#and THEN REMEMBERED THE ECHO PALM READING STREAM

[merryfortune]

feelings (illogical and whimsical) affirmed by kismet

Written for femslashfete on dreamwidth

Prompt: Kismet

Title: feelings (illogical and whimsical) affirmed by kismet

Ship: Echo Lyne/Meeta Osita 

Fandom: Virtual Streamer Animated Characters

Word Count: 2,261

Rating: T

Warnings: None

Tags: Fortune Telling, Unrequited Pining

   For the first time ever, Meeta felt like she was on a roll with her latest financial venture.

   She couldn’t stop grinning and making her fat, little coin purse jingle. Happy customer after happy customer and they were all happy to pay her, too, for her services which made her really, really happy.  

   Meeta had gone the full mile for this project, too. She really rolled up her sleeves and put in some effort to make this venture work. She was working out of her own tent that she had pitched in the spacious, concrete foyer of the V&U building. 

   The tent, in question, was a huge sheet of indigo with silver embroidery that she had draped over a pole that she wrapped with fairy lights. She got a crystal ball and a low table that she bedecked with an inordinate number of lace doilies. All atmospherically dark and shadowy on the inside, illuminated by a flickering candle, It was the perfect place to pitch her fortune telling.

   It had all the trappings of mysticism and the occult, to really sell her credibility as a witch who specialised on all things that peeked into the future. Astrology, tea leaf readings, dream interpretation. Meeta was determined to do it all if there was a market for it and with so many colleagues with so many different wants, needs, and personalities, she knew that business would boom.

   Her first customer of the day was Cyon and she was a tough nut to crack but like everyone else in V&U she was prone to getting carried along by the chaos. She was a sceptic, at least on the surface but once she heard what she wanted to hear, well… Then she was all money bags for Meeta.

   Meeta gave her a tarot card reading that promised her riches and wealth galore. Good fortune and lucky escapes. Her ventures would be safe from pesky little things like the law and their enforcers. She would be swimming in it soon enough. 

   Maeve had gone in and had come out with a palm reading. She was all stars in her eyes and had clearly crammed before her appointment with Meeta because quite frankly, she knew more about chiromancy than her. Regardless, she was satisfied by hearing Meeta recount everything with her own speedy lilt and was thoroughly convinced this was all brand new information to her. 

   And then there was Suri. Sweet, sleepy Suri. Meeta tried to read her fortune by casting runes made of rose quartz but she mistakenly took them for a snack and so, made her own happiness by having something to eat. That was good enough for them both and Meeta took it as a win.

   A win which was quite possibly the last one of the day. After all, she had gone through three of her four genmates for cash and now there was only one left: Echo.

   Sure, there were the others, the Senpai and Kouhai, for example. 

   Kokone wanted her dreams to be interpreted and Liora was interested in numerology. Lofi was going to curate the perfect playlist of seventy-eight songs for them to try shufflemancy together. Spectra had requested Meeta’s expertise in tea leaf reading and Misma was after a pendulum reading. D.K. had dibs on using animal bones which worried Meeta but was happy for runes as a second choice. Zeli wanted to try dowsing rods. Amoria was interested in everything and anything, and then the Triple A club wanted their birth charts done together. Meeta was fully booked out for tomorrow and beyond but she still had an open slot for Echo who was…

   Entirely uninterested.

   No matter how Meeta asked, no matter how Meeta begged, and no matter how Meeta weaponised her puppy dog eyes.

   “Oh, please.” Echo rolled her eyes and folded her arms. “I am so not interested in your grift, Meeta.”

   “Please, please, please, Echo, it’d make me so happy.” Meeta persisted.

   Echo stared at her, “More like makes your wallet happy.”

   “Why are you being so mean to me?” Meeta cried, but they both knew that it was crocodile tears. The tear that glistened in the corner of her eye was far too shiny and far too well rehearsed. She clasped her hands together.

   “I’m a robot, duh.” Echo said and her arms unfolded.

   She gestured to all of her. Her various plugs and inserts, the power button on her forehead. She was all shiny in chrome and silicon, wrapped in plastic and criss-crossed with various vermillion wires. 

   “And?” Meeta pretended to not see the logic in a robot not believing in fortune telling.

   “Rocks don’t have auras, they have radiation levels. Tarot cards are just flimsy cardboard rectangles. Do you really think the position of the stars and planets have an influence on the already fraught nature versus nurture debate?”

   Meeta took arrow after arrow to the heart. She did. She really did believe those things. She made a face, stuck out of her tongue.

   Irritated that Meeta had no convincing argument, Echo huffed and put her hands on her hips all sassy, “Fortune telling is pseudoscience at best and straight up lying at worst.”

   “Hey… I would never…” Meeta denied through gritted teeth.

   She fidgeted and leaned away from Echo in her guilt. She would do that, actually. They both knew that she would do that. But she hadn’t done that! Not today at least. 

   As though to add insult to injury, the air conditioning blew a little harder with an unusual noise to accompany it. The tent behind Meeta lifted and rose and without its silken shroud, it just looked like a child’s cubby house. It lost all marvel and mystery when it was exposed in the sudden breeze. Meeta shivered but Echo relented.

   Echo’s shoulders slumped and she made a vague gesture, she showed off her black, metal palms. Meeta reached out to them and Echo allowed her to take her hand inwards. Meeta explored them, gave them a massage. She examined them closely under Echo’s uninterested eye.

   Her fingers were slender but short. They were smooth and though humanlike, entirely inhuman. On the inside where her palm was, there was nothing of note. No chips, no scratches, no nothing. Echo took very good care of her robot parts. She had to give how often she exploded, she needed to stay in tip top shape if she was ever going to take over the world.

   So, Meeta sighed a hefty sigh. She held Echo’s hand a little tighter with visible disappointment. Any observation that she could muster would be an obvious lie. There were no love lines, no ridges, no nothing.

   “I don’t believe in these sorts of things but if you do, well, is it really that different simulations a supercomputer can run? It's all ones and zeroes in the end.” Echo began.

   Meeta’s eyes widened. She had encountered plenty of non-believers. People who saw her as middle school syndrome riddled lolita than the witch that she very genuinely was. Echo was… wasn’t one of those people. She was so hard but she was able to reject Meeta so softly nonetheless.

   Echo pulled her hand back. It slipped through Meeta’s soft, human fingers. Echo drew it inwards, over her breastplate. 

   Echo smiled, “We all know it’ll rain every so often, that we shouldn’t spend money willy-nilly. That heartbreak is inevitable but so is joy. I don’t need cards or rocks to tell me that sort of thing. I can just experience, live it for myself. I’m very thankful to live each day as it comes because… I was asleep for so long. The world has changed plenty but I don’t think its change is due to the alignment of stars or symbols on a piece of paper. I think it's because of people and what they can do materially.”

   “Ah. I see.” Meeta blushed. Her heart lurched in her chest. That was oddly profound for a tin can from the eighties.

   “If I am fortunate for anything, it is for you, Maeve, Suri, and Cyon.” Echo said. 

   “Th-Thank you, Echo.” Meeta replied.

   “So yeah. I don’t need my fortunes read, thank you very much.” Echo shrugged and then she laughed. “Besides, knowing your luck,” she teased, “your business will go poof soon enough.”

   “Hey, I take offence to that.” Meeta grouched but she couldn’t fully put her heart in it.

   Echo laughed some more, “Imagine if you actually applied yourself to verifiable pursuits, oh man… Wouldn’t that be something?”

   Meeta pouted, seemingly put in her place by Echo, but here’s the thing.

   She knew something that Echo didn’t. 

   Something that very well may cause the possibility of fate to loop around and seal itself as true.

   “Anyways, I’ve got business to attend to elsewhere.” Echo excused herself.

   “Ok, bye.” Meeta replied, miffed.

   “See you later. Go do something productive with your life. Like me.” Echo chortled and she sent herself on her way with that.

   She waved Meeta goodbye and left her in front of her very demystified fortune telling tent. She watched as she sashayed off with a clunk, clunk, clunk of her metallic feet. Meeta sighed and deflated once Echo was out of sight, around the corner of one of the hallways that the foyer was conjoined to.

   Before she started today’s trend, she had, of course, done a reading for herself. She had heard reports that it was unlucky to read one’s own fortunes and maybe now she knew why because the future that Meeta foretold for herself. Well, it looked a lot like the present she was living in now.

   Meeta just did a three card spread. To get her bearings before she used her cards and other methods on her upcoming customers of the day. She wasn’t expecting much to come of it, she was just sharpening skills and yet, what she pulled off the top of what she shuffled caused a flutter in her heart.

   The first card she pulled was placed into the relationship slot and already, when Meeta saw the colours and symbolism, she thought of Echo. She had drawn and revealed the Chariot upright. The horse and carriage going ever forward at top speed: it symbolised challenge and victory. The willpower that it exuded could only foretell a clash of personality, Meeta worried as it was such a stubborn and yet exciting card.

   The card that followed was the Seven of Wands. The illustration was of a man with a spear fending off unseen enemies who outnumbered him and had far more weapons than he did. It represents a struggle, a pointless back and forth that doesn’t go anywhere and yet, it does not represent ground ceded but rather, protected and defended. A perfect selection of fate’s for the problem slot. Given that Meeta had no enemies to actually fight in a bloodless battle, she was going to assume this card was an allegory for a more social problem.

   And then lucky in the last slot, Meeta pulled the Star in reverse as her third card in the solution slot. She swallowed. Her stomach dropped as the omen that it portended with was ill. The Star was her card but in reverse, its flaws and misfortunes became apparent. Inspiration turned to lack of progress and motivation, all that sparkled and shined turned to a dwimmer of despair and uncertainty. For that to be in lieu of a solution, well, that didn’t bode well for Meeta’s pride.

   From the collection of cards in front of her, Meeta was able to glean a meaning from the various symbols and how they intertwined with each other and herself. She could only see it ending in failure, in friction and obstacle. An argument that did have a gleam of hope inside of it but whether that hope could persevere like a man on the hill, Meeta was unsure. She took heart in the major arcana, how the symmetry of the upright Chariot and the Star in reverse, well, it could only result in Echo and her respectively.

   Then for good measure, just to see if there were additional influences that could sway her budding feeling of sorrow, Meeta had cast her own gemstones for a touch of lithomancy. The runes scratched into them only served to reinforce what she could find in the lines of her own palm.

   A narrative formed in Meeta’s head as she made the best of what topsy-turvy symbols she had collected. She was going to have a unique, if abrasive, encounter only to get into an argument with said person. But from the argument, there would be enlightenment and the deepening of a bond.

  If only that bond could come out of the dark. 

   She closed her eyes. She thought of the stars in the night time, she thought of horses trampling the grass below. She thought of a wand waved wildly in defence. She held onto a breath that she inhaled as she thought of Echo’s kind words unto her. Though their worldviews seemed incompatible, there was still kindness to be had. 

   So she stood there. Pining in the foyer of the V&U building. Business closed for the day. Maybe Echo was right about that too, only it was a whimper instead of a bang.

   Meeta opened her eyes and felt a flicker of clarity. For now, Meeta saw no world nor future in which she could convince Echo of her feelings, illogical and whimsical as they may be, affirmed by kismet.

[creampuffqueen]

hold you til you fall asleep

Summary: After a sudden bought of illness, Yangchen is convinced she's on the road to recovery. Kavik feels a bit differently about her healing process - and what caused the illness in the first place.

Word count: 5358

Read on ao3

----

It’s been a while since Yangchen’s body has ached like this. 

Not long enough, though.

This kind of bone deep, body trembling, head pounding pain can only mean one thing, and Yangchen is loathe to open her eyes and face the reality of it. She knows she must have slept for a while, if the dryness in her mouth is any indication. Perhaps, if she keeps her eyes shut, she can get a bit more real rest before she’s forced to think about anything else. 

And yet, the light streaming behind her closed eyelids beckons her to crack her eyes open, what feels like her entire being wincing at the effort. A groan of pain escapes her lips before she can choke it back, and her arms shake when she attempts to sit herself up. 

Yangchen collapses back onto the pillows, head spinning. 

Wait, pillows -

The last thing she remembers is standing up from the dinner table and nearly folding in on herself, clutching the corner for balance as her vision blurred. She remembers shouting. She remembers arms wrapping around her, holding her upright as her legs gave way.

But she does not remember getting into a bed. Which means that someone put her here, tucked her in, and cared for her for… 

How long have I been away?!

Yangchen digs the heels of her palms into her eyes, as if she can bring the blank in her memory back if she adds enough pressure. All she accomplishes is making her vision spark. 

She can hear her own pulse echoing in her ears, the thrumming noise of it a hammer on the inside of her skull. The room sways with each breath she takes, a threatening force should she dare to try and get up again. 

Still, Yangchen refuses to be deterred. She knocked out at dinner last night, surely she must have slept through the night and now it’s the next morning. She can catch up on her work; she won’t be too far behind, she’ll just grab a cup of tea and that will push away the lingering pain and –

The handle of the bedroom door twists and clicks, creaking slightly as it opens with a soft push. Yangchen turns slightly to look, propping herself up on a trembling elbow. 

“Oh. You’re awake.”

Yingsu’s normally deadpan voice carries a note of surprise, making Yangchen more confused than ever.

“Don’t get too excited about it,” She mutters sarcastically. Gritting her teeth, she manages to finally pull herself up to sitting, frustrated at the effort it requires. 

Yingsu lets herself fully into the room, shutting the door behind her and walking over to the bed. “Sorry, I just wasn’t expecting you to be up. I was getting kinda used to you being out cold these last few days.”

Wait. Days?

Yangchen can feel her stomach plummeting. When she speaks again, her voice comes out in a startled croak, “What do you mean by days?” 

Yingsu’s reply is uncharacteristically gentle. “You’ve been asleep for three days, Yangchen.”

A shiver works its way up her spine, her breath catching in her chest. The blankets tucked around her suddenly feel too heavy, too tight, too restricting. She shoves them away, trying not to let the panic in her head overtake her heart. 

“Woah, woah, slow down,” Yingsu urges, “It’s all okay, we’ve been taking care of everything.”

Yangchen slides her legs off the bed, ignoring the way she sways with the motion. “A lot can happen in three days. I need to look over my correspondence -”

“You need to go back to bed,” The larger woman insists. She places two hands on Yangchen’s shoulders, holding her in place. The airbender tries to swat her away, but her smaller, weakened hands are no match. She feels like a child being punished for throwing a tantrum. 

Yingsu seems unimpressed with Yangchen’s glare. “Stay here. I’m going to let the others know that you’re up.” Slowly, she removes her hands, backing away. “Stay. I mean it.”

As though she has a choice. Her head is utterly swimming.

When the firebender shuts the door quietly behind her, Yangchen slumps back onto the pillows, attempting to take stock; of herself, of her surroundings, of the situation as a whole. 

Build the bridge. One piece at a time. Build the bridge. Build it –

Yangchen digs her fingers into her own scalp, grimacing from the pain but grateful for the sensation nonetheless. There’s too much missing. She can’t build anything in this state.

Before her thoughts can spiral any further, a gentle knock on the door signals the arrival of more newcomers. Yangchen forces herself to sit up again, to meet the eyes of everyone coming to check on her. 

They enter one at a time, cautious and slow, as though she’s some kind of animal they can’t afford to startle. Yingsu leads the way, then is followed in turn by Jujinta, Tayagum, Akuudan, and Boma. 

Boma is the first to approach her, smile warm and comforting. “Glad to see you up and about, Avatar.” Yangchen accepts the hug he offers, appreciative of the warmth it provides. Her body can’t quite seem to decide if it’s hot or cold at the moment. 

The others move in to provide their own well-wishes, but Yangchen is finding it hard to focus. Her gaze flutters between each of her companions, easily detecting the gap in their retinue. She glances up at the door, but the hallway outside is noticeably barren of the one person she really wants to see.

Boma’s hand settles on her shoulder, squeezing gently. “He’s on a supply run. He’ll be back soon.”

Her pounding heart slows down a bit. Everyone is accounted for.

“Are you hungry?” Akuudan’s deep timbre pulls her from her wandering thoughts. “You haven’t had a proper meal in days.”

The logical part of Yangchen’s brain knows that, yes, she’s hungry. Starving, practically. And yet, the rest of her consciousness rails against the thought of stopping to eat, of all things. There’s no time for that at all.

“I’m not hungry,” She replies, attempting yet again to swing her legs over the side of the bed. 

Several arms move to block her way. “If you’re not going to eat,” Tayagum reasons, “Then you should keep resting. You need time to rebuild your strength.”

“All of you stop it,” Yangchen snaps, “I’m fine, and I need to get up so I can work.”

Her team retreats, chastised but wary, watching her every move. Still scowling, Yangchen removes the many blankets layered on top of her and settles onto the wooden floor.

She barely manages to stand for a few seconds before her knees buckle beneath her, sending her sprawling forward like a newborn wolf-deer. Only Jujinta’s lightning-quick reflexes save her from concussing herself on the bedframe. 

“Back to bed with you,” Boma insists, ushering her back onto the mattress with a tone that leaves no room for argument. “You’re still feeling weak. Rest for a while longer.”

Yangchen purses her lips, trying to hold back the tears of frustration she can feel springing to her eyes. She can’t rest; she’s missed too much time as it is already. 

However, much to her own displeasure, it seems her body is inclined to disagree with her mind. The headache she’s been attempting to ignore makes its presence known with a sudden throbbing pain, sending her reeling backwards with a choked groan of agony.

“Jujinta, close the curtains please,” Boma orders quietly. One of his weathered hands strokes soothingly across Yangchen’s forehead, the touch of a concerned grandparent. “I’m going to get you a glass of water, and then we’ll all leave you be. Please try and rest.”

All Yangchen can stand to do is nod.

She watches her team file from the room out of the corner of her half-lidded eyes, biting down on her tongue to try and distract herself from all the pain elsewhere. Squirming back beneath the blankets, she wraps herself up in warmth and darkness until it’s all she can feel. 

The blankets muffle the sound around her, of Boma placing a glass of water on her nightstand, of the door clicking shut behind him, of the others talking between themselves downstairs. All she can hear is the sound of her own heartbeat in her ears, thumping in time with the throbbing in her head. 

She closes her eyes fully. Sleep overtakes her before she even has a chance to recognize it. 

~~~~

When she wakes for the second time, something is different. 

Everything in her body is about the same. Her headache has subsided a bit, but the rest of her muscles are still filled with a low hum of pain. Additionally, she must have rolled onto her side at some point, because the shoulder pinned beneath her at an awkward angle tingles with pins and needles, springing yet another grimace to her features. 

The prickling sensation dies down after a few moments, allowing her to truly assess what is different this time: the presence of another person sitting on the bed with her.

She can sense the dip in the mattress beside her, feel the faint warmth of another body close by. And distantly, through the blankets piled high around her, she can hear the faint scratching of a pencil. Smooth, steady, and unmistakable.

Yangchen slowly pulls herself from the blanket wraps, taking in the person’s figure illuminated by a single candle. Kavik is seated on the bed, hunched over a stack of papers in his lap, thoroughly and methodically circling important passages. There’s a smear of charcoal across one of his cheekbones, and his lips purse together in that familiar focused pout of his, eyes never once leaving his work.

That is, until he feels her shifting on the bed and turns to face her, pencil at last stalling its gentle scuffing. 

“You’re awake.”

His voice doesn’t hold surprise, not in the way the others’ did. Instead, his lips twitch, the start of a smile, gaze brightening just at the sight of her.

For some reason, it makes Yangchen want to crawl back beneath the blankets and hide. 

“I’m awake,” She repeats softly, carefully easing herself up to sitting. The motion doesn’t make her quite as dizzy as before, but it still feels like it takes five times the effort it should. Her body hasn’t stopped rebelling against her. 

Kavik’s mouth opens slightly, as though he wants to speak, but no words form from it. He just sits and stares, unmoving as a statue.  

Eventually, he swallows, managing to find his voice again. “How have you been?”

“Asleep for three days, apparently,” Yangchen replies dryly.

Kavik flushes. “Oh, right. Yeah, I knew that.” Shaking his head, he manages to correct himself. “I meant to ask how you’ve been feeling since you woke up. I’m sorry I wasn’t there to see you with the others.”

“That’s not your fault.” 

He shrugs. “Still. I wish I was there.”

“You’re here now,” Yangchen points out. How long has he been here, quietly working and waiting for her to wake again? Her internal clock is completely out of whack, and with the curtains drawn it’s hard to see the outside light to judge it.

Kavik glances at the papers in his lap. “I guess that’s true. Let me put all this away for now. Do you need anything?”

“I need to see those papers,” Yangchen attempts. “I need to get caught up.”

The stack of papers is quickly pulled out of reach, Kavik tucking the charcoal pencil behind his ear. “No way. You still need to recover. Don’t worry yourself with this, I’ve been handling it.”

An exasperated breath huffs between her lips. “Yes, you’ve handled it while I was ill. But I’m awake now, and I need to keep up my own correspondence.”

She reaches for the papers again, but Kavik whips them away, holding them above his head. He’s playing dirty now, and Yangchen isn’t in the mood for it.

“Give me my papers, Kavik.”

“You don’t need these. They’re just accounting reports I’ve been annotating.”

“Then get me that papers that I do need!” She hates how shrill her voice is becoming, but she can’t stand this, this treating her like a child who needs a time-out. “Letters, sales reports, world news. Those are all things I need to be keeping up with!”

“I’ve been keeping up with them,” Kavik protests, “And I’ll continue keeping up with them while you recover! You need to rest, Yangchen.”

“You don’t get to decide what I need!” She snaps.

Yangchen grabs for the papers he’s holding again, but this time Kavik launches himself off the bed and crosses his arms. His smile has faded, leaving only a concerned frown in its wake. “Fine. Prove to me that you don’t need more rest. Stand up, walk over to me, and come get the papers.”

She kicks the covers off her body and reaches for the nightstand to haul herself off the bed. There’s weakness in each and every muscle, but if she chooses her path carefully to support herself with the furniture she can –

“Unassisted,” Kavik adds, frown deepening. “No bending, either.”

“You jerk,” Yangchen hisses. But she stays put. He read her too easily.

Kavik sighs deeply, placing the stack of papers on her desk. He walks back to the bed, sitting down on the edge a few arms’ lengths away. Perhaps he thinks she’s going to throw something at him. Part of Yangchen wants to. 

“I’m sorry,” He finally says, “but Yangchen, you’ve been pushing yourself too hard. That’s why you’ve been sick.”

Their eyes meet, and her anger begins to wilt underneath his concern and sadness. Kavik moves closer, until he can take a gentle hand to her back, rubbing in slow, soothing circles. “Why didn’t you tell me things were getting so bad?”

“I didn’t think it was this bad,” She replies honestly, hating the way her bottom lip is beginning to wobble. “I thought I was handling it.”

“Collapsing at the dinner table and then running a fever for three days is hardly what I’d call ‘handling it��,” Kavik adds softly. His free hand inches forward until the very tips of his fingers are touching hers. Warmth sparks from his touch, even at the barest hint of it.

Still, Yangchen is struggling to wrap her head around it. Three days. She’s missed so much. How can she catch up if she’s still being forced to rest for who knows how much longer?

“You need to take it easier, Yangchen,” Kavik sighs. “Not just while you’re recovering. I mean easier overall.”

She jerks her hand away from his. “That’s not possible. You know that, Kavik. I can’t afford to take it easier, not when there’s people who need me.”

“You won’t be helping anybody if you drop dead at twenty from not taking care of yourself!” Kavik snaps.

Yangchen’s eyes narrow into a glare. “Don’t exaggerate.”

“I’m not,” He insists. “You really frightened all of us.”

A pause. And then, much softer, he adds, “You really frightened me.”

How can she possibly respond to that? Somewhere, deep down, the knowledge that he cares about her so much places a seed of warmth and comfort. But on the surface, her hackles are raising, defenses shoring up around her heart. 

“I’m fine,” She insists.

Kavik sighs in exasperation. “Aren’t you tired, Yangchen?”

“Of course I’m tired,” Yangchen all but spits, “I’m always tired. Of all of it. But that doesn’t mean I can stop.”

“Do you even hear yourself right now?!”

“Do you? You don’t get to tell me how to handle things, Kavik; I can take care of myself!”

“Fine then!” Kavik yanks his hand from her back as though he’s been burned, standing up and heading for the door. “Take care of yourself then! Keep on starving yourself and staying awake for days and drinking your stupid poison tea and punishing yourself for things that aren’t your fault! See if I care!”

Before Yangchen can attempt to form an answer he’s already gone, slamming the bedroom door shut behind him. The force of it rattles the bed, and Yangchen’s bones along with it. 

She’s left reeling in his wake, shaking, tears threatening to spill from the corners of her eyes. She looks up quickly, breathing deeply, doing her best to hold off from a full-on crying session. Her headache is back. 

Her efforts don’t work. When she wipes at her face her sleeve comes away wet. Another surge of frustration washes over her, causing her to grab the nearest pillow and hurl it at the door with all her might, biting her tongue to hold back her scream. 

The pillow falls short. She buries her face against the mattress, muffling the scream she lets burst forth. 

Kavik is always honest with her. Well, besides the one notable incident. Otherwise, in the years she’s known him, he’s been honest with her, more so than anyone else. Normally she appreciates it. Somehow, this is different.

Yangchen rolls back over, dragging her hands down her face and heaving a sigh. She’s fine. She can work. She can deal with… whatever just happened later.

Maybe after she cleans up, though. She hasn’t bathed in three days, and it’s becoming increasingly obvious the longer she lays here. 

She hauls herself up to sitting yet again. If nothing else, that is getting easier. Sliding gently off the bed, she makes a hobbling pace for the door to her bathing quarters, holding herself steady on the furniture as she walks. 

So what if she isn’t up to walking unassisted just yet? She doesn’t need to walk to answer letters. “What does Kavik even know?” She mutters to herself, “Who does he think he is?”

Yangchen stands at the entrance to her bathroom, clinging to the wooden doorframe as her vision steadies. The idea of a bath is a bit daunting, frankly, as she visualizes all the steps she’ll need to take. For a heartbeat, she imagines how much simpler it would be if there was someone to help.

She brushes the thought aside as quickly as it came. She’s Avatar Yangchen, for Spirits’ sake. She’ll be fine by herself. 

