads low as you walked past them. It made you cringe a little, as much as you were used to people showing you reverence at this point, you didn’t want too much attention drawn to you being here - that would make it much harder to effectively snoop.

“At ease!” You said softly, dismissing the Knights and hoping that they’d just go back to what they’d been doing before. Most of them did, going back to their books or card games.

Unfortunately for you, not all of them were so willing to dismiss your presence. Todo, another one of your father’s favourite Knights, towered over you with a grin. “Hey princess! Haven’t seen you around in a while!”

Todo was a more stereotypical Knight than Sukuna. A genuinely good guy, the kind of person who was endlessly loyal to you and your father and strived to make the world a better place. Unfortunately he had suffered from major injuries to his hands in the war four years ago, which had left him unable to hold a weapon properly. Your father’s respect for him meant that he always had a home here no matter what, and now he spent all of his time overseeing and training new recruits.

While you had great respect for Todo, you were also a little wary of him for two reasons - the first being the loyalty that he held for your father, he’d definitely rat on you if he caught you doing something suspicious or dangerous. The second was because of the loyalty he held for Sukuna. It was shocking considering their stark difference in nature, but Todo was a big fan of the tattooed menace - allegedly Sukuna had played a big part in ensuring that Todo made it home alive from the war and subsequently earned himself Todo’s everlasting allegiance. That was a major problem for you.

“Hi Todo. Doing well?” You asked, hoping that you could make a little bit of small talk and be allowed to go on your way.

“As ever.” He said with a smile. “You never come down here! Something wrong?”

You probably should’ve considered this possibility before you came out here and had a good excuse ready. It had been so long since you’d interacted with any Knight other than Sukuna that you didn’t really think anyone would pay you any mind.

“No, just a little bored. Besides…” You trailed off for a moment, trying to figure out how risky your next statement might be. “Sukuna mentioned that he’d lost something in the move over to his new quarters, figured I’d come over here and check out his old room to see if I could find it for him.”

“Oh, I see.” Todo said. “He couldn’t come and pick it up himself? Not very manly of him.”

Shit. You really didn’t want Todo bringing this up to him.

“I’ve been keeping him super busy.” You blurted out. “So he hasn’t had the time. I figured I’d do this for him as a nice favour in exchange for everything he’s been doing for me!” You had to carefully school your facial expression as that lie fell from your lips, it felt repulsive to heap such praise on Sukuna, but what choice did you have?

Todo nodded approvingly. “You’re so kind, princess.”

“Thanks.” You said with a nod as you moved to brush past him, but he stood unwavering in your path. “You probably don’t know which room was his - let me show you.”

He turned to the door and your shoulders visibly sagged. It was going to be so much harder to snoop with Todo there, plus now you were going to have to search for some imaginary item to bring back for Sukuna - great.

Following Todo in through the door that he held open for you, you snaked through the many corridors of the Knight Barracks. You’d never actually been inside before, and you were taken aback by the sheer size of it. There were halls leading off in every direction, massive open areas for dining and relaxing, and hundreds of doors opening up into dorms. It made sense, your father had accumulated a massive military force over the years, and over half of them resided in here.

There was a smaller barracks outside of the castle walls, located in the surrounding town. The forces who resided there were those who worked as the city guard in peacetime, taking down criminals and keeping the townsfolk safe. Whenever the country went to war, those guards would join up with the main forces from the castle and march to war alongside them, leaving only a skeleton crew behind to maintain order in the city while the war was fought.

Other than the city guard, there was another small population that didn’t live in barracks - Knights of noble status. Most of the soldiers in your father’s army were common folk who joined for various reasons such as stable employment and good pay, but there were a few who joined from the noble class, out of a desire to present themselves as great and brave Knights.

Yuki’s husband Choso, for example, was one of these Knights. He had come from an excellent family who owned significant packages of land across the Cerulean Kingdom. But his father had also been a Knight, as had his grandfather - it was tradition in their family and many other noble families to serve your time, to do your duty and protect your country in times of war.

These noble Knights didn’t tend to partake in the day to day duties like the common-born folk would. They’d remain in their own grand estates and generally learn to fight from a private tutor. Any menial labor that average Knights would partake in during peace time was completely below them. The only time that they’d really take up their posts was during big parades and banquets in which they wanted to be celebrated; and during wartime, when they’d ride off to battle like everyone else.

You’d never really respected those sorts of Knights when you were a little, you always saw them as being a bit false. You couldn’t understand why they wouldn’t dedicate their whole life to being a Knight like the ones who lived in the barracks. To you they were the real Knights, while the nobles were just playing pretend.

But who were you to criticize? It wasn’t like you were volunteering to go off to war, and you’d never done a real day’s work in your life - unless you counted undermining Sukuna’s authority over you as work.

Todo led you up several flights of stairs until you ended up in a hallway that was a little narrower than the rest. There seemed to be no more stairs to ascend so you assumed you must be on the top floor.

“These are the rooms for the highest ranking Knights. Unlike everyone else we get our own chambers.” Todo explained. “That’s my room there, Sukuna’s old one is just down the hall. We’ve left it as it is for now, we weren’t sure if his change in role was a long term thing…”

He pulled out a ring of keys from his pocket and unlocked the door to Sukuna’s room for you, standing beside the door as he gestured for you to enter.

Sukuna’s old room was nice. It was relatively spacious, with a big window located on the slanted ceiling, allowing the sunlight to shine through onto the bed. You wondered if he had ever lain there at night and stared up at the stars - he didn’t seem like the type of man capable of appreciating such things, but with such a nice view it was a possibility.

The space was pretty bare. There were still sheets on the bed, but beyond that it looked completely unlived in. There was a desk pushed into the corner of the room with a rickety looking chair tucked in beneath it, a small wardrobe was situated along the back wall of the room and a meagre bedside table with a candle sat on the right side of the bed.

The bed was so small that you wondered how Sukuna had even been sleeping in it, you almost snickered aloud at the thought of his feet hanging off the end.

“So, what was it that he left behind?”

“A book.” You said, listing the very first thing that came to mind. You quickly got to searching, stalking over to the desk and pulling out the drawers, looking for absolutely anything that belonged to him.

“Hmmm.” Todo seemed lost in thought. “I never really took him for much of a reader.”

“Yeah, you wouldn’t think it.” You agreed, pushing one drawer back in and moving on to the next, feeling a spike of frustration as you found that the desk was totally empty. You spun around and crossed over to the bedside table, repeating the same process of yanking out all of the drawers.

“What’s the book called?” Todo asked. “Maybe we can find another copy if it isn’t in here.”

Why did Todo have to be so good-natured and helpful? In any other scenario you would’ve deeply appreciated how much work he was putting in to help you, but right now you just wished he would just leave so that you could search in peace.

“I’m not sure what the title is.” You said finally, before a wicked idea sprung into your head. “It’s some romance book though, apparently it’s his guilty pleasure - don’t bring it up to him though, I’m not supposed to tell anyone.”

Todo was probably too nice a person to spread rumors around, but you hoped that there was at least one malicious bone in that body that would encourage him to share that knowledge with another Knight, you’d love that to become Sukuna’s reputation.

At least then coming here wouldn’t have been a total loss, which was how it was looking right now. You slammed the wardrobe shut, irritation running through you as you realised you’d searched the whole room. As a final gambit you lay down on the floor and checked under the bed, finding nothing but cobwebs and spiders.

“Sorry princess, looks like you’re out of luck.”

You sighed softly. “Yeah I guess so.”

If there was nothing worthwhile in here then you’d have to break into his current room, which was not ideal. You didn’t have the key so you’d have to either pick the lock or get someone to let you in, and unlike in this case, there wasn’t really any reason for you to be in his room without him also being there.

“Hey Todo.” You said, pausing for a moment as you considered your next question. “How long have you known Sukuna for?”

“Since he joined. I must’ve been twenty then - when I first met him he was still just this ratty little teenager, he was already tall but he had hardly any meat on him, I think the famine back then must’ve hit his family hard. It's weird looking at how massive he is now.” Todo had a fond expression on his face. “He was a nightmare back then, couldn’t get along with anyone - I’m glad that he grew up a bit.”

You rolled your eyes at that. You’re not sure that a man who threatened to throw your plushie out the window should be described as grown up.

“He was always a monster in the field though, even when he was skinny, he could fight like nothing I’ve ever seen before. No offense princess, but I have no idea why the King took him away from us, if war ever breaks out again we need him on the frontlines.”

You shrugged. “Sukuna said my father is paranoid - with discontent across other Kingdoms he’s afraid I’ll be taken for ransom.”

“I can understand his concern. I think this arrangement is fine, as long as he’s planning on returning Sukuna to us if there is a war.”

You nodded. You were confident that would be the case, your father wasn’t going to intentionally weaken his own forces by not letting Sukuna fight.

Should encouraging the breakout of war be on your list of plans to get rid of Sukuna?

Maybe that was a little too far.

“Do you know anything about Sukuna from before he joined us?” You asked curiously. “You mention the famine…”

“That’s just an assumption.” Todo clarified. “He isn’t the type of guy who likes to talk about himself, he spends a lot of his time alone. It's not like I’m going to pry, as far as I’m concerned he does his job and watches my back, that’s all that matters.”

“Right.” You try to hide how deflated you are by that comment. Although, the confirmation that Sukuna was unwilling to discuss his past was something, hopefully that meant that he had something to hide. “Thanks for your help, Todo.”

The barracks had been entirely unhelpful, which meant you needed to move into phase two of your snooping.

After you’d waved goodbye to Todo, you’d slowly made your way back to the main part of the castle, heading upstairs to your quarters. As you walked past Sukuna’s door you gave it an experimental push, just to see if the gods were going to grace you with a bit of luck today - unsurprisingly, it didn’t budge.

You entered your own quarters and flopped down onto the bed, staring up at the canopy. Asking someone to open the door was too suspicious and picking the lock would likely be impossible - you’d never tried doing it yourself before, and if someone walked past while you were trying to figure it out your whole operation would be done for.

Maybe you’d just have to wait until Sukuna was back, get him to invite you into his room somehow so you could snoop around his belongings like he did with yours. But if he did have anything to hide, you were almost certain that he wouldn’t be stupid enough to let you find it.

Why did this have to be so difficult?

Just as you were lamenting over how much of a struggle your life was, a gust of breeze came in through the window. You looked over at it, one of the servants must’ve come in and unlocked it during the afternoon, considering Sukuna had closed them all last night.

The open window presented you with an idea. There was a ledge just outside - a ledge that you could shimmy along to climb into Sukuna’s room.

It was risky. You’d have to bank on the hope that Sukuna had left his windows open. Plus, if you slipped you could easily plummet to your death, this wasn’t as straightforward as your escape down onto the ramparts - but when weighed up against a lifetime of dealing with Sukuna right at your side, you decided that it was probably worth it.

So, gathering up all the courage you could, you clambered out of the window. You dropped down onto your knees and crawled your way along the ledge. You kept your eyes on the stone platform before you, trying your best not to take a glance down at the drop immediately to your right. You knew how far it was - you’d spent years staring out of your window onto the garden below.

Moving slowly, you inched yourself towards Sukuna’s room. If anyone was looking up at your tower right now they’d probably have a heart attack, seeing the nation's princess commit such a dangerous act. You really hoped that everyone was too busy going about their usual day to look up - you definitely didn’t need anyone telling your father about this.

You crawled until windows came into view on your left-hand side, internally rejoicing at the realisation that Sukuna had left them open for the day. You supposed he couldn’t have anticipated that you’d try something akin to this.

He had no idea how far you were capable of going.

Carefully, you placed your hands on the windowsill, hoisting yourself through the opening and into Sukuna’s room. You stumbled a little as you hit the floor - the distance between the window and the ground was a little further than it was in your own chambers.

As you took in your surroundings, you found yourself a little surprised at how neat the room was. You didn’t take Sukuna for the type of person to be bothered with such things, but evidently you were wrong - there wasn’t an item out of place.

The quarters that he’d been given were lovely. They weren’t quite as big as yours - the bed was a little smaller and less grandiose than the one you had, the furniture in general had a more simple design than the elegance of your belongings, but everything was still very beautiful and expertly handcrafted.

Glancing around, it didn’t seem like Sukuna had many belongings at all - perhaps he simply enjoyed living a minimalist life? He had a few different pairs of black trousers, and a handful of tunics in a couple of colours in his wardrobe, and in the corner of the room he had a spare set of plate armor. This spare set of armor seemed more intricately crafted than the one you usually saw him wearing - perhaps it was only for special occasions? Or maybe specifically used in wartime?

Either way, his clothes weren’t of much interest to you. You poked around a little more, opening cupboards and drawers to thoroughly investigate the way that he lived - unfortunately, most of them were empty. It seemed like everything that Sukuna owned had been accumulated since coming to the castle, as though he’d moved here without an item to his name.

You’d left the most promising part of his room until last - the desk. It was the only thing that was even slightly cluttered, with a few papers and books spread out across it. You rifled through the items with interest. Much to your dismay, the books were all dry non-fiction tomes focusing on war tactics, and the loose pieces of paper were blank - the inkwell on the desk suggesting that the parchment was for him to write on in the future.

Frustrating. With this few possessions it was as if he had no life at all beyond bothering you.

You started frantically pulling out the desk drawers in the hopes that there was something there - and that’s where you hit the jackpot. In the bottom drawer you found a stack of letters, each with Sukuna’s name written neatly on the front.

As you sifted through each letter, you found that every single one of them was from a man named Jin. Each letter was just a single page long, with the dates on them ranging from ten years ago all the way up to now. Based on the amount of letters, it seemed as though Jin had consistently been writing to Sukuna once a month for years.

There wasn’t time for you to carefully read through all of them - you had no idea when Sukuna might be finished with his responsibilities, and you certainly didn’t want to be caught in here red-handed.

