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heliosunny · 4 months ago

Note

Hello. If it’s not too much trouble can you expand on the mydei marriage of convenience fic with reborn reader? I like it when there’s a lot of groveling so is there any chance maybe mydei remembers his past life and apologizes but reader still decides to leave him? I just wanna see him beg tbh. Thank you for all your hard work!

Yandere!Mydei x Reader

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The afternoon sun cast long shadows across the training grounds, the clash of steel and the thunder of hooves filling the air. You stood at the sidelines, arms crossed as you watched Mydei spar with one of his knights. His movements were as precise as ever, every strike measured, every defense calculated. It was almost frustrating how effortlessly perfect he always seemed.

You hadn’t wanted to come, but after his last stunt, drugging you to keep you by his side, he had insisted you accompany him today. "To ease your mind" he had said. You knew better. He just didn’t want to let you out of his sight.

You tried to ignore the way he would glance your way between exchanges, as if gauging your reaction. He always did that now, watching you, reading you, craving something you refused to give.

Then, one of the knights charged him too aggressively, their swords locking with a sharp screech of metal. Mydei twisted to avoid the blow, but his horse reared up at the wrong moment.

You saw the shift before it even registered in his eyes—the sudden loss of balance, the panic. He fell.

The world seemed to slow as his body hit the ground with a sickening thud. His head struck the packed dirt first, and for a terrifying moment, he didn’t move.

"Mydei!" someone shouted, knights rushing forward.

You felt yourself take an involuntary step closer, your breath caught in your throat. You had seen him fight countless times, had watched him walk away from battle unscathed—but now, he wasn’t getting up. When they turned him over, his eyes fluttered open, unfocused and dazed. Blood trickled from a gash on his temple. Then, he let out a sharp, strangled gasp—his entire body going rigid.

You frowned. "Mydei?"

He blinked rapidly, his breath coming in shallow pants. His hands clutched the ground beneath him as if trying to anchor himself.

And then, his gaze landed on you.

A choked sound left his throat—something between a sob and a gasp. His eyes widened in sheer terror, his fingers trembling as they reached toward you.

"Y-you’re here…" His voice was raw, broken. "I thought—I thought I lost you."

"What…?"

He struggled to sit up, his entire body shaking. "I remember—" He swallowed hard, his breath ragged. "I remember losing you. I remember everything."

"What are you talking about?"

"You died," he rasped. "I never got to tell you.....I never got to.." His voice cracked completely.

This wasn’t how things were supposed to go. You stared at him. Mydei—always so in control—was now trembling, eyes wide with something you had never seen before. True, genuine fear.

"I—" His breath hitched, hands gripping his chest as if something inside him was breaking. "You left me. You were gone, and I—" He shut his eyes, as if the memory physically hurt him. His voice, raw and desperate, trembled when he spoke again. "I tried to bring you back, but you were gone."

Your fingers curled into fists. He had to be lying.

"You expect me to believe that?" Your voice came out cold, sharper than you intended. "That you suddenly—remember a life where I died?"

Mydei let out a shuddering breath, his hands pressing into the dirt like he was barely holding himself together. "I was a fool" he whispered. "I was blind, selfish, and I didn’t see it until it was too late. Until I was standing over your grave, wishing I had just—" He cut himself off, sucking in a sharp breath.

You wanted to call him out on the dramatics, wanted to accuse him of manipulating you again.

But his eyes... His eyes weren’t filled with calculation. There was no smugness, no amusement, no control. Only raw, undiluted agony.

What if he was telling the truth?

"So what? Even if that's true—I’m alive now."

Mydei’s gaze snapped to you, frantic. "And I won’t make the same mistake."

He struggled to push himself up, despite the dizziness that made him sway. The knights around him hesitated, unsure whether to help or give him space. But Mydei didn't seem to care—his focus was solely on you.

"I won't let you go this time."

"You can't keep me here forever."

He took a step forward, his lips parting—but then, he faltered. His breath hitched, his body wavering unsteadily. And then, he collapsed.

The knights rushed to him, calling for a healer. You stood frozen, watching as he was lifted from the ground, his grip on consciousness slipping. Even as his vision blurred, his fingers twitched toward you.

"Don't… leave me again…"

----

The air outside was crisp, carrying the scent of damp earth and the faintest trace of blood from the practice field. You barely registered it, your mind still tangled with the weight of Mydei’s words.

"I remember everything."

It didn’t make sense. It couldn’t. The Mydei from your past life never cared—not when you loved him, not when you gave him everything, not even when you left him to his cold, indifferent world.

But this Mydei… this Mydei had fallen to his knees. He had begged. He had looked at you like you were the last thing tethering him to sanity.

No. It had to be a trick.

If he had been controlling before, this new desperation would make him unstoppable.

A sharp noise cut through the quiet.

Yelling. Inside the estate.

Without thinking, you turned on your heel, striding quickly back through the halls, your breath shallow as the shouting grew louder.

"My Lord, please—!" One of the servants' voices wavered in distress.