~~~~

Although she no longer carries the same aroma as her beloved lemurs after her bath, that seems to be the only benefit. Her headache has only gotten worse, and the steam from the water made her woozy. 

Her hair is still incredibly damp, despite having been dried with a towel. She would airbend it dry, but even the thought of it makes her weak in the knees. She just doesn’t have the energy. 

Yangchen leans against the bathroom counter to catch her breath. Normally after a bath Kavik would bend the water from her hair, his precision with the element often surpassing her own.

Tonight, it’s just her.

She takes a deep breath, rubbing the towel over her drying hair once more. It will be frizzy in the morning, but that’s an issue for Tomorrow Yangchen. For now, she needs back in her bed until her headache subsides again. 

Putting on her robes also feels like too much effort. Instead, she carefully maneuvers herself to the drawer she keeps her clothing in and pulls on a pair of flowing linen pants and a matching loose top. She wears these as sleeping garments – if she bothers to change into them to sleep. They’re looser, lighter, and far less suffocating than the many layers she normally wears.

Clothing sorted, Yangchen curls back up on the bed, knees tucked to her chest, trying to slow her pounding heart. Her body aches with every inhale. Somehow, sleep still eludes her.

She loses track of the time she spends like this, holding herself in the fetal position, too weak to even bother pulling blankets over herself to stave off the chill of the room. Her stomach begins to growl, and when she clutches at it her head throbs in response. It feels like she’s falling to pieces. 

A soft knock on the door startles her from her bed of misery, and Yangchen peels her eyes open to look at the source of the noise.

Peeking through a crack in the doorway, Boma’s gentle, wrinkled smile greets her. “I come bearing gifts, Avatar.”

“Hm?” Yangchen’s throat is scratchy, as though she’s been crying. She honestly can’t remember if she has.

“Dinner,” Boma elaborates, stepping into the room. He’s carrying a tray loaded down with dishes, and Yangchen can practically feel the way her body perks up at the scent. “You’ve hardly eaten anything for three days, you must be starving.”

Yangchen’s stomach decides to answer for her, letting out an audible growl. Her cheeks warm in embarrassment, but Boma just keeps smiling, walking over to set the tray down on her nightstand. 

“There’s churu, momos, shogo khatsa, shom-dae, lots of balep, and butter tea. Eat up, food will help you get your strength up.”

Yangchen certainly doesn’t need to be told twice. She dives in, not caring about how she’s slurping or chewing too loudly or anything else. Boma made her a traditional Air Nomad feast, and each bite tastes like home. 

“Don’t choke yourself!” Boma chuckles, noting the cough she makes after devouring an entire momo in barely two bites. Yangchen, still coughing, grabs the mug of butter tea to wash everything down. 

It’s after her cup is emptied that everything comes rushing back. Three days, missing from her memory. Her body, hardly functioning.

And Kavik…

“Boma,” Yangchen starts softly, taking small bites of rice pudding between her words, “Can I ask for some advice?”

Boma’s smile is warm and comforting, exactly like the food he must have spent hours preparing for her. “Of course you can, Avatar.”

Yangchen can’t quite meet his eyes, focusing instead on spooning as much of the cheesy churu soup into her mouth as possible. “Kavik and I had a… disagreement earlier. I don’t – I don’t know how to make things right again.”

Boma takes a sip of his own tea. “I knew you two had argued –”

Yangchen’s head snaps up. “What? Why? Did he say something about it?”

“Not with his words, no. But he was frustrated and upset after he went to see you, so it wasn’t too hard to piece together. He offered to help me cook, but he was being so rough when folding my momos I had to put him on butter-churning duty to get some of that frustration out.”

Well, at least she hasn’t been alone in feeling awful about it. 

“What was the disagreement about, if I may ask?” Boma questions.

Yangchen’s voice is nearly a whisper. “He told me I needed to accept more help.” Saying it out loud only makes her realize even more how ridiculous it was of her to fight about it. Of course she needs more help; she needs all the extra help she can get if there’s to be a possibility of her life’s work succeeding. 

“That’s all?” Boma probes with a pointed look.

“No,” Yangchen admits after a small pause. “He also kept telling me that I need to slow down and take it easier. But how could I do that, even if I wanted to? People all over the world are depending on me to make their lives better.”

“You can’t improve other lives by making your own a misery,” Boma offers sagely. “I agree with him in that regard.”

“But I – I’m not making my life a misery!” Yangchen protests. 

“Clearly your companion thinks differently.”

“Why does he get to decide if my life a misery?”

“He doesn’t, not really,” Boma agrees, “But I am inclined to agree with his assessment. He certainly has better judgement in that regard compared to anyone else.”

Yanghcen’s brow knits in confusion. “What do you mean?”

Boma takes another sip of tea. “You didn’t see the way he cared for you while you were ill.”

“I thought you all cared for me together.”

“We did at first,” Boma confirms, “But it became clear rather quickly that your waterbending companion was… better equipped for the job.”

Understanding crashes over her in a wave. “My gift.”

Boma sighs heavily. “There was plenty of time where you were just… well, just ill, I suppose. But there were also many appearances from your past lives. Times you were up speaking nonsense half the night.”

The pieces of Boma’s point are falling into place one by one. “Kavik helped with the episodes?”

Another nod from her guardian. “He did. Better than I ever have, honestly. And besides that he just cared for you. Brought you water, made sure you were comfortable, stayed by your side. All of that, on top of keeping up with both your work and his own.”

And I just pushed him away.

Yangchen stuffs more potatoes into her mouth so she doesn’t have to keep speaking. 

Boma carefully meets her eyes. “He cares for you, Yangchen. If he thinks you should ease up, let others take on some more of your burden…”

Yangchen places her spoon on the tray, no longer hungry. “You agree with him.”

Boma sets his mug of tea in his lap to join their gazes, expression serious. “No Avatar before you has shouldered their burden alone. Why force yourself to walk this path when you have people who want to help you?”

“I’m not alone,” Yangchen insists, “I have an entire team, I have you, Boma. That’s the opposite of alone.”