You did your best to skim through the contents. From what you could gather, Jin must be Sukuna’s brother. The older letters were him expressing relief over Sukuna joining the Kingdom’s forces, telling him that he was so happy Sukuna had gotten a ‘second chance’. That had confused you a little, but it never came up again in the later letters.

As time went on the notes grew more thankful, Jin expressing his gratitude to Sukuna for sending him money and telling him all about how his life was going. At some point, Jin had started studying to become a doctor, his letters suddenly all focussed around his studies, and how excited he was to be working in alchemy.

In the later sets of letters, those from the last four years, it was apparent that Jin had a child - the name Yuji started appearing regularly, and there were even some scribbled crayon drawings in the last two letters.

While this was all an interesting insight into Sukuna’s background, it wasn’t much of a help for what you were seeking.

Sukuna wasn’t really mentioned much in the letters at all, it was all just Jin talking about himself. There were several occasions in the early letters where Jin had scolded Sukuna for writing short letters, or for not writing at all. He’d also always ask how Sukuna was doing at the end of the letter, occasionally making a comment on the state of the Kingdom along with it. But nothing in his letters actually divulged any information about Sukuna beyond the fact that he had a brother and a nephew.

You grumbled to yourself as you placed the letters back into the drawers. You weren’t willing to accept that Sukuna was just an all-round good guy with no shady past - someone who loved bloodshed to the extent he did had to have something shady about them. Not to mention he was covered in tattoos, surely he didn’t get all of them by choice.

Either way, there was nothing worth uncovering in here, and you were likely running out of time anyway. So, feeling a little dejected, you begrudgingly accepted defeat.

You had to jump a little to pull yourself back out of the window in Sukuna’s room, almost messing it up entirely with your foot slipping on the rug as you leapt up. Luckily you managed to escape the situation unscathed, making it back to your own room in one piece.

—

You’d been getting ready for bed later that evening when there was a firm knock on the door. You figured it was Sukuna returning from whatever errand your father had him running, and subsequently you took your sweet time opening it.

What you weren’t expecting to see was the King himself staring down at you.

“Daughter.” he greeted gruffly as he stepped into your room. It was rare that he came to visit you like this - generally if he wanted to see you he would call you down to the throne room and talk to you there.

“Father.” You responded, a little on edge.

“I received some curious reports when I returned from my outing this afternoon.”

You tilted your head at him innocently. You knew that the silence was him giving you a chance to fess up to wrongdoing, but you weren’t sure what he knew yet and you didn’t want to confess to anything unnecessary.

He let out a heavy sigh. “Todo said that you went over to the Knight Barracks earlier, that you wanted to find something for Sukuna in his old room.”

“Ah yes. I was looking for a book he mispla-”

“And,” your father cut you off, “one of my advisors saw you crawling into Sukuna’s current room from outside the window.”

Well, that was damning. You wondered which of your father’s advisers had spotted you. Higurama’s study was in the tower adjacent to yours, so you supposed he could’ve been looking out the window and seen the whole thing play out. It felt like you just couldn’t catch a break.

“Do you even understand how dangerous it is for you to be playing around out there? What if you’d have slipped? What if part of the rock had crumbled beneath you? You would’ve been killed.”

You dropped your head, nodding along solemnly because you knew that was the reaction he wanted - it wouldn’t prevent you from going out there again in the future, but you certainly weren’t going to let him know that.

“You’re my only child. I have no other family, you’re it. Do you understand how important you are to me? To this Kingdom? You’re in your twenties now, you need to stop with these childish follies and start taking life more seriously.”

His lecture continued on for a while. It wasn’t anything that you hadn’t heard before - lots of talk of making sure that you were acting like a proper Princess, about how you needed to be sensible and presentable so that he could match you with a suitable husband. Your mind wandered over to Sukuna, wondering if he was aware of the sneaking that you’d gotten up to today.

“What were you even doing, breaking into Sukuna’s room?” The realization that your father had asked you a question brought you back to reality, blinking a few times as you comprehended his words.

“I was trying to gift him something - secretly.” You lied smoothly. Sometimes even you were surprised by how naturally a lie would roll off your tongue. You had no doubt that you’d picked it up from your mother, she had been a particularly cunning noble in her youth, always playing the social game with others in high society to get whatever she wanted in life.

“What?” Your father asked.

“He left a book in his old room when he moved out. I went there to check but I couldn’t find anything, so I got him a new copy.” Your father’s face remained skeptical so you decided to embellish a little further. “It would be embarrassing for him to know it was me, I don’t want him to think I care about him.”

A sickening thought, but if it helped sell the lie that was all that mattered.

Kashimo studied you for a moment, clearly unsure on the truth of the matter, before sighing and waving you off. “It doesn’t matter, just don’t do something dangerous like that again.”

“While you’re here…” You blurted out as he turned to leave. “On the topic of Sukuna, are you really sure that his skills are best placed here? I spoke to Todo earlier and it seems like they really miss him over there.” You hoped that the smile on your face was coming across as genuine rather than sly.

“As I told Sukuna, if war breaks out he’ll take up his old post, but for now the most useful place for him is at your side.” Your expression was obviously unconvinced, because your father elaborated further on his explanation. “In the Gojo Kingdom, one of Satoru’s high ranking advisors had one of his twin daughters kidnapped and held for ransom. I won’t have the same happen to you.”

Your brow furrowed at that information. You and Satoru used to be close when you were children - his Kingdom wasn’t far from yours, separated only by the mountain range that you could see from your window. The advisor that Kashimo was referring to was likely Geto Suguru, a noble from Gojo’s Kingdom who had adopted two young girls a couple of years back.

“When did that happen?” You asked. You don't get to see Satoru much these days - his father had died a few years ago and he’d taken over as King, since then he hadn’t had much time to go gallivanting about in the way he did in his youth.

“A few months ago.” Your father said solemnly. “They got the girl back, but it has us all shaken up - there were rumors that the captors were working for the Zenins, that their blasted nation has been recuperating their forces after their last loss and is looking to give expanding another go.”

“Why are you only telling me this now?” You asked. You’d gotten to know Suguru relatively well through Satoru over the years, you would’ve liked to be informed that something so tragic had befallen him.

“I didn’t want to scare you.” He paused for a moment to study your face. “But evidently you’re not scared enough, which is why I’m telling you now.”

That comment frustrated you a little, it made you feel like he was treating you like a kid despite expecting you to act like an adult. It wasn’t like you could really fight back against his comment though, considering that you had snuck out of the castle just the night before. All things considered, maybe you should take things a little more seriously.

Although, with Sukuna around and watching you like a hawk, you were confident nothing bad was ever going to happen.

Your father seemed satisfied with the outcome of the conversation and headed towards the door. “Oh, and please play nice with Sukuna. I’m not sure what you were doing in his room but I’m not buying that gift story, I know you’ve been doing your best to make his life miserable lately.”

You didn’t give him any response, waiting until he was out of the room until you let out a sigh. This was not convenient.

—

It was a few nights later and Sukuna was lying awake in his room, staring up at the high ceiling. He was bored - you’d been giving him the silent treatment lately, no more schemes to overthrow him since you’d snuck into his room a couple of days ago.

Yeah, he knew all about that little adventure of yours.

It hadn’t been hard to put the pieces together, between the stuff on his desk being out of place, the rug beneath his window being rumpled and the lecture that he’d heard your father giving you through the wall it was evident that you’d broken in and snooped around.

He almost respected you for it. The drop from outside his window was no joke, it would’ve taken a lot of courage for you to shimmy along that ledge without crying. Maybe you did cry - he would’ve liked to see that: you clinging to the ledge with tears and snot running down your face, but too determined to turn back.

You didn’t know that he was aware of your break-in. He’d planned to make fun of you for it at some point, but for the last couple of days you’d come across as oddly listless. Whenever he’d tried poking at you, or even just making conversation, you’d just regard him with this vacant stare as though you weren’t listening at all.

Perhaps this was another one of your schemes, maybe you’d gone back to your initial plan of boring him to death - but he was pretty certain that wasn’t the case after seeing how you were acting with everyone else. You no longer seemed to have any interest interacting with the palace staff that you were usually so friendly with, just barely muttering out a ‘thank you’ when one of the servants would hand you food before going back to staring into space.

It was a little unnerving to see you like this. Since he’d become your Knight he’d observed that you seemed to have boundless energy for your cute little hobbies and nefarious schemes, but right now it was as though you were an empty shell.

He didn’t like it. Seeing you so disinterested gave him an itchy feeling in his chest. You couldn’t even find the energy to glare at him.

In a moment of desperation, he’d even asked your handmaid Shoko if she knew what was going on with you. Shoko had regarded him coolly and shrugged, giving him nothing more than a simple two word answer of ��Who knows?” That had been frustrating, since you seemed to trust and regularly confide in her, but it was evident that Shoko was not his biggest fan and would subsequently give him nothing.

So now here he was, unable to sleep because he was too busy agonising over what your problem was.

It felt a little bit embarrassing for him - he shouldn’t care, it shouldn’t matter to him at all. Yet, he genuinely enjoyed the way you reacted to him normally, he liked how you’d fight back, he liked that fiery little glare you’d give him when you pissed him off.

He hated this empty husk that you seemed to be right now.

Just as he was about to play out another theory in his mind, he heard the telltale sound of the door to your chambers creaking open down the hall. Even though he’d locked your door that first time that you’d snuck out, he hadn’t done it again - it had felt a little cruel, you were a grown woman after all.

He sat up abruptly, more enthusiastic than he should be that you were doing something. He wondered, with a little excitement building in his chest, if you had planned out another escape attempt and your recent behaviour had all been an elaborate act to throw him off the scent. He hoped so.

Dressing quickly in black trousers and plain white tunic, he pulled on his boots and headed out into the hallway. He didn’t bother putting on his full-set of armor, he doubted he was going to need it.

It didn’t take him long to find you.

He was a little surprised when he stumbled across you in the perfectly manicured garden. It was the first place he’d gone to look, assuming that you were going to try another escape attempt via the secret passage that you used last time - perhaps he should just be calling it a passage now? It wasn’t really a secret ever since he’d discovered it.

You were sitting on the marble bench beside the pond. You looked forlorn, gazing down at the lily pads that dotted the surface of the water. Your knees were drawn up to your chest with your chin resting on top of them, arms wrapped around your legs seemingly to shield yourself from the chilly night air. You were only wearing what he assumed was your nightgown, a long, thin, light blue dress that he’d never seen before.

It was clear that you hadn’t bothered bringing a torch or lantern out with you, instead opting to sit in complete darkness - an odd decision. He considered sneaking up on you for a moment, it would be easy in the darkness and with how lost in thought you seemed to be. The far off look on your face held him back though, you were clearly not in a place to be messed with.

Approaching you slowly, he made sure to make a bit of sound to alert you to his presence. You turned around to look at him for a moment - your eyes were puffy and red, cheeks stained with tears. It felt as though he’d intruded on a very private moment. He was expecting to see annoyance in your expression, maybe even humiliation - but no emotion registered on your face, instead you simply turned back to looking at the pond.

Considering that you hadn’t immediately sent him away, he took that as an invitation to approach, quietly taking a seat on the marble bench beside you. His gaze was fixed on you, but you wouldn’t even spare him a glance. He couldn’t understand what the problem was, you weren’t the sort of person who had an issue telling him to go away, you’d done it on several occasions over the last few weeks - seeing you like this was concerning.

“You’ll catch a cold.” He mused softly. Now that he was closer to you he could see just how thin your nightgown really was, taking note of the fact that you were visibly trembling.

“Like you care.” You mumbled in response. Hearing your voice felt like a joy to his ears, you’d been so silent lately that he was just happy to hear a response - even if it was a rude one.

“I don’t think your father would be happy if you died from exposure on my watch.”

You let out a deep sigh, hugging your knees closer to your chest. “I don’t think it would matter all that much, he’d be mad for a couple of days and get over it.”

He frowned at that response. He’d spent a great amount of time with Kashimo since he’d joined the Kingdom’s army, and one of the King’s biggest concerns was the safety of his daughter. His love for you was apparent to anyone who was close to him - you were practically all he talked about.

“He’d be devastated.” Sukuna said seriously, watching you closely - noting the flicker of irritation that crossed your features.

“It's not me he loves. He just loves that I look like my mother. He wants to protect me because he couldn’t protect her, not because I’m me.” You paused for a moment. “Sorry, that probably doesn’t make sense.”

Sukuna got the gist of it. He was somewhat fascinated by this confession, he hadn’t even had to push that hard to draw it out from you, it seemed like your guard was really down. Not to mention, you’d apologised to him.

“I just- I want to be my own person, I suppose? When my mother was still around, my father never really even bothered with me, he was too busy running the Kingdom - it sounds bad to say, but I liked that, I loved having my freedom. Ever since my mother died I’ve just felt like a trapped bird, with him always telling me how to live my life and excessively worrying over me.”

You peered at him cautiously, clearly trying to gauge what he was thinking. Evidently the expression he was wearing wasn’t sympathetic enough, as you looked away and started anxiously twirling your hair around your finger.

“Sorry, this probably sounds so petty to you - the little rich girl complaining that she has to spend all of her days in a grand castle.”

He couldn’t help but crack a smile at that, he was almost surprised that you’d so easily understood his initial dislike of you, it was a level of self-awareness that he found himself respecting.

“What brought this on?” He asked. “You’ve been weird for a few days - the silence is starting to creep me out.”

You shot him a look before turning back to the lake, taking a deep breath before you spoke. “It's the anniversary of my mother’s death today. This time of year is always a struggle for me.”

He nodded in understanding. That explained why the King himself had been so withdrawn over the last few days, locking himself up in his study and throwing himself into administrative work.

“I feel like I never get to openly grieve.” You continued. “My father loves to pretend that nothing happened, acts like she never existed. Instead of being sad about it like a normal person he heaps all of this pressure on me, it's stifling. I’ve tried to talk to him about it, about her, but he can’t even speak her name - the wound is too deep.”