"WHERE IS Y/N?!"

You reached the entrance to his chambers and froze.

The room was in ruins. Tables overturned, drawers pulled from their places, glass shattered across the floor. Papers and books were strewn about, some crumpled, others torn.

Mydei's breath came in ragged gasps, his normally pristine attire disheveled. His hands trembled as they flipped through papers, knocking over more things in a frenzy. His eyes, wild and filled with a darkness you hadn’t seen before, darted around the room.

"Where is y/n?" he growled, his voice unsteady.

"M-My Lord— I believe they will return shortly-" The knight who had been tending to him took a cautious step back.

"LIARS!" Mydei roared, slamming his fist against the wall. The crack of impact echoed through the chamber, and the knight flinched. "You think I don't know?! You think I haven't seen this before?! Y/n left me!"

His voice broke, the fury in it twisting into something far worse. Something desperate.

It was then that he turned—and his eyes landed on you.

The moment he saw you, everything stopped. For a moment, he just stared, as if confirming you were real. He was already in front of you before you knew.

"Where did you go?" His voice was hoarse, barely above a whisper. "Why—why did you leave?"

"I didn't leave" you said, trying to stay calm. "I just went outside."

But that did nothing to ease him. His hands clenched at his sides, his expression crumbling further. "I woke up, and you were gone."

"You can’t do that" he whispered. "You can’t leave me—not again."

Mydei stood before you, his chest rising and falling in uneven breaths, his hands trembling at his sides as if he was barely holding himself together.

He’s losing it.

The room around you was still in ruins. He had torn through the place like a storm, like a man searching for something he thought he had lost forever.

"I thought it was happening again" he rasped. "I thought—" His breath hitched. "I thought I had woken up too late. That you were already gone, just like before."

"Mydei..." you started carefully, but he wasn’t listening.

"You don’t understand" he continued, almost frantic now. "I watched you die. I—I buried you. I swore, if I had another chance, I wouldn’t make the same mistake, but—" He clenched his fists. "But when I woke up and you were gone, I—I thought I lost you again."

"You’re scaring me" you admitted.

Something in him shattered at that.

For a moment, all the tension in his body seemed to crumble, his face twisting in agony. His hands—ones that had wielded swords, ones that had always been so steady—lifted slightly, reaching toward you before stopping just shy of touching you.

Then, he dropped to his knees.

The great and powerful Mydei—the same man who once viewed your love as nothing—now knelt before you, pleading.

"I’m sorry" he whispered, his voice trembling. "I’m so sorry. Please—don’t leave me. Don’t go. I’ll do anything."

For the first time, you didn’t know what to do.

The days that followed were suffocating. After the accident, after when he had fallen to his knees and begged you to stay, he was different.

He wouldn’t let you out of his sight.

His eyes constantly followed you—through the halls, across the gardens, even in the quiet moments of the evening when he was supposed to be resting. He would wake in the middle of the night, breath uneven, searching for you as if expecting you to vanish. And when he found you still there, his entire body would sag with relief.

But you stayed.

You told yourself it was because of duty, because it would be cruel to leave someone so vulnerable. Even if that someone was him.

So you took care of him.

You changed his bandages when he was too dazed to do it himself. You sat beside his bed when fever burned through him. You placed food before him even when he refused to eat, your words clipped but firm—"Eat, Mydei." And he always obeyed.

There was no smugness in his gaze now, no arrogance—only an almost childlike fear. Every time you so much as stepped away, his hand would twitch, as if fighting the urge to reach for you.

One evening, as you stood by the window, lost in thought, you felt the weight of his stare once more.

"You’re still here"

You turned to him, meeting his eyes.

"I said I would take care of you" you replied.

"If I had realized it sooner," he said slowly, his voice almost fragile, "that I loved you… would you have stayed?"

The silence stretched between you like a fragile thread, threatening to snap under the weight of his words.

You didn’t answer. Instead, you looked away, fixing your gaze on the flickering candle by the bedside.

"Mydei" you said evenly, carefully, "once you recover, I still want a divorce."

The room went deathly still.

When you finally dared to look at him, you saw it—the way his knuckles had turned white from gripping the sheets.

Then, ever so slowly, he laughed.

It was a broken, hollow sound.

"You…" His voice wavered, his golden eyes darkening as he forced himself to sit up despite his lingering dizziness. "You really don’t believe me, do you?"

"Even now," he murmured, running a trembling hand through his disheveled hair. "Even after everything, you still want to leave me."

"And if I say no?" he asked quietly.

"You don’t get to say no, Mydei. This marriage was never about love. It was more of a contract—one that should have ended long ago."

He clenched his jaw, his fingers twitching against the fabric of his robe.

"You think I care about that? You think a piece of paper ever mattered to me?"

You knew Mydei. You knew how he thought, how he worked.

And now?

Now, he was desperate. And desperate men did dangerous things.

"You’re not leaving me"

The tension never left after that night.