“Exactly. You’re not alone,” Boma agrees, nodding. Finishing his tea, he stands from the bed, pressing a gentle kiss to the crown of Yangchen’s head. “Stop pretending like you have to be.”

~~~~

If he hadn’t stubbed his toe on the desk chair, Yangchen might not have known he was there. Kavik is good at sneaking, and he’s memorized the creaky spots on her floorboards. However, all the espionage skills in the world can’t prevent his misstep against the desk, and the pained hissing and cursing that follows that wakes her up from her nap. 

“Kavik?”

He turns to her with a wince, face shadowed in the half-dark of her room. “Did I wake you up? Sorry, I just needed to grab a few things that I left in here.”

“What are you getting?”

He glances guiltily at the desk. “Some letters that arrived this morning. I was going to sort through which ones needed a response of some kind.”

“Okay,” Yangchen agrees, “But you don’t have to leave if you don’t want to. You can stay and work in here.”

“I wouldn’t want to interrupt your rest.”

“You won’t,” Yangchen promises. She’s always found the sound of him writing to be soothing. If anything, she might fall asleep easier.

Kavik still looks unsure.

“You won’t,” Yangchen repeats, “I promise. Stay here and work. We can… talk for a bit.”

Carefully, each movement measured, Kavik pulls the chair from the desk and takes a seat. He spends a few seconds sorting through stacks of papers until he finds what he needs. Then he glances back over his shoulder, blue eyes somber.

“I’m sorry for what I said earlier.”

Yangchen lifts her eyes to meet his, heartbeat thundering in her ears. She holds his gaze, opening up every vulnerable part of her for him to see. “I’m sorry too.”

The apologies lift some of the weight from her chest, but now it feels as though they’re at a standstill. Kavik turns back to his papers, shoulders hunched. 

“You’re right,” Yangchen blurts before she can talk herself out of it. That makes him pause. “And I’m sorry for making you worry so much.”

“I only worry about you because I care,” Kavik replies softly. He isn’t looking at her, instead fishing around in one of the drawers for a pencil. 

“I know you care.”

Finally, Kavik turns around again, this time fully facing her. He tucks the pencil behind his ear. “I know you’re not used to having people care about you. And I mean you, Yangchen, not the Avatar.”

“Nobody has done for me what you’ve been doing since I lost my sister,” Yangchen affirms in a whisper. 

“I’m happy to do it for you. I want to do it for you, care about you.” Kavik takes a deep breath. “But I can’t help you if you won’t let me.”

“It’s hard to accept help when you’ve had to do things alone in the past.”

“But you’re not alone now,” Kavik adds, in a nearly identical way to what Boma told her earlier. “Let us help. Let me help.”

Yangchen slips off the side of the bed, slowly making her way over to where Kavik is working. She’s steadier on her feet than she was earlier. The food must have helped even more than she realized. 

Tentatively, she places her hand on his shoulder. His skin is warm, even through his shirt. It makes her want to get closer.

“I want to let you help more. Can you just… be patient with me? Please?”

Kavik places his own hand on top of hers, a tiniest hint of a smile curling the edge of his lips. “We can ease into it. Together. I don’t want this to keep happening, Yangchen, I want you to be okay.”

She squeezes his hand, feeling a smile of her own starting to break over her face. “I want that too.”

Something unspoken passes between them as they lean in at the same time, eyes closed, noses just barely touching. Yangchen can feel the warmth of Kavik’s breath for a split second before she closes the distance and kisses him. 

His lips are gentle against hers, kissing her back with just the right amount of pressure. Yangchen breaks from it first, already out of breath. Kavik moves his hand to her cheek, tugging her closer with the softest motion to lay another kiss against it. 

“You should probably get some sleep,” Kavik whispers, kissing her cheek again.

“I don’t want to sleep,” Yangchen laughs breathlessly. But as soon as she finishes her sentence, a massive yawn parts her jaws wide. She and Kavik lock eyes when it finishes, neither of them able to keep from laughing. 

“I think your body might be disagreeing with you.”

Yangchen has to cover her mouth as she yawns again, this one longer than the last. “Fine, I’ll rest.” After a moment of thought, she adds, “You’ll stay, right?”

Kavik takes her hand and squeezes it, fully smiling now. “Of course I will.”

She hardly realizes she’s doing it, but in a swift movement Yangchen settles herself into Kavik’s lap on the chair, sitting with her legs across him and tucking her head against his shoulder. His breath hitches in surprise, but he just as quickly encircles her with his arms, rubbing a hand gently over her back. 

“You can still work, if you want,” Yangchen offers quietly.

“Is this some kind of ploy to sneak peeks at your letters?” Kavik asks, though his tone is joking.

Yangchen shakes her head, nuzzling further into the crook of his neck. “It isn’t. I just like listening to you.”

Sitting like this, she can feel each time his chest rises and falls with his breath, every thump of his heartbeat behind his ribcage. Every part of him that’s alive, and real, and holding her close like she’s something precious. 

Her eyes fall closed when he starts to write. One of his hands keeps circling over her back, spreading warmth with every movement. The other holds his pencil steady, scratching over the paper in perfect, precise marks. She could listen to him all night. 

She’s too tired for that though, truly. When her own breathing begins to slow she doesn’t fight it, and when the darkness behind her eyes beckons her closer she lets it draw near. The last thing she remembers before sleep finally overtakes her is this – the sound of Kavik writing, and the feeling of being safer and warmer than she has in a long, long while. 

[fayelero]

Hi!! Could I ask for something with Post-Timeskip atsumu miya with a reader who also plays professional volleyball. And like a setter x hitter dynamic.

Thank you! <33

-GIRLFRIEND IN TRAINING ! timeskip!atsumu

➥ pr : timeskip!atsumu x fem!reader

➥ syn : what about Atsumu and a spiker reader ? Setter x hitter dynamic :)

➥ wc : 4.5k

➥ tw : kisses, cuddles and pure fluff. Atsumu is a prover and slightly but soooo slightly a perv…

➥ a/n : thanks for this request!! so good idea ! hope u like it :) (and sorry for the delay) I drifted a bit and it turned out to be long lmaaoooo but I like it.

The afternoon sun streamed through the high windows of the training facility, casting long shadows across the polished court floor. You wiped a bead of sweat from your forehead, adjusting your practice outfit - the white Lululemon set Atsumu had given you for your anniversary last month. Three years together, and somehow every day felt as exciting as the first.

"One more!" you called out, bouncing the volleyball against the floor. Your legs were starting to feel the burn after an hour of practice, but you couldn't help wanting just one more perfect set from your boyfriend.

Atsumu caught the ball with practiced ease, a playful smirk crossing his features. "Tired already? And here I thought dating a national team spiker would give me more of a challenge." He flexed dramatically, making you roll your eyes even as you fought back a smile.

"Just set the ball, you dork," you laughed, getting into position for your approach. After countless hours of practice together - both with your respective teams and during these private sessions - you could read each other's movements like a well-worn book.

The ball left his fingers in a perfect arc, and you could already tell it would be exactly where you wanted it. That was Atsumu's gift - not just his technical skill, but his ability to bring out the absolute best in his spikers. Your feet left the ground as you reached the apex of your jump, arm cocked back.

The satisfying smack of your palm meeting the ball echoed through the gym, followed by the sharp crack of it hitting the court just inside the line. Perfect placement.

"Show off," Atsumu teased, though his eyes were bright with pride. "Though I guess I can't complain when my girlfriend's the best spiker in the women's division."

You wiped your face with a towel, trying to hide your blush. "The set was a little low," you commented with faux criticism, knowing it would rile him up.

As expected, Atsumu's jaw dropped in exaggerated offense. "Low? That was a perfect set and you know it!" He crossed the court in a few quick strides, wrapping his arms around your waist from behind despite your halfhearted struggles to escape.

"Maybe if you weren't so busy flexing and actually focused on setting..." you continued teasing, turning in his embrace to face him.

"Oh? So you weren't sneaking glances at these guns?" He flexed again, making you laugh and push at his chest.

"You're impossible," you declared, though you couldn't keep the fondness from your voice. This was your favorite part of dating Atsumu - the way you could seamlessly blend your shared passion for volleyball with moments of pure playfulness.

The late afternoon light painted everything in warm golden tones, reminding you of how many hours had passed. "We should probably wrap up," you suggested reluctantly. "Don't you have team practice early tomorrow?"

Atsumu groaned, burying his face in your neck. "Don't remind me. Coach Foster's been brutal with conditioning lately. Says we need to be in top form for the upcoming tournament."

You ran your fingers through his damp hair sympathetically. "Poor baby. Though I seem to remember someone bragging about being the best setter in the V.League just yesterday..."

"I am the best setter in the V.League," he declared without a hint of modesty, making you snort. "And you love it."

You couldn't argue with that. For all his showboating and occasional arrogance, Atsumu backed it up with genuine skill and an unmatched work ethic. It was one of the things that had first drawn you to him - the way he poured his whole heart into everything he did, whether it was perfecting a new set or loving you.

"Come on," you said, extracting yourself from his embrace. "Help me clean up and then we can grab dinner? I'm thinking ramen."

"Only if you admit that set was perfect," he bargained, already moving to help collect the scattered volleyballs.

You pretended to think about it as you began breaking down the net. "Hmm... it was adequate."

"Adequate?!" His indignant squawk echoed through the gym, making you laugh. Some things never changed - and you wouldn't have it any other way.

As you worked together to restore the gym to order, you couldn't help but marvel at how naturally you'd fallen into this rhythm together. From national team commitments to stolen moments of practice like this, you'd built something special - a partnership that worked both on and off the court.

"Fine," you conceded as you zipped up your gym bag, unable to resist his puppy dog eyes any longer. "It was a perfect set. Happy now?"

His answering smile was brighter than the setting sun. "Almost," he said, pulling you in for a quick kiss. "Now I'm happy."

You shook your head fondly as you headed for the door together, his arm draped comfortably around your shoulders. Another perfect evening in a long string of them, filled with the two things you loved most - volleyball and Atsumu.

As you walked to your favorite ramen shop, you couldn't help but think how lucky you were to have found someone who understood both your competitive drive and your playful side. Someone who could challenge you to be better while loving you exactly as you were.

"Whatcha thinking about?" Atsumu asked, noticing your thoughtful expression.

You smiled, leaning into his side. "Just how much I love you, you big volleyball nerd."

"Look who's calling who a volleyball nerd," he laughed, pressing a kiss to your temple. "But I love you too."

The small ramen shop was bustling with evening customers, but the owner's face lit up with recognition as you and Atsumu ducked under the noren curtains. Being regulars had its perks - your favorite corner booth was mysteriously always available, tucked away from prying eyes that might recognize either of you from sports magazines or national team coverage.

"Ah, my favorite volleyball couple!" the elderly owner called out warmly. "The usual?"

"Actually," Atsumu interrupted before you could answer, "can we get the special tonight? Y'know, the one with the extra chashu?" He turned to you with that soft smile he seemed to reserve just for you. "You mentioned being hungry after practice."

You felt your heart flutter. After three years, he still noticed every little detail about you. "Always taking care of me, aren't you?"

"Someone has to make sure Japan's best spiker stays well-fed," he replied with a wink, pulling out your chair before settling across from you. His foot immediately found yours under the table, initiating your usual game of footsie.

"I thought Bokuto was Japan's best spiker?" you teased, knowing exactly how to push his buttons. As expected, Atsumu's face scrunched up in mock offense.

"Yer really gonna bring up another man on our date?" He clutched his chest dramatically. "After I set you all those perfect balls today?"

"Oh? They were perfect now? Because I distinctly remember someone getting very defensive when I suggested one was a little low..." You couldn't help but laugh at his increasingly exaggerated expressions of betrayal.

"Mean," he pouted, though his eyes sparkled with amusement. "Here I am, being the most attentive boyfriend in all of Japan-"

"All of Japan, huh?"

"The world!" he declared, making nearby diners glance over at his enthusiasm. He lowered his voice, leaning across the table conspiratorially. "Name one other setter who'd stay late just to practice with their girlfriend."

"Kageyama?" you suggested innocently.

Atsumu nearly choked on his water. "That's it, I'm breaking up with you," he announced, though his attempt at a serious expression was ruined by the way he couldn't stop staring at you adoringly. "As soon as we finish this ramen. And dessert. And maybe after I walk you home. And kiss you goodnight..."

"So tomorrow then?"

"Tomorrow's no good, we have that couple's practice session planned," he mused thoughtfully. "Maybe next week?"

Your laughter was interrupted by the arrival of your ramen, the steam rising enticingly from the rich broth. Atsumu immediately began arranging your bowl, making sure all your favorite toppings were easily accessible - just one of the countless little ways he showed his love.

"Here," he said, picking up a particularly perfect slice of chashu with his chopsticks and holding it out to you. "Say 'ahh'."

You rolled your eyes but complied, letting him feed you. "You're ridiculous."

"Ridiculously in love with you," he countered without missing a beat, preening when your cheeks flushed pink.

"That was terrible," you groaned, but you were already picking up a perfectly boiled egg to offer him in return. His triumphant grin as he accepted it made your heart skip.

The conversation flowed easily as you ate, discussing everything from upcoming matches to the latest team gossip. Atsumu's hand found yours across the table between bites, his thumb absently tracing patterns on your skin.

"Oh! Did I tell ya about what Bokuto did at practice yesterday?" His eyes lit up with mischief as he launched into an animated story about his teammate's latest antics, complete with impressions that had you clutching your sides with laughter.

"Stop, stop," you gasped, wiping tears from your eyes. "I'm going to get broth up my nose!"

"But you love my Bokkun impression," he preened, before his expression softened into something more serious. "I love making you laugh like that."

The sudden sincerity in his voice made your heart stutter. That was another thing about Atsumu - for all his playful bravado, he had moments of such genuine sweetness that it took your breath away.

"I love you," you said simply, because sometimes the straightforward truth was best.

His whole face lit up, like it did every time you said those words. "Yeah?" He brought your joined hands to his lips, pressing a kiss to your knuckles. "Good thing, 'cause I'm pretty crazy about you too."

The owner appeared then with two small cups of green tea ice cream - on the house, he insisted, though you strongly suspected Atsumu had arranged it beforehand. Your boyfriend's pleased expression when you discovered the heart drawn in matcha powder on top confirmed your suspicions.

"You're such a sap," you told him fondly.

"Only for you," he agreed shamelessly, offering you the first bite of his ice cream. "Besides, I gotta make sure I stay your favorite setter. Can't have you running off with Kageyama after all."

You kicked him lightly under the table. "As if anyone could compare to my perfectly adequate setter."

"Oi!" His indignant response was cut short by your leaning across the table to kiss him, tasting sweet green tea on his lips.

When you pulled back, his expression was dazed and happy. "Okay, maybe I can forgive the 'adequate' comment. This time."

The evening wrapped up too quickly, as it always did when you were together. Atsumu insisted on paying - "My treat for my favorite spiker" - and tucked you under his arm as you stepped out into the cool night air.

"Practice again tomorrow?" he asked hopefully, as if you didn't already have it planned.

"Wouldn't miss it," you assured him, rising on your tiptoes to kiss his cheek. "Someone has to keep your setting skills sharp."

His answering laugh was warm and full of affection. "Lucky me."

As you walked home hand in hand, you couldn't help but think that you were the lucky one. For all his dramatics and playful arrogance, Atsumu loved with his whole heart - whether it was volleyball or you.

—

The luxurious bathroom in your shared apartment steamed up as the shower ran hot, fog creeping across the large mirror. You'd both grown accustomed to the little dance of sharing the spacious bathroom during your nighttime routine, moving around each other with practiced ease.

"Babe, can you pass me my face wash?" you called out, holding your hand out of the shower. Atsumu's warm chuckle preceded the bottle being placed in your palm.

"The fancy one with the little gold flecks?" he confirmed, and you could hear the smile in his voice. "The one you insisted was worth half my week's grocery budget?"

"Says the man who spends a fortune on volleyball shoes," you shot back, working the cleanser into a lather. The familiar scent of jasmine filled the steamy air.

"Hey, those are professional expenses!" He was at the sink now, carefully applying shaving cream to the light stubble that had appeared over the past couple days. "Though I guess keeping your skin this soft could count as a professional expense too, considering how many sports magazine shoots you do these days."

You peeked around the shower door to stick your tongue out at him, catching him mid-stroke with his razor. His hair was cutely mussed from running his hands through it, and a bit of shaving cream had somehow ended up on his ear.

"You missed a spot," you informed him helpfully, gesturing to your own ear.

"What? Where?" He turned his head back and forth, examining his reflection in the slightly foggy mirror. "I don't see- hey!" He finally caught your grin in the reflection. "Yer just trying to distract me."

"Is it working?"

"Always," he admitted with a fond shake of his head, carefully finishing up his shaving. "Though I still don't understand how you can support Brazil in tomorrow's match. America's got some amazing servers this season."

You shut off the shower, reaching for your fluffy towel. "Spoken like someone who's never seen Bruno set in person. His technique is absolutely beautiful."

"Oi!" Atsumu spun around, razor forgotten. "Are you saying his sets are better than mine?"

You wrapped the towel around yourself, stepping out to press a kiss to his pouty lips. "Of course not, baby. Your sets are perfectly adequate, remember?"

He groaned, dropping his forehead to your shoulder. "You're never gonna let that go, are you?"

"Nope!" You wiggled away from him, moving to your extensive skincare collection arranged neatly on the marble counter. "Now, speaking of beautiful things..." You pulled out two sheet masks with a flourish.

Atsumu's eyes widened in horror. "Oh no. No, no, no. Last time you put one of those on me, I looked like a swamp monster!"

"But your skin was so glowy afterward," you wheedled, already opening one of the packages. "Come on, it's green tea and cucumber. Very manly ingredients!"

"There is nothing manly about looking like Shrek," he protested, but you could see him wavering. Three years together had taught you exactly how to wear him down - a slight pout, wide eyes, and...

"Please? For me?" You batted your eyelashes exaggeratedly. "I'll let you pick what we watch while we wait for them to work their magic."

He heaved a dramatic sigh, but you could see the smile tugging at his lips. "The things I do for love. Fine, but if Bokuto somehow finds out about this..."

"Your secret beauty routine is safe with me," you promised solemnly, reaching up to smooth the cool mask over his freshly-shaved skin. He scrunched his nose at the sensation but held obligingly still.

"I look ridiculous," he complained, catching sight of himself in the mirror.

"You look adorable," you corrected, carefully applying your own mask before starting on the rest of your routine. Atsumu watched with fascination as you methodically applied various serums and creams.

"How do you remember what order to put all that stuff in?" he wondered, absently reaching for one of the bottles before you swatted his hand away.

"Years of practice. Also, I labeled them with numbers," you admitted, showing him the tiny numbers you'd written on the bottom of each container. His laugh echoed off the bathroom tiles.

"That's my organized girl," he said fondly, wrapping his arms around your waist from behind and hooking his chin over your shoulder. "Though I think you're beautiful without all this stuff too."

You met his eyes in the mirror, both of you looking absolutely ridiculous with your green masks, and felt your heart swell with affection. "Smooth talker."

"Only stating facts," he insisted, pressing a masked kiss to your shoulder that made you giggle.

Twenty minutes later, after finishing your routines and disposing of the masks ("See? Glowy!" "If you say so, baby."), you padded into the bedroom. While Atsumu brushed his teeth, you rifled through his side of the closet, pulling out one of his Black Jackals jerseys.

"Stealing my clothes again?" he called out, voice muffled around his toothbrush.

"It's not stealing if I live here," you reasoned, pulling the oversized jersey over your head. The familiar number 13 stretched across your back, and even though you'd been sleeping next to him for years now, something about wearing his jersey still made you feel specially connected to him.

"Besides," you added as he emerged from the bathroom, "you love seeing me in your jersey."

His eyes darkened appreciatively as he took in the sight of you perched on the edge of the king-sized bed, his name and number displayed across your back. "Can't argue with that."

You crawled under the plush covers while he queued up the pre-recorded America vs Brazil match on the bedroom's wall-mounted TV. The familiar sounds of a volleyball game filled the room as he slid in beside you, immediately pulling you close against his chest.

"Ten bucks says America takes the first set," he murmured into your hair.

"You're on," you agreed, snuggling deeper into his embrace. "Brazil's reception has been solid lately."

As you watched the match unfold, you traded commentary and friendly arguments about technique, occasionally interrupted by sleepy kisses and gentle teasing. When Brazil indeed took the first set, you couldn't resist a smug "told you so."

"Yeah, yeah," Atsumu yawned, nuzzling into your neck. "You're just lucky Bruno had a good day."

"Mmm, keep telling yourself that," you mumbled, feeling sleep starting to tug at your consciousness. The warmth of his body and the familiar scent of his skin care products (which he pretended weren't just as expensive as yours) were making your eyelids heavy.

Atsumu reached for the remote, turning off the TV and plunging the room into comfortable darkness. "Love you," he whispered, pressing one last kiss to your temple.

"Love you too," you managed through another yawn, tangling your legs with his. "Even if your sets are only adequate."

His quiet laugh was the last thing you heard as you drifted off to sleep, secure in his muscular arms and knowledge that you'd wake up to another day of perfectly imperfect moments with your favorite setter.

Ⓒkiesbrainjuice all rights reserved. please to not plagiarize, repost, or translate !

tag : @haechansbbg

[evussy]

Word count: 9k words (smut with plot, TW cult, dub-con, mentions of knife, force intimacy, manipulation, gaslighting, use of bible verses while having sex, fl virgin, unprotected sex, dark & disturbing—it’s literally a Kai Anderson FanFic let’s be fr)

DEAD DOVE DO NOT EAT READ AT YOUR OWN RISK MINORS DO NOT INTERACT.

Faith = Reader

Messiah

Laughter echoed through the kitchen, warm and carefree. Faith stood at the counter, her hands buried in dough as she kneaded, her thin white sleep dress brushing her knees. A smudge of flour streaked her cheek, unnoticed in the sunlight streaming through the floral curtains. Across the room, Emma whisked something in a stainless-steel bowl, her messy bun bouncing with every laugh. Her oversized white T-shirt and pajama pants looked as casual as the conversation.

"Remember when I first met you? You couldn't even speak English!" Emma teased, her eyes sparkling with amusement.

Faith groaned, laughing as she rolled the dough beneath her palms. "Oh, come on! Forget that! What did you expect? I'm an immigrant!"

Emma leaned against the counter, catching her breath from laughing. "Your pronunciation was always so funny!"

"Stop it! You're so mean!" Faith threw a small pinch of flour at her, unable to hide her grin.

Emma smirked, wiping her arm. "And that time you told me about your first date—using all those metaphors! I didn't understand a thing, but your confused face—"

The words cut off as the front door slammed open, the sound like a gunshot reverberating through the house. Faith froze, the laughter draining from her face. Emma's whisk stilled mid-air, her expression snapping into alarm.

Four strangers stepped into the kitchen, their presence as oppressive as a stormcloud. Three men and one woman, all in their late twenties, towered over the two young women. The first man, tall with a thick beard, scanned the room with a predatory gaze.

"You look happy. Contented," he said, his voice heavy with sarcasm as his eyes landed on Emma.

Emma looked like she wanted to melt into the floor. Her skin turned pale, her shoulders curling inward defensively. Faith glanced at her, confused and uneasy.

"Haven't seen you in a while, Emma," another man chimed in, his bleached-white hair gleaming under the sunlight. Dressed in a sharp red suit, he smirked with condescension. "Our leader is wondering if you're still loyal. You know you can't just walk away, right? Ignoring all your responsibilities?"

Emma swallowed hard, her hands trembling. "I didn't walk away," she said, her voice barely above a whisper. "I'm not running anywhere."

Faith's frown deepened. "Emma, who are these people?" she asked softly, her unease growing.

Emma stammered, but no words came out.

"What's the matter, Emma? Are you ashamed of your family now?" the woman sneered. She was pale and sharp-featured, her thick eyeliner giving her an almost predatory look.

"You've got work to finish. Did you think we'd forget?" growled a third man, dressed in a blue uniform that looked out of place in the casual home setting.

"Just give me more time—I promise, I'll do it," Emma pleaded, her voice trembling.

"Promises, promises," the woman mocked, her lips curling into a cold smile. "Maybe you should make a pinky promise with him. It's been weeks, Emma. Do you think the world revolves around you? We're starting to wonder if you're useless."

Faith's jaw tightened as she stepped forward. "Excuse me? Don't talk to her like that. And who the hell are you to call yourselves her family? I've met her family—it's definitely not you!"

"Faith, shut up!" Emma hissed, panic flickering across her face.

The bearded man tilted his head, studying Faith with detached curiosity. "Should we kill her?" he asked the woman coldly. "She's a friend. Might know something."

"No! Don't!" Emma stepped forward, her hands raised in desperation. "She has nothing to do with this! Please, don't get her involved! I'll explain everything to Kai—I'll do what he asked, I swear. Just leave her alone."

Faith's panic boiled over. "What the hell, Emma? Who are these people? What's going on?"

The man in the red suit smirked. "Kai hasn't given the order yet. Let her explain. Killing them both here would be messy."

"You're not taking her!" Faith shouted, grabbing Emma's arm protectively. "Emma, these people are insane! Don't go with them!"

But her resistance was futile. The men moved quickly, one grabbing Faith's wrist while another yanked Emma toward the door. Faith struggled, but their strength overpowered hers.

"Take her too," the woman said coldly, pointing at Faith. "She'll be a nuisance otherwise. We'll deal with them both at the house."

The terror on Emma's face mirrored Faith's as the two of them were dragged outside, their protests drowned out by the sound of the van's doors slamming shut. The bright afternoon sun burned against Faith's skin, but the chill in her chest was far colder as the engine roared to life.

They were dragged across a vast living room, their footsteps muffled against the polished wooden floor. The dim, golden glow of ceiling lights struggled to pierce the heavy shadows lingering in the room, leaving much of the dark-paneled space cloaked in an oppressive gloom.

The air felt thick, suffocating, as they were shoved forward. Their captors gripped their arms tightly, forcing them to the center of the room. Faith stumbled, her bare feet sliding on the cold floor, her thin dress doing little to shield her from the chill. Emma, silent and trembling, barely lifted her head.

Then came the sound of measured footsteps, echoing from the staircase at the back of the room. All eyes turned as a man descended the wide, creaking steps.

His buzzed hair gleamed faintly under the dim light, his sharp features carved with calm authority. He wore a simple black shirt tucked neatly into dark jeans, the sleeves rolled just above his elbows, revealing forearms marked by faint scars and veins that spoke of quiet strength.

As he reached the bottom step, their captors released Faith and Emma abruptly, as if their very presence might offend the man. Faith staggered slightly but caught herself, her wide eyes darting toward Emma, who stood frozen, her arms crossed defensively over her chest.

The man's gaze swept over them, lingering just a moment longer on Faith. His expression was unreadable—calm, calculating, and unnervingly composed. He stopped a few feet away, his presence filling the room like a sudden drop in temperature.

No one spoke. The silence stretched taut, broken only by the faint creak of the wooden floor beneath his boots as he shifted his weight. Finally, he clasped his hands behind his back, his voice low and steady when he spoke.

"Emma," he said, his tone devoid of warmth but heavy with unspoken expectation.

Emma flinched as if his voice had struck her. "Kai..." she stammered, her voice cracking.

Faith's breath hitched. This is him. This is the man they were talking about.

Kai tilted his head slightly, his dark eyes never leaving Emma. "You've been very busy," he said evenly. "And yet, not busy enough. Do you know how much trouble you've caused me?"

Emma's knees wavered, and she clasped her hands in front of her, her lips trembling. "I was going to—I didn't mean to—I just needed more time."

Kai let the silence stretch for a moment longer before his gaze shifted to Faith. His eyes scanned her slowly, taking in every detail—the flour still faintly dusting her cheek, the tremor in her hands, the way her dress clung to her frame.

"And who," he asked quietly, his tone sharp enough to slice through the air, "is this?"

No one spoke. The silence was suffocating, heavy with unspoken tension. Faith could feel it—the weight of their hesitation—as if uttering her name would seal her fate.

Kai's sharp gaze flickered between the people in the room, his patience thinning. He took a deliberate step toward Faith, the soles of his boots barely making a sound against the floor.