“I’m sorry.” Sukuna said genuinely. He had joined the Kingdom’s forces after the Queen had already died, so he’d never known her. Most royals married for political reasons, he hadn’t been aware of Kashimo’s deep love for her, but it explained why he hadn’t married someone else and tried for a male heir.

“Don’t be.” You paused for a moment. “This pond was her favourite place in the castle. She used to love seeing all of the frogs in the spring - she’d always bring me out to show me the tadpoles, charting their growth as they developed into adult frogs.”

Sukuna smiled gently, considering the image of a miniature you stumbling around the edge of the pond and picking up frogs.

“I come out here on the anniversary of her death every year to honor her. I wish she’d been buried in this garden rather than in the family tomb.”

The two of you sat quietly for a moment, gazing at the surface of the pond. This was probably the longest he’d heard you talk without you insulting him. He didn’t hate it.

In that moment you seemed desperately lonely.

A deep feeling of sympathy settled in his chest. Perhaps you were more weathered by life than he had originally thought - just with more pressure on your shoulders not to let it show.

“My parents died when I was young.” His voice cut through the quiet. If you were going to share something about yourself, he would too. “I was only fourteen. My father was pretty into gambling and he racked up debts with too many people. Got himself and my mother killed when he wouldn’t pay up.”

He could feel your gaze on him now, watching with great interest as he spoke.

“Those debt collectors then took everything from me and my brother - kicked us out of our family home, left us on the streets with nothing.” Sukuna tried to keep his voice steady as he told the story - he hadn’t recounted this in a long time but he could already feel that familiar rage seeping into his bones at the thought of it.

“What did you do?” You asked softly.

“I did whatever I could to keep us alive.” Sukuna said matter-of-factly. “I stole food and clothes, sat on the side of the street and begged, tried scamming random people on the street out of their money. Eventually I ended up running with a gang, and that’s where things really fell apart.”

He chanced a glance over at you. Your eyes were wide with interest as you waited for him to continue. An intrusive thought about how cute you looked giving him your full attention flitted into his head - he was quick to shove it aside.

“The gang were a bad crowd, they’d done every bad thing I had and more. I won’t bore you with the details, but one time we were trying to rob this noble’s place and the guy woke up. He saw my face and told me he’d get the guards after me. I panicked and the next thing I knew, I’d killed him.”

You gasped and he felt guilt curling in his stomach. This was the first time since he’d known you that he felt like you were finding some common ground - telling you all this was almost certainly going to ruin it.

But he didn’t want to hide it either.

“I got arrested afterwards, the gang ratted me out straight away when the guards came knocking. I ended up in the dungeons and figured I’d rot there for the rest of my life.”

“But you didn’t?” You asked quietly. He looked at you in surprise, the fact that you were still willing to ask questions suggested that you hadn’t made your mind up on what you thought yet.

“No. Thanks to the King.”

You tilted your head in question.

“While I was in there, I’d gotten a reputation of being particularly…scrappy. The King came to my cell one day and gave me the option to join his forces rather than spending my life behind bars. Obviously I agreed - it meant I could live a life, and I’d have money to send back to Jin so he wouldn’t starve.”

You seemed to ponder that for a second. “He never mentioned that.”

“It happens more often than you’d think. A lot of the people in the Kingdom’s forces were former criminals. He’s selective about who he chooses, he’ll only offer it to people he believes deserve a second chance - those who are particularly young like I was, or people who were only criminals out of desperation.”

He wasn’t sure what you thought of that, watching the way your eyes narrowed as you seemed to process that information. He was surprised that you’d never been informed of that initiative, considering you were going to rule the country one day he figured you would already know.

“Are the tattoos from prison then?”

He almost did a double take. He was expecting judgement from you to some extent, perhaps even disgust. He wasn’t prepared for such a superficial question.

“Yeah…” You seemed to sit with that information for a second before looking up at him with a mischievous twinkle in your eye.

“So you do have a questionable past! Wish I could’ve found that out a few days ago. I couldn’t find anything in your stupid room, and I got in trouble for it.”

Sukuna did his very best to hide his surprise at that statement. You’d thoroughly caught him off guard. You weren’t scared of him? Disgusted at what he’d done? Instead all you cared about was that the information had arrived too late for you to use it against him? He felt an oddly warm sensation in his chest as he looked at you - you were wearing an expression that he hadn’t seen directed at him before, something akin to understanding.

It seemed almost like you were trying to lighten the mood for him. There was an urge to point that out and tease you for it, but he didn’t want to ruin the moment.

So instead he went along with it.

“You’re not very good at this whole getting rid of me thing, you know.” Sukuna spoke with a soft chuckle. “It's entertaining, don’t get me wrong, but everything you do just gets thwarted. I mean, you tried climbing into my room in broad daylight. Did you really think no one would see you? Besides, your father is well aware of my colourful past anyway.”

You blushed, evidently feeling a little embarrassed having your failures laid out in front of you - you’d clearly thought it was a decent plan. “Sorry, no one ever taught me how to come up with evil schemes, this is the first time I’ve tried anything like this. I never had the chance to learn it from a gang.”

He clicked his tongue. “Mmmm, you did always seem like such a good girl before, just a few weeks with me at your side and you’re thoroughly corrupted huh?”

You wrinkled your nose in disgust at his wording. “Don’t put it like that. I was just beginning to think you weren’t so bad.”

He let out a soft laugh, ignoring the way that your comment made his heart flip. “The King is beside himself you know, he doesn’t understand why you’re being so difficult - he keeps apologising to me for you making my life hard.”

You seemed to think about that for a moment before shooting him a serious look. “I’ll stop actively antagonising you for now.” You said decisively. “But I’m not going to make life easy for you.”

That didn’t come as a surprise to him.

“I’d never expect you to.” He said with a grin.

The two of you sat there in silence for a while longer, staring out at the pond, the stars twinkling in the sky above you. The quiet felt comfortable, as though you were almost enjoying his company at your side.

He knew for certain that he was enjoying yours.

next chapter | series masterlist

a/n: hope you enjoyed! I really loved writing the final scene for this one.

planning to get the next update out in around a week.

reblogs and comments are appreciated as always <3

Taglist: @ccazimi @ryomeowie @qardasngan @poopooindamouf @pick-pookie @noooo-onee @ravenwitchh @wobblewobble822 @being-blue-is-better @sukubusss @kittsoraxx @lanaleanne

#sukuna x reader #sukuna #jjk sukuna #ryomen sukuna #jjk x reader #sukuna ryomen #sukuna smut #jjk au #jjk fanfic #jjk #jjk smut #sukuna jjk #sukuna x you #sukuna x y/n #jujutsu kaisen sukuna #ryoumen sukuna #sukuna ryomen smut #ryomen sukuna x reader

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whitenoisewhatanawfulsound · 20 days ago

Text

Mosaics.

Spencer Reid x Reader

Spencer Reid is not as unloveable as he was made to think. Ups and downs are inevitable, and "I love you"'s come easier than he once thought, and so does existing. He'll love the parts of you that have never experienced care.

1.8k words

cw: Hurt/comfort (parts of it are pretty sad, but there are some veeery fluffy bits), small fight that is resolved, Spencer's childhood trauma, reader has hair, Spencer is very much written as neurodivergent (the way God intended)

an: This starts off as a bit of a character analysis, there's really no plot, but there is dialogue and interaction. I love this fic with my whole heart, I hope you do too <3

Fresh out of college, Spencer never considered the idea that someone would, one day, find loving him easy. That he, could at some point graze his fingers over soft skin, rather than cutting them on broken glass. That he could handle carefully constructed art with care, and not be afraid to destroy it with his bare hands.

He wonders if he really was miserable to be around, as a kid. He must’ve been; people stared at him as if he was covered in blood and holding a gun. That, or they didn’t look at all. The latter was always easiest. He spoke in equations and scientific facts, statistics and percentages— he startled adults easily, “Diana, tell me, how does your son know such things? It’s impressive, for his age.” It stopped being impressive after a while, and more so became tiring and show off-ish. It was easy for him to tell that something was off about him, as a child.

He worked better around adults, but it’s not like they were any better than kids his age. They were just better at not showing their confusion as much. They could resist rolling their eyes whenever he started speaking. At least, most could, though his father could not.

He wasn’t used to being looked at like he did something extraordinary. That he was, in the most complicated way, just extraordinary. That he wasn’t something difficult in the way that he was hard to be around, but in the way that he had so many things that made him him. Pieces to pick and prod at, to question and examine. To have someone who asks about his favorite things just because they want to know. Someone who listens to the words that pour out of his mouth like waterfalls.

Being held was once terrifying. His fathers arms were too tight, his hands too rough in front of people that he wished to impress. His mother’s arms would strangle him, at times, muttering unwell things that scared him as a child, but things that he got used to as time went on. He grew to love soft touches; on his arms, fingers tracing lines across his jaw, gentle kisses that felt like warm summer breezes on the soft rolling plains of his skin. Those kisses against his skin made his face burn red hot, now. Teasing smiles and banter made him giddy. He’d kiss you silly just to try and make you stop. It was ridiculous of him to think that it would work– it only encouraged you.

Experiencing unconditional, soft love made him want and want and want. He’d kiss you just because he can, he’d run deft fingers just under your eyes, traveling to your cheekbones. He’d watch eyelashes press together in the corners of your eyes whenever you smiled. He could stare at you forever, he thinks. Notice every mole and freckle, kiss them softly. He would dissect your brain, but not like how he did to most. He would do it to see all the good things, why you love that city so much, why exactly your favorite color is your favorite — but he’d do it to see the bad things, too. The memories of screaming and crashing, the times it felt like it would just never end. He would take them, place them inside of his soul and carry them for you. Hold the bad dear until you feel as if you can take it back. He’ll carry it over mountains, travel with it across the world; but only if you’ll let him.

Every person Spencer has touched has shattered, and from that broken glass he cuts himself on the shards, trying to pick them up. He takes them and arranges them back into a mosaic, placing them in his heart one by one. When his heart is built, he takes the rest, and forms himself. Every person he touches that shatters soon becomes a part of him that will never leave, reminding himself of the mark they made on him. He has not made you shatter (“yet” lives deep within him, it’ll never go away), but others have. Spencer will pick up what is left, though. He thinks that your shard is his favorite.

“I love your eyes.”

Spencer flushes, his ears turn a rather bright shade of pink. It baffles him just how easily you say things like that, out of nowhere. It thoroughly catches him off guard. You make an attempt to place a kiss gently upon his eyelid, but he smirks and turns his face into the couch cushion.

“Don’t hide,” is murmured, and he feels your hands guide his head back to where it was originally. His hands play with the hem of your shirt, where they lay just above your hips.

“I love you,” He says it before he really realizes it. He used to be chastised for it, for speaking before thinking. He understands now why it bothered people so much, but when he was a kid he didn’t. No one ever taught him what was polite or appropriate in that sense.

When you simply stare at him, lips parted ever so slightly, he freezes.

“I’m sorry-” He begins, trying to sit up, which is…well, a bit difficult considering you’re on top of him.

He’s cut off by lips against his own, and he melts. His hands come up to hold your face, fingertips brushing hair behind your ears. It’s languid and soft and warm. It’s like sunshine against his skin, cool water underneath his fingertips. It’s broken all too soon, and he laughs when you begin placing quick kisses along his jaw.

“I love you, I love you,” Punctuates each kiss. Hearing him laugh makes you laugh and Spencer is thrilled that it does. He wishes he could bottle up the sound, keep it in his pocket forever. His eidetic memory just doesn’t do it enough justice.

With all the good, bad is bound to come with. It’s inevitable, and it always will be. There’s no stopping it, even if Spencer desperately wishes there was.

It’s stupid. The fight is stupid and pointless. It was well-meaning at first; you were upset that he never lets you help with anything around his home. That you wanted to help rather than just stand there watching him do all the work. He tells you that it’s his house, so he really should. It doesn’t feel nice, or helpful, or caring. It feels like he thinks that you’re not capable of helping correctly. Inferior, in a way.

“I told you that it’s fine.” It comes out sharper than he wanted it to.

‘I want to help, Spencer.”

“You won’t do it right.”

He’d had a horrible day at work, but it just wasn’t an excuse. He’d never taken his anger out on you before, and he feels incredibly culpable.

Spencer lays on the couch of his apartment, staring at the ceiling. You’d been coming over a lot recently, he can’t remember the last time you’d stayed at your own place for more than one night. He’s been meaning to ask if you wanted to just move in with him, but it was so nerve-wracking and terrifying that he hadn’t mustered up the courage to do so yet.

You really hadn’t meant to kick him out of his own bedroom, it just happened— you’d told him that you were going to lie down and he had let you go. You didn’t come back after that.

He feels sick, but most importantly he feels guilty. He doesn’t want to fight with you. It feels awful, and unfair to the both of you. You’re so easy to love, he doesn’t want to make it seem like you’re not.

After fighting with and berating himself for about five minutes, he gets up off the couch and pads towards his bedroom. The door is closed.

Carefully, he knocks. It's a rhythm he accidentally adapted with you. Ba ba ba du du dum.

No answer.

Ba ba ba du du dum.

He sighs. He really, very badly, wants to have a civil conversation with you. Without fighting.

He carefully, quietly, opens the door.

“Sweetheart?”

You’re not laying on the bed, rather you’re on the floor. He’s a bit surprised, but maybe not so much considering how much time the two of you spend having conversations sitting criss crossed on the floor. He’s given no answer, and he awkwardly stands in the doorframe watching you stare into space.

Cursing himself, he walks over to you, carefully laying down with you. The floor is cold where it touches exposed slivers of his skin. His shirt is ridden up slightly, and the cold bites at it. He waits a minute.

“I didn’t mean to snap at you. I don’t want to snap at you.” He begins. His voice is soft, but the silence swallows it whole.”I’m sorry. I’m sorry that I spoke to you like that. It was immature of me.” He worries that his apology doesn’t make it any better.