Mydei didn't argue with you anymore. He didn't beg like before. Instead, he acted.

Two weeks later, he left for war.

It happened so fast. One day, you were tending to his injuries, watching him pretend to be fragile under your care. The next, he was standing before his armored horse, fastening his sword to his hip, his gaze unreadable as he looked at you.

"Stay here."

That was all he said before he rode off, leading his army into battle.

And then, everything changed.

The night of his return was filled with thunderous celebration.

The palace was alive, tables overflowing with wine and food, nobles and warriors alike cheering Mydei’s name. He had crushed his enemies, strengthened his borders, and returned more powerful than ever. And yet, despite the laughter and praise surrounding him, his eyes never left you. You sat stiffly at the grand table, feeling the weight of his gaze from across the room. He hadn’t spoken to you yet, hadn’t approached. But you knew better.

Then, the room fell silent as Mydei stood.

A goblet in one hand, with his favorite drink-pomegranate juice, his other resting against the pommel of his sword, he cast his gaze over the gathered crowd. And when he spoke, his voice carried through the grand hall like an unbreakable decree.

"Tonight, we celebrate victory. Strength. The future."

A roar of approval filled the hall. But then—he looked at you.

And suddenly, the room felt too small.

"But there is something more important than war. More important than power."

He raised his goblet higher.

"My spouse."

No.

"The one who stood by my side, who has always belonged to me.. and always will."

The silence that followed was absolute.

Every noble, every knight, every single person in the room understood what that meant.

No one would dare touch you.

Because Mydei had just declared, before his entire court, that you were his. Forever.

And there was nothing you could do about it.

The ride back was tense.

The moment the palace doors shut behind you, the celebrations fading into the distance, you felt your breath grow heavier. You had barely spoken a word since his public declaration—since he had stripped you of any chance of escape in front of his entire court.

The carriage rattled over the cobblestone streets, the dim glow of lanterns casting long shadows against the walls. Mydei sat across from you, legs crossed, one arm draped lazily against the cushioned seat, his gaze locked onto you.

He was waiting.

Waiting for you to break the silence. Waiting for you to react.

You clenched your fists. Fine. If he wanted a reaction, you'd give him one.

"You had no right"

"No right to what?"

"You know what" you snapped. "You stood in front of everyone and acted as if I belong to you."

"You do."

Of course, he’d say that.

"You made sure no one would ever propose to me" you bit out. "Made sure that even after this, if I left, no one would dare take me in." Your eyes narrowed. "If I’m incapable of marrying anyone else, then I’ll live alone."

The words had barely left your mouth when he moved.

You barely had time to react before he caged you in, hands braced against the seat beside you, his face so close you could feel the warmth of his breath.

"You think I would allow that?" he murmured.

"You can’t control everything, Mydei."

"But I can control this."

"You don't get to disappear. Not into someone else's arms, not into isolation, not anywhere I can't reach you."

"You're mine" he continued, softer this time, as if speaking a sacred truth. "Even if you hate me for it."

The days after his declaration were unbearable.

Everywhere you went, his presence suffocated you. Servants eyed you carefully, knights stationed themselves near your quarters, and Mydei himself—always watching.

You had no more choices. No more options.

So you made one.

You locked yourself in your chambers and refused to come out.

No food. No water. Nothing.

At first, Mydei didn’t react. He knocked. Spoke through the door with that infuriatingly patient voice.

"This is childish, love."

You ignored him.

By the second day, his voice had lost its amusement.

"Open the door."

By the third, there was desperation.

"Please."

The fourth day was the worst.

He stopped knocking. He stopped speaking.

When you finally approached the door just for a quick peek.

He was still there.

Not standing.

Kneeling.

The great, untouchable Mydei—kneeling outside your door for days.

"I’ll stay here." His voice was raw now, hoarse from exhaustion. "I’ll wait. As long as it takes."

Let him beg. Let him suffer the way you had suffered.

But your body disagreed.

Weakness overtook you too fast—dizzy, lightheaded, breath slipping out in shallow gasps. You barely registered the way your legs buckled beneath you.

"No—!"

Then, the door shattered. Arms caught you before you hit the ground.

After ensuring you’re treated, Mydei refuses to leave your side. He sits by your bed, watching your pale face with an unreadable expression, fingers lightly brushing your wrist to feel the weak pulse beneath. The realization that you were willing to destroy yourself just to be free from him stirs something deep inside him. You would rather waste away than stay with him?

When you wake up, your body feels unbearably weak. Before you can even attempt to sit up, Mydei is already there, pushing you back down with gentle yet unyielding hands.

“You must be out of your mind” he murmurs. “To think I would ever allow you to leave me like that.”

He strokes your face, his touch both tender and suffocating. “I suppose I have been too soft with you.”

From then on, Mydei takes complete control. You are not allowed to leave the bed without his assistance. Meals are fed to you by his own hand, his sharp gaze watching your every bite, ensuring you don’t try anything reckless again.

Any protests are met with a condescending chuckle