"Cat got your tongue?" he murmured, his voice low but cutting, every syllable sinking into her like a blade. His dark eyes lingered on her trembling form for a moment before he glanced around, his brows lifting in a calm, expectant gesture.

Someone had to speak.

"Her name's Faith," the woman finally said, her voice neutral but clipped. "That's what Emma called her earlier."

Kai tilted his head slightly, his gaze returning to Faith. "And why is she here?" he asked, his tone still calm but laced with an edge that made every word feel like a warning.

The man in the blue uniform shifted uncomfortably before speaking. "She's a friend. Tried to interfere earlier when we came for Emma. She wasn't part of the plan, but we didn't have time to deal with her, so we brought her along. Figured she might know something... or start spilling later."

Kai's eyes didn't leave Faith as the man spoke. The explanation seemed to hang in the air, sinking in slowly.

He inhaled deeply through his nose, his sharp jaw tightening for a brief moment before relaxing. His gaze bore into her, assessing every detail—her posture, the way her bare feet shifted nervously against the cold floor, and the fear radiating off her like heat.

"Faith," he repeated, his voice rolling over the syllables as though tasting them. It wasn't a question. It was an acknowledgment, deliberate and uncomfortably intimate.

Faith's chest tightened as she kept her gaze fixed on the wooden floor. Her pulse thundered in her ears, drowning out the oppressive silence. Her instincts screamed at her to look away, to disappear into herself, yet she felt his eyes crawling over her like a physical weight.

What had started as a simple, impulsive defense of her friend had spiraled into something far worse. She could feel it in the way the room seemed to darken around him, in the chill that seeped into her bones.

She swallowed hard, her throat dry. She was too afraid to meet his gaze.

Kai's lips quirked, not into a smile but something far more unsettling, like he was memorizing her—every quiver, every breath, every ounce of her fear.

"So, tell me, Emma." Kai's voice was smooth, almost gentle, but the undertone was unmistakable. It was a command wrapped in false affection.

Emma's breath hitched audibly, her shoulders tightening. She couldn't bring herself to meet his gaze.

"Why haven't you done what I told you to do?" His tone dropped lower, each word deliberate, slow, and weighted.

Faith watched him, her confusion mounting. His voice carried an unsettling mix of reprimand and encouragement, like a parent disappointed yet still coaxing.

"You're holding back our movement," he continued. "You know I need you, right? No one could've done this better than you. You're perfect for this. I trust you enough to know that."

"I know, I'm sorry..." Emma stammered, her voice trembling. "I just... I'm having cold feet... Kai—I—"

Her words trailed off, disjointed and incomplete. Faith listened intently but couldn't make sense of the exchange. Cold feet? Movement? Perfect for what? The vagueness hung heavy in the air, and this time, despite her growing fear, Faith stayed silent.

Kai stepped closer to Emma, his hand rising to cup her face with unsettling tenderness. His thumb brushed against her cheek, a gesture so soft it made Faith flinch.

"I know this is hard for you," he murmured, his voice a mockery of comfort. "But I love you, Emma. You know that, right?"

Emma nodded weakly, her body trembling under his touch. "I know," she whispered, her voice breaking. "But I'm scared. I'm really, really scared. I don't want to die."

Faith's lips parted as her best friend's words sunk in. Her stomach churned with a mix of shock and disbelief. Die? What the fuck is he asking her to do that involves dying?!

Kai didn't flinch at Emma's tears. If anything, his grip seemed to tighten slightly, though his tone remained soft.

"If you do this," he said, his voice almost hypnotic, "you'll live forever through me."

Emma's red-rimmed eyes flicked toward Faith, her gaze full of something Faith couldn't immediately place—regret, guilt, or maybe resignation. It felt like a silent goodbye, a final acknowledgment of something Faith wasn't ready to understand.

Faith's body tensed as her heart pounded. A sickening realization clawed at the edges of her mind, but the words still wouldn't come. She could only watch as Kai's hand lingered on Emma's tear-streaked face, his presence suffocating them both.

Kai's eyes followed Emma's gaze, his curiosity sharpening as both their eyes landed on Faith. Emma quickly averted her gaze, but Kai's lingered. His stare held an intensity that made Faith's skin crawl.

Then, as if deciding something in his mind, Kai looked back at Emma, the corner of his mouth curling into a faint, almost playful smirk.

"Do you want to do it together?" he asked casually, as if proposing something mundane. "Your friend isn't leaving here anyway. That way, you won't be alone, and it'll be less scary."

Faith's heart dropped. Her head snapped toward Emma, searching her friend's face for any semblance of an explanation, but all she found was panic.

"No!" Emma shook her head vehemently, her voice rising in desperation. "No, please, let her go. She has nothing to do with this, Kai. It's not fair for my best friend—"

"Best friend?" Kai interrupted, his tone dripping with amusement.

He turned back to Faith, taking a slow step toward her. She stiffened as his gaze swept over her, not in a leering way, but like he was studying a new piece of art. His eyes held an unnerving mix of interest and calculation, like he was fitting her into some grander scheme.

Faith's lips parted to speak, but the words died in her throat. She didn't trust her voice.

"She's your best friend?" Kai asked again, his tone softer, almost teasing. He tilted his head slightly, his gaze flicking back to Emma. "And you thought it was fair to bring her here? Into this?"

Emma's breathing quickened, and her eyes darted back and forth between Faith and Kai. "I didn't bring her—she just happened to be at my house. Please, she doesn't know anything!"

Kai smiled faintly, though it didn't reach his eyes. "Interesting," he murmured. His gaze slid back to Faith, his expression unreadable.

Faith's pulse raced as she struggled to comprehend the exchange. Every word between Kai and Emma felt like a puzzle piece, but none of it fit together. All she knew was that whatever Kai was suggesting, it was bad—very bad.

"Well," Kai continued, his voice light but laced with menace, "since she's already here, maybe she can stay a little longer. You said she's your best friend, right? Wouldn't you want her by your side for something so important?"

Faith's stomach dropped, and she clenched her fists. Her instincts screamed to run, but she couldn't move.

Emma shook her head violently, tears streaming down her face. "No! No, Kai, please! I'll do whatever you want, but let her go. She doesn't deserve this."

"You know I can't let her leave," Kai said, his voice eerily calm, addressing Emma as though Faith wasn't even there. "She already has an idea of what's going on. Unless..." He trailed off, turning his head toward Faith with a slow, deliberate gaze. "...she wants to be a part of us? Of course, I'd never insist or force anyone to join," he added smoothly, a false warmth lacing his tone. "I didn't force you, remember?"

Emma stood frozen, her face pale, her breaths coming in shallow gasps.

"But if she doesn't..." Kai sighed, a theatrical display of weariness. "She can't go on another day, Emma. You know I have to be fair. No one gets exceptions here—not even your best friend." He emphasized the last two words, his voice hardening. "I have rules, Emma. Rules that protect all of us."

"She's got to stay alive, please," Emma pleaded, her voice cracking as tears streamed down her cheeks. "This is my fault—"

"Your fault?" Kai interrupted sharply, his tone deceptively soft. "Is being here a mistake for you?" His brow furrowed as if her words had wounded him, his eyes narrowing in mock sadness.

Emma's mouth opened, but no words came. She choked on her reply, her fear tangible.

Faith, on the floor, tried to muster every ounce of courage she had. "Can't you just let Emma go? We won't say a thing to anyone. We'll pretend this never happened—"

Her plea was cut short as Kai's hand struck her across the face with brutal force. The impact sent her sprawling to the ground, her cheek stinging with a searing heat.

Kai exhaled heavily, looking down at her with disdain. His hand slid down his face, rubbing his mouth before falling limply to his side. His stress seemed genuine, but it only made him more menacing.

Emma flinched at the sound of the slap, her sobs stifled as her body froze in place. She squeezed her eyes shut, unable to move, unwilling to draw Kai's attention again.

"You don't get to talk back," Kai hissed, his voice dangerously low as he loomed over Faith. He pointed a finger down at her, his expression cold and unrelenting. "You don't even have the right to speak when I'm not talking to you. Do you understand?"

Faith pressed her trembling hands to the floor, her face throbbing as she avoided his piercing gaze. She didn't answer, her fear locking the words in her throat.

Kai waited, his silence heavy and oppressive, before stepping back toward Emma. "Fix this, Emma," he said simply, his tone soft but loaded with a threat that didn't need to be spoken.

Kai gestured to the man in the blue uniform, who immediately stepped forward and handed him a knife. The blade glinted coldly under the dim light as Kai tapped it rhythmically against his palm, the sound sharp and deliberate, like a clock ticking down.

He turned to Emma, his expression softening into a mockery of concern. "Are you still loyal to me, Emma?" he asked, his voice laced with feigned worry, though his eyes betrayed his predatory intent.

Emma's breath hitched, her body trembling. She didn't respond.

"C'mon," Kai urged, stepping closer and holding the knife out to her. "Take it."

Hesitantly, Emma extended her shaking hand and grasped the knife. It felt heavier than it should, her palm slick with sweat as her fingers closed around the handle.

Kai's gaze bore into her, his lips curving into a faint smile. "Now prove it to me," he said, his tone gentle yet commanding. "Prove to me that you're still loyal. That you're still my girl, Emma."

Emma's knees buckled, but she stayed standing, clutching the knife tightly.

"Kill this b*tch," Kai said nonchalantly, gesturing toward Faith with a lazy flick of his hand, as if her life were a minor inconvenience to be discarded.

Faith froze in place, her heart hammering in her chest. Her body moved before her mind caught up, stumbling back a step as if to distance herself from the growing horror.

"Emma," Faith whispered, her voice barely audible. Her wide, tear-filled eyes met her best friend's. She shook her head slowly, her lips trembling. "Please. Don't do this."

Kai watched the exchange with an air of amusement, his arms crossing as he leaned casually against the back of a chair. "Go ahead," he said, his voice light, as if they were discussing the weather.

"Show me your loyalty, Emma. I'm waiting."

Emma's hands shook violently, the blade quivering as her grip faltered. Tears streamed down her face, her lips parting as though she wanted to say something but couldn't find the words.

Faith's back hit the wall, her hands raised in a quiet, desperate plea. "Emma, look at me," she whispered. "Don't let him do this to you. You don't have to do this."

Kai's expression darkened, his patience thinning. "Emma," he barked sharply, causing both women to flinch. "You don't make me doubt you, do you?"

The room fell silent, save for Emma's ragged breathing.

"Kai... I—I'll do what you ask me," Emma stammered, her voice cracking under the weight of her desperation. "Sooner. Immediately. Tomorrow! Just... just spare Faith! Please!" Her tear-filled eyes darted toward Faith. "Faith, you'll be a part of us, right? You'll help us, right?" she cried, her tone pleading, almost frantic, as though trying to convince herself as much as her friend.

Faith's chest heaved with sobs, her back pressed firmly against the wall. "I don't even know what this is, Emma!" she cried out, her voice raw and trembling. "What the hell are you in? What's happening?"

"You just have to be loyal to Kai," Emma said, trembling, her grip on the knife tightening as though holding onto it might anchor her. "Like me—like everyone else. Help us—" Her voice cracked, and she broke into another sob.

Kai scoffed, the sound low and condescending. He stepped forward, his hands shoved into his pockets as his shadow loomed over both women. "And in what way," he said slowly, his tone dripping with disdain, "will she be useful to me?"

Emma froze, her breath hitching as Kai's cold gaze burned into her.

"You can barely manage to be useful yourself, Emma," he continued, shaking his head, disappointment laced in his words. "Why would I waste my time on someone weaker than you?"

Emma's knees buckled, but she remained standing, her head bowed in shame and fear. Faith, meanwhile, stood frozen, her mind racing for an escape that didn't exist.

Kai clicked his tongue, pacing slowly between them. "You disappoint me, Emma. Again," he muttered, his voice a mix of mockery and menace. "Now tell me—why exactly should I listen to your pathetic begging?"

"She can cook for you and clean," Emma said hurriedly, almost stumbling over her words. "She's good at it! Isn't that what women are for?" The last phrase escaped her lips involuntarily, something she'd heard Kai say countless times.

Kai's lips twisted into a sneer, his eyes narrowing with contempt. "That's all?" He scoffed, his voice dripping with disdain. "She can't even kill? Does she even have anything to fight for? Like we do?" He took a step closer to Faith, his gaze intense and piercing.

"I can't kill," Faith said quickly, her voice shaking with fear. "I can't go to jail. I don't want to go to jail," she added, her heart pounding in her chest. She couldn't risk everything—her life, her sick sister, the fragile sense of stability she had left.

Kai's gaze shifted back to Emma, a silent agreement passing between them. He shrugged with a bored expression. "See?" he said simply, as though the answer was obvious. "She's not worth it."

"Faith, please!" Emma's voice cracked with frustration. Her hands trembled at her sides, desperate to find some way to fix this—to save her friend from whatever fate Kai had in store for her.

"Aren't you looking for the right woman to bear your successor? Why not her?" The man with white hair and a red suit spoke, his voice daring, cutting through the tense silence.

Kai stopped dead in his tracks, his lips slightly parted as the suggestion hung in the air. The idea seemed to sink in slowly, his gaze shifting between Emma, Faith, and the man who had spoken. His expression darkened, considering the proposition.

Faith's face drained of color, her eyes wide with terror. The weight of the suggestion settled over her like a suffocating fog. She felt as though her life was being toyed with, threatened by the very thought of what they might be suggesting.

"Emma! Speak! They can't do that to me!" Faith shouted, her voice cracking with shock and panic, eyes pleading with her best friend for help.

For a moment, the room fell into a suffocating silence. Kai's gaze never left Faith, slowly tracing her form from head to toe, as if he were sizing her up. She was fragile, all fire and defiance on the outside, but he could see it—the fear in her eyes, the trembling in her stance. It was clear. He could break her, reshape her into what he wanted, force her into submission.

The white, thin dress she wore—innocent and delicate—suddenly made perfect sense. She looked like a sacrificial lamb, untouched, pure... like the Virgin Mary, offering herself for something much darker.

"Faith..." Kai's voice was soft, almost reverent, as if speaking her name brought something sacred to the moment. She stood before him, trembling, untouched, like she had stepped out of a storybook. "Maybe this is fate?" he murmured, a strange, chilling satisfaction in his words.

"You're insane! All of you are insane!" Faith lashed out, her voice sharp with defiance. "I'm never going to have sex with you, you disgusting piece of shi-"

Before she could finish, the bearded man stepped forward, pressing the cold barrel of a gun against her neck. The air in the room felt like it had been sucked out. Her heart raced as everyone held their breath, waiting for something to happen. But Kai-he was calm, his eyes never leaving Faith, a twisted admiration flickering across his face. He wasn't offended.

No, he was in awe.

The gun's cold metal dug into her skin, and Faith refused to flinch. "I'd rather be killed today than let you have me," she spat, her voice steady despite the panic clawing at her throat. "At least I can keep my dignity! You're not going to be my first. Just thinking about it makes me sick! A baby? A crazy child like you?" She glared at Kai, the anger surging through her. She was ready for death now.

Anything was better than being a vessel for his madness.

Kai didn't respond immediately. Instead, he looked at her, eyes narrowing, lips curling into a dark smile. "So, you're a virgin?" His voice was quiet, but every word felt deliberate, like he was savoring it.

Faith's chest tightened, but she didn't answer. It was as if cold water had been poured over her, freezing her in place. His look-satisfied, pleased-sent a shiver through her, and she couldn't tear her gaze away.

"You're clean. Untouched..." Kai mused, his eyes glinting with something dangerous. The way he said it-like it was something he owned now-sent a wave of unease crashing through her.

"Get that gun out of her face," Kai ordered. He motioned to two of his men. The one with the white hair and the bearded one. They moved quickly, grabbing her arms and pulling her toward a room. Faith screamed, struggling against their hold, her fists beating uselessly against their grip. But it was no use. They dragged her away, her cries echoing in the empty hallway.

The room was stark and cold, its simplicity amplifying the fear that clung to the air. A queen-sized bed sat in the center, its white pillows and sheets marred by the faintest signs of old stains. Wooden furniture—nothing fancy—lined the walls, a small cabinet, and a bathroom tucked off to the side. Hours had passed since she was brought in here, the weight of time pressing heavily on her chest. She had searched the room meticulously, rifling through every cabinet and corner, hoping for a weapon -anything. But there was nothing. Every attempt to open the door was met with cold, mocking voices from outside, telling her it was useless.

She paced, anxiously, her thoughts racing.

Then, the door creaked open.

Kai stepped inside, his presence as imposing as ever. But this time, his gaze was different. It wasn't filled with the usual disdain, but rather something unsettling -something that made her feel like her existence meant more to him now, like she had some kind of purpose to him.

"Do you want to pray first, Faith?" he asked, holding a Bible in his hands, his voice deceptively calm.

"F*ck you!" she spat, trembling with a mix of anger and fear.

In a fluid motion, Kai stepped forward, slamming the Bible across her face. The sting exploded across her skin. "The mother of my child won't speak like that," he said coldly, his eyes narrowing. "You need to understand your place here, hm?"

"I'm not a mother," she spat again, her lip split and bleeding.

His eyes darkened, his patience visibly thinning. He exhaled sharply. "Get on the bed," he ordered, his tone firm and unyielding. Every word felt like a weight, pressing her further down.

She shook her head violently. "K*Il me instead," she cried, her voice breaking with desperation.

Without saying a word, Kai motioned for two men to enter. The sight of them only made her heart race faster, her fear spiking.

"F*cking tie her to the bed," Kai instructed, his voice void of any mercy.

The men moved quickly, grabbing her as she screamed, her hands struggling to free themselves. The man in the blue uniform reached behind his back, pulling out a set of handcuffs. Faith thrashed, kicking and shouting, but it was no use. They were too strong, too many. They forced her down onto the bed, pinning her in place before cuffing her hands to the metal headboard.

Her body went rigid, her screams echoing in the room. She thrashed with every ounce of strength she had, but the steel cuffs bit into her wrists, and she was trapped.

And there stood Kai, towering over her feet. His presence alone was enough to make her stomach churn. The Bible he clutched in his hands felt like a twisted contradiction against the cruelty in his eyes.

Kai's gaze burned into her, his dark eyes alight with a fervor that bordered on madness. Slowly, he began unbuttoning his shirt, his movements deliberate as if to savor the moment. The room seemed to grow colder, the weight of his intentions suffocating.

Faith's breathing hitched as the shirt slipped from his shoulders, revealing the hard planes of his chest. His skin was marred only by the inked symbol that dominated the center—a blazing sun with rays curling outward, and at its core, a single, unblinking eye. It stared out like a sentinel, its design intricate and foreboding, as if it were alive and watching her every move.

Below the tattoo, his chest was chiseled, every muscle defined, the sharp lines of his abs dipping into a taut V-shape. A faint trail of dark hair ran from his navel downward, disappearing beneath the waistband of his dark jeans. The sight was unnerving, a twisted contrast to the raw, male beauty he exuded.

Kai noticed her stare, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. He reached up, running a hand over the tattoo as if to emphasize it, his fingers brushing against the inked eye. "This," he said, his voice low, reverent, "is the mark of the divine. The proof of my purpose."

He leaned over her, the heat of his body oppressive as his words dripped with fervor. "You will worship me, Faith. And together, we will bring forth the light."

She broke into a silent sobs once again, the weight of his presence pressing down on her, as his lips curled into a twisted smile. The ritual, it seemed, was only just beginning.

The room was suffocatingly quiet, the only sound her ragged breathing and the faint creak of the bed beneath her. The sheets clung to her skin, their texture rough against the thin fabric of her sleeping dress. The wooden walls surrounding her felt oppressive, closing in like a cage.

She flinched as he crawled onto the mattress, the springs groaning under his weight. He moved slowly, deliberately. His hands moved with slow precision, trailing down her arms, his touch almost gentle. His fingertips brushed her collarbone, lingering at the base of her throat. She stiffened, the conflicting mix of fear and something she couldn't name tightening in her chest. "Your body," he said, his voice dropping lower, "is a vessel for divinity."

He let his palm flatten against her stomach, moving in languid strokes, as though savoring the feel of her skin. "But first, it must be sanctified." His hands dipped lower, his touch skimming the hem of her dress

The way his eyes never left her face made her want to squirm, but the cuffs held her firm, trapped beneath his scrutiny.

Kai shifted, his weight pressing the mattress down beside her. His mouth hovered at her ear, the warmth of his breath making her shiver as he whispered, "Your flesh is not your own. It belongs to a greater purpose." His lips grazed the edge of her jaw, his tongue flicking out to taste the flour on her cheek. His fingers slipped beneath the fabric of her dress, brushing along her thighs with a deliberate slowness that made her squirm.

"Don't fight it," he murmured, his voice taking on a sharper edge. "Submission is salvation."

His free hand slid up to cup her face, turning her gaze back to his. Her eyes burned, tears threatening to spill, but the raw intensity in his expression rooted her in place. "Don't look away," he commanded, his tone suddenly sharper. "This moment is sacred."

His fingers lingered at the edge of her underwear, his movements slow, savoring the power he held. He leaned closer, his lips brushing the shell of her ear. "This is not just for me," he murmured, his tone reverent yet cold. "It's for the world. This is for the next messiah."

Her breath hitched, and she finally found her voice, though it trembled. "Y-you don't have to do this," she stammered, trying to push her knees together, but his hands held her thighs firmly apart. "Please... I don't want this."

Kai paused, tilting his head as if her words intrigued him. "Your desires are irrelevant," he replied softly, his grip tightening. "You were chosen, not because you wanted it, but because you were destined."

She shook her head, panic bubbling to the surface. "I'm not... I'm not who you think I am! This is a mistake!"

A faint smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. "There are no mistakes in my plan," he said, his two hands pushed the fabric of her dress higher, baring her completely. The humiliation burned through her, making her squirm beneath him, but his weight pinned her in place. "No," she whispered, her voice barely audible.

"Please, don't."

Kai ignored her, his lips grazing her neck as he muttered, "And the angel said unto her, Fear not, Mary: for thou hast found favor with God." His voice was soft, almost tender, as though he were comforting her. But his actions were anything but.

His hands moved with more purpose now, exploring her body with invasive familiarity. Every touch felt like a violation, his palms rough against her soft breast . She twisted beneath him, her wrists straining against the cuffs that held her. "Get off me!" she screamed, her voice cracking with desperation.

Kai's hand shot to her throat, tightened slightly around her throat, enough to still her struggles without cutting off her breath. His thumb stroked her jawline, almost gently, as his other hand moved with unhurried precision. He slid his fingers lower, his touch grazing the sensitive skin of her clothed center before pressing firmly against the thin fabric still shielding her.

A soft gasp escaping her lips as his finger began pressing slowly and circling over her most vulnerable spot. "You will carry the child of God," he murmured, watching her face as her hips involuntarily shifted. His thumb alternating between soft, teasing motions and firmer pressure, watching her carefully. His lips returned to her skin, marking her with open- mouthed kisses along her neck and shoulder.

"No," she whimpered, her voice cracking as her hips jerked instinctively. "Stop- please-"

He cut her off with a sharp press of his thumb, dragging them firmly along her through the fabric. "Your words mean nothing," he said, his tone calm, dismissive. "This is your purpose. It's written into your flesh."

Her thighs trembled against his hand, the sensation overwhelming despite her desperate attempts to resist it. She bit her lip hard, trying to stifle the sounds rising in her throat, but Kai was relentless. He shifted his weight, settling lower as his hand slipped beneath the fabric, his fingertips brushing against her bare entrance.

The first touch was a deliberate stroke, dragging through her folds with maddening slowness, spreading the dampness he found there. "Your body already prepares itself," he said, his voice a mixture of reverence and control. "You cannot fight His design."

Her head thrashed against the pillow, tears spilling freely now. "I-I don't want this," she choked out, her voice thick with desperation.

"But you need this," he countered smoothly, his fingers finding her most sensitive spot and circling it with excruciating precision. His movements were slow and controlled, alternating between feather-light teasing and firmer, more insistent strokes. Her back arched involuntarily as a jolt of pleasure coursed through her, and her face burned with shame.

"Stop," she gasped, her voice barely a whisper now. Her body trembled beneath him, every nerve alive with sensations she didn't want to feel.

Kai's lips quirked into a faint smile. "You'll thank me later," he said, his voice disturbingly calm. His fingers pressed deeper, exploring her with invasive confidence, stroking and teasing until her hips moved involuntarily against his hand.

"No, no-" she whimpered, trying to twist away, but the cuffs held her firmly in place. Despite herself, she felt the heat building low in her stomach. Her breaths came in short, uneven gasps, and her thighs quivered against his hand. "No," she sobbed, shaking her head as if to deny what her body was feeling.

Kai's smile, dimples deepened, his movements unrelenting. "Your body doesn't lie," he murmured. "Let it guide you to the truth."

Her tears blurred her vision as she twisted beneath him, desperation igniting a brief surge of defiance. Her bound wrists strained against the handcuffs, and her legs kicked, trying to shove him away. "Get off me!" she screamed, the rawness in her voice matching the fury in her chest.

Kai's eyes darkened, his calm demeanor cracking just enough to reveal a flicker of impatience. He caught her flailing leg with one hand, pinning it firmly against the bed as his other hand didn't waver from its sinful exploration. "You fight like a lamb struggling against the altar," he muttered, his tone sharp but still composed. "But you will submit."

"Let me go!" she spat, her voice shaking with anger and humiliation. She twisted her hips violently, desperate to break free, but it only seemed to amuse him.

"Such spirit," he murmured, his lips curling into a sinister smile. "But it's wasted on defiance." Without warning, he plunged a middle finger inside her, the sudden invasion stealing the breath from her lungs.

Her body froze, every muscle locking up as an unbidden moan escaped her lips. She hated the sound the moment it left her, but the sensation was undeniable-sharp, intrusive, and achingly slow as he pushed in deeper, curling his finger just so.

Kai's smirk widened. "There it is," he whispered, his voice dripping with satisfaction. "The moment the anger fades, and the truth begins to seep in."

She bit down on her lip hard, the coppery taste of blood grounding her. Her walls clenched around his finger involuntarily, a shameful heat blooming in her core. "No," she whimpered, her voice trembling as her hips instinctively shifted, trying to escape the overwhelming sensation.

But he didn't let up. Instead, he added a torturous twist to his movements, his finger pressing against a spot that made her vision blur. His pace was maddeningly slow, dragging out every unwilling reaction of her.

Her head shook violently, her hair sticking to her damp cheeks. "I- I hate you," she managed to choke out, but the words lacked conviction. Her body, traitorous and weak, was responding in ways she couldn't control.

Kai laughed softly, the sound low and chilling. "Hate me all you like," he said, his finger withdrawing agonizingly slowly before thrusting back in with a firm motion that made her back arch despite herself. "Your hatred only fuels the fire. It will burn away everything else, leaving nothing but your truth."

Her legs quivered against the mattress, her breaths coming in short, uneven gasps. She clung desperately to her anger, but it was slipping through her fingers like sand. Every calculated curl of his finger, every deep, probing thrust unraveled her, piece by piece.

"No," she sobbed, tears streaming down her face as her hips moved involuntarily, tilting upward into his hand.

"Stop, please..."

Kai leaned in closer, his lips brushing against the corner of her mouth. "You say stop, but your body begs for more," he murmured, his voice soft, almost mocking. His finger twisted inside her, pressing deeper, eliciting a strangled moan from her lips.

Her anger, once blazing, was now flickering, replaced by a growing, shameful ache that she couldn't suppress. Her wrists fell limp against the cuffs as her body trembled beneath him, caught between resistance and reluctant surrender.

Kai's hand stilled, his finger remaining buried within her as if savoring her trembling silence. His gaze swept over her tear-streaked face, the faintest trace of amusement lingering in his dark eyes. "Faith," he said softly, as if her name were a prayer. "Do you understand now? This is not cruelty-it is creation."

Her lips quivered, but she refused to meet his gaze, her cheeks burning with humiliation. "You're insane," she whispered, her voice hoarse.

"Perhaps," he replied, his tone maddeningly calm. "But even the prophets were called mad."

He withdrew his soaked finger slowly, purposefully, drawing a choked gasp from her as the sensation left her aching and empty. She thought he might stop-give her a moment to breathe-but the weight of him shifted, and she felt the rough scrape of his jeans against her thighs as he knelt between her legs.