Bravely, and somewhat uncharacteristically, he reaches for your hand. He is relieved and somewhat thrilled when you let him take it.

“I didn’t want to make you feel inferior. I have a very specific way that I wash and organize my dishes, and it makes me anxious when people do it incorrectly.” He murmurs. His thumb brushes over your knuckle. “I approached it stupidly, and I’m sorry. I can tell you about if, if you like? How I organize them, I mean.”

You squeeze his hand. He squeezes back.

“I wash the little forks before I wash the big ones. I think that they should all be washed from smallest to largest. Same with the bowls and plates. Bowl, small plate, big plate. The bowl goes first because it’s smaller than the small plate.”

He hears you snort.

“Are you laughing?”

He can’t help but smile as he watches you fall into a full on laughing fit. Your head falls against his side, and he only smiles harder when you laugh into his shoulder.

“I’m so glad that this is amusing to you.”

“I forgive you, Spence. And I love the way you wash your dishes. Even if it’s kind of weird.”

“I like having systems.”

“I know.”

“I don’t want to fight with you.” He gives your hand three consecutive squeezes. I love you.

“I don’t want to either. We’re okay?”

“We’re okay.”

Spencer hopes that the two of you will always be okay, even if it comes with fights. He’ll take the good and the bad, the bitter and the cold, the warm and the dopey smiles. He’ll take all of it, because it’s you. He’ll be so gentle, hold you with arms that will never hit, share whispered secrets and muffled laughter in the dead of night. He doesn’t want to be the one who shatters you, but he’ll keep the parts that already have. Because those parts are still you, they just need care. Love. And by God, does he have so much love.

#border by sweetmelodygraphics #criminal minds #spencer reid #criminal minds fanfic #criminal minds fanfiction #criminal minds fic #doctor spencer reid #dr spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid hurt/comfort #spencer reid fanfiction #bau x reader #x reader #spencer reid fluff

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nottslove · 2 months ago

Text

THE UPPER HAND AND THE LOWER HAND (part two)→ part one

pairing: toxic!mattheo x bratty reader

4.4k words summary: part two to the upper hand and the lower hand after flirting with theo to grab mattheo's attention, you think you've done the right thing until mattheo's punishment crosses the boundaries of your usual punishments. this is the moment when you realize that mattheo would go past any bounds, he would do anything just to show you your place; beside him, even if it meant arm-wrestling with his best friend.

warnings: LONG LONG LONG, toxic!mattheo, possessive mattheo, brat!tamer mattheo, major brat taming, thigh slapping, orgasm denial, shaming, public, fingering, degrading, dirty talk, slight cum play.

author's note: THIS ONES IS WILD, Y'ALL. TOO MUCH TENSION AND TESTOSTERONE. PART THREE?? OR NAH??

kinda got carried away with this one.. it originally started out as a drabble. sorry not sorry. please show this work some love. took me a week to write :')

HE had never resorted to this kind of punishment before. usually, it was always you testing your limits, and him fucking you into behaving.

not this time.

this time, rage crackled beneath his skin like a storm barely contained. he didn’t bark orders, didn’t hurl accusations—no, his fury was quieter, sharper.

he didn’t even grant you a single moment to straighten your posture, wipe away the remnants of distress, or gather the shards of your dignity.

he had simply thrust his jersey into your chest to wear atop your ripped blouse and bra, his name emblazoned at the back— a physical, tangible, visual reminder to everyone that you were his.

he was already there, eyes drilling into you, demanding without words that you face his wrath exactly as you were—unready, vulnerable, exposed.

your skirt was short, barely covering your ass, and the sticky mess underneath.

he had even refused you to put on a pair of panties. "you wanted to act like a fucking slut— so i'm gonna treat you like one," he had said. "no panties, let everyone see what a pathetic, desperate little whore you are."

and when you tried to argue, he cut you off, reminding you of how you had been perfectly happy with nothing underneath your skirt all morning whilst you flirted with nott.

you were a wreck—hair clinging to your damp forehead, clothes rumpled and stained with the evidence of a day that had already defeated you. your hands, trembling and unsteady, bore the faint smudges of your arousal, a testament to the chaos you’d been wading through.

even your voice betrayed you, cracking under the weight of exhaustion and the unspoken plea for just one moment to compose yourself.

but there was no time, no mercy. you stood there, raw and undone, every imperfection laid bare under his unrelenting gaze.

wetness dripped out of your still-throbbing folds that had been slapped by mattheo far too many times for you to count, and your thighs rubbed together uncomfortably underneath your skirt as you walked towards the great all.

"at least give me two minutes to clean myself up," you finally begged mattheo, your eyes brimming with tears as you tugged on his arm in an attempt to pull him to the side. "i'll behave, i promise."

at long last, his resolve cracked, the weight of his own intensity seemingly catching up to him.

his head dipped—just slightly—into a small, reluctant nod. It wasn’t victory; it was a fragile truce, brittle and fleeting.

"fine," he muttered, his voice low but edged with warning. "but not more than two minutes, you hear me? any longer than that and i will fucking punish you in the great hall—in front of everyone."

the words hung in the air, a countdown already ticking as he turned away, leaving you to claw back a semblance of composure under the crushing pressure of borrowed time.

you managed a stiff nod, though tears blurred your vision, threatening to spill as you hurried into the ladies' room. each step felt weighted, as if carrying the burden of his unyielding scrutiny. the door closed behind you, but freedom was fleeting—your heart pounded relentlessly, each beat syncing with the precise ticking of the timer on his watch.

he was out there, stationed like an unwavering sentinel, his presence as imposing as a locked cage. two minutes. two merciless minutes to gather yourself, to rebuild the shards of your composure before facing him again.

the mirror reflected back a version of yourself you barely recognized—disheveled, trembling, and painted with streaks of desperation.

your hands fumbled with the cold tap, splashing water on your face in frantic attempts to wash away the panic. but it clung to you, stubborn and unyielding, as though his looming presence outside the door could seep through the walls and find you in here.

you shrugged off his jersey, taking off your ruined blouse and bra underneath and throwing them away before putting it back on, his strong cologne already inhibiting your flowery perfume.

adjusting your skirt, you took deliberate care in gently wiping away any traces of your arousal underneath, until you decided you were presentable enough to head back outside.

he lingered in the doorway, the moment he caught sight of you, a smirk curling at the edges of his lips. the thrill of the chase, the satisfaction of seizing control—it was all supposed to be his.

but then, you stepped out, quicker than he'd anticipated, stealing the moment from his grasp.

he hadn’t expected you to emerge so soon. for a moment, he had relished the thought of storming in, gripping your wrist, dragging you out by your hair under the flickering fluorescent light—a spectacle, a statement.

but here you were, stepping forward before he could act, before he could satisfy that need for control. his fingers curled into fists at his sides, a fleeting ember of frustration burning beneath his skin. the disappointment was fleeting, replaced by something darker. a game unfinished, a predator denied its prize.

you had stolen the moment.

but the night was far from over.

it was as if he had expected you to pull of something to get on his nerves, something to test his patience until it finally snapped.

not even thirty seconds had passed before mattheo's fingers closed around your arm, firm yet deceptively casual. his grip was effortless, as if he had always known you’d end up right here—with him, away from prying eyes.

he steered you into the deserted classroom, the creak of the door swallowing the outside noise. the dim glow of the overhead lights barely touched his features, but the smirk—the lazy, knowing smirk—stood out like a signature, promising trouble.

your heart lurched, a sharp, breath-stealing moment of hesitation. you parted your lips, the beginnings of a question forming—why?

why had he seized you so suddenly, drawn you into the quiet shadows? you hadn’t done anything to anger him… yet.

but the gleam in his eyes, the calculated tension in his grip, suggested he wasn’t waiting for a reason. the air between you thickened, charged with something unspoken, something dangerous.

and then he you were pressed against the wall and mattheo yanked your skirt up harshly, instantly tilting his head downwards, his eyes carefully examining your puffy folds and swollen clit— now all cleaned up.

you tensed, breath catching in your throat as you closed your eyes tightly and whimpered, the cool air hitting your bare pussy and sending a whole other wave of arousal coursing through you.

"did you touch yourself, doll?" mattheo's voice crooned into your ear, his two fingers already sliding against your soft folds, your tiny little hole puckering up and eagerly trying to suck his fingers in. "because you fucking know the rules... you don't get to cum without my permission..."

"n-no—" you rasped, throat dry as you violently shook your head. "i didn't... i swear—"

a sharp cry tore from your throat as you felt a stinging pain on the inside of your thigh, and you gasped when you realized mattheo had slapped you once more.

"good slut," he replied promptly, a devilish smirk on his lips as he tapped your cheek and smoothed your skirt back down to flow prettily around your thighs.

and then, just like that, he was leading you through the grand doors, his hand firm around yours, his presence commanding. the great hall buzzed with laughter and chatter, but as he steered you forward, the world seemed to narrow, folding in around the two of you. You weren’t just walking—you were being presented, displayed, an unspoken claim shimmering in the air between you.

a prize. his prize.

admiring glances flickered your way, envy blooming in the eyes of those watching. and you liked it—no, you loved it—the rush of belonging, the undeniable thrill of being his.

students shifted instinctively, parting as though compelled by an unspoken force, creating a clear path as mattheo led you through the hall. his stride was steady, effortless, exuding a quiet dominance that required no announcement.

the slytherin table loomed ahead—theo and draco already in place, their gazes flicking up in acknowledgment as mattheo claimed his seat. and you—drawn into the space beside him—settled without hesitation, as if there had never been another option.

your gaze remained firmly fixed on your lap, a silent act of self-preservation, fingers curling slightly as if the mere act of holding still could steady your pulse..

theo’s presence burned at the edge of your awareness, but you refused to acknowledge it—refused to risk even the slightest flicker of interest. a single misstep—a fleeting glance toward theo—could shatter the fragile equilibrium, could trigger something inevitable.

you felt mattheo’s presence beside you, felt the weight of his unspoken command pressing against your skin. if you so much as wavered, if you betrayed even the slightest flicker of curiosity, he would act. he wouldn't hesitate to fulfill the promise he had made earlier that day, and there would be no undoing it. no escaping it.

theo leaned back, eyes flickering with something unreadable—amusement, intrigue, maybe even expectation. his smirk was slow, deliberate, a silent taunt that curled at the edges of his lips.

he leaned in slightly, amusement flickering in his eyes as he traced the shift in your demeanor—you, quiet for once, not draping yourself in playful flirtation to rile mattheo.

"behaving yourself, cara?" theo drawled, raising a brow slightly. "that's a first.."

you were quiet. for once. no teasing remarks, no glancing coyly at theo, meant to stir mattheo's temper. it was a shift, a crack in the usual game, and theo noticed. of course he did.

no teasing remarks, no lingering glances designed to test the limits of his patience. it was different. unexpected. and theo knew exactly why.

his gaze dipped to where mattheo’s hand still rested on your thigh, possessive, unyielding.

the smirk deepened, a challenge woven into the curve of his mouth. were you really going to behave? or were you just waiting for the right moment to snap the leash?

his stare lingered a beat too long, the smirk widening slightly, as if daring you to slip back into old habits. as if testing just how far mattheo’s claim had stretched over you.

mattheo obviously noticed the way his best friend seemed to take your silence as a challenge, and his grip tightened on your thigh, the movement punctuated with a low, throaty growl. "eyes off my girl, nott..."

theo’s smirk deepened, lazy and triumphant, as he stretched back in his seat, exuding an air of utter satisfaction. he wasn’t in a rush—no, he was enjoying this, savoring every second of stirring the storm brewing beneath mattheo’s carefully controlled exterior.

it was a game, a silent challenge exchanged through fleeting glances and sharp-edged smirks. and theo? he was winning. for now. "or what?" he drawled. "she's yours for now, because you're giving her attention, but the moment you toss her aside she's gonna come running straight to me—"

your gaze shot up, sharp and unforgiving, locking onto theo with an intensity that made the smirk lingering on his lips widen.

the audacity. the sheer recklessness of his words hung in the air, crackling like a live wire between you. your lips parted, a breath hitching—whether in disbelief or fury, even you weren’t sure. but theo? he was reveling in it, leaning in ever so slightly, the amusement in his eyes darkening into something far more dangerous. "go on, cara, tell him i'm wrong—"

mattheo was beyond furious. a guttural sound tore from his throat, raw and unrestrained, as he surged forward, the edge of the table groaning beneath the sudden force of his movement. for a fleeting second, it seemed as though he might reach across and haul theo up by his collar, ready to tear into him, to make him regret every smug word that had just left his lips.

but then—your thigh. his hand clenched down, fingers digging in with enough pressure to leave a mark, to etch his rage into your skin. a silent warning. a claim. you stopped yourself from making a sound, a quiet whimper leaving your lips.

he didn’t need to speak; his grip told you everything. and yet, theo only smirked wider, leaning back like he was enjoying the fire he had just ignited.

mattheo knew the rules of the game—knew that if he rose, if he let his fury manifest into action, theo would have won. and that was something he simply couldn’t allow.

instead, he stayed rooted, his jaw tightening until the muscles ached, his fingers still curled into the fabric of his pants, resisting the urge to lunge forward. his glare was razor-sharp, slicing through the air between them, aimed directly at theo. a warning. a silent promise of retribution.

yet theo, ever the instigator, only leaned back with that damnable smirk, basking in the tension like it was some kind of victory.

but mattheo wasn’t finished. not by a long shot.

you, caught in the charged air between them, barely dared to shift, feeling the residual energy of mattheo’s temper radiating through the fingers still locked onto your thigh. it was possessive, undeniable—a warning spoken without words.

you weren’t sure whether the pressure was meant to remind you of his dominance or ground himself, a desperate bid to keep from snapping.

before you knew it, mattheo's cold, ringed fingers climbed higher, closer and closer to the apex of your thighs, and your breath hitched, your own fingers tightening around the edge of the table in an attempt to keep yourself steady.

theo exhaled a chuckle, shaking his head as he finally dropped his gaze, sipping his drink like he hadn’t nearly been hauled over the table moments ago. “relax, mate,” he drawled, eyes flicking back to you. “no harm done.”

but the way he said it—the way his smirk lingered just a second too long—suggested he knew exactly how much harm he was capable of causing.

"nott—" mattheo growled, his voice deep and rumbling from deep, within his chest. "i swear to god— one more word and i will fucking—"

blaise, ever the moderator, stepped in quickly, noticing the rising tension between the two boys, best friends, now almost turned enemies.

"alright, how about we settle this in some other way?" he quipped, raising a brow towards enzo, who had just pulled away from making out with a pretty, blonde girl. "draco— ideas?"

the malfoy heir looked towards the rest of the boys with an interested stare, before his gaze shifted towards you. "well, quiddit—"

"not quidditch," blaise interrupted, shaking his head and jabbing his friend with his elbow, before turning back to mattheo and theo. "you guys are best friends, you can't let a girl get between you two. bros before—"

blaise's words landed like a spark in dry kindling, igniting something volatile between mattheo and theo. The shift was immediate—mattheo’s jaw tightening, his fingers twitching at his side, while theo’s ever-present smirk faltered just enough to reveal the flicker of irritation beneath it.

for a brief moment, neither spoke, the tension curling through the air like the hush before a storm. then, mattheo exhaled sharply, the sound laced with barely contained fury, his gaze darkening as it flicked toward theo, as if daring him to react first. theo, on the other hand, leaned back, rolling his tongue against the inside of his cheek, weighing whether this was a fight worth indulging.

"finish your sentence, zabini, i fucking dare you," your boyfriend growled, clenching his fist atop the table, his other hand still climbing higher and higher, dangerously close to where you needed him most.

blaise stepped back. "alright, alright," he drawled. "no need to get so touchy..."

you were far too busy trying to ignore mattheo's ever firm grip on your thigh, his cold rings pressing into you and giving you goosebumps as they gently brushed against your swollen clit.

the tips of your ears burned at the thought of anyone finding out exactly what mattheo was doing to you underneath the table.

the moment blurred, lost in the tension thickening the air. you hadn’t been paying attention—too caught in the silent war of trying to keep your dignity by not letting out a single sound.

the way mattheo didn't spare you a single glance despite knowing his touch was driving you absolutely feral only caused you to grow more determined not to show any sort of emotion on your face.

this was still part of your punishment, you knew that now. mattheo was teaching you a lesson here; not to test his fucking patience.

but then, out of nowhere—theo leaned forward, his smirk sharper now, a glint of something reckless in his eyes. “since you’re dying to prove something,” he murmured, rolling his shoulders, “let’s make it simple. arm wrestling. unless, of course, you’re afraid.”

mattheo’s eyes narrowed, dark and lethal, the corner of his lips twitching as if he were seconds away from baring his teeth in a challenge of his own. the hall seemed to quiet just a fraction—students catching the shift, sensing the storm that was about to crack open between them.

theo dragged his sleeve up, resting his elbow firmly against the table, fingers flexing with easy confidence. “come on, mate,” he taunted, his voice all too smug. “let’s settle this like men.”

a muscle in mattheo’s jaw ticked, and then—without another word—he slammed his own elbow onto the table, fingers locking with theo’s in a brutal grip.

you swallowed hard. this wasn’t about strength.

this was about dominance.

this was also a fight over you.

mattheo's other hand seemed perfectly wedged between your thighs, fingers collecting your slickness and smearing it all over your pretty pussy, his fingers dragging over folds in a manner that was enough to tease your brains out, but never enough to satisfy.

he leaned in towards you, voice soft enough to be heard just by you and no one else. "you better hope i win this, whore, or it'll be face down and ass up the rest of the night, are we clear?"

you nodded, hesitantly, tears pricking your eyes at the fact that he referred to you as a whore and a slut instead of using your name.

"good girl," mattheo replied approvingly.

blaise’s voice cut through the tension, steady and unhurried, dragging out every second with agonizing deliberation.

"three…"

mattheo’s grip tightened, muscles coiling, the veins in his forearm standing stark against his skin. theo’s smirk hadn’t faltered—if anything, it had sharpened, his confidence unwavering as he flexed his fingers in preparation.

"two…"

the hall had fallen into hushed anticipation, eyes flickering between the two best friends— now rivals, waiting for the inevitable clash. you swallowed hard, pulse thrumming beneath your skin. the air felt charged, alive, seconds away from snapping under the weight of their challenge.

"one."

blaise’s hand sliced downward—an unspoken signal.

and then, in an instant, mattheo and theo’s hands locked in battle, the table groaning beneath the sheer force of their struggle.

this match was more than strength. it was power. it was dominance. and neither was willing to lose.

the moment the match started, you suddenly gasped, feeling the sharp intrusion of mattheo's digits against your puffy folds, his cold rings pressing against your thighs and rubbing against your inflated clit.

"m-matty," you whimpered desperately, your voice barely more than a whisper. "p-please..."

you were begging. for what, you didn't know. you just needed this torment to stop.

the world around you blurred, background noise fading into a distant hum as your focus locked onto their interlocked hands—veiny, tense, straining against each other in a battle neither was willing to lose. the air was thick with unspoken fury, testosterone-fueled defiance crackling between them like static before a storm.

mattheo’s jaw clenched, his muscles taut with barely restrained aggression, his knuckles paling as he exerted every ounce of strength against theo’s stubborn resistance. theo, ever the provocateur, held his ground, his smirk flickering at the edges as if the challenge only fed his resolve.

it was brutal. unrelenting. neither acknowledging your presence, save for mattheo's fingers rubbing against your cunt and causing you to rub your thighs together, squishing his fingers in the process, preventing him from having the perfect access to your thighs.

mattheo growled, veins popping out from his bicep with every force he exerted against theo's resisting arm, and the sight was enough to get your mouth to water.

fuck. you knew he was attractive, but to see his bicep right there, forearm flexed, the muscles shifting under taut skin, each fiber coiling with restrained power... it did things to you.

veins traced along the length, standing out like ridges beneath the surface, pulsing with the exertion of the match. his biceps, sculpted and sharp, tensed as he poured more strength into the battle, the sinew beneath his shirt stretching with each subtle movement.

the shift was nearly imperceptible, a fraction of an inch, but you saw it—you felt it.

mattheo’s hand edged forward, forcing theo’s grip back just the slightest bit, veins straining, muscles rippling beneath his skin as he poured everything into that moment. it wasn’t just brute strength—it was a battle of will, of dominance. and theo knew it.

his smirk flickered, just for a second, before his jaw clenched, determination sparking in his eyes. he wasn’t going down that easily.

but mattheo’s fingers tightened, his stance unwavering. he was winning. and he wasn’t letting go.

just then, you felt it. between your thighs.

two of mattheo's fingers suddenly broke past your tight barrier and he shoved them into your little hole, causing your mouth to open, but no scream to come out; you held yourself back in an attempt not to draw attention to the filthy actions you engaged in under the table.

"f-fuck, m-matty," you whispered again, your voice hoarse and punctuated with another whimper. you lay your head down slightly on the table, resting against your arm, your eyes fixated on mattheo's clenched bicep.

"so close... so fucking close, i know it.." mattheo muttered. something told you he wasn't talking about his arm wrestling with theo, but about the fact that you were so close to reaching your peak.

his fingers pumped in and out of you relentlessly, and a large air bubble wedged itself into your throat with every pleasurable sensation of his ringed fingers dragging against your folds.

you closed your eyes for a moment, biting your lip as your hard nipples ached, pressing against the thick fabric of mattheo's jersey. the sight of mattheo's contracted muscles, and the dizzying scent of his cologne, paired with his long fingers curling and scissoring inside your warm, wet walls, it was enough to send you over the edge.

mattheo moved his fingertips swiftly underneath your skirt, his other hand firmly gripping theo's. you were thankful the noise of the great hall was enough to drown out the sound of your greedy cunt sucking his fingers as they moved, his thumb pressing against your clit and rolling tiny figure eights against the aching nub.

your legs parted the slightest bit, and you rutted your hips into his hand, trying to chase that beautiful high that seemed far away enough to be a hallucination instead of a reality.

your moans grew more fervent, like you were not even trying to hide your shallow breathing and your little whimpers.

before you could tell him that it was too much, he shoved a third finger into our sopping wet folds, the painful pleasure making your head spin and just tipping you over the edge.

your orgasm hit, like a train wreck, slamming into you from all sides.

and then—

SLAM!

the impact echoed through the table, a resounding slam that stole the breath from the air around you.

mattheo’s hand pinned theo’s to the surface, unyielding, dominant—final. his chest rose and fell, muscles still taut from exertion, veins standing out like battle scars against his skin. his gaze burned, victorious, daring theo to even think about denying what had just happened.

theo exhaled sharply, his smirk faltering just slightly before he pulled his hand free, rolling his wrist as if shaking off the loss. the amusement hadn’t entirely faded from his eyes, but there was something else now—a quiet acknowledgment.

mattheo had won.

blaise gave a lazy grin, announcing the winner as mattheo and making it his personal business to shoo away everyone that wasn't himself, giving the two best friends privacy.

your chest was heaving, eyes closed as you came down from your high, head still spinning at the adrenaline rush of having mattheo's fingers so deep inside you.

slowly, he gave you that shit-eating grin of his before he pulled his fingers out of your cunt, your cum clinging to his fingers and sliding down— compliments to gravity.

your thighs were in a worse state than before, your puffy folds aching and sopping wet from having mattheo's fingers tease you for what felt like ages.

"that's right, nott— i won..." and then, mattheo chuckled darkly, bringing his cum-covered fingers up to his mouth, his gaze fixated on theo.

embarrassment flooded through you, tied with a huge wave of humiliation. your heart was in your mouth, and your eyes were wide— yet you could only stare, gaze shifting between the two boys.

mattheo's tongue languidly lapped up every drop of your release, making sure theo could see every gentle movement of his tongue across his ringed fingers.

realization dawned on theo's features when he realized exactly where mattheo's other hand had been all this time.

his lips curled into a slight smirk as he nodded in acknowledgement and dipped his head in respect. "touché. well played, riddle, well played..."

mattheo then stood up, his hand surprisingly gentle as he helped you off the bench, slowly guiding you to your feet and out of the great hall, leaving theo by himself.

"i hope you've learned your lesson, brat; because if you didn't, i won't be so lenient with my punishments next time..."

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eclipseberrycake · 6 months ago

Text

Poly! MoonBerryCake x Reader Pt. 3

Who didn't tell me the actual ship name was blueberrycake. What the flip guys.

Anyway, I saw this post and was like omg I need it. So I wrote it.

Part 3 if you will.

-> Part one

-> Part Two

☁ There was something be said about your resolve. Or your spite. Or your absolute lack of self-preservation.

☁ Cosmo wasn't sure which one it was yet. He wasn't sure he wanted to know. Not yet anyway. For the sake of your newly budding relationship.

☁ It had been a slow process admittedly, between the four of you, talking and discussing the boundaries you all had and laying them out in the open, along with the expectations you all had for the relationship.

☁ You all were still getting used to each other, and honestly Cosmo wasn't sure if you all were 'official' or just...seeing each other? Glisten had told him there was a difference. He didn't think there was but apparently there was a huge difference between seeing each other, going out, dating and being official.

☁ It was startling to suddenly have to have the difference of all of these explained to him in what was supposed to be a five floor run for pops to restock. It turned into a five floor lecture with Poppy, Glisten and Scraps all explaining the differences to him from across the rooms they were in.

☁ A strange day indeed. He was mostly just glad the others weren't there. You were still recovering and Astro had taken to ensuring you were actually bed resting and not doing...whatever it is you do when you're not listening to common sense. Sprout is with Pebble, making sure the little rock dog is back on track with his healing so he can hopefully be part of a future run.

☁ Leaving Cosmo the unfortunate sole victim of the chat. Even Teagan got in on it, prodding his cheek with a finger and knowing grin, going on about he was quite the 'heartbreaker'. He didn't want to be that! He quite liked you all!

☁ Looking onwards, he wondered how that happened. At one point did he look at what was before him and go yeah thats the one. Because he had questions for his past self. Lots of questions.

☁ "How many is that?" He has to ask, leaning over to where Astro is watching silently, amusement written on the celestial's face. He lost count after #15.

☁ "This is thirty two." Astro hummed, using a star shard to catch a tower of empty pudding cups that had begun to fall. They were disposed of properly as you cracked open what was your thirty-third pudding cup, sticking your spoon into it eagerly. How this happened? Cosmo didn't know. He walked in at the seventh, and even then questioned what the hell you were thinking.

☁ Beside you, Gigi and Goob were cheering you on, bringing more pudding cups out of...Well, Cosmo wasn't even sure where. Just that now there were more. You didn't need more.

☁ "Does Sprout know?" Cosmo continued to ask, leaning to lay on Astro. He was warm and the fur of his blanket was soft. Cosmo probably could've fallen asleep there really if he wasn't too busy watching the crazy shitstorm in front of him.

☁ "Nope." Came the very answer Cosmo was expecting. Probably for the best if he thought about it. If Sprout knew he'd stop it. Himself and Astro both were more curious to see the outcome then they were to stop it. Was there a limit?

☁ You would find out.

☁ Hopefully before Sprout showed up, but that was neither here nor there.

☁ The pudding cup was stacked on top of your most recent pile and number thirty-four was opened.

☁ "We're going to have to deal with this later." Astro tacked on, laying his head on Cosmo's. Cosmo hummed in acknowledgement having accepted that at cup seventeen.

☁ He could only imagine what thirty four pudding cups (And counting) could do to your poor tummy. That was part of science though.

☁ "Whatever happens, we will use this against them for the rest of their life." The roll huffed, glancing to the doorway out of instinct. He could faintly hear Sprout talking with Vee, the most recent recovery, most likely about the latest gossip around Gardenview.