Her panic reignited as she realized his intent. "Wait, no -no!" she cried, thrashing beneath him. "You can't- I've never—"

Kai tilted his head, his expression softening in a way that only made him seem more unhinged. "I know," he murmured, running a hand down the length of her trembling thigh. "That's what makes this pure."

Her struggles grew frantic, but he was immovable, his hands gripping her hips with bruising force. His touch returned to the apex of her thighs, spreading her gently despite her resistance.

"Shhh," he cooed, his voice eerily tender. "The first time is always a revelation."

She shook her head violently, her tears falling faster. "Please," she begged, her voice breaking. "Don't do this. You don't have to do this."

His response was a low hum, his hands tugging at his belt with practiced ease. The sound of the buckle clinking sent a fresh wave of fear coursing through her, and she kicked out, desperate to put any distance between them.

Kai caught her ankles effortlessly, pressing them back down to the mattress. "Be still," he commanded, his voice carrying an edge of authority that sent a shiver down her spine. "You'll only make this harder on yourself."

She whimpered, her chest rising and falling rapidly as she fought against the inevitable. She felt the warmth of his body against hers, the fabric of her thin dress offering no protection as he pressed closer.

He positioned himself with deliberate care, his hand guiding himself to her entrance. The blunt pressure against her sent a jolt of terror through her, and she shook her head furiously.

"No, no, no-"

Kai exhaled sharply, his grip on her hips was unyielding, his fingers digging into her flesh as he moved slowly, inch by inch, forcing her body to accommodate him.

The pressure increased, the stretch burning as he began to push forward. Her nails dug into her palms, her breath hitching in her throat as pain shot through her. "It hurts," she gasped, her voice trembling. "Stop, please—"

"Pain is part of the sacrifice," Kai muttered, his jaw tightening as he pressed deeper. "But it is fleeting, I promise you. What comes after... is divine."

The stretch was relentless, the burn sharp and undeniable, but he pressed forward without hesitation, his breath hitching as he sank deeper.

"There," he muttered, his voice heavy with satisfaction as he bottomed out, his hips flush against hers. His head tipped back briefly, a low groan rumbling from his chest.

Faith's head turned to the side, her cheek pressing into the damp pillow as she bit down on her lip to muffle her cries. Her body trembled, unused to the intrusion, every nerve alight with a confusing mix of pain and an unbearable fullness.

Kai shifted his hips, pulling back slowly, the drag of his length against her walls both invasive and maddeningly deliberate. The motion made her gasp, her body clenching instinctively around him as if to resist his retreat. He chuckled darkly at her reaction, his movements unhurried as he pushed back in, grinding against her with a pressure that stole the breath from her lungs.

Each thrust was deep, filling her completely, the friction making her toes curl involuntarily. His hips rolled with calculated control, his every motion designed to draw out her reactions, no matter how much she tried to suppress them.

She whimpered as his pace quickened slightly, his movements becoming more fluid. The mattress creaked beneath them, the sound mingling with the labored breaths and muted cries that filled the room. His hands roamed over her body, one sliding up to press against her lower stomach, holding her in place as he drove into her.

"Feel that?" he asked, his voice a low, gravelly whisper. His hand applied just enough pressure to make her hyperaware of the depth of his thrusts, the way he seemed to fill every inch of her. "That's me claiming you. Body and soul."

Her hands grasped in the metal headrest as she writhed beneath him, her resistance faltering with every calculated movement. He whispered into her ear, "For He has made you fearfully and wonderfully... and mine."

Kai's thrusts grew more purposeful, his hips snapping forward with a force that made her body jolt with each impact. The wet sound of their bodies meeting filled the room, amplifying her humiliation. Her breaths came in short, broken gasps, her body unable to ignore the growing heat building low in her stomach.

"No," she whimpered, shaking her head weakly, her voice barely audible.

"Yes," he countered, his teeth grazing her earlobe as his pace quickened.

Faith let out a choked sob, her body arching against him despite her protests. The pleasure was unwanted, overwhelming, and it consumed her completely, her resistance melting under the relentless onslaught of his touch and movements.

Kai's thrusts slowed for a moment, his hips rolling in a careful, torturous grind that made her gasp sharply beneath him. He seemed to savor the sensation, his head tilting back as his eyes fluttered shut. "You're so tight," he murmured, his voice rasping with unrestrained pleasure. His hands slid to her thighs, spreading her further to feel every inch of her. "Like a vessel waiting to be filled."

Faith shuddered at his words, her walls spasming involuntarily around him as his deliberate pace left her breathless. She could feel everything-the heat of him, every pulsating veins of his within her walls, the way he stretched her, the slick friction that sent unbearable jolts of sensation through her core.

Kai's breath hitched, a guttural groan escaping his lips as her body clamped down on him. "Yes," he muttered, his hands gripping her hips harder, pulling her back to meet his slow, deep thrusts.

His hips drawing back until only the tip of him remained inside her, teasing her with a maddening pause before driving forward again. The force made her body jolt, her thighs trembling as the fullness overwhelmed her senses.

"You'll bear my seed," he said, his voice deepening, laced with something almost reverent. He leaned over her, his lips brushing against her ear. "As it is written, 'Be fruitful and multiply; fill the earth and subdue it.' " His tone was steady, like he was reciting holy scripture while sinking into her again.

Faith whimpered as she clung to the metal frame on top of her head. The pain had dulled, replaced by an unwelcome heat that coiled tighter with every thrust. She hated how her body responded, the slickness between her thighs betraying her as he moved.

Kai's breath came faster now, his control fraying as her warmth surrounded him. He muttered under his breath, his words fragmented and fervent. "Though I walk through the valley... oh, the way you f*cking cling to me," he groaned, his hips snapping forward with more urgency. "You resist, but your body welcomes me, doesn't it?"

She shook her head weakly, her voice breaking. "No... I—I don't want this..."

"Your lips lie," he growled, his pace quickening, the sound of their bodies meeting growing louder. His hand slid between them, his fingers brushing against the sensitive bundle of nerves at her center, drawing a sharp gasp from her. "But this... this tells the truth."

The new sensation made her cry out, her body arching involuntarily as his touch sent shockwaves through her. He applied just enough pressure to keep her on edge, his thrusts steady and relentless, building a rhythm that left her unable to think of anything but the way he filled her.

"'The two shall become one flesh,'" he murmured, his voice low and almost gentle, as though he were comforting her. His fingers moved in sync with his thrusts, his hips rolling with practiced ease.

Her mind spinning. The pleasure was undeniable now, crashing over her in waves, leaving her gasping and trembling beneath him.

Kai's movements became desperate, his breath ragged as he pulled back slightly, positioning himself in a way that deepened their connection. With a swift motion, he pushed Faith's legs up onto his shoulders, forcing her hips higher, leaving her completely exposed and vulnerable beneath him. The angle made every inch of him feel more intense—too much. It felt as though he were trying to imprint himself inside of her, claiming her in the most physical way possible.

Faith gasped, the shift in position pushing her closer to the edge. The new angle made every motion of him feel even more invasive, more powerful. Her legs trembled as they rested on his shoulders.

"And the Lord said," Kai muttered, his voice low and intense, almost feverish. "Let there be light..." His thrusts quickened, each one dragging a sharp gasp from Faith as his body pressed harder into hers. "Let there be life..." He slammed into her again, the force making her breath catch in her throat.

Faith's mind was spinning, her whole body was on fire, every part of her reacting against her will, trembling with the force of it.

"Please... no more," she gasped, her voice breaking as she tugged against the cuffs. Eyes in a daze. But the words were meaningless to him. He only smiled, the Bible verse slipping from his lips like a command. "I am the way, the truth, and the life..."

Faith's body bucked beneath him as the pressure inside her built, the unbearable tension in her belly threatening to snap.

Kai's thrusts were now erratic, his hands gripping her thighs tighter, holding her in place with a primal need. His groans were louder now, his movements frantic as he neared the edge. "You will bear my seed," he breathed, his voice thick with lust. "And you will be mine... forever."

With a final, brutal push, Kai buried himself deep inside her, the force of his hot release crashing over her in a moment of complete surrender. Faith's body spasmed beneath him, the shock of his release causing her to climax violently, her walls tightening around him as she shook uncontrollably.

For a long moment, they were locked in place, her legs still resting on his shoulders as he trembled above her. Kai muttered one last verse, his voice barely a whisper, "It is finished..."

The room was still, save for their heavy breathing, as he slowly collapsed against her, his body heavy with the aftermath of their intense union.

[edenspoem]

before the flora.

knight!ellie x princess!reader teaser. beginning is essentially just lore. bonus excerpt with ellie and princess interaction below the sketch. wrote the intro in january. no warnings tbh. illustration by @trackinglessons :P READ THIS . PALESTINE MASTERPOST

When the universe was born, there was only fire; a slowly waning blaze. And so hence when death begins to unfurl its low, groaning bloom— there will only be ice.

Yet the heavens and earth are nay alike, as death— and life, are interwoven by the timeless nuptial that is humans, and Mother Nature. Cordial and tepid heartbeats meet with her frigid and frightening marrow this season. Flakes are falling, a howl swells in the wind, and hearths stay an undying tongue of flame in the province of Istenad. Isle of riches and hedonism gone rampant amongst those who proved meritful of a conversation spat over gilded chalices. Or those who wiped a famished tongue stroke over the sole of His Majesty— The King's tan leather boots in entreat, declaring the hide a tenfold more gullet–watering than their stale, daily spare of bread. Where high life reins, low life is there to scrub their steeds.

The wintry pearlescent tundra fringing around uncharted woodlands hums your name— it carries by gale, an airy reed of vowels pulled through your ears. 

Tut, tut, tut, the pecking of bark.

Everything seems to resound much heavier over the windows thick limestone sill. Woodwinds, the sough of pine boughs— a chorus wafted. Woodpeckers, they beat rigid timber with their sonnets of calling. The echoed tut starts to sound awfully kindred to a beckoning call of your name. And at daybreak, when the tangerine sun dips its head under the coast, you feel a magnetic lull to traverse your truest passions and slip away into the night, arctic chilled steel in hand. The quantity of hay sticking beneath your shoes collected by skittering across the night–doused thoroughfare was well enough to concern your maids on duty to dress you, brows fuddled at the streaming of straw near your door come morning.

Loop of your knuckles, bend of your wrist, a hand flexed on the hilt of a meticulously poached sword. A swing 'round your waist, a cold hale grip the air could taste, fighting off many mythic brutes of moonlight, however only conceived where dreams are airtight. The mind, it plays. The play it perceives, a viewing spread like tawny butter. Ghouls and ghastlies encircle a quaint pond, chanting away in cryptic grumbles and beastly bumbles, enraged with their slobber frothing at the fangs you tore from their sockets— deeper than artless, juxtaposed to the blinding ruby reds and dyed paper sunflowers of the theater. Your mind’s play felt real.

Unfortunate to your heart, dreams will stay dreams.

Nary a princess was meant to tune into melee, especially at your courting age. Nevertheless, your psyche has spurned from what a maiden is expected of and is completely in a haven of your own structure, your signature sanctuary. 

In the farmsteads, a forthcoming soldier harvests not just crop— but dexterity. Derived and nurtured in the faraway prairie village of Dunwich, where the fertile seasons prove flaxen of corn and the trickling sweat of every farmhand turns to gold. Any newborn granted to this quaint village is fated to form calloused hands with labor written in their palm lines as time unfolds. In their— well, her— adolescent years, the yearning for practices of gallantry in knighthood swiveled her sights to the colossal stone castle way.. way far away. Sprouting beyond the earth line, far as the eye can see.

So, she learned, she trained, she slept, partaking in a ranged cycle taught by her ruthlessly departed father: Sir Joel. Reprisal became her nemesis; never able to rend the barrier of hesitation and cleanse her shut eyes of revolting imagery. The horseman of death was not omitting the trauma of this hazel-haired soldier. A weight so burdensome, her speckled skin remembers the tales of every scar clawed into it. Like how the lips of a bard cling to an everlasting ballad.

Every knight knew well to exile any lingering ties to the past. It's been years since he passed, she understands that. Though, the heart never lies, and certainly never covets forgetting.

Ambitions stemming from legions of knights in waiting have fallen short, submerging within the moat of the castle and sinking deep into the catacombs with no elegy sung. An allegory for dreams long since vanished. A domain so valued longs for those biding life with rigid bones, such as she. Tempered by the hardships, endured like metal meeting the blacksmith's chisel. 

A vividness to her movements, flowing like a river. For it is water that soothes the most cosmic fires, carves veins into the earth's soil, descends from the heavens above and proves iron soluble. A knight so pinpoint and poised like a painter, yet so daring and baneful like a warrior of evenfall. An artisan of her craft, this knight-to-be is. Born to thrive in matters regarding protection of their kingdom and its nobility. By the sheer tenacity of her skill, she will excel. From the self–instructed lessons in a verdant pasture, basked by undying light in her hometown— to the ordained priming within the royal court. 

They were forged to be dutiful. 

You are a daughter of the illustrious King, Sagard, and swan–grace queen, Sagard— maiden name Adela, and sister of your highly revered and cherished kin, Prudence. Subsequent to her fabled rise, was your fall. A pratfall you plainly turned a serene ear from, for you foresaw its coming. Clandestine adventures and lollygagging in the marketplace earned you right in the clasp of consequences. You knew that, knowing it kept you on the balls of your toes before you'd be caught suiting into an act more repugnant— be it, no.. befogging yourself in a peasant boys' dire–in–muck rags, merely to play "boy" games as a young one? 

Sacrilege! 

Prudence was there, at every occasion, scolding with her youthful finger at the palace fore, sucking her fingertip wet of spit and dragging a stroke over your soot–strewn cheek, just before scuttling the halls in search of father, cawing, “Father, Father! My sisters become a boy again!” until it rang his fucking ears to a pulse. Hmph, father even countered his own remark of squawk, pouring through the walls, “Hah! The second son I wish I reared! Tell me, what peasants skin does she clad: butcher's boy, or of the farmer?”

Rebuking the role of royalty isn't your entire bastion of vengeance. You purely long for a world of your own color. Your self-brewn arcadia of art. In a concise phrase, desire for sovereignty. And your family chastised you curtly for every scant display of free will, short of the Queen, she is fair.

Daughter of the King, Princess of the thicket. You retain your fortunes. Modestly.

“Why don't you resemble your sister more?”

A ruby crested box designed by the best of goldsmiths is lodged at the margin of your beds footboard, safekeeping of your esteemed regalia. You possess a bedazzled amassing of circlets, veils, brocade and velvet tunics of long lengths within this box. But do any of them revel in the blessing of being worn on regal skin? Never. You opted for garbs of less gilding and jewels, so that you might taint it with whatever adventures mold under the ribbing of your foot. That shit offended your skin with its indelicacy of forgetting a human will don its fabric golds and woven jewels.

Even— court gatherings. You don the likeness of simplicity and temperate elegance. This morning's virginal aurora, a broach of light swoll from the windows arch, to the footing of your bed, made the wake of your eyes begin upon a lighting behind sheer skin. Your box of regalia shone in that incandescence momentarily. It danced, fleeter than you, irkingly so. You had to squint whilst flipping the clasps and hauling the heavy lid slanted against your bed, or else you may be heaven–blinded. “Every inch of Princess,” you intoned in quietude at the sight of glamored fabrics, “—whom I shant mirror.” and reached for the homelier fabrics, scratch of cobalt-blue linen delight brushing under your prints, you grasped your reserve tight.

“I was not made aware that there is a village wedding to be, dear sister— from what river does this dress of rags hail from?”

“It is not a brides dress, nor rags, leave me Prud—”

Prudence had blocked the shut of your chamber door with her hand flattened, pursuing, “You glum your gems. Rotting in that chest, tasting no light, no glory.”

You kept your lips thickly sown shut, casting dimly eyes to the ground.

“Shall I send for the steward so he may sell—”

“No need.”

“Hmm, most stubborn, are we? Then I—”

“I am least stubborn,” you wedged your fingers beneath her palm, prying the door loose, “—it is you, who strays your own counsel, unmoving as a mountain.” ending with the trudging shut of your door, ceasing in silence.

[++ bonus excerpt from act 2, scene 1]

“Uh–huh..” she draws out. Legato; a sarcastic reply, and wipes her tongue through the press of her lips together, “This far out? You must rebel quite often to have made a friend, I bet?” she tilts her head, a bit playful.

“You bet well— a lot, I assume?” 

Cannily, she winks, “Indeed I do.” and aligns her face onward. Gesturing to her horse's rump a second— third? Eh, whatever time— she jerks her brow with a head cock back, “Hop on, I'll take you there.”

Both brows fall, and you flinch bemused, “Wh– uh,” as you hem and haw for words, grating a stutter, “But not a moment ago you spoke of the roads recent perils—”

“Surely it's not far?” she spoke presumptuously, “I mean, you've come this far, My Lady. Nobody would travel the woods past sunset, besides you it seems.” now a matter–of–fact vocal barricade that shoves itself into your ears and winds the cogs to think cleverly.

You shan't know my transgressions, sweet Knight. You may talk.

Trust is sparse as a puddle marched in.

“‘Tis but a mile out. Bravo on your convincing, Williams.” you wry and scoff. 

“Can't fumble that name, huh?”

“I would not want to dishonor your knighthood.” 

“You honor me with your coincidental presence, Princess.”

“Honor in your mind.”

"Hmph," her breathy chuckle, a sweetness you luckily caught with ears even numbed by the snowsquall. Do not blush. Do not smile. Fuck. Guess you'll be visiting Malina after all, the gale of a displeased sigh icing your lips over as you approach that dangling stirrup.

[robo-writing]

So close, and yet so far

Aka: Johnny finds a new obsession in you.

Pairing: John “Soap” MacTavish/Reader

Rating: 18+

This was heavily inspired by this lovely ghost/reader camgirl fic, so I decided to throw my hat in the ring. I wrote this in two hours with no editing 🥴

You’re a sweet thing, honeysuckle, ambrosia. The kind of sweet that lingers in your mouth and leaves an aftertaste. He guesses that’s why he returns to your stream every day—like honey, and just as sticky. 

Johnny’s bored one day, absentmindedly palming his boxers as he browses for a good video. Not one to be picky, but something about today has him particularly on edge, not quite able to find his release. His usuals just aren’t doing it.

Then he finds an ad for a cam site and sees you on the front page. 

You catch his eye immediately, wondering what a cute lass like you is doing on a site like this. The link takes him to your stream and his cock hardens in his boxers, not quite believing what his eyes see.

You’re a dream in a pair of soft pink panties, the kind of girl he’d never believe would be working as a cam girl unless he saw it for himself. Legs spread, bright pink vibrator buzzing between your legs, nearly in tears as your back arches off the bed. A hoard of men throwing donations at the screen, hoping for your attention.

He watches for a while more, impossibly hard as your legs shake around the toy, writhing in pleasure. In the corner of the screen he sees a message that makes him throb in his hand.

Valentines special! Top donator of the day gets to hear me moan their name! <3

Thank fucking Christ he had his card number memorized.

Within a day he became your top donator, the emptiness of his wallet meaning nothing when it meant he got to see you spread open on camera, rubbing at your pretty cunt while moaning his name, shaking your hips and displaying your wet pussy for him to see.

“Johnny, Johnny—oh god—“

You sound like heaven in his ears, memorizing each and every sound you make when your fingers find your clit and rub. His hand matches your pace, thumb pressing against his leaking slit and nearly drooling when you grind yourself against your hand with his name on your lips.

You’re beautiful like this, makes him wish he could actually touch you. His cock twitches at the thought, groaning when he reaches down and plays with his balls in tandem.

A day to remember, he swears he’s never come that hard before. His head falls back, not giving a damn if his neighbors hear how loud he moans your name when his cum splashes on his stomach. It drips from his fingers, the slick of it echoing in the room as he vigorously strokes himself through his orgasm. His arm burns with exhaustion, the head of his cock blooming red, so sensitive it becomes damn near painful and yet he doesn’t stop, not until he sees your pretty cunt gush over your fingers. 

You make a mess of yourself, and so does Johnny. The cycle repeats the next day, when he returns for another session. This becomes a regular habit. 

You’re a constant in his life, the moment you go live he’s always the first to join. His pretty bird, his girl. There’s a possessiveness that seeps into every message he sends, lighting up when you read each one and get flustered at the sight. He can tell you’ve never been treated how you aught to be, can see it in the way your legs squeeze together with every donation. 

So he sends you a private message after a month, anxious for your response.

How much for a private session?

And when you give him a price, he’s over the fucking moon. The amount didn’t matter to him, just as long as he got to see you.

Truly a shame he thinks, his little bird going so long without a real man to take care of you. But it’s okay, because now he can lavish you with the attention you’ve needed for so long.

You seem so shy in private, so demure. He knows better of course, has an entire folder on his laptop of you being anything but a fucking angel, but it still shocks him how innocent you seem.

Hands adjusting your outfit, every detail fiddled with until it’s perfect, until you’re satisfied with how your lace fits on your body. A strap here, a crease there. He admires how well you get dolled up for him.

A message flashes on the screen, fifty dollars lighting up. Your eyes light up at the notification, looking over at the bold letters with a smile.

You look so hot today

Your laughter sounds as sweet as you look. “Thank you! I just bought this set.”

You press your tits closer, presenting them to the camera. “Bought it for you, actually. Do you think it looks nice?”

A siren call, he can’t help but be drawn to the view. Johnny licks his lips at the sight, the ambient light casting a soft glow on your exposed cleavage. It makes him want a closer look.

His fingers move quick as anything, not even looking at the screen, completely focused on your body.

$150: you look more than nice lass. let’s see some more.

Familiarity lights up on your features, groaning at the sight of that subtle little grin spreading across your face.

“Of course Johnny,” you whisper, the sound of his name like a melody between your lips. You adjust your camera closer, grabbing at your breasts. “Is this what you wanted?”

No, what he wants is to replace your hands with his own. What he wants is to bite at the supple flesh with his teeth and rip off the flimsy fabric that hides you away from him. 

His hand strokes against the bulge that grows in his boxers as he sends another donation.

$150: you don’t want to know what I want lass.

He loves the look in your eyes, how your pupils dilate when they read it over once, twice. Your lips caught between your teeth, you pull at your nipple through the fabric as you sigh in relief.

“Always a smooth talker…” you whisper.

He watches you from lidded eyes—makes him wonder how you got to this profession, knowing that some dirty talk is enough to have you squirming on camera.

Imagine if he was actually in the room with you, the things he’d say. The things he’d do.

The thought leaves him breathless. One day he’ll have you all to himself, but for now, he’ll settle for a screen.

[straykidshoe]

You're so pretty

PAIRINGS: Seo Changbin x Fem!Reader

GENRE: Mature (Smut)

MUSIC: Collide (Feat. Tyga) by Justine Skye

CONTAINS: Established relationship, shy!reader

SMUT WARNINGS: Thigh fucking, shower sex, groping, soft!changbin. Please message me if i misseed anything.

WORD COUNT: 1,530

A/N: For all of my shy girlies out there <3 hope you all like it!

You woke up later than usual- the mid morning sunlight streamed in through your sheer curtains, casting your window patterns onto your white sheets. Your spine tightened as you rolled over, searching for the familiar comfort that would normally be next to you, haphazardly tangled between the duvet- his chest rising and falling gently, letting you snuggle into his shoulder. Sitting up, you rested your chest on your bent knees- as you rubbed the sleep away from your eyes you scanned the room; missing the usual warm body that would’ve pulled you back to bed, lulling you back into a deep sleep.

You noticed how you were completely bare underneath the blanket, fresh memories of the night before flashing in your mind. You could feel your skin tingling as you remembered more and more- his skin against yours, him on his knees in front of you, dirty things whispered against your neck and ear. What a way to start the morning. 

You glanced over to the nightstand opposite you, noticing a neon yellow in your peripheral. Stretching over, you read the note whilst sipping on the water that was left next to it,

‘Tried to wake you up, didn’t work. I have a bruise to prove it. 

I’ll be back soon. Breakfast is outside. Try not to miss me too much.

P.S: I can still taste you on my lips.’

Goosebumps erupted on your skin, your nipples getting harder from the heightened sensitivity, shivering slightly as you looked around your room before pushing up and slipping on one of Changbins shirts along with a fresh pair of underwear. Stumbling out of your bedroom, you plodded your way to the kitchen- cringing at the loud slapping noise that echoed in the empty apartment. You felt yourself light up as you saw your favourite, toaster waffles with chocolate spread- you reminded yourself to thank your boyfriend later. Once you had finished your breakfast, you cleaned the house, brushed your teeth and hopped into the shower. 

The hot water cascaded down from the large waterfall shower head above as you scrubbed at your soft skin with a washcloth- the bubbles frothing with the friction. The small speaker you had set up in the bathroom played a random song from your playlist, humming as you swayed your naked hips to the beat.

The velvety vocals bounced off the marble walls, echoing around you- aiding the large man who was currently sneaking into the room. Suddenly, you felt two large hands encircling your waist- gasping out you twisted around in their grip, relaxing your face when you saw your boyfriends smiling face gazing down at you, ‘Babe! What are you doing?’ feeling your face go red, you hold your sudsy hands up against your exposed breasts. 

Changbin gently removed your hands- holding them in his large palms, ‘I felt lonely at work.. So i’m here’ he kissed the tip of your nose, laughing when you tried to look anywhere but his exposed torso. Your tongue went dry, five months of dating him and still- he manages to turn you into putty. Granted it was pretty easy, but that’s besides the point, ‘You left a few hours ago..’ you mumbled, fiddling with his fingers.

He was aware of your shy personality, finding your stuttering and avoidant nature adorable, ‘Should I go then?’ he questioned, a teasing lilt to his voice. Finally looking up, you met his large brown eyes, ‘N-no, it’s fine..’ chuckling to himself, he bent down and kissed your lips, making you even more flustered- your blood turned to lava, heating up all the pathways within you. 

The soft caress of his tongue made you weak it the knees, feeling your pulse dangerously escalate spurred him on- you felt his cock getting hard against your thigh. Panicking slightly, you pulled away- returning your gaze down to the shower floor you stepped out of the water, giving him space to soak himself in the warm downpour. He smiled softly, keeping his hands firmly planted on your hips, running his thumb up and down on the soft patch of skin. 

‘Help me?’ he asked, placing your coconut body wash bottle in your palm, with shaky fingers you squeezed out a generous amount of the thick liquid into your cupped hand. Taking a steadying breath in, you started at his neck, gently massaging the fragrant cleanser into his skin. You tried to meet his eyes that were staring down at you.

‘Stop looking at me like that..’ you grumbled, moving your hands down to his wide shoulders,

‘Like what, baby?’ Finally finishing his left arm, you moved onto the right.

‘Like you want to eat me.’ He laughed down at you, kissing the crown of your head. 

‘Can you blame me.. you’re delicious’ he purred into your ear, kissing the skin behind. You looked up at him through your eyelashes, smiling to yourself as you tilted your head up the need to kiss him again overpowering your nervousness. 

Instantaneously you felt relief wash over your entire body, as Changbin moaned into your mouth before hugging your midriff with his arms. Your core began to leak juices down your thighs, but the dull ache radiating from your walls made you whimper in pain; goosebumps raised on your skin, the duvet of steam creating beads of moisture to form on changbins toned stomach. Anxiety quickly rose within you, like water boiling in a pot, as you felt his calloused fingers drag up your pillowy thighs brushing against your pussy. You quickly pulled away, keeping your hands planted on his tapered waist; your boyfriend's face was painted in confusion, ‘What’s wrong?’ 

You chewed your lips, contemplating whether you should tell him the truth and risk upsetting him or gritting through the pain as he once again roughly fucked you into oblivion. As much as you wanted to please him and his insatiable habits, your poor vagina couldn’t handle his aggressive assault this time round. 