☁ Oh little did they know.

☁ Thirty-five was opened and primed as you slapped down number thirty four.

☁ "This has gotta be some kind of world record." Astro pipes up again, eye darting to where Cosmo had looked off too. "Ooh, Wardens here." He teased, making Cosmo grin.

☁ The thirty fifth pudding cup, no empty, was slammed down as your eyes darted to where they sat, wide and scared. "He's not-"

☁ Goob and Gigi seemed to take this as a challenge, pushing more cups into your hands. Gigi claimed she had a bet going she needed to win while Goob was probably just there for the thrill.

☁ The added challenge of speed seemed to turn up the pace, cutting through four more in the blink of an eye.

☁ Number fourty was in hand and on its way to being devoured when the shrill gasp they all had been waiting for cut in.

☁ "What in Dandy's name do you think you're doing?!"

☁ Cosmo had to laugh. He had to. This was too good. It was too much watching Sprout try to charge you as you just as quickly try to eat your fortieth pudding cup. Incredible. Truly.

☁ And better yet, you were never living it down.

☁ Even after the night of constant tummy aches and your whines as they took turns caring for you, it followed you in teasing reminders whenever you so much as looked at another thing of pudding.

☁ It wasn't until you all were focusing on the trying to get the newer toons back that the it dropped the first time.

☁ You were on standby as Pebble took over distracting for a round, sticking close enough that you could use your spare air horn should Pebble stumble at all. But since you also couldn't help yourself, you were leaning on Cosmo's back as he was doing a machine, poking and prodding at his face when he didn't immediately give you what you wanted.

☁ Which was attention. Which his was taken as he tried to not mess up his skill checks and get you both caught and make Pebble's life that much harder.

☁ Still you persisted until the light of his machine blinked green and he was finally able to turn to face you. You stumbled, landing on his chest as he caught you, raising a non-existent eyebrow at your antics. "Listen, pudding cup, you can have all the attention you want, but you gotta be patient."

☁ You opened you're mouth for a rebuttal before pausing, finger raised in the air as the words registered. He snickered at the face you were making, turning and moving on to the next machine.

☁ "What did you call me?" You asked, quickly running to match step with him while also keeping an eye on Pebble.

☁ "C'mon, you don't think eating 40 pudding cups is gonna earn you some kind of nickname?" He threw back, hiding behind a stack of boxes with you as you heard Pebble bark, alerting anyone in the area he was on his way.

☁ "Could've been 41 but, someone hates fun." You grunted, looking in the direction you last saw Sprout headed.

☁ Rolling his eyes, Cosmo shot you a look. "I hope you remember the stomach ache you had to endure."

☁ "Yeah. but I would've had it no matter what. I could've at least found out what the limit was." You pouted.

☁ "Uh huh and even if you had, that wouldn't change anything about the nickname. Would it, pudding?" He teased.

☁ The nickname didn't leave no matter how much you wanted it to.

☁ Every time he had the opportunity, Cosmo was using it. Dropping it as he passed behind you in the kitchen ("Watch behind, pudding cup!"), during runs ("Twisted to the right of ele, Puddin'."), even during your down time! ("Pudding, Astro's looking for you!")

☁ Which was fine, really, you didn't mind the nickname. Sprout still called you Bud more than your actual name. But that was where the affections from him stopped.

☁ He let you all hang all over him and accepted kisses to the cheek with stammered words, flustered in a way that was too adorable to be any actual deterrent.

☁ You were half convinced he didn't think he was allowed that privilege. Which was cute, in an odd sort of way.

☁ You were watching Cosmo as he iced some new cookies, leaning on the counter with the same look in your eye that he's sure started the pudding debacle.

☁ He paused, mid dollop on an icing petal before looking up at you. "Can I help you, pudding?"

☁ "You're hiding something."

☁"Am I?" Cosmo hummed, switching colors to a bright blue that was sure to stain your teeth. The way nature intended.

☁ "You are. I can sense it. It's like I have the force." You nod resolutely. "Or like boyfriend intuition." You paused, holding your hand to your chin. "How long does that take to develop? We haven't been together all that long but what if I developed it like the second we were together? Wouldn't that be cool? I wonder if it works on Astro. Sprout talks to much so I don't even need it for him-"

☁ "Are we...Together, I mean?" Cosmo suddenly cuts in, halting your rambling. Normally he loves listening to your little spiels, but the topic being brought up is enough to have him spilling. "Or are we just like dating- or maybe just seeing each other? I-"

☁ "Have you been talking with Glisten?" You suddenly ask, a soft smile on your features as you slide off your perch to walk around the counter. "Because he's given me the whole 'are you actually exclusive' talk before too."

☁ Cosmo pauses before huffing. "Yeah. Him, Poppy and Scraps. I just...I don't know if we put a label on it."

☁ "Oh you silly cream puff. You know you can just ask us this stuff, right?" You grin, wrapping your arms around his waist with a bright grin. "They think that just because their love lives are messy all of ours have to be messy too. I promise we're together, exclusive, partners. Whatever wording they used. I know the other two would agree too."

☁ Cosmo heaves a sigh of relief, leaning his forehead onto yours. "I was honestly scared of what you'd say."

☁ "Well, don't be." You snorted. "You're lucky it was me who started this conversation. Could you imagine Sprout's reaction?"

☁ "I try not too. "

☁ "You might've spent Astro tumbling with you." You laugh.

☁ "I wouldn't have let him, you know that, pudding." Cosmo chuckled before stilling, swallowing. "Can I-...Can I kiss you?"

☁ "I'd be mad if you didn't."

☁ With a laugh, Cosmo angles his head down, his lips meeting your own in a sweet kiss.

☁ When the other two find you, both of your mouths are stained purple as you share a plate of cookies between you.

☁ "I thought the cookie cutter didn't allow for you guys to put in the purple petal." Astro hums, taking a cookie for himself and scanning it. No purple petals to be seen, but he bites into it anyway, humming happily at the taste.

☁ "It doesn't." Sprout answers, looking at the cookies that were sans said petal. Their flower cutter only had five petals as opposed to Dandy's six, so they just omitted the purple petal when making Dandy cookies. Or they normally did.

☁ "There was some extra red icing." You answer, leaning onto Cosmo's shoulder. "I helped dispose of it."

☁ "You're lips are purple." Sprout deadpans.

☁ "There was also some extra blue." Cosmo flushes as he avoids looking at the other two.

☁ There's a moment of silence before Astro is laughing so hard at Sprout's face he chokes.

#dandy's world x reader #dandy's world cosmo #dandys world x reader #astro dandys world #dandys world sprout #dandy's world sprout seedly x reader #sprout seedly x reader #sprout seedly #sprout x reader #dandy's world astro novalite x reader #astro novalite #astro x reader #cosmo doesn't have a last name #cosmo x reader #dandy's world cosmo x reader #moonberrycake x reader #moonberrycake

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revelboo · 6 months ago

Note

[/slams a request form on your desk like an over zealous court room anime dude]

Mx.Revel, consider this a request of the utmost importance! This request is for none other than your personal favorite cybertronian, whom ever they may be.

Thank you for your time, your honor, I concede.

That’s Wheeljack, buuuut how about an angst ficlet? Was thinking about how utterly ill equipped Shockwave is to deal with emotions other than anger and a scenario where Soundwave is grieving a cassette. Shock wanting to do something for his friend, basically the only Cybertronian that doesn’t find him deeply unsettling, and he doesn’t understand he can’t just replace the cassette with something near the same size. Honestly, I just wanted to do an alternate take with these two. Title is ‘Clumsy Heart’ by The Matches. 18+ 🌶️

Clumsy Heart

IDW Shockwave x Reader, Soundwave x Reader

• Servos of his one hand flexing as the uncomfortable noise in his processor grows, those invasive thoughts and shadows of memory that aren’t his floating to the surface, half seen and hazy. Watching Soundwave cradle the still form of a cassette to himself, the way his servos ghost over that small shape making the chaos worse. Becoming uncomfortable, unable to really understand this grief, but realizing that he should know this. That he hates this. He can repair the frame, but the spark is gone. Senses his friend won’t appreciate it if he resurrects a pale shadow, even if he’s not sure why he knows that.

• Spark aching at the loss, Soundwave is aware of his other cassettes echoing his pain. Of Shockwave lingering nearby, head tipped to study him like his grief is something foreign and fascinating. “Leave me,” he says, servos gently touching that little face. Had they looked for him at the end? Knowing he’d be there in time to save them like he always is. All of them trusting without question that he’ll protect them. And he’d failed. Feels like coming apart, losing something so dear to him, a part of him. Finally, Shockwave drifts away, leaving him to grieve with his surviving cassettes.

• Leaving the base, trying to get rid of that tangling, unpleasant feeling of dissonance, Shockwave tips his head up to the night sky. Trying to understand. Wanting to. Can’t bring back the cassette, but he can find a replacement. Something similar. If it’s the loss of a small symbiote he cares for that is paining Soundwave, maybe another small thing he can care for will ease that grief? Doesn’t know, can’t really understand why he grieves at the loss. Everything dies. It’s inevitable. And it’s illogical to mourn the inevitable. Striding into the night, he ponders replacements. Something that can speak with him like a cassette. Something small and alive. One of the little, organic natives would do.

• Breath fogging in the morning air, you check the rifle. Exhausted after being up all night finding every single photo he’s in and cutting out his face. Taping those hateful little visages all over his Xbox, all his games, those stupid baseball cards and then lining them up for execution on the lawn. A petty bit of satisfaction as you line up the first shot and fire. For the bra hanging on the back of a kitchen chair. A game disc explodes in jagged shards. For those slutty lace panties on your kitchen counter. The cards aren’t as satisfying, just scattering. For that bitch in your bed and the look on his face when you’d come home early because work was slow. Slowly, picking targets and destroying them since you can’t go after him, he’s not worth it. The crap he’d left when you’d grabbed the rifle and chased him and her naked out of your house last night? Fair game.

• Is this a valid course of action? It seems logical. If something has been lost and is causing a problem, replacing it should resolve the issue. Aware that it might be a bit more nuanced than that, because of emotions he can’t grasp, he moves through the woods outside the base. It’s a sound theory and it can’t make things worse to try. Probably. That, too, eludes him. An answer that relies on emotion.

• Reloading the rifle, you hear a branch crack and come crashing down in the woods behind you. Making you flinch and nearly drop the gun. It’d been windy the day before, a branch must have broken. Turning toward the sound, your mouth falls open as a giant steps out of the woods, a single red optic finding you, antenna flicking up. “Acceptable,” it growls as the fine hair at your nape prickles. Opening fire on it as it strides your way, completely unfazed. Dropping the rifle to run, you scream as it bends and snags you in a giant hand.

• Still weighed down by grief even after laying the cassette to rest, Soundwave’s head lifts at the sound of screaming. Of terror and pain that goes right through so soon after his own loss. Freezing as he spots Shockwave entering his quarters and his attention drops to the small form wriggling like mad in his grip. Speechless as the scientist drops the human on the desk and the tiny creature lunges to their feet and runs, only to stop short as they hit the edge and realize how high up it is. Can feel the chaos and fear in their mind, that panic so bright and hurtful. “A replacement,” Shockwave says, gesturing at the terrified thing with his cannon. Like it’s as simple as that. Like a human can replace his cassette. That people are interchangeable. Turning away from the edge, terrified eyes look up at him and that fear nearly cripples him. You can’t replace what he’s lost, but you do need him. Hates Shockwave right then and those frightened eyes.

#transformers x reader #shockwave x reader #idw soundwave #soundwave x reader #idw shockwave

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polarisbibliotheque · 10 months ago

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Vergil and his s/o training together

Or Vergil and his s/o spar for foreplay fun!

Pairing: Vergil x Reader

Summary: With your sword recently broken, Vergil gave you a new devil arm to get used to. He is also your mentor when it comes to fighting - but being his lover doesn't mean he's going to go easy on you. Quite the contrary.

Restrictions: None, BUT I should tell you: lots of sexual tension in this one. What can I say, Vergil is a weird guy, sparring with his lover does things to him. Nothing explicit though, you know how I roll. Also, reader gets bruises from training/sparring. He's rough and doesn't hold back, I mentioned it before I think Vergil has this "only the strong survive" mentality, and I do think he gets ruthless as a sign of respect for his lover's abilities rather than anything else.

Author's Notes: I blame @yanderebishforlevi for this one after they dropped an ask I just answered :) I'm focusing on the Halloween specials, but that made me go through my unfinished, discarded, short stuff on limbo and rehash/put it together to post something new here.

Simple stuff, not really much of a story, just some training with sexy, bared arms, ruthless, emotionally constipated man. That's why I never thought about posting, it felt like it was missing something a plot so I was going to put it in Nemesis but, oh well. Hope you guys like it xD

“We’re done for today.”

Vergil’s words sounded final, as he lowered the Yamato after a devastating blow that had you tumbling back and struggling to fall on your knees – scraping them in a way you would have some bruises to display for a couple of days at least.

“Given it’s my training session, love…” You growled while pulling yourself back on your feet, using your sword as a crutch for help. Vergil observed you with those cutting silvery eyes, almost as if questioning your resolve to pull yourself up. Again. “I say when we are done. And I am not done.”

“You are being terribly stubborn, that is.” Vergil had Yamato back in its sheath, arms crossed while curiously watching you take your coat off, having only your training clothes underneath.

“Well, at least we got that in common, Dark Slayer.” You carefully watched as Vergil mirrored you and took off his own long coat, leaving his arms bare for the first time that night. He only did that when he was about to get rough during training – and you had to huff a laugh. “I’m only standing down when I master this damned sword, and apparently I’m not even close to that.”

“You are closer than you were when we started.” He took a deep breath, already choosing a fighting stance since you were doing the same – walking slowly in a circle, observing him with a pair of predatorial eyes. Vergil was used to be under that scrutiny around demons, but when it came to your eyes, they were threatening… And bewitching.

“And I would be even closer, if you hadn’t been cheating this whole time.” You narrowed your eyes, allowing a smirk color the corner of your lips as Vergil froze in place – you could even bet he stopped breathing for a fraction of a second.

“Cheating…?” His voice was dangerously low, words alarmingly taking their time, savoring every syllable of that little word. You knew you had struck a nerve – but, in your defense, Vergil had been striking your nerves ever since you started training a few hours prior.

It had been a couple of weeks you had a new sword in your inventory: big, heavy, resembling a claymore. Dante and Vergil had killed one particularly powerful demon that ended up becoming the sword now in your hands: brimming with demonic power, ready to be wielded to bring doom to its enemies. You had your previous sword broken into shards while protecting Nero during one of your jobs – a story for another time – and Vergil thought the claymore of sorts would be a nice replacement.

A new weapon, though, meant a lot of new things: new grip, new balance, new weight, new powers… So much to master, but you had to learn soon in order to keep up with your devil hunter job. Halloween was approaching and, given how chaotic the last few years were, you had to at least master the basics soon enough.

Vergil, being the thoughtful partner and lover of knowledge that he was, offered to help you train and master your new sword – all his arcane teachings would surely come in handy when dealing with a devil arm.

You had a problem, though. Learning and mastering things on your own was almost a given, and you always expected to do it at your pace – meaning, you didn’t have much patience to not be at least good and easily fighting after a few hours of practice. With a mentor like Vergil, though, that process was taking double the time.

He was relentless. You being his lover just meant he would go twice as hard on you – in his dictionary, it probably meant how much he adored you; but in your dictionary, you were absolutely and infinitely vexed that, by now, you hadn’t been able to at least get to a tie with him.

And that was something you always proudly said you could do.

“Yes. Cheating.” You held your sword with only one hand, throwing it behind your body and having your eyes fixed on your lover. That way, when you or him decided to attack, you could use all your strength to lunge forward. “You got exponentially worse every time I lost and got back on my feet again; you haven’t made it easier nor remained with the same level of fighting from the beginning. You are making it more difficult for me. If you hadn’t, I would’ve already had my sword on your throat by now.”

“Tsk.” You smiled as Vergil finally had that nonchalant attitude, but his eyes burned like the coldest circles of Hell. With a swift move, he unsheathed the Yamato and attacked you – as you had already prepared before, you threw your sword forward, immediately able to parry. He quickly tried another attack, but you managed to grip your sword with both of your hands and hold him back. You found Vergil’s silvery eyes staring at you sharply between the blades of your swords. “Don’t expect demons to have mercy just because the sight of you eclipses even the moon herself.”

“If we weren’t sparring, I’d take that as a compliment.” You had a small laugh hidden amidst your words, clearly seeing the shadow of a smile Vergil tried to conceal before he pushed you back with only half of his might – still having you stumble back and use whatever energy you had left to keep your body balanced.

“Your human body won’t be able to take it for too long.” And even if Vergil was trying to convince you to stand down, he still circled you, keeping his own predatorial gaze on your form and tense shoulders to quickly get into a fighting stance. You weren’t one easy to convince when you had your mind set on something, that he had to admit. “We should call it a day and tend your wounds. Your body doesn’t have the same resilience a devil’s body has.”

“I would have a lot more if you hadn’t been ruthless with me, love.” You pointed at some slight marks on your body – nothing too jarring, but still making an appearance here and there. “These bruises are on you.”

With those words, it was your turn to lunge forward and attack first. Vergil easily defended with a swift move from Yamato, trying an attack right after. You managed to defend as well, holding him still for a few seconds.

“They will make you stronger.” Were the only words he managed to answer before you attacked again. Vergil seemed to fight effortlessly, while you had to muster all your strength to wield your new sword – Vergil was right to say your body wouldn’t last for too long: you were already tired, thanks to his training, but your pride wouldn’t allow you to back down. And he knew that.

Even if Vergil worried about your stamina, he couldn’t deny how much he admired – and had a pang of pride in his own heart – every time you displayed that much willpower.

With a calculated attack to disarm you, Vergil was certain your playing would come to an end and he would have the final word on that argument – he did not expect, though, a graceful move from your side, spinning such a heavy sword in one of your hands and making it face down, coming between you and him and completely breaking his stance, foiling Vergil’s attempt to end your resolve.

You quickly threw your sword a little on the air in front of you in order to let go from the grip and hold the blade itself – strong enough to be able to wield it, but careful not to hurt yourself in the process – which gave you the perfect opportunity to spin around him and smack the hilt of your sword on his back.

Vergil slowly turned his head around, still impressed by your swift move after being so tired, only to find you with a smug smile on your lips.

“It will make you stronger.” You pointed at him with the hilt of your sword, throwing it slightly in the air again so you could grab the hilt with one hand and then another.

Vergil kept his back at you, calmly walking to the other side of the room so you could take your initial stances again – but this time you saw him shaking his head and heard a low chuckle coming from him.

Vergil was a survivor, one that lived the law of the jungle for so long that sparring and teasing his partner was one of the best ways to entertain him. To say you were both having fun was an understatement.

“Apparently, I haven’t been ruthless enough with you.” He turned around, holding Yamato’s hilt with both of his hands. You had to hold back a smile – that was one of his stances that usually meant Vergil was starting to lose his patience and considering going all out.

And that usually happened when he recognized you were starting to get the upper hand – which meant he saw your playful sword smack as a sign you were starting to get the hang of things.

After all, you only did that sort of thing with your old sword. Comparing to the way you both used to spar, he was going considerably easier on you tonight.

“Let’s remedy that.” His voice was almost a growl as his feet moved like lightning on the floor.

You had to put all your concentration in that fight – your eyes never leaving the Yamato, quickly finding the blade in the air from its shimmer and parrying with your heavy claymore. Using your weight, you pushed Vergil back – which only worked because he saw it as an opportunity to power another heavy attack to try to get you off-balance. You stumbled a little, but quickly gained your balance once more, holding back another quick attack from your lover – something quite frustrating for him, as you observed in his furrowed brows.

Even if he wasn’t going easy on you, it was the first time Vergil was tapping into some of his demonic abilities – strength, speed and power, for starters – and you took that as a compliment. If he wasn’t going to cut you some slack, he could at least fight you the same way he always did – and Vergil never really held back when fighting you.

As he said before, it would only make you stronger. And that was why you could easily fight some of the most frightening demons of Hell without even breaking a sweat.

Vergil didn’t take long to attack you again. He had that look in his eyes he only used when he was hunting, leaving no room for mercy. You held your sword in a vertical position right in front of you, having the Yamato hit the flat blade of your claymore with enough power to have you and Vergil recoil a little from the impact.

Thankfully, your sword was sturdy enough to take a powerful blow from a legendary blade and its less than formidable wielder and not shatter. That was something you would remember later, for now Vergil attacked again and you defended, holding back a series of lightning quick attacks that required all your attention, strength and speed – as well as both of your hands holding your new sword in order to be able to avoid all of the attacks.

As expected, though, you hadn’t mastered your claymore yet. Your grip faltered in one of your hands, and Vergil’s predator eyes were quick enough to notice that and see a window of opportunity. Spinning the Yamato on his hand, Vergil gripped its hilt and used the butt-end to hit your hands and make you lose your grip on your sword.

As you tried to recover without losing too much of your stance, Vergil took the chance to spin around you – as you did before with him – and use the sheath of the Yamato to smack your back. A bit lower, and he would’ve smacked your ass – at least, he allowed you to keep a little of your pride, as you allowed him when you chose not to do that as well.

You immediately leaned the tip of your sword on the floor, side-eyeing your lover – only to find him with his head held high, that convinced expression he would always wear whenever he had the upper hand, along with a ghost of a smile you knew very well.

“Shall we continue…?” His words were crowned with his usual slight tinge of arrogance, as you turned around and adjusted your grip around the hilt of your sword. “Or will you finally yield and allow me to take care of those wounds?”

“As my lover, you should know, Vergil…” You sighed and snapped your neck from side to side, getting back into position to fight. He had to raise one of his eyebrows, ever so impressed with your resilience. “I do not yield.”

His only answer was a smile before your powerful attack, holding you back with the Yamato still sheathed, using one of his feet behind his body as an anchor so he wouldn’t fall over. Even in his wildest dreams, Vergil could never had imagined he would find someone who would give such flawless answers. Yes, he wanted to care for you. But how could he deny the fire he saw in you when you said such things? It was the same fire that kept him alive for so many years; the same fire that made him get back on his feet even when defeat was certain, when all hope was lost, and only death and blood were expected. The same fire that made Vergil defy all odds and save himself, over and over again.

He didn’t know how he had found you neither how he could deserve you, but he did hope you remained for as long as he could have you.

With another attack, he took the opportunity to unsheathe his sword, using both the blade and the sheath to defend himself from a string of attacks as ruthless as those he had attacked you before. You didn’t see an opportunity, but you knew Vergil relied on a few tricks up his metaphorical sleeves, so you acted quickly to do the same he did before – and with the hilt of your claymore, you weakened his grip on the sheath, quickly spinning your sword and hitting it with all your might, making the blue sheath fly across the training ground. Vergil immediately held Yamato’s grip with both of his hands, trying not to let his surprise show on his face.

You could see it in his silvery eyes, though. You already knew how to expertly access them, to find Vergil’s emotions underneath the icy façade he used to wear. You had an advantage that made your heart swell and bolstered your resolve – and that Vergil was also able to read in your eyes. He fought back, putting a little more of his strength and power into a few riposte attacks, stopping your advances and making you fall a few steps back.

It wouldn’t be fair if he started using his demonic might when your body was almost giving out – but Vergil had to recognize you were lasting a lot longer than he expected. He thought, by now, your physical body wouldn’t be able to keep going, completely unrelated to your willpower. But there you were, proving him wrong – and making him fall even more in love with you, if that was even possible.

Your hands trembled a bit, though. You kept your eyes locked in his, reading his every move, his every emotion – and Vergil did the same, as if your fight didn’t rely on your swords anymore. As he got ready for another devastating attack, your sword found his in the air and, spinning your blades together, you brought them down with a flick of your wrist, having them rest together a few inches inside the ground.

You turned your back for a few seconds to catch your breath, pain starting to ebb through your arms. Vergil took some steps back in amazement, since that move was a first: you had never taken a break from a fight by disarming him as well as yourself, even if for a few seconds; you only asked with words and it usually took a few minutes. He observed you carefully – part of him reading if your body was going to give out and part of him reading if you would jump on him unexpectedly. Vergil didn’t know what to expect, but he could feel his blood tingling at his fingertips, ready to take action with whatever it is that you had for him.

After a few seconds, you immediately turned around, locking your hands around the grip of your sword once more and lifting it from the ground. Vergil couldn’t believe you still wanted to fight – and even win – but mirrored your speed and had Yamato back in his grip once more.

A few more attacks. He could see your hands trembling. A few more steps. He could hear your shaking breaths. A few more swift moves. He could see the relentless fire inside your eyes.

Vergil didn’t make it easier because of your crumbling endurance – if you broke, it would serve as a lesson on assessing your own energy and how far you could go. As you knew right from the start, Vergil wasn’t a forgiving mentor and would push you to your limit – he didn’t exactly expect you would do the same thing with yourself as he did to himself in order to improve his fighting to perfection.

A flick of his wrist. A powerful move from your hands. You found yourselves drenched in sweat, in the middle of your training space, the Yamato touching your neck, and your claymore touching the skin on Vergil’s throat.

You had your eyes locked into his silvery gaze, the gleaming blades of your swords ignored as the only thing that dictated that fight was your willpower – yours and Vergil’s. As you looked into each other’s reflections, you stated something you didn’t have to say out loud to be understood: neither of you would ever yield.

As that knowing reached Vergil’s heart, that was only one thing he could really do – something his logical mind and demonic pride could never fathom as the proper response to that situation, but his human heart burned to have him do it. His free hand cupped your face, pulling you into an immediate kiss.

When your lips found his, you used your free hand to anchor yourself in place by holding the back of his neck, pulling Vergil towards you. It was a kiss that burned with the very same fire he saw in your eyes, the one he mirrored in his soul and rarely let out as something other than willpower to keep on surviving. That fire was a will to live, a will to keep going, a will for life… A lust to experience, to burn bright and intensely, to take everything existence had to offer. A lust you could only safely explore with each other, not having to channel that only into surviving, but also into living life as it should be lived.

One of the things Vergil would always tell you, was to never let your guard down. You could be calm and collected, apparently unprepared, but always aware of your surroundings – and ready to kill at every waking moment.

Anything could be a distraction, anything could be a weakness. Being that close to you, in the middle of a fight, with that whirlwind of emotions stirring like a lightning storm that had to have its energy released somehow… Even if you had your sword still in one of your hands as he had Yamato in his, your blades were lowered - you had your grip almost letting go, ready to forget it on the floor.

You had your guard down.

“A demon would have killed you by now.” Vergil’s voice was but a rough whisper as he broke the kiss, his lips barely away from yours, hot breath still ghosting on your skin.

“A demon wouldn’t have kissed me.”

Both of your swords found the floor in unison, as your hands found each other with your lips locking in another breathless kiss.

Fortunately, you were both imperfectly human.

#devil may cry #devil may cry imagine #dmc #dmc imagine #vergil x reader #vergil imagine #devil may cry fanfiction #dmc fanfiction #dmc vergil #vergil sparda #I'm 99% sure sparring works as foreplay for Vergil when it's against his s/o #the other 1% is just actual training and focus #again no plot #only vibes #half of me is wanting to beat the shit out of him #and the other half is wanting to kiss the hell out of him #so why not both?

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kquil · 1 year ago

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POLY MARAUDERS | HEROES IN TATTOOS PART 5

05 : DRUNK AND CIGARETTE SMOKE

SUM : It’s been a few weeks and James makes a reappearance in your life, Remus too — they’ve fallen into bad habits.