‘It hurts..’ you whimpered, nuzzling in between his pecs, trying to hide your red cheeks. He cooed down at you, ‘Aww poor baby, it’s okay- let me take care of you..’ He reached for the shampoo bottle but stopped midway when you rested your small hand on his bicep, ‘Wanna make you feel good, binnie..’ you gazed up at him, eyes starting to water from desperation. 

He took in your appearance shimmering, wet skin with large sparkling eyes and red cheeks. You look adorable, and so ready to be ruined..

‘You sure?’ He caressed your flaming cheeks with his large palm, smiling softly when you relaxed in his hold whilst nodding your head, ‘Okay, I have an idea..do you trust me?’ he asked, caution evident in his voice, ‘Yea, just want to please you.’ 

Suddenly, he twisted your body in his hold, so that your back was plastered against his front- snaking his hand up your stomach towards your breasts, he played with your puckered nubs whilst sucking on your pulse point. Moaning loudly you arched forward, pushing your tits further into his cupped palms, he chuckled against your wet skin whilst nudging your thighs open slightly with his thigh. Your breath hitched, ‘Relax precious, it won’t hurt at all..’ Changbin murmured against your neck- feeling him slide into the small gap he created you whined at the feeling of your thighs encasing his hard dick, the precum staining your skin leaving a path down as the water washed it away. 

His heavy pants tickled the shell of your ear, he ensnared your neck with one large hand as the other held your pelvis against his, ‘You ready princess?’ meekly nodding your head, you gasped when he slid out of your thighs; before slowly re-entering the thigh gap. You let your head lay limp on his shoulder, the overwhelming feeling of his cock slowly getting slicker and slicker with your juices and therefore moving with more ease between your flesh made your entire body shiver with excitement. 

Both of your moans echoed around the shower cubicle, mingling with the sound of both of your pelvis bumping together rhythmically. Slowly, Changbin’s moans turned into desperate whimpers and groans, you could tell he was teetering on the edge of his orgasm- his cock twitching helplessly against your cunt.

His thrusts became sloppy as his stamina was running out, wanting him to reach his high- you squeezed your thighs together, causing him to gasp against your shoulder, ‘Fucking-’ he bit down on your skin, secretly hoping that there would be visible marks of his teeth descorating your pure, clean canvas.

You started moving back and forth in tandem with his movements, fervently and messily clenching your thighs. Soon enough his breaths started to quicken as his moans became high pitched and the reflection of his face in the faucet showed his eyebrows being drawn together harshly, ‘Please cum around my thighs binnie, wanna feel you…’ your words threw him straight into his orgasm as he drew back completely- jerking his cum onto your ass and back thighs. 

Breathing heavily, he twisted you back around- bumping his nose against yours, ‘you look so pretty covered in my cum baby..'

[cecedownbad]

Hold On

Summary: A missing child's case resurfaced so many memories you wished to keep buried. Sure enough, seeking comfort from the heavy feelings came by as a form of a person. [Spencer Reid X Fem!Reader] Part 1.

Warnings: Death of a child, made up case, made up case numbers, abusive mother, absent father, no Y/N, there is a last name: Cyrus. Hurt/ Comfort. A two part fic, Spencer is a supportive friend here. Pretty much a whole episode of CM. Probable inaccurate science facts, not that great at writing mysteries, I think, don't mind the weird conclusions. Self indulgent in all it's glory (minus the fem part), my apologies. Proof read but I'm blind so lmk if there are bothersome errors.

Word Count: 4.7k

Based on very sad songs that I won't put up cause we deserve better. Binged all 16 seasons in 2 weeks, it was worth it.

Enjoy

"I was always ashamed to take. So I gave. It was not a virtue. It was a disguise."

-Anaïs Nin

"Mom, where's Steven?" A dark room, with nothing but a single bed, and a desk that contained one clock furnished the surroundings. The ticking of the clock resonated within you, each tick causing you to step forward to a door ajar, light seeping through it.

Not too bright, not too dark, moonlight streaming in through the cracks much like a distant scream in a faraway place. "Sweetie? Go back to bed, you have to go to school tomorrow." A still voice poured in, the voice echoed in almost engulfing you but your feet already brought you face to face with what caused all your nightmares. "Steven has not come back from his play time. Where is he, Mom?" Your voice is so soft yet embroidered in concern. "Steven is okay, go back to bed." The woman in front of you smiled, her smile was stretched. Her eyes harboured nothing as if you stared right into the abyss.

Yet, her face was...gone, her eyes were full, her smile, so impeccable but where was her face, why couldn't you remember?

"Oh my sweet girl, you look just like me." She beamed but you stood there confused, to which you backed away from the room and entered your bedroom.

Nothing was out of place, everything remained as it was, like that day, what day was it?

When your eyes took in the room you noticed a small juice box, the very same one Steven had drunk, right after he...wait, who was 'he'?

Then you heard her, "I told you to go to sleep, didn't I?" The anger that seethed from her caused nothing but fear to blanket you. She towered over you, whispering, "I took Steven to a better place."

That was when you knew, your little brother, was never coming back from his play time, he was never going to drink his favourite juice again. That was his fault, he just didn't listen to Mother. This is what happens to children who disobey.

You turned around and smiled at her, "Mother," you called out, "I'll be a good girl, I'll never disappoint you."

All the while you quivered, knowing that your little brother was gone for good, "Steven, I'll find you, I promise."

'I promise, Steven...'

'Who's Steven?'

Your eyes shot awake like you'd been shot with a bullet to your gut, 'Ugh, what?' The sudden rush of light filtered in, waking you from your short nap and making you rub and squint your eyes, then you felt how sticky your back had felt, the palms of your hands damp from sweat. 'You were calling out to someone just now, you said, "I'll find you, I promise, Steven" in your sleep.' Spencer questioned you, his eyes gathering that you showed signs of having a bad dream.

'Uh, nothing, it's nothing, just haven't got much sleep, is all.' You brush off the question, looking around, you get up from your seat, taking in that you were returning from a case in Wichita and the team was on the jet back to Quantico. You excused yourself to the bathroom, the size of it and the dim light were not ideal but you needed to freshen up.

Twisting the faucet, you let the water run and washed your face, the cold water woke you up right away. A sudden rush of relief had hit you, a sense of comfort knowing that your bad dream could not seep into reality, the safety of it was that you knew nothing could get to you when you were surrounded by the best agents you could ever meet.

It happened not too long ago when you were invited to join the BAU, thanks to a recommendation from the Criminal Investigation Division.

Grabbing a tissue from the dispenser by the sink, you wiped your hands and face, throwing the used tissue in the slot made for waste disposal right below the sink. A sigh sounded out of you, with one last look at yourself in the mirror, you straightened your clothes and walked out of the loo. 'How are you doing?' Spencer asked you as you sat in the seat before him, his right hand holding an open book, which you presume is written in Russian. 'Yeah, I just had a bad dream, nothing big.' You once again dismiss him.

It wasn't exactly an alarming thing to have a bad dream. On the contrary, you were accustomed to having nightmares and bad dreams but this one was different, recurring in all its forms. The sounds, the sights, were familiar but all the more terrifying, there wasn't a feeling so twisted as this one. 'I don't think it was just a bad dream, your breathing rate increased from the normal 12 to 18 breathes per minute to 25 to 30 in the three minutes after you woke up and you were sweating profusely. Are you sure you're okay?' He breathed out, his eyes already reading your every movement, catching how you twitched when he caught that you were not telling him the truth. 'Reid...thank you for worrying but I—'

'Alright, crime fighters, how's everyone doing, all tucked in?' Saved by the bell as it goes, Penelope popped up on the jet's screen, 'Yeah, can't wait to get some sleep.' JJ groaned.

'Uh about that, I'm really sorry for putting this on you guys, I know you guys are tired and I hate doing this right after a case and- I have some bad news.'

'What is it, Garcia?' Emily asked

'Okay so you have another case, it's a missing child case in Bakersfield, a 6 year old boy named Stephen Turner, last seen in his, oh this is so sad, in his room. A report was sent 12 minutes ago.' The name made you freeze, you could hear your heart beat quickening, the way it felt like it could run for miles was a pain you were sure you put behind. 'Garcia is that Steven or Stephen?'

'Oh I'm pretty sure it's Stephen, my love.'

'Okay, thanks...' it wasn't relief that washed over you, but the name carried a heavy weight.

'Bakersfield, California, Right?' Luke clarified. 'Yes newbie, I'll have the files sent to you immediately on your tablets and the rest should be at the local Police department there, Good luck guys!' Garcia signed off immediately after.

'Okay, we know the drill, we only have 24 hours or we'll be looking for a body. I'll inform the pilot to change course. When we land, JJ and Rossi go to the Turner house and speak with the parents. Reid go with them, we need to know how he was taken from his room. Luke and Tara, I want you to scout the neighborhood, maybe someone saw something.' She turned to face you, 'Cyrus, you'll be with me, we'll speak with the Chief there.' Emily gave everyone their designated tasks.

Everyone exchanged nods with their partners. You exchanged a glance with Emily, standing up from your seat, you chose to stand all the while till it was necessary to be seated when the jet landed.

-----------------

'Chief Marks, this is SSA Cyrus, I'm Unit Chief Prentiss, What have we got so far on Stephen Turner?' She quickly shook hands with the PD Chief, You took it as a chance to observe the department, a missing child case gave you little time for formalities. 'So far, zilch, I have some of my officers posted around the neighbourhood, even questioned across the street, said they saw nothing.'

'My Agents are already there, let's hope they turn up with something new.' Emily informed the chief and led you both to an empty conference room, informing you that this was the only available room at such short notice. 'Chief Marks, would you mind bringing in prior missing child case reports, preferably going back 20 years.' You asked before he got the chance to leave, there was still one nagging question that you had to rule out.

Could your mother be involved? Or was it your paranoia getting the best of you? but a job was a job, if an MO matched with an old case, narrowing down suspects was a huge load off.

'Anything you need.' He answered in the affirmative after a pause.

'Something in mind?' Emily asked you.

'This is my hometown, I've read my fair share of missing child cases but if there's a chance one of them bares any similarities, we might be able to narrow down our search.' You explained, opening boxes of the gathered information on Stephen.

'Yes, I'm sorry I forgot, after the case maybe you can go see your folks?' The thought was so lighthearted but you had gulped in guilt at the words, 'No, we need to go back to the Academy...my folks and I aren't in good terms.'

'Oh, let me know if there's anything I can do?' She asked softly, which you smiled to in response, 'Of course.'

Emily was always a friend before a Unit Chief when she caught on to indications of a slight change in behaviour, it made it a whole lot easier to speak to her about things you wouldn't bother about with your old Unit Chief.

---------------------------

'What have you got so far?'

'Nothing solid, of the two stacks of cases brought in, 2/3ds hardly match the MO and, the remaining few, let's say it didn't end well for the kids.' You gritted your teeth at the last sentence.

JJ, Rossi and Spencer walked in right at that moment, 'What did you find?' Emily asked the three.

'There wasn't a sign of struggle in the room, it's likely the UnSub and Stephen knew each other or he could have been drugged, there was no sign of a break-in either but the spare key that was left under one of the plants was missing, UnSub definitely planned the kidnapping and was aware of the layout of the house.' Reid informed.

'Mom and Dad are worked up, said they didn't hear anything from the kids room upstairs, hasn't gotten into any fights at school or kids around the area or within the family.' Rossi states.

'Yeah, Joy, Stephen's mom, said he was well liked, got good grades, knew not to trust strangers,' JJ took a deep breath, 'He's a healthy 6 year old boy and apart from not being athletic, he's just one normal kid in a family of 4.'

'Wait, 4?' You stopped JJ.

'Yeah...he has an older—'

'Sister? Say 11 or 12?' You completed, the fear inside you built. 'Yes, 12, how, how did you know?'

That same empty feeling drained out of you, fear blanketed whatever memory you recalled from this place. 'Good guess, I think, is the family here I, uh, I want to speak with them, maybe the sister even.'

'I can ask them to come in but why?'

'I think she might know something or maybe even the UnSub.' You breathed, 'I'm gonna go out for some air, Emily?'

'Yes, of course.'

'Thanks.' You nod slowly and walk out of the conference room and out of the PD. You leaned back on the wall, sunlight barely visible due to it now being autumn, orange-tinted leaves lightly grazed the pavements. Passersby walking hand in hand or holding on to a warm drink. It's a pleasant scene for the beginning of the most painful nightmares.

'...Steven.'

'You said his name again.'

'Ah! Jeez, Reid! You scared the crap out of me, don't do that again!' Stepping back you raised your hands ahead of you in defense.

'Sorry, I brought you coffee.' He offered.

'Thank you, what are you doing? Out here, I mean.'

'I know it's a little bit of an unspoken rule that we don't profile on the team but-'

'But, you profiled me,' you sighed, this was expected, you knew he was only worried about you but it never occurred to you that he'd come looking for you. Being in the BAU for more than a year doesn't make you chummy with each other, especially with Dr. Spencer Reid, or so you've heard.

He was cautious around you, he was not afraid, just that he could tell you preferred solitude compared to the average population. But he never took the chance that when you displayed more emotion than you would otherwise, to walk away. Always asking if you were alright, leaving you small treats at your desk knowing that it helps you. You kept to yourself and he respected that, in turn, so did you. Not many catch on to your subtle way of pulling back from too much physical contact, or the way you'd always make the person before you speak, knowing they had no chance of asking you about the details of the life you lived.

In a way, admiring his skills as a profiler was easy to come by. More so his little actions that left you thinking that he was one of the few people you'd consider opening up to. So listening to his observations was, if not intriguing, worth betting on.

'Okay, tell me what you got.' You let him have at it.

'Well, I would go into statistics but I'll keep it short. You have been on edge from the moment Garcia mentioned your hometown and judging by the way you keep mentioning this person's name, who I'll assume is someone you know from here and bad...things happened, causing you to have nightmares now more frequently maybe due to an anniversary.' He laid out like you were an open book. Who were you kidding? Where would he be if he wasn't good at his job?

Your brows knitted and you let out a painful chuckle but you knew that wasn't all he figured out. 'What else?'

'You had also correctly estimated Stephen's sister's age simply based on the fact that they are a family of 4, which tells me that this isn't the first this has happened here, in fact the very first time it did, it was very close to you or maybe you were involved.' He finished the last of his deduction and looked at you, searching for a mistake in his findings, it concerned you after all.

'You got me, ha. That name, Steven, he um, he was—' you tried completing your sentence, your lips began shaking and you looked away from Spencer because other people seeing you cry was never on your bucket list. 'Steven was my little brother.' You bit the words but it spilled out in all it's shapeless glory.

'Was?' Spencer questioned.

'He went missing, 20 years ago...he was 6, just like Stephen and I was...11, just like that little girl.' It took everything in you, every bone and muscle to let out what you couldn't for 20 years. 'Do you know what happened to him?' Spencer quietly asked. 'All I know was that my mother had brought him out to play and he never came back, whenever I asked all she would do was look at me like maybe I should've been the one that was gone.'

'Does anyone know? Someone had to be searching for him—'

'Reid, no one knew my brother, they...forgot him, or chose to. I couldn't ask what had happened or go to the police station because my mother, she would tell me he was okay.' The warm streaks of salty tears had left your eyes, you wanted them to stop, it was shame and regret that filled your mind. 'Four days from now would be his anniversary of the day he disappeared.' Wiping your cheek and turning to face Spencer, you caught a glimpse of a man that looked like he knew.

Knew how much you were hurting, how that showing this side of yourself was only making it worse.

'I—'

'I'm sorry to interrupt but the Turner family is here.' An officer from the department had called you in. 'Yes, I'll be right there...Reid, thank you for the coffee and for uh, listening, I'll fill you in on the rest if you want.'

He subtly nodded and you both ushered inside.

You spotted the family and exchanged a quick greeting, expressing your apologies and understanding of the situation you began asking questions and later focused on asking the little girl, who was shaken up but put on a brave front to stay strong. Braver than the parents, you note.

'Hi, Tina, right? How are you feeling?' you bent down to meet her eye level. 'I'm fine, it's Stephen I'm worried about and you should be too.' She strongly expressed. Her concern for her brother was what made you smile inwardly, 'We are, Tina but we're going to ask you some questions. Is that okay with you?' Quickly gaining the quiet approval of the parents you proceeded.

'Are you and Stephen close?'

'Yeah, he's very clumsy so I have to look out for him a lot, and because he's so short, I don't like people thinking they can pick on him.' She answered true. 'That's very good Tina, you're a wonderful sister, tell me, lately has there been anyone you know who's been close to Stephen besides you or your parents?'

'No not really, he's got two friends but they both moved away...oh!' The girl had a moment of realisation. 'There's this lady that visits our house sometimes. My mom and dad usually say hi to her, and she keeps asking me if Stephen's been studying well.' She completed.

'That's Rosa, she's the head of the neighbourhood watch, she was with me even when I was in labour  at the hospital here, suggested the name too, you don't think?' The mother's face contorted a little as her mind raced.

How could you forget your mother's name, she flaunted it for as long as you stayed with her. Rosa Cyrus, a symbol of hope so domineering, it paralysis any that gets too close to its core, that's who she was, or who she saw herself as.

'We can't say for sure ma'am, but you should stay here. Thank you, Tina, what you said was very helpful. We'll find your brother, I promise.' You stuck your hand out and she grabbed it quickly, giving you a wobbly handshake her little hands could gather. 'Uhm, Ms. FBI Agent ma'am, I really want to see my brother again, please.'

You sucked in whatever painful thought you gathered and gave the family a smile.

'Thank you, please find him.' The father could barely put up a brave front, his face already riddled with tear stains. 'We will.'

'Good job.' Rossi was outside the door, he gently patted your shoulder. 'Hmm, we need to find him.'

'And we will, after all, with a team like ours and not to mention boy genius, we'll find the kid.' Rossi's words brought comfort.

--------------------------

You immediately called Garcia once you entered the conference room where everyone was gathered, 'Find the location of Rosa Cyrus, any properties in her name and any known associates, She might have moved to this neighbourhood 10 years ago, also I need you to trace her past phone calls and bank transactions.' You felt your patience running thin, you knew this woman from the moment her name-dropped, she was your mother after all. Now all you wished for was that you got rid of all traces of her, including her last name.

'Um Hi?'

'Garcia, now.'

It wasn't your intention to be demanding, or sound angry, emotions getting in the way of work has rough consequences. 'O-okay, I'll be back as soon as possible.' You let out a frustrated sigh and rubbed your forehead. 'Who is she?' Tara asked you, and you paused and looked at her, it was then that you caught on that everyone in the room had a torn look of concern directed at you.

'My mother.' You took your chance and here spills the truth.

'Your mother? What does your mother have to do with this?' Emily asked, she wasn't asking as a friend but as your chief. 'Tina said that Rosa Cyrus had been visiting their house every now and then, checking in on Stephen, claiming that she was only doing her duty as the head of the neighbourhood watch. The mother said she was even present when he was born, and gave him his name too.'

'But why—'

'Okay guys, this is very suspicious,' Garcia checked back in right on time.

'Rosa Cyrus, born and raised in Bakersfield, once married to a construction worker named Daniel Carter. Later she gave birth to one, oh uhm, little girl-' you shut your eyes at the mention of your name, '-and she went into labour once again... the only thing specified about the baby was the gender, it was a baby boy, no records after that, hospital records don't mention a name, date of birth is listed but it looks like at the time they didn't stay in long to mention details. It was like this boy didn't exist.' Garcia sympathetically continued on, you knew she would want to be there for you right now, 'She got a divorce 6 years after her son was born but from her contact history, it looks like Daniel and her never lost touch.'

'That sorry bitch.' You whispered, more so as an undertone, it was loud enough that Luke and Spencer looked up at you.

'Okay this is where things get weirder, she started frequenting the Turner house since the birth of Stephen. A camera feed shows that she was on the way to the Turner's house the day before he went missing.' She finished up.

'Yeah, I asked the neighbours across the street if they saw anything but they hadn't, they did hear a car leave the scene at roughly the same time Reid narrowed down the time he was taken.' Luke filled in. 'Roughly between 11:30 pm to 2 am, which was around the time Joy went to check in on Stephen. Based on the time they heard the car fleeing, he was missing at around 12:35 pm.' Emily gave a quick nod at Spencer's deduction.

'Thank you Garcia, any known whereabouts on Daniel?'

'Searching now and there, the last known location was the police—He was right there. Okay uhh, sending you his address and Rosa's current address, please catch these a-holes!'

'Oh that's a done deal. Garcia?'

'Yeah?'

'My little brother's name was Steven, please, don't forget.' That was a plea. A plea that she understood right away, one that also was directed to everyone in that very room.

The two of you might be at a distance but you could tell she smiled on the other end, 'I won't, sugar.'

With Garcia hanging up, now things have increased in pace, you have a name and a face to give to your unsub all that's left now is to find them and the boy.

'Tara, I need you to tell the chief to pull up an APB on Rosa and Daniel.' Emily handed out orders, and Tara was just as quick to respond, 'Luke and JJ, head over to Daniel's address, If he's there, bring him in and be careful, he is likely on alert since he visited the station. Rossi, Reid and I will be on our way to Rosa's, Cyrus—'

'I know, I'll stay here, I'm too close to the case now.'

'Yes but also, if Luke and JJ get back here with Daniel, he'll demand to see you, There's a chance he knows you're here and that might convince him to assume you would be on his side if he asks for you, you'll only meet him with Tara or Reid in the room with you, can you do that? I need you as level-headed as possible.' She looked you straight in the eyes, which caused you to pause for a good minute to assess all possibilities.

Would you be okay seeing someone you haven't in 20 years? Someone who pretty much played a part in your brother's disappearance?

You took that one minute to take a breath, record all scenarios and with a tight chest you gave Emily your response, 'Yes, if it will get him to talk, I'll play my cards like I always do.'

'Good, let's get moving then.'

You sat down on one of the chairs, watching your team leave the PD, getting armed and ready as they darted out but you didn't notice one more lingering figure. He was quiet but he didn't startle you again this time.

Spencer gave a single pat on the shoulder, but before he could leave the interaction, you placed a hand over his and held on to him. Though the touch startled him, from his gatherings, he noticed that you didn't look at him, you hung your head low but latched on to his fingers in a desperate attempt to feel comfort. Your bad dream suddenly seems to stray from your head and bend the strings of reality, nestling in unrest you didn't want to feel again.

You let out a quiet sniffle, with a daft smile you let go of the hand that brought you safety. 'Go.'

Moreover, he did. The fading figure of your colleague and now close friend, caused you to huddle into yourself.

You're going to be okay. A silent notion of sanity.

---------------------------

'Hey, got you something to eat.' Tara walked into the room and sat next to you, she carefully placed a package of Choux Pastry before you. Eyes darted to indicate a grateful gesture was about to be appreciated. Tara required no words for the way you'd carefully taken out the plate, digging in right away to know that this was the little thing that might keep you going, thank yous fell out of your mouth after a good bite. 'Take your time and eat it though, can't have a good agent choking on a choux pastry on a Tuesday.' She chided.

'So no dying on Tuesdays, duly noted doc.' A light breathy laugh left you. It was the small things, nobody asked or pleaded for an offer of gold to feel better about themselves, if anyone knew that, it was everyone at the BAU. 'We're all here if you need us, okay?' Her voice said it all, that was enough. 'I know, it's why I'm still here.'

Silence had fallen in the room, it wasn't heavy, not at all, but that didn't make Tara's fumbling with case files any quieter. 'You can ask me, you know?' You broke the silence, and the rustling of papers stopped.

'What?'

'I know you want to ask me something so go ahead, don't believe I have anything to hide...at this point anyway.'

She sighed and rose from her chair, 'I just, okay, she waited exactly 6 years to take Stephen, she named him, tried to intervene and raise him like he was her own. She named him after her—your brother, who no one knew existed. Clearly she's reliving an event. So, why Steven? What happened to him?' she began, 'She couldn't have simply waited for another child to be born in the right circumstances, there has to be another boy, that no one knows about who's missing, or maybe a person, an adult who would match Steven's description? This woman needs a trigger to have to wait to do something like this.'

'So you're saying, there's a chance Grace is a...serial killer?'

'She would know how to take care of the bodies, a place or method she knows well enough so that nothing odd would ever turn up.' Tara walked over to the pile of missing persons reports, looking through them with brows crossed. 'Wait, I think there was one case, a 16-year-old boy. He looked exactly how I'd imagine Steven to, check case number 000612-M5-034.' You got up from the chair, standing right by Tara with arms crossed. 'Okay, let's see, Conrad Miller, 16 years old, went missing on June 12th, 2007. Last seen by the local church with one of the volunteers, she was questioned once but was never linked as she had a solid alibi, her name was Grace Cyrus.'

Part 2

[pouroverpaloma]

7 Rolan+Tav? please ❤️

Sure thing!! Here you go @rizzikale ❤️‍🔥 I used the drow barbarian Tav from true love is the devil’s crowbar, because I figured that was your vibe.

Here’s the thing. Tav loved Rolan. She’d loved Rolan for, oh, two or three tendays? And the way things were looking, she was going to continue to love him well into her rapidly-stabilizing future. She loved his drive, and his sense of justice, and the way he applied his boundless mental energy to making magical education accessible to anyone.

She did not, however, love that his zeal for arcane education extended so far into their private time. Especially when he frequently seemed to forget she was nowhere fucking close to magical. Honestly, even the little flames and tricks of light that every drow child learned had always escaped her—

“Again!” Rolan called from the other side of the library, beckoning with a clawed hand. “You came quite close that time. Remember, glacies.”

He his the middle syllable hard, with an arch in his palate. That must have been where she’d fucked up. Possibly. Somehow.

Stifling a sigh, Tav raised her hands and repeated the wrist-flicking motion he’d spent all morning teaching her. A faint, but promising, hum of magic buzzed in her palms for the split second before she opened her stupid mouth and said,

“Glachies!”

A limp stream of sleet splattered from her hands and onto the polished wood floor near her feet. Another spike of frustrated, embarrassed anger surged up her throat, and she swallowed it back down just like every one before it. Her hands curled into fists as she dropped them at her sides. For him, she was doing this for him, she reminded herself.

“It may be your accent,” Rolan mused, totally unperturbed by yet another failure on her part. He vanished the puddle of icy slush with a casual wave. “I have also done some reading on the differences between high elvish and drow magic that may provide a more complete perspective—”

“Or maybe I just can’t do magic!” she interjected, forcefully cheerful but still loud enough that he startled. Fuck, of course. She knew better than to—in here, of all places—gods damn it this was going so fucking badly. Surely he could see that? Surely he’d drop this whole farce of an experiment and just take her out for lunch or something. Take her over the couch, even. She wasn’t picky. Anything but this.

“Nonsense,” he said dismissively. “Even the most facile learner can cast a cantrip; and you, my dear, are not facile. It merely takes superior instruction. Again.”

Tav tried. She did. She stuffed down her feelings again, and raised her arms, and even got most of the way through the somatic component, before a much more familiar power ripped through her. Mindless, incandescent rage overtook her completely. Her vision went red and blurred, and the rest of her brain could only watch in horror as her hands picked up an armillary sphere and heaved it over the railing of the reading room with a deafening roar.

Satisfied, her rage drained away as quickly as it appeared. The heavy brass fixture crashed to earth somewhere in the basement. Echoes of its demise reverberated throughout the tower.

Chest heaving, eyes enormous, she slowly turned to face Rolan. His noble face was frozen in shock as he looked back at her. A flicker of fear passed over his expression as his gaze met hers. Again, she remembered that they were standing in the very same room where Lorroakan had beaten him senseless, and guilt crashed into her like a runaway cart.

“Rolan,” she breathed. “Rolan, I’m so sorry. Please don’t be scared of me, please, fuck, I’m so sorry—”

He took a step toward her from across the room, then another, slow and deliberate. Grief nearly choked her. This was it, wasn’t it. She’d ruined it.