G. : modern au ; muggle au ; tattoo artist james potter ; piercer remus lupin ; remus smokes ; drunk james ; reader is sad ; this is a little sad chapter ; fergus is an amazing, lovable manager ; i’m horrible at writing the scottish accent! ; james is an adorable drunk ; james’ car is sexy and red ; remiss has eye bags and smells of cigarette smoke ; uh oh ; it’ll get better soon!

LENGTH : 2.8k

← PREV. : 04 | DISAPPEAR

You stare in disbelief at the notice that stares back at you mockingly from behind the glass door of the ‘Marauders Tattoo Parlour’.

‘NOTICE’ it said in bold red sharpie, right above a handwritten message that you recognise as Remus’ neat penmanship, ‘due to personal reasons, Prongs, Padfoot and I (Moony) will be keeping the parlour closed until further notice. We kindly ask that you remain patient as private matters are being sorted through and resolved. We are still open for online and phone consultations to discuss designs and potential future appointments. Kindest Regards, The Marauders’. Beneath the polite and brief explanation of current circumstances was a business email address and phone number as well as working times for phone calls.

The weeks following your discovery of the boys’ true relationship, you rarely ever passed their parlour. A little over three weeks has passed now and you’ve finally been able to walk past their studio doors close enough to read the notice. You’re frozen in place as dread and worry cultivates shards of sharpened ice to grow within you. Freezing up your senses, freezing up your mind and freezing up limbs. Yet, your heart is racing like never before, your blood pounding against your ears like a drummer gone mad.

The feeling that settled in your stomach wasn’t a pleasant one, especially when you felt completely responsible for the boys’ sudden hiatus in business. They had often talked to you about how much the parlour meant to them, how it was their best investment and remains their biggest source of opportunity — an opportunity to help people express themselves. It’s a form of freedom that many have been deprived of (themselves included) and they were honoured to now be able to provide that same freedom to others. For them to completely close up shop like this was completely bizarre.

How long have they been closed for?

You bite your lip and will yourself to move your feet, the ice in your limbs breaking uncomfortably, shattering into a million knives of ice, shooting pins and needles up your arms and legs as if your blood had been frozen up too. As you walk away, you slip your phone back into your pocket, where your hands also remain.

While contemplating what could have happened to your favourite tattooists and piercer, you made sure to save a picture of their business phone number onto your photos.

You were never able to call their business number. And you had many excuses lined up to absolve your cowardly behaviour. The main one being that it was their business number, it wasn’t meant to be used for a conversation between friends. Were you even still friends at this point? The thought made you shiver and stole the appetite right from your stomach. It was a greedy little thing cowardice, regret too. They’ve stolen many things from you, your appetite was their favourite thing to purloin, motivation another, happiness as well. Nasty, selfish and greedy thieves. But you weren’t brave enough to confront them and make them stop. And that, alone, makes you their willing accomplice — so who’s really to blame?

It didn’t help that through this entire ordeal, you’ve realised that none of the boys have exchanged phone numbers with you. To say that you were bitter was an understatement. If they never gave you their number, why would they want you ringing them in the first place?

…maybe they didn’t have a reason to? You couldn’t remember a single time after the day you first brought them that homemade ‘thank you’ lunch where you hadn’t seen them on a regular basis. And now that you were used to seeing them almost daily, your life has since been bleeding of colour and vibrance. Days are dull and monotonous, it’s hard to motivate yourself to do pretty much anything, let alone your job.

“Yer’ve been sighin’ so much these days, I’m startin’ to see wrinkles forming’ on yer cute lil’ face lass,” Furgus comments, nudging your hip with his own as he passes by you behind the counter.

Flustered, you scramble to get back to work with a quick apology, evidence of your embarrassment heating up your cheeks as you do so, “I’m so sorry Gus,”

With hearty laugh, the burly Scottish man pats you on the back and whispers some reassuring words, “Yer’ve got nothin’ ta worry about lass, I jus’ wan’ed ta see if you were al’ight is all,”

“I’m okay,” you smile grateful for his care only to be met with suspicious eyes and a deep, bearded frown.

“Don’t grow a habit o’ lyin’ ta me lass, it won’t do ya any good,” his words make more heat rise to your cheeks but you reassure him as best as you can in between taking orders and serving drinks. It was no use however, Fergus saw you as his own daughter, he knew you like the back of his hand and you know that he had his suspicions of your odd behaviour lately — all derived from a sadness he didn’t like you wearing. Thankfully, he decided to leave you alone with your sorrow and regret and focused back on managing the pub. Tonight was pretty average, you saw the regulars and greeted them with a friendly smile that didn’t quite reach your eyes; if any of them noticed, they never said a thing about it to you. Thank god.

It seemed like it would be another regular night until you caught sight of a familiar figure in the corner of your eye. You had just gotten back from your break when you spot James at a far table, nursing a pint and buried under a sheet of suffocating misery all on his lonesome.

“James?” you breathed in disbelief with a wide-eyed stare directed right at him.

“You know that guy?” Bonnie, your coworker, asks in a whisper into your ear and you had no choice but to nod your head in confirmation — you’ve already outed yourself, there was no point in lying, “well he’s been drinkin’ himself to death for the past hour or so, what’s gotten into him? D’ya know?”

“No…” you’re a liar.

“Well ya be’er find out or else imma have ta kick the poor bastard outta ‘ere,” Fergus comments, his arms folded over his large chest and his brows knitted together in disapproval.

“May I—…?” you begin to ask softly, sending a curious look towards Fergus who meets your eyes with a small smile and a wink.

“Consider yerself off fer da night,” with a smile, you thank him and take a breath before making your way over to the miserable tattooist.

“Angel!” James smiles happily at the sight of you, his drunken state adding an adorable dopiness to his already charming grin, “It’s you~” he coos and wraps his arms around your middle to bury his face into your stomach when you were close enough, “I missed you so much, angel~” he sighs, his voice muffled by your clothes as he refuses to detach himself from you, “even if this is just another dream…” you barely hear him and you almost curse yourself from being able to because his words make your heart drop to your stomach.

“James,” you ask softly, “can you please get up?”

“Why?” he shuffles to press his chin into your lower belly and stare up at you with those sweet hazel eyes of his. The sneaky bastard, he knows how weak at the knees you become from his simple stare. You’ve never told him so and often put in the effort to not show it but you know, he knows.

“Because you need to go home,” he gives an incredulous look at your reasoning and he’s adorable doing so, even in his drunken state.

“Why would I need to do that when you’re right here?” he slurs and hiccups, your heart pounding erratically at his words.

“James please—”

“No!”

“James—”

“‘m not going home! I wanna stay here with you,” he presses his face into your stomach again and sobs into your clothes, “you’re gonna disappear again,” he sobs miserably, “I don’t want that…”

“Please just let me call you a taxi James?” he doesn’t respond, pressing his face further into your stomach as you comb your fingers through his dark hair, you touch gentle and comforting, coaxing him into some compliance, “remind me of your address again and I’ll call you a taxi, okay?”

“NO!”

You suppress a defeated sigh.

It takes several minutes of coaxing until you’re finally able to take his phone from him. He refuses to let you call him a taxi and you weren’t going to force him to walk home alone in his drunken state so you’re going to have to do the one thing you can think of that’ll guarantee his safe return home. Not that you’ll enjoy it because it means confrontation.

“Can you tell me your passcode, please, James?” you ask in a gentle whisper, only to him, “I need to do something very important on your phone,”

With a large smile he recites the digits, “22nd of the 6th, 17,” the way he says it makes your raise a brow. Sensing your curiosity, James answers your silent question, “is the day Moony, Pads and I became official,” he giggles adorably to himself as you smile somewhat sadly — another reminder that you should stay away. You don’t say anything to prompt him further and, instead, type in the code before looking through his contacts. It takes you a moment but you’re eventually pressing call and waiting patiently for Remus to pick up.

“…James?” Remus’ familiar, kind voice speaks tiredly through the phone and you don’t know whether to breath a sigh of relief or worry, “Hello?”

It takes you a moment but you finally will yourself to speak, “Hey, um, Remus?”

“…Dove?” he’s in complete disbelief and it’s evident in his voice, “Is that really you?”

“uh…yeah,” you chirp sheepishly and Remus is all forms of elated but his excitement dwindles quickly when he realises how you’re able to call him.

“Why do you have James’ phone?” you were right to call him, knowing that he was preceptive, reasonable and easy to talk to even with the tension in the air. Patiently, you explain the situation, never taking your fingers away from James’ hair as he practically purrs into your form, adoring the physical contact and muttering to himself happily. It’s especially loveable like this, considering that it’s him being dopey and giggly and not anyone else.

“Oh…” Remus sighs, clearly disappointed, “I’m so sorry, darling, I’ll get him right away,”

“It’s no trouble, Rem,” it was hard not to cringe when the familiar nickname easily rolls off your tongue. As if nothing happened — oh how you wish for such a reality!

“Just tell me where you are and I’ll be right over,” you don’t know if you’re just imagining it but there’s a considerable shift in his voice, he sounds much softer after hearing his nickname easily fall from your lips.

“We’re at the Boar and Elephant pub on Chapel Road,”

“Alright, I’ll be there soon,” with a click, he was gone and you were left to keep James satisfied until he got there. It wasn’t an overly tough job; James seemed perfectly content nuzzling into your stomach with his arms hugging you in place as your fingers massage his scalp and gently groom his hair. He’s like a puppy, eager to receive affectionate cuddles and pets. If he had a tail, he’d be wagging it like crazy and you giggle to yourself at the mental image it conjures up.

“I missed that…” James mutters, maybe to himself but it wasn’t clear.

“I’m sorry?”

“I miss the sound of you giggling,” you don’t know what to say but he continues, going off on a tangent, “it’s so pretty, you’re so pretty. It’s like the sound of a cute little bell ringing…so pretty— pretty pretty pretty!” you can’t lie to yourself, he’s absolutely precious, “I miss you so much angel, why did you go away? I don’t want you away, I want you with me, and with Remus and with Sirius too…” he murmurs something into your stomach that you weren’t able to pick up but don’t press him further on the matter, fearing that your heart might just about burst if you do. You can’t afford to hope for such a fantasy with them when it could never become a reality.

It just wasn’t possible…

“Not fair!”James whines, making grabby hands at you as Remus, with the force of a gentle giant, manoeuvres him into the back seat of a red Jaguar XJR. Dealing with a defiant baby was a struggle so dealing with a giant, beefy baby like James Potter was like trying to control a hurricane. But Remus had a magic touch and arguably had more of a silver tongue than Sirius did so he made it look like a walk in the park. It was astounding, “I wanna be with my angel!” James sobs as Remus closes the door on him, putting a stop to James’ needy cries.

“She’s not yours, she’s no one’s,” was Remus’ response even though he had already closed the door, James unable to hear him and the hint of dismay coherent in his tired voice, “thank you for looking after him, Dove, you’re always too kind,”

“N-no, don’t worry about it,” he smiles down at you, silence filling up the space between your two lonely figures under the amber lamplight. He doesn’t seem to mind the hush in conversation but knowing that his eyes were fixed on you was unnerving, “so! Is that your car?” you ask, desperate for a change in conversation; your restless fiddling making your intentions obvious but Remus keeps to himself.

“No, no, it’s not mine,” he answers with a short chuckle, “this is James’ car,”

“Oh…” you hum to yourself thoughtfully, eyes carefully examining the body and model of the car, “I see,” it looks like a car James would have, you think to yourself. There was more silence until Remus finally brings himself to commence your farewells.

“Well I suppose I should head off, I don’t want to take up too much of your time,” your heart stutters, almost to a stop, at his words, even more so when you see him hesitate upon leaning down. A victim to your own habits, you find yourself closing your eyes and awaiting his gentle kiss goodbye against your temple.

…But it never comes.

“Goodbye then,” he calls over his shoulder, and rounds the car to get to the driver’s seat.

“—Do you smoke?” you suddenly ask, in some part desperate to extend your interaction with each other and other parts curious of the lingering cigarette smoke you smell on his clothes, masking his usually comforting fragrance. It’s strong enough that you were able to catch it from your formal amount of distance with each other and it struck you as odd. You had never seen him smoke before.

Remus laughs a brief and strained sound as he looks at you from over the hood of the car, did he always have such deep eye-bags? “Not usually,” he sends you a sheepish smile once you’re finally able to meet his eyes, “but I’ve recently taken to it again,“ he sees worry and grief fill your eyes and hurries to correct himself, ”—But don’t worry, Dove,” his features are gentle and kind, warm and… forgiving, “I’m okay,”

The world slows as you watch him bend his head to sit in the drivers seat. It’s been too long. For you, at least. This can’t continue. It scares you to think about where this may go if you leave it to late. It’s only been three weeks! If this is the result…you dread to think about what would happen if things went on for longer than that. James is drinking himself to death. Remus is smoking cigarettes. What about Sirius? Your stomach twists uncomfortably, painfully, your heart too.

“No! You’re not!” you shout, tears of anger welling up in your eyes as Remus stops and looks over at you once again, his breath hitching when he sees your eyes glistening with tears, “you’re not okay…”

“Dove—”

“I’m coming by tomorrow,” you announce, “at lunch,” this was a commitment you’re making, a commitment to him, to them. Even if you’re heartbroken, that doesn’t give you the right to be a bad friend. You brave a watery smile, “I’ll make your favourites…so you better be there!”

→ NEXT : 06 | SELFISH DESIRES

A/N : i’m so sooo sorry for my depiction of the scottish accent, i really tried my best, please don’t hate me! if you have any ideas of how i could make it better, please say so, i’d really appreciate it. Also, i know that this isn’t completely fluff but we’re getting there, you’ll have to wait and see in the next chapter!

NAVI. | HEROES IN TATTOOS MASTERLIST

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