“You don’t have to—I can just go, I understand, you don’t have to worry,” she rushed out, holding her palms up beseechingly. He was halfway to her now and quickly closing the gap. “You shouldn’t have to deal with me like that; it’s my own fault that I let it get so bad, I just got so frustrated but that’s not something that should be your problem—”

In an instant, he pulled her flat against the broad wall of his chest and slotted his mouth to hers, warm and insistent. Her protests died in her throat. Wait, but—she’d just—and now—

“I can hear you thinking,” he murmured. “It’s all right. Everything’s all right.”

“But—”

“Shh.” He snaked a hand around the back of her head and crushed her into another, deeper kiss. She swayed on her feet and he caught her, one strong arm wrapped firmly around her waist. When he slipped his clever tongue past her lips, she finally let her eyes slide closed. He hummed encouragingly.

“There we are,” he said. “Much better.”

Tav pulled back to look at him, grabbing the front of his robes to get his attention. “Do you have any idea how badly I could have hurt you just now?” she asked bluntly.

“Non movere.”

His amber eyes flared with humor as every joint in her body locked in place. Threads of pulsing violet light wrapped her like vines; barely leaving enough room for her to breathe. Rolan leaned in close.

“The day we met, you punched Aradin so hard that we all hoped you’d killed him. Be assured that I have a very clear idea of how badly you could hurt me. I simply will not let you.” The words could have been condescending, especially from him, but the rawness in his voice and the anxious set of his mouth made clear the promise he was making. Safety. Not just for him, but for her, too—the safety of his unconditional, complete acceptance. Even when her ironclad self-control wavered and her rage slipped its leash, he wouldn’t flinch. He wouldn’t leave.

He seemed to know exactly when she’d grasped his point, in that preternatural way he had, because he dismissed the enchantment with a flick of his fingers. Tav took a great gulp of air as her magical bindings loosened.

“As much as I believe in your arcane potential,” he intoned, taking her hands and kissing them apologetically, “it seems I have ignored that the basest component of all magical acts is will. And you, dear one, do not wish to be here at all.”

“No,” she blurted, and thank every god above and below, Rolan laughed. “I mean, magic is important! Uh, and I love that it’s important to you, but for me—I’d rather just spectate. If that’s okay.”

“In that case.” He made a complex gesture, and a bouquet of luminescent mushrooms and Underdark ferns appeared in her hands. She gasped in delight. “I’ll make you the most accomplished spectator on Toril.”

[theheartofone]

Steel in Her Veins, Chapter: Nineteen

Read On: AO3 | Table of Contents | Next Chapter

Characters: Fem!Reader x Roronoa Zoro

Chapter Nineteen: Daemgar

You are everything and nothing all at once.

Your consciousness floats within a void, seeping through under the cracks like the act of spilled fluid. You do not remember who or what you are, where you’re going or what you’re doing within this darkness. But the one thing you’re absolutely sure of is the firm pressing of something gripping at your skin.

Skin. You have skin?

A faint spark of consciousness sets off within you, your chest rattling back to life in the process – but at the same time it arrives, it’s gone again, and you’re back to slithering black fluid.

“Do it again!” A low voice echoes furiously from somewhere in the corners of your darkness. It rumbles your body into ripples, spreading you further across the floor like dancing ink.

In an instant, a panicked, slightly higher-pitched voice joins into the darkness.

“The defibrillators!” He shouts. “Take her shirt off!”

“She deserves privacy for this!” A furious voice intervenes. A faint stream of cigarette smoke trickles into your void, releasing itself like a pile of distressed ribbons.

“Fuck off, cook!” The first voice barks back, with so much intensity and panic that all the echoes go silent. “Chopper, do it right now or I’ll do it myself!”

Another pressure traces across your form, holding you down at your core. A draft of wind hits against you, making you curl up into a ball of stressed fluid.

“You’re not going anywhere, Swords.” The deep voice murmurs on your skin, unsure of what else to say, uncertain of what else to do. The only thing he can do is hold onto your darkness with both calloused hands and make sure it doesn’t go anywhere.

An intense undercurrent of electricity surges through your skin, singeing every one of your blood cells into revival mode.

A creak in the darkness paves its way to you, spilling in a blinding light that even your form tries to shy away from. Your lips open, taking in a desperate gasp, trying to curl yourself away from its shine.

“Keep going!” A female voice urgently pierces through the crack, spilling in strands of orange hair in the stillness of the air.

The same zooming sound of something charging resounds after the command, the tense taste of apprehension colouring each of their voices. When the electricity sings to full charge, you feel a set of fingers shakingly move your fabric away and you’re, again, convulsing from the burn of revival.

You gasp again, your ink pulsating like a grenade toppling over the ground, before, finally, you explode.

There’s black everywhere and nowhere all at once.

You are everything and nothing all at once.

With an aggressive start from your chest, your eyes blurrily blink open. Once, then twice, then three times, before you jumpstart into breathing heavily, as if you were just saved from a typhoon.

Chopper is curled over you, staring at you as you stare back at him. You can tell he’s trying to keep his expression as calm and doctorly as possible, but still, his eyes betray him. A slight sheen of moisture masks over them as his small body expands from a breath of relief.

“Raya!” Nami screams out, grasping at your palms. “Raya.”

“No!” You moan out, scrambling away from her. Your blackened arm screams in pain when Nami accidentally touches it, making you writhe and shuffle panickedly away from all of them.

Painted with fear, pain and confusion, your orientation is merely a fragment of what it once was; your brain being too slow to comprehend, while, on the other hand, your body being too quick to do so.

Chopper presses a hoof against a worried Nami and Luffy, who were just about to inch in on you, and glares at them with a sternness that you’ve never seen him express before. “Stop. Give her space!”

As you continue to confusedly scramble backwards on your two hands, your head aggressively collides against something firm, and in immediate response, a pair of calloused hands come into view from behind to securely hold you down.

As you tilt your head, your gaze meets Zoro's. His expression softens as your eyes lock onto his, his dark expression searching yours for any sign of recognition. His hands, though firm, are gentle as they hold you in place, pressing down on your shoulders like a grounding force.

"Hey," he murmurs calmly. "You're okay. We've got you."

"You’re..." The recognition of the person before you escapes your lips in a whisper, making you bunch up your eyebrows. How is he alright? Where did the Shaman go? What happened when you fell? What is happening?

"Yeah, it's me," he confirms, his voice tinged with slight relief.  His eye, usually sharp and focused, now hold a different shine to them that you've never seen before. It's as if he's relieved to see you awake, as if a weight has been lifted from his shoulders.

“Swords…” Luffy grins, lightly ambling towards you despite Chopper’s panicked demands to him to stay away. He kneels down, staring at nowhere but your eyes as he slips his fingers across yours. “I knew you’d be okay.”

He smiles, this time with more intention. “Let's get you back home.”

Your mind’s a tempest of conflicting emotions, each crashing against the shores of your consciousness with relentless force. Upon awakening, you can't deny the flood of relief coursing through your being, nor can you ignore the warmth of Luffy's smile or the steadiness of Zoro's grip. But beneath the surface, a current of fear runs deep, threatening to pull you under.

Your gaze flickers from face to face, searching for understanding, for solace, but finding only mirrored concern. Nami's eyes widen with worry, her lips pressed into a thin line of apprehension. Chopper's furrowed brow betrays his professional facade, his hooves fidgeting with nervous energy. And then there's Luffy, unwavering in his determination, his belief in you unyielding, despite your doubts.

"I can't," you whisper, your voice barely more than a breath. "I can't stay."

Luffy's smile falters, replaced by a furrow of confusion. "Why not? You’re a part of us.”

Your heart clenches at the word, ‘us,’ a pang of guilt twisting in your chest. How can you explain the danger you pose, the darkness that lurks within your very being? You can't risk their safety, not after everything they've been through together.

Zoro's grip tightens imperceptibly, his gaze avoiding yours, finding solace in gazing at the horizon in view. "You're not going anywhere," he states firmly, his voice brooking no argument. "You still have some swords of mine to fix.”

But you shake her head, your resolve hardening with each passing moment. "You don't understand," you insist, your voice betraying you with anguish. "I can't control it. I'm a danger to all of you."

Silence descends upon everyone like a heavy cloak, the weight of your words hanging in the air between them. Luffy's expression softens, his eyes searching yours with a depth of understanding that takes your breath away.

"We'll help you," he says simply, his voice carrying the weight of a promise. "Whatever it takes, we'll face it together."

Before you can respond, Chopper's voice cuts through the tension like a knife, his tone urgent and grave. "Before you make any decisions, maybe you should see this."

Turning as one, you all follow his gaze to where he stands, holding a small silver tome in his paws. The title gleams ominously in the dim light, a stark contrast to the darkness that surrounds them.

"It’s in ancient text." Nami scans over his shoulder, her voice hushed with awe. "What does it say?”

Robin nods, staring down at the book. “It’s the same text they use in poneglyphs. Loosely translated, it writes, “Blood and Mythics.’”

Chopper looks straight at you. “Robin and I raided the Shaman’s den and found it. Raya, I have a feeling that this,” he closes in towards you, showing the contents of the tome, “is the answer.”

“So do I,” Robin nods, crossing her arms. “Something feels different with this tome. And with both of us knowing the language, it’s easily decipherable.”

As the weight of their words settles over them, a sense of foreboding washes over you like a tidal wave, and despite the fear gnawing at the edges of your consciousness, a flicker of curiosity ignites within you.

"Blood and Mythics," you repeat, the words tasting foreign on your tongue. "What does it say?"

Chopper flips open the tome with delicate care, revealing silver dusted pages upon pages of intricate script. Robin’s eyes dart across the text over Chopper’s shoulder, deciphering the ancient language with an insurmountable level of sophistication.

"It's... it's a chronicle," she murmurs, her voice barely above a whisper. "A record of ancient bloodlines, myths, and legends. But there's something more... something else written within these pages."

Nami leans in closer, her eyes scanning the text with a mixture of curiosity and trepidation. "What do you mean, something else?"

Chopper's brow furrows as he turns another page, his gaze tracing the intricate patterns of the script as Robin’s leans even closer to the text.

"There are mentions of... entities," she explains slowly, her words laden with uncertainty. "Entities of immense power, bound to the bloodlines of certain individuals. It's…It’s not about demons, but I can see how the Shaman misinterpreted it."

“Whad’ya mean?” Luffy frowns, scratching his head. “Mis-inter-prat what?”

Robin’s eyes flicker up from the page, her lips pursed. “’Daemgar.’ It has a variety of meanings. Otherworldly, Winged, Blinding, Feathered."

[whump-since-2010]

The Massacre - Butterfly Whumpee

Tw: Blood, Violence

Mal collapsed against a wall, lightheaded and dizzy. Something warm trickled from his nose, dripping over his upper lip, and he shakily reached up to brush it away, his vision only focusing to see his hand come away covered in blood. Chaos reigned around him, people running, screaming, bullets flying, fires crackling, and rubble, making the earth shake beneath him. Pain throbbed through his whole body, bruised and battered, unable to focus on anything. The sky was black, two moons peeked through the clouds, one crescent, the other full, lighting the massacre in silver. There were no stars.

He only remembered misplacing his bad leg in his mad dash for the entrance and cracking his head against the ground. How had that hole gotten there? Why had he fallen? Right... he couldn't run. Why couldn't he run?

Just then, somebody darted past him, and shouts echoed behind him. His eyes drew to the running man just as a bullet cracked into the back of his skull, splitting his face. Pink matter and blood sprayed in front of him, fragments of bone, skin, and hair splattering across the stone as he dropped like a rock. Instantly, the young noble went into fight or flight. Though he couldn't think straight and the world seemed to spin faster every second, he dragged himself into a crawl and tried to scramble away from the voices and the wild, neverending gunshots.

He scuttled through the ruins of one of the Saltoris homes like a rat, burning and falling, Soldiers swarming over its grounds like hungry cats. He hauled his protesting body over the shattered rocks on his hands and knees, slicing his palms on the shattered glass, faint pain pulsing in his bad leg. When it became too much to bear, he army-crawled his way toward the entrance, arms turning only shades darker than his fiery hair now stained brown with dirt and dried blood. Searing flames crackled just over the hole he'd scurried into, heating his hiding place like a tiny oven.

The ground grew sticky with blood the more Mal drew close to the courtyards. People shouted, gunshots crackled. He was pretty sure he even heard a grenade somewhere. Worries and grief for his family swarmed for attention in his mind, but his need for survival won out as he crawled into the place where the tea room had once been. His knuckles bled, and he could hardly tell body parts from rocks anymore. His hands stuck to the wet carpet, ash and blood stung his nose, and the dizziness became too much to bear.

Mal found himself retching into a corner, clothes ripped and covered in various filth and hair. Shouts echoed around him, and the air thickened, people crowded, the fires grew higher, gunshots more rapid. He played dead amongst the corpses. They'd been laughing over tea one moment. With only one gunshot, his mother's blood turned the tea red. He'd hidden in a closet until they drew too close, and he had to move. Footsteps thundered around him, and his head throbbed. Blood streamed from his wounds, his leg ached, he couldn't think straight, and he wanted to cry.

But as the voices grew louder and more bodies piled on top of him and the others, Mal's ears rang louder, and he only heard snippets of the orders. "Make sure the house is cleared out! No Saltoris left alive! Iscalus' orders. From Lord Aeveda himself!"

The voices grew fainter, and Mal couldn't tell if they'd left or he was just losing his grip on reality. All he knew was that name. Aeveda. Aeva. That fucking bastard.

And he drifted away from reality, unconscious amongst the bodies of his brothers, uncles, and cousins. Surrounded by the smell of rotting flesh, empty bullet casings, and the maggots that awaited his surrender.

If you liked it, please leave a comment, I love reading them!(and perhaps a reblog to support my series?) Thank you!

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[drunkenlayabout]

through winter

Hans's hand is an icy stream against his scalding forehead. He doesn't know who or what he is besides it. -- Post-KCD 2 sickfic one shot, wherein dreams and illness are as bad as it gets nowadays.

Mature | Hans Capon/Henry | Established relationship | 1,4k words

[AO3 link]

Light warnings for non-graphic violence, PTSD.

Can be read as a standalone but it does belong to the in all four cardinal directions series. More tags, disclaimers, and other context also on AO3.

--

Where or when they are, he can't think to remember. Why or what doesn't tell him anything, either. He only knows that they are, and his unforgiving temper, a piece of him grown inseparable from the rest, is simmering within.

"How strange, for us to be alike in so many ways," Toth muses over the slow click clack of his heels on stone. "Even in matters, let's say, more intimate."

Henry's nails dig into his palms hard enough for it to bite, following the crimson shadow closely with his eyes.

"You and your… Birdie," he sneers for a moment, voice echoing strangely, "Have been in foolish young love for a time, I presume."

Hans lets their ankles tangle beneath the dice table. They race through pouring rain. Henry gifts him a knife of his own making. They set off on a mission together, lord and page. Hans corrects his Latin, Audentes—

"But after such a tumultuous," Henry falls backwards off a cliff, "Few weeks, the pair of you, now men, have been forged together by fire and blood." A trail of red next to Hans's helmet. "A sort of loyalty and devotion that makes you kill," a gifted knife sinking into a ribcage, "For as much as a hand raised to the other, and God help those who stand between you." A windpipe wheezing beneath his sword. Istvan tucks his hands into each other behind his back as he turns away from him, drifting farther, out of reach. "For all its bonding strength, it's also a great weakness. As you kept so kindly demonstrating," he mangles the word with wrath, "Between Erik and myself. And we'll be glad to turn this around on you, believe me."

Henry.

"We're nothing like you," Henry hears himself snarl venomously. Hans is scared out of his mind. Henry hides him from the world in his chest. "I'm nothing like you."

Toth laughs, unfolding his arms and whipping around to flicker inches closer to Henry, then back again. "But you are!" He sighs, smile dropping instantly. "Don't worry. If I were in your shoes, I'd be pissed about it, too." The man's head lulls slightly to the side with that mock pity on his bottom lip, eyes wavering to a window. Pale red flames dance behind it. "Well. I'll suppose we'll have to see how badly Capon wants his bitch back. Though I'm afraid he doesn't have the bite that you do."

Go fuck yourself, says Henry, though he's not sure if he actually does.

You're dreaming, friend.

Istvan doesn't react to his words-not-words besides a blink. "I'll have to decide what to do with you later," he says. "I have your lord to attend to, as you might have gathered. Don't get too lonely." And he's walking away. Away away, into blackness. Henry is boiling.

Hal. It's time to wake up.

"Touch him and I'll fucking gut you, you whoreson," Henry yells hoarsely after him, thrashing against the cold metal biting into his wrists. "You hear me?! I'll send you straight to hell!"

You can't kill me. You never will. Even after all these years, you carry me with you.

And you will for many more. Down to your shallow grave.

Come on, Henry. For the love of God,

"Wake up."

And he does.

Hans, not scared and instead older and wiser, is looking down at him with familiar concern, holding his wrists between them. He doesn't know who or what he is until he gets reminded his name again at the start or end of some question or other. Hans lets go, and Henry can breathe and unclench his fists and feel stinging crescents in his palms. Hans's hand is an icy stream against his scalding forehead, and he tilts his chin up to get more of it, trying to rub against his fingers like a needy cat. Hans is unhappy to see him like this, he knows, petting his hair and towelling off neck sweat until the last of Henry's black and red daytime nightmare fades from the corners of his eyes. Leftover fury melts into the buzzing background of his fever and leaves his head empty until all he can think about is the care he's being shown. Hans takes the wordless initiative to replace the damp sheet beneath him with one of the fresh ones left behind in their room, only making near-naked Henry sit up for the same hazy half minute he's downing a tankard of warmed and honeyed water. Also brought by Hans. As if his presence isn't enough.

"Just so you know, I remember what you told me about grabbing you while you're dreaming," Hans quietly tells Henry as he's laying him down again with careful touches and sitting at his side. "But you did just punch me in the teeth."

A chuckle whistles through Hal's nose. "Not too hard, I hope?" he rasps.

The man shakes his head no, amused but not as amused as him. He throws the quilt Henry's kicked off of himself to the floor back onto his legs and starts talking as mellow as a breeze, the usual bird-lilt of his voice softened as though he'd startle Hal otherwise. He says that it's past noon and he needs to eat – he'll get the kitchen to bring up some stew and fresh bread for him. Where in the world is the nurse, anyway? He supposes Henry wouldn't know, either. He would stay longer, but being a lord is still a pain in his arse, he complains without getting any louder (I mean, court? This time of year? A sin, I'd argue.). As soon as he's free, though, he'll come back again with some wine and a book to read to keep Henry company while he turns into a wrinkly prune in a good ol' bath. Drawn right here, of course, so he doesn't have to go anywhere. Hal listens to it all and breathes slowly when a hand cradles his too-many-days-unshaven jaw and Christmas-Eve-tomorrow-chapped lips press against his brow. He throws his aching arms around Hans's neck before he can get away and, too hot in winter and not hungry at all and somewhat delirious and grateful above all, reminds him that I love you, you know. Really.

"Christ, don't say it like you're dying, man," his companion, who loves him, too, really, chides him softly with a simper and frees himself. He lingers yet still, so their hands find each other for what is a covering of knuckles in question and a turn for loose palm to palm in answer, tucked away in Hans's lap for safekeeping.

"I'm not. I'll live. I'll live through winter so I could marry you in spring," facetiously proposes Henry in heavy-lidded poem he'd read in Kuttenberg once, feeling a headache beginning to brew in the unpoetic space between his temples. Hans, who's going to be late to court for the first time since summer began fading from his hair in fall, blinks his grey blues at him in disbelief. He knows exactly what to say then. "I'll make the friar solemnise us in the woods. And then we'll spend all day consummating ourselves, right there, right in front of him." Hans's sudden smile struggles to hide that he's dissolved into a flustered pretty pink, and Hal's own stupid grin is smoothing the rough edges of his consonants. "We'll be shagging in the blooming brambles as hard as a pair of frothing hares. The poor bastard won't know hallelujah from my name by the time I'm through with you."

Something confounded forcefully whishes out of his man and lingers in his throat as a chuckle to colour his words. "That is the maddest, spooniest, most lascivious fucking thing that's ever come out of your mouth and reached my ears, Henry," he proclaims correctly with his teeth showing. "And that's competing with nearly five years of your yammering. Right fucking wordsmith you are! Jesus!" On the other side of delighted swearing and quiet cackling, Hans wonders, "And then what? Will we run away with our cocks out in the wind and live as pagans in the woods? Will we survive on naught but moonshine and each other?"

"Aye." Henry's smile softens some as he gives Hans's hand an earnest squeeze that he's adoringly quick to return. "And we'll be right at home."

fin

[highqueenofprydain]

Scarlet

The great door crashes into its frame, slammed by the hand of the silence that swells into the room. Only as the last echo ebbs away does she remember she is wounded, reeled back to reality by the flat, pittering sound of her own blood dripping upon the floor.

She raises her hands and stares at them, shining crimson streaming from multiple slashes across their surfaces, a pattern to drive any fortune-teller to madness. The idle thought breaks through her numb rage for an instant: imagine the reaction of one of those itinerant peddlers of cheap magic, asked to read the map of horror etched on her palm.

A long lifeline. She almost laughs, but it’s a bitter thing that fills her mouth with iron and salt, or perhaps she’s just bitten her tongue too hard again.

Her gaze wanders over the metal shards littering the floor, reflecting bits of the room like a shattered mirror. She sees her own face, a fleck of skeletal white against a field of scarlet drapery, and turns away from it, leaving the empty room to its silence.

She wraps her hands in her own skirts to keep from leaving a trail down the hall. The sliced flesh throbs and stings, welcome reminders that she still can feel something. It is a long time before she speaks a word…a charm with which she once could have healed such superficial wounds from the inside-out. Now, depleted, it merely closes what was open.

But better that, than bleed where anyone can see.

[voidnull-crow]

Stay Stitch (pinky promise)

Pairing: Jeongin/Jisung (and a brief Chan cameo)

Word count: 1,125

Summary: Jeongin runs off to cry in peace. Jisung finds him.

Additional info: canon compliant, emotional hurt/comfort, slice of life, one (1) kiss, soft Stray Kids ensemble, protective Han Jisung, Han Jisung is a ray of sunshine, everyone loves Yang Jeongin

Read on ao3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/60819817

Or read below the cut:

Jeongin is hiding.

It’s not that he wants to. His brain gave him no other choice. Cry in private, or face people. Shudder. He’s not going to be this vulnerable around someone, and especially not around cameras, if he can help it. It was hard enough to find a spot away from staff.

Tucked in a ball of self pity and misery underneath an old maintenance stairwell is where he’s found himself. It’s dusty and gross and he hates it. Not enough to do anything about it, though the makeup artist and stylist will definitely have words for him when he comes back. That’s for half-an-hour-from-now Jeongin to deal with, not sobbing-his-eyes-out-on-the-floor Jeongin.

He’s felt so stitched up lately. Don’t get him wrong, he loves being busy. He loves recording and learning new songs, he loves performing, he loves the silly activities they do for Stay. It’s all, always, worth it for Stay. But he can’t remember the last day he had off. He can’t remember the last time he came home to the dorms and didn’t immediately crash.

He had tried to push aside the feeling and take their schedules a minute at a time, which initially had helped, but as the day stretched on he felt himself wearing thin. By a stroke of luck he made it through everything except the last hurdle.

They just finished a recording for a variety show, now all that’s left is dinner with the rest of the Kids. And he can’t do it. He has no more to give. He’s trying to convince himself that in half an hour he’ll get up, dust himself off, go change and meet them at whatever restaurant it is and pretend nothing happened. But it’s a big fat fucking lie.

Chan’s probably already looking for him. Oh… just the thought of Chan looking at him with that look in his eyes makes him feel worse. Jeongin is weighed down by guilt, exhaustion, and the stream of tears running down his face to pool in his heart.

And seeing Chan is inevitable. If not at dinner, then at their dorm. How is he going to explain himself? No excuse is going to get past Chan, and he can’t hide forever, though in this moment he’d prefer to think he can. It’d be more comforting to have as long as he wanted to avoid his responsibilities.

Speaking of, he can hear footsteps coming down the staircase.

“Iyen-ah? Are you down here?” Jisung’s voice echoes in the stairwell.

Jeongin holds his breath and prays Jisung leaves. But of course, it’s no use. His footsteps get louder as he gets closer.

“Iyen-ah, please say something if you’re here. We’re really worried about you,” Jisung’s voice gets quieter, more gentle, and Jeongin can’t keep in a sob any longer.

Fine. He’ll admit defeat. He’s been found fair and square; as if this is hide and seek, not please-leave-me-alone-while-I-tear-myself-apart-thank-you. Working title. He’ll refine it later.

Jisung’s footsteps quicken, hurrying down to him. He rounds the corner and crouches, concern knitting his eyebrows together. Jeongin can’t look him in the eyes. It hurts.

“Oh Jeongin…” Jisung whispers, crawling in next to him. Jisung wraps an arm around his shoulders and uses his other hand to brush the dust off Jeongin’s hair. He brings his palm down to Jeongin’s cheek, guiding him gently to look at him. “You had us worried sick. Why’d you run off? Did one of us do something wrong?”

Jeongin shakes his head, trying to muster the energy to explain. Fresh tears well in his eyes when he can’t find the words.

Jisung tucks Jeongin into his chest, moving his hand to stroke his hair instead. He holds him close and murmurs reassurances against the crown of his head.

Jeongin holds onto Jisung’s shirt, letting his sobs get caught in the fabric instead of in his throat. Jisung soothes the wracks through his body with soft rhythmic strokes down his back, easing and pulling out the tension held there like untying knotted strings.

Jeongin rests his forehead against Jisung’s chest when he stops crying. He takes a couple breaths, slow and deep.

“That’s it, baby, just like that,” Jisung says, rubbing small circles into his back. “Can I text the others to tell them I found you? I don’t wanna keep them worrying.”

Jeongin nods, and Jisung pulls out his phone from his pocket. Jeongin closes his eyes wearily, and he can just make out the sound of Jisung’s heartbeat under the tapping of his fingers against his screen.

Jisung puts his phone away and hugs Jeongin when he’s done. “Alright, I told them I found you, but I didn’t tell them where we are. We’ll go back when you’re ready. They can wait.”

“Thank you,” Jeongin says, voice breaking.

“I would offer a kiss to make you feel better, but this really isn’t a romantic spot,” Jisung jokes, tone lighthearted. Jeongin manages a small chuckle. “Tell me, why are you pretending to be Harry Potter? Hiding under the stairs?”

Jeongin relents to his prying, sitting up. “I got overwhelmed. I’m sorry I ran.”

Jisung holds Jeongin’s face in his hands, wiping away his tears with his thumbs. “It’s okay, you don’t need to apologize. But please tell us next time that you need a break, so we can help you. Can you promise me that?”

Jeongin nods, taking Jisung’s hands from his face to link their pinkies. “I promise.”

Jisung smiles softly and intertwines the rest of their fingers. “Do you want to stay here a little longer?”

Jeongin sighs, looking at the loose zigzag way their hands are stitched together. “I think I’m ready to go back.”

Jisung nods and crawls his way back out, standing and dusting himself off. He offers a hand to help Jeongin out, which Jeongin takes. Jisung helps dust Jeongin off, but before they make their way up the stairs, Jeongin stops him.

He links their pinkies again, leans in, and presses a peck to Jisung’s lips.

“You don’t get to brag about that one. You just promised,” Jeongin says, gesturing to their linked pinkies.

Jisung huffs out a surprised laugh. “That’s not how that works, but just this once, I’ll let it slide.”

They head back to the rest of the Kids hand in hand. Jeongin gets swarmed in hugs when they see him, and though it’s a lot, it’s comforting. The weight of appreciation replaces the weight of guilt in his chest.

Chan lets him pick where they go to dinner, and later, in their dorm when he’s telling Chan what happened and why, Chan promises he’ll get him the weekend off. Jeongin says he’ll only agree to it if Chan takes the weekend off too.

[therisingdarkness]

I read this really introspective piece by @eclec-tech that was based on some amazing art by @cloned-eyes and I was inspired to write a lil angsty blurb. It's not long and it's not much, but I needed to get it out there. I hope it's a short, sweet read for everyone who gives it a shot. I wish I could have written more but the brain worms won't let me work in peace.

~~~

Echo stared at his hand.

Ugly, black stitching attached fingers to palm and wrist to arm, the skin discolored and mismatched from the chemicals pumping through his veins to keep him ‘alive’. Or unalive. He didn’t know what to call this state of existence any longer. It wasn’t living, not in any way it was meant to be.

Surviving, maybe. Every breath drawn labored in his lungs before finally escaping. Every beat of his heart felt like the stutter of a torn drum. His stomach growled and ached from pangs of hunger, his lips dry and chapped, cracking at the corners. His eyes ached because he did not often allow himself to sleep. It was too dangerous and he did not want to be caught unawares. 

His existence, if he could call it such, was made up of a never ending stream of aches and pains and discomfort. He didn’t know anything else, had forgotten the time before when he had felt anything other….

Except….

His friend.

Could he refer to them as such? Was it allowed? Would they look at him with the same warmth and understanding that came before? Would they touch his cheek as tenderly if they knew that he thought of them, often, and dreamed of their face when he finally succumbed to exhaustion?

Today he had initiated the first touch. The tears in their eyes and the waver in their voice…reaching for their hand in a show of support had seemed like the natural thing to do, though he couldn’t exactly recall why. He…he wasn’t sure of much when it came to the fragmented memories of his past, but he was sure there hadn’t been much opportunity for candid touches. Not like that, anyway.

But his friend…they hadn’t flinched at the chill of his skin against theirs. His dry, stiff skin, mismatched fingers—(How many of them were his? How many more belonged to the brothers he had lost? How many of his kin had Wat Tambor butchered to piece him back together?)—closed around their smaller hand and squeezed with a gentility he had to force, but they hadn’t shied away from his touch.

Their expression and reciprocation had inspired a warmth flickering to life within, but now he couldn’t help but lose himself to his thoughts.

Did they know?

Could they understand?

His hand…his arm…too much of him had needed replacing. Tambor had explained very little to him at the time, but his evil genius craved the satisfaction of recognition. 

“It took four of your brothers to make you whole again,” Tambor hummed as he inserted cable after cable into the ports implanted in his skull. It hurt—it hurt, but he had no voice, not yet, nothing with which to cry out. He opened his mouth anyway, a silent scream trapped in his lungs and arching his back as he strained against the heavy manacles trapping him on the examination table.

“Stop squirming. You’ll tear your stitches. Again. Perhaps I should have left you in stasis while I worked…ah, but to see the nerves come alive again, the muscles twitching…no, it’s better this way.”

Four of his brothers…he couldn’t remember their names. He saw their faces in his, but sometimes it didn’t feel right. He hated his likeness and avoided it at all costs. The last time he had accidentally caught a glimpse of himself was in the distorted reflection from a stream he had stopped to drink from, nearly a year ago. 

Thick sutures ran diagonally across his face and from the corners of his mouth down beneath his chin. He could feel them wrapping around his temples and the back of his head, intersecting and branching off, like spiderweb cracks spreading across a sheet of glass. He didn’t want to think about whose jaw was attached to his face, didn’t want to think about the way the circle of flesh surrounding his left eye was a slightly different shade. 

He didn’t know how much of him was…him.

And he didn’t want his friend to question it, though he suspected they soon would. They had asked him so many questions…and he had answered all of them, as truthfully as he knew how because the kindness they had shown him deserved no less than his honesty in return.

But…if they asked him about this….

He curled his fingers toward his palm, squeezing his hand into a fist so tight his nails dug into the worn flesh of his palm. He didn’t bleed, but he felt the biting pain that came from cutting so deep into his skin and breathed a sigh of relief, quickly followed by crushing guilt.

The hand was not his own, nor were the fingers. He felt it deep in his bones, though he couldn’t articulate why. Hurting himself always felt like…a disservice to his brothers, the parts they had sacrificed, perhaps unknowingly—of course, they were dead, stupid, they had to be—shouldn’t be abused further than they already were.

He had already lost his other arm to the mobs that came before his escape into the deeper woods. Deep scars wound up the stump of his bicep from where he had hacked away at his arm with the sharp edge of a rock, pulling and twisting like an animal caught in a trap until the stitching tore free and the muscle pulled back to reveal the glistening white of bone. It had broken easily after that and he had fled, abandoning the remains of his limb in the shackle that had held him.

He could not afford to injure his body further—there was no one else who could fix him. 

…and he couldn’t stomach the guilt that came with every fresh wound, suspecting what he did. 

Echo glanced over at the basket his friend had left with him. In addition to the usual selection of dried meats, fruits, and cheese, there was also a still warm loaf of freshly baked bread and a thin, folded blanket—not much in the way of protection against the harsh winter months, but for the impending cool of autumn, it was more than enough. His stomach growled, louder this time as he looked over the generous selection of food, and he knew it was pointless to put off eating for longer than he already had.

Guilt did not fill an empty stomach.

[softspaceboibrian]

Fell in Love with the Fire Long Ago || Jamie Tartt

Chapters: 1 - more to come

Pairing: Jamie Tartt x Y/N - Social Media Manager for AFC Richmond || I used she/her pronouns, but there is no actual physical description, so the pronouns can be switched with whatever anyone wants or prefers!

Summary: When Y/N received that email, she couldn't believe it. He was coming back.

Warnings: maybe some swear words. hints and mentions of sexual acts (still SFW). S1 Jamie Tartt aka a dick. a little angsty. Sam being is lovable self.

Characters: Jamie Tartt, Sam Obisanya, Isaac McAdoo, Colin Hughes, Dani Rojas, Ted Lasso, Rebecca Welton. Some others may appear as mentions.

Wc: 3800 (this works as a pilot or a prologue, to set up the story)

A/N: this story is based on this idea I had and that a few people seemed to like. hopefully you enjoy this first chapter/prologue. and if you want to read more, feel free to leave a comment. If enough people like it, I was thinking to do a taglist, so that people can stay updated. anyways, thanks for reading &lt;;3

When you first heard the news, you couldn’t believe it. You couldn’t believe that they could do such a thing. Not to the team, not to you. That was the reason you were stomping up the stair, the clinking of your heels echoing against the walls, as you reached Rebecca’s office.

You didn’t knock, you didn’t wait for them to welcome you in. They knew you were coming. Especially after the email they had sent out. The email had been sent only to the “necessary” people that needed to be involved, and you, being the social media manager for the club, received it. It was probably a way for them to warn you to start preparing the content for the announcement. But you obviously didn’t take it well. They knew about your history, they knew how things had gone down. They had to be expecting you.

“How could you?” Your loud, clear voice, full of anger and disappointment filled the room.

“Good morning, Y/N!” Ted’s cheerful greeting made you want to scream. “To what do we owe the pleasure?” The sarcasm was obvious.

“How could you? After what he did to the team? After what he said about you?” Your tone was loud, so much so that you were sure people from downstairs could clearly hear every single one of your words. “How could you?” You choked on your last words, and as you finally met Rebecca’s gaze, you could feel the familiar sting of the tears that threatened to fall, spill, pour.

The woman sighed, getting up from her chair to make her way around the big desk. “Listen, love, he’s a great player. When Ted told me about their talk, I knew we had to get him back.” She explained, walking over to her. “We cannot let our feelings get in the way of the team’s success.”

You shook your head, taking a step back. “I never thought you would become this cynical.”

“I’m not cynical, just rational.”

“It’s all the same thing. He’s a prick. And pricks don’t change.” You were furious. “And it’s not just my feelings, but the team’s feelings. But you obviously don’t remember how he used to treat everyone.” You lingered on that last word, looking briefly at each of them, before turning around and making your way out of the office and down the stairs. “No one understands.” You whisper, your fists so tight you started to feel that burning sensation of your nails leaving marks on your palms.

Keeping your head low, trying to hide the tears streaming down your face, you made your way to the changing room. You knew you couldn’t say anything to any of the boys yet, but still, you needed some comfort. You needed Sam.

You quickly reached the locker room and knocked, waiting for them to give you a sign to let you know you could come in. And, as soon as you opened the door, you ran straight to Sam, immediately burying your face in his chest.

“Hey, Y/N/N. What is going on?” His thick Nigerian accent immediately bringing comfort to you. “Did something happen?” He asked as he tried to pull away slightly, trying to understand what was happening.

“Just… hug me… please.” You pled, the voice muffled by his jersey. And he did. He wrapped his arms around you, softly placing a kiss on top of your head, before laying his chin in the same spot. You’re immediately comforted by the warmth of your best friend’s embrace. However, you didn’t fail to notice how the familiar chatter of the changing room had started to slowly simmer down until it ultimately came to a halt. A sense of pain and anxiety washed over you at once, and your head started again to fill with the same questions you had asked Rebecca and Ted. Why? Why him? Why now? How could they?

But soon, your stream of thoughts was interrupted by Isaac’s voice. “Who do we have to kill?” You didn’t need to raise your head from Sam’s chest to know that the feeling was shared by most if not all the team’s players.

“No one. Yet.” You mumbled, sniffling. “It’s complicated.” You added as you finally pulled away from Sam, yet still remaining extremely close to him, as if his presence was the only thing keeping you sane and calm at that moment.

“When the moment comes, just call, okay?” You gave a quick nod to the team captain, accompanied by a shy smile. To any casual passer-by, the comment may have seemed sarcastic, the usual banter between friends that care about each other. But the team knew that that was not sarcastic at all and that Isaac would indeed, without a shadow of a doubt, kill someone for you.

You couldn’t exactly remember when, but somewhere down the line, the team had become your chosen family. However, you could clearly remember how that process had started.

You had started working for AFC Richmond around the same time that Ted and Coach Beard did. You didn’t care much for football or sports in general, but you had just recently graduated from university and had found this work through Keeley. You and her had met at your cousin’s going away party a few years before, when he had decided to move to Greece to become an archaeologist. You had immediately bonded over who can even remember what, and remained close friends ever since. So, when she heard that the position had just opened up, she immediately sent your CV to Rebecca, without warning you first. You found out about the job only when you received a call from a certain Mr Higgins, who told you that they had read your curriculum and found it really interesting. And so, you ended up moving to Richmond-upon-Thames and started working for the club.

It didn’t take you long to get to know the team and become friends with them. Obviously, you had your prejudices against footballers, who you thought were self-centred egomaniacs – and you weren’t completely wrong about that – but, to your surprise, most of them turned out to be great people. You quickly became very close with Sam; Roy tolerated you; Isaac and Colin were always kind to you. Even Jamie Tartt, the prick of the team, would usually drop his dickhead persona when he was with you. And that was how you two ended up together. For the first month or so, you would notice his constant flirting, but you never really gave it too much thought. You had read about him in the tabloids, and you knew how he was famous for having a different girl every week. You weren’t that oblivious, you knew he was fit. But, every time he would flirt with you, you would play along for a while, before brushing it off and going back to your business. I’m just his latest challenge, he will move on sooner or later, you thought. Until, roughly a month and a half after you had started working there: he started waiting for you outside the clubhouse, asking you if you needed a ride home. Which then turned into him asking you to grab a coffee with him one day before practice. Then it was dinners. Movie nights at his place. Stolen glances in the hallways of the clubhouse. Sneaking in the boot room to secretly make out. And sooner than you could realise, you were sleeping over at his place most of the time.

You asked him to keep things private for a while. It wasn’t that you were ashamed of him. You just needed to be sure about him. So, you kept sneaking around. Avoiding each other as much as possible, too worried that the team might just figure it out. Let me show you off, Jamie would whisper into your ear, in-between wet kisses, as he stood behind you in the kitchen in the morning, wrapping his arms around your waists. Let me take you out to a restaurant, on a proper date, he insisted. But you kept declining his offers. Not yet, baby, you would reply, as you slowly melted under his touch, I need a little more time, you said as you turned around in his arms. And the conversation would die there, with Jamie immediately picking you up and placing you on top of the kitchen counter, his lips trailing their way down your neck, your collarbone, your chest, down, down, until your vision turned hazy and you had to grip onto the marble countertop with all the strength you had in your body, too afraid you might fall off of it, as his lips met finally met your core.

You were able to keep your relationship private longer than you had expected. It was after almost 4 weeks that Nate eventually walked in on you two in the boot room. You weren’t doing anything too private, you were merely making out. But Nate being Nate, froze on his feet as he saw you two holding onto each other, too stunned to move. I was… I needed to… sorry… I didn’t…. As usual, he was too embarrassed to form a complete sentence, so he simply left the room. You two looked at each other and knew that it was only a matter of time before your secret would be out. And you were right. The secret didn’t last the entire day, and when it was time to go home after practice, you were met by a horde of football players, asking you when it had started, how long had that been going on, if you two were official, and so on.

Somehow, but still not completely unexpectedly, the news reached the press in less than a day. The next morning, as you lied in bed with Jamie’s head on your chest, you were woken up by the constant buzzing of your phone. Check this article from The Sun, said a message from your high school friend, with a link attached to it. Is it true? Asked your mother. Congratulations! read the message from your aunt from whom you hadn’t heard in ages. And the messages kept coming. Yes, it was true. You were now in a relationship. Yes, your boyfriend was a famous footballer. Yes, you knew about his fame. Still, you didn’t care. Because, when Jamie was with you, he wasn’t Jamie Tartt, star striker for AFC Richmond, but just Jamie. And you loved just Jamie. He was sweet, he was passionate, he was kind, he always made sure you were feeling well, he brought you flowers once a week, he left some coffee for you in the pot in the mornings, he always made sure you were sexually satisfied – something he was really proud of.

Sadly, you hadn’t realised that, with going public, also came the hate from his fans, who thought that you would be too distracting for their beloved favourite player, and from the girls, the actresses, the top models, the reality tv stars, who had hoped to one day end up with him and whose dream you had shattered overnight. You pulled through it, and that was also thanks to Jamie, who never missed the chance to remind you how much he loved you and cared for you.

However, two months after going public, things started to change. You couldn’t understand why if it was something that you had done or said, but he started to become distant, cold. He would invite you less and less over to his place, and when he did, it was mainly to have sex, to ‘release the tension from practice’. And whenever the team lost, the sex would be rough. He was always on his phone, texting, dming, emailing. A part of you knew it was girls he was talking to, but you couldn’t bring yourself to confront him about it, so you just said nothing and held on. He soon stopped asking you how you were, telling you how much he loved you. You tried asking him what was going on, but he would always deny everything, saying that you were imagining things, that you were just paranoid, and that everything was fine. Fine. Oh, how you came to hate that word. You asked him how he was. Fine. You asked him if he wanted to spend the night together. Fine. You asked him if he wanted to drive to the clubhouse together. Fine. Fine. Fine. Fine. You hated fine. In Jamie’s language, fine meant if you really have to, or I would rather you left me alone, or I don’t really care. You hated it. And you hated what your relationship had become. But still, something stopped you from leaving him, maybe the hope that soon things would go back to normal, that soon he would go back to being just Jamie.

But that never happened.

And things only got worse when Ted decided to take him out during a match. You knew that Ted was doing it to teach him a lesson, and he was right to want to do so. But as you watched your boyfriend leave the pitch, you knew things would only get worse. So, you stopped constantly looking for him. You stopped texting him every day. You only met when he asked you.

It was in that period that you grew closer to Sam. You could distinctly remember the day he walked into your office to ask you for a few suggestions on how to make his Instagram page more appealing. Instead walked in on you sitting on the floor, with your back against the wall and your hands in your hair. You didn’t even have the strength to pretend things were okay, so you simply looked up, black lines scarring your cheeks, and met his eyes. “Sorry, Sam, it’s… not a great moment.” You struggled to get the words out.

But Sam didn’t say anything. Instead, he closed the door behind him, made his way across the room and took a seat on the floor next to you. “Is it Jamie?” He asked with his thick Nigerian accent that you would grow to love and even find familiar. You nodded silently. “Do you want to talk about it?” You shook your head. “Do we just sit in silence?” A nod. A beat. Then your head slowly fell to the side, until it found its resting place on his shoulder.

You don’t exactly know how long you stayed there, on the floor, in silence. It could have been a few minutes or entire hours. In either case, Sam stayed there, and didn’t leave your side. He never once took out his phone to check his messages, even though you could feel it buzzing in his pocket. He only changed position once, to move his arm and wrap it around your shoulders. That was the first time you had spent that much time in silence with someone without feeling the need to fill it with superficial chatter.

From that day forward, you and Sam were inseparable. There was something about him that simply brought you comfort, a comfort that not even Jamie had been able to give you. Whenever you weren’t sleeping over at Jamie’s, he would come to pick you up and drive you to work. He would drive you home in the evenings, making sure you were all the way inside your house, before sprinting off the road to go home himself. You would start having lunch together, usually joined by some of the other guys – in all of this, most of the time Jamie was nowhere to be found. And whenever your boyfriend acted like a dick with you in front of everyone, he would speak up. Are you his boyfriend now, Sammy? Jamie would mock him, using your nickname for him. I don’t think so. She’s me girl, so I’ll talk to her how I want, a’ight? He would puff out his chest, trying to look bigger and intimidating.

That evening, after practice was over, Jamie sprinted off to who knows where or to who knows who, leaving you there, alone. And, as per usual, Sam would come to the rescue, offering you a lift home.

“Why are you still with him?” Sam asked you as he stopped in front of your house. “You deserve better, not an asshole like him.”

You shook your head. “He’s not like that when it’s just the two of us.” You would always find a way to make excuses for him.

“I don’t care how he is when he’s alone with you, Y/N! If he really loves you, he should treat you well in public as well!” You had never really heard Sam raising his voice before, and it would have been a lie if you had said that you were not intimidated. But, despite everything, you could feel the care and preoccupation in his voice. “You deserve someone that truly cares for you, and that isn’t afraid to show it!” You knew he was right. Yet, you couldn’t bring yourself to say something, to break up with him.

But you never had to.

It was maybe a week after your discussion with Sam when you showed up unannounced at his place. It was cold outside, and you were only wearing a thick jumper. You stood there, in front of his door for at least three whole minutes, before finally knocking on his door. You knocked instead of ringing the bell so that if he was already asleep, you wouldn’t wake him. But he had heard it, and less than 10 seconds later, he was opening the door.

“Y/N, what are you-” He didn’t even finish his question. He took one look at you and knew exactly what had happened. He took your hand gently in his, and immediately pulled you inside, guiding you to the living room. “Wait here a moment.” He said, making you seat on the couch, before running off in search of a blanket. “Okay, wrap yourself in this while I put the kettle on.” He opened the blanket and put it around your shoulders.

“Stay here, please.” You whispered, grabbing him by the wrist before he could move away again.

“But you’re shivering.”

“Just… please.”

As soon as he met your eyes once again, he felt his heart drop to his stomach. He had seen you in distress before, he had comforted you multiple times after your fights with Jamie. But this time he didn’t even need for you to tell him what had happened, he already knew. He took a seat next to you, fixing the blanket so that it was properly covering your entire body, before pulling you to his chest.

“He said that I was too much work.” The words left your mouth watery. “That I asked too much of him. And that, since he was going back to Man City, it was better to call it quits.” You whispered. You could feel Sam’s body tense, the air blowing through his nose. You knew he wanted to say a lot of things. He wanted to tell you that he was a dickhead, that he never realised what he had in front of him, that he had just lost the best woman he could ever find, that he was a moron, a jerk, an idiot, a fool. But he didn’t. He remained silent. And he did the best he could to comfort you. He stroke your hair and your back, he rocked you and hummed to you, until you fell asleep.

After that night, it didn’t take long for the rest of the team to find out what had happened, and how it had happened. Every single one of the boys sent you a text, saying, each in their own way, that they were sorry, that Jamie was a dick, and that they were there for you if you needed them. And you were glad to know so many people cared for you, people that up until a few months ago didn’t even know you and that you would have never expected in your life to end up being friends with. They all stopped and hugged you when they met you in the corridor for the first time after it had happened. But some of them surprised you.

You hadn’t been able to sleep for the last few nights, which was made obvious to everyone by the way you dragged your feet against the floor whenever you walked around the clubhouse, your legs too heavy for your exhausted body to properly move. You had also stopped taking care of yourself. Yes, you showered and brushed your teeth because you hated not being presentable for work. But you had stopped brushing your hair every morning and every night, like your grandmother had thought you when you were little. And you had stopped wearing make-up. Not that you would normally put on a full face every day, but you stopped using mascara because it made your eyes burn whenever you cried, and the light concealer you used under your eyes to make yourself look fresher, more awake. And now your puffy red eyes and dark circles were there, on display, for everyone to see, a reminder of how you were feeling.

That morning you had opted for a very comfortable pair of sweatpants and a warm AFC Richmond hoodie. Using supportiveness as a way to hide your depression. Smart, you thought. Sad. You were sitting in your office, alone, working on the new social media campaign, when suddenly you heard someone knock on your door. “Come in.” You said flatly. As the door opened, you looked up from your laptop, only to see Sam walk in, followed by Isaac, Colin and Dani. “How can I help you, boys?” You forced a smile on your face.

“Want to watch a movie with us tonight?” Asked Isaac, taking the lead. You looked at the quartet in front of you, unsure of what to say. “We can watch whatever sad movie you prefer, and Dani can bring some Mezcal.”

“Boys, I-” You started, but you were instantly cut off.

“Uh-uh!” The Welsh stepped forward. “We don’t want to hear any I’d rather be alone or I don’t want to be a bother bullshit, okay? We want to do this.”

“Yes, we only asked to be nice, but if you say no, we will just kidnap you and force you to do it.” Said Sam, a soft, warm smile on his face, as he leaned over your desk.

“Por favor, Y/N” Dani pled, showing you his big, brown puppy eyes.

“Fine!” You gave in. “On one condition: we order Chinese.”

They all look at each other, before bursting out laughing.

A/N: if you read all the way through, thank you ! feel free to leave a feedback/comment. i would love to know what you think about it and if you would be interested in reading more of this story. let me know if you would like to be put in a taglist for this fic! love you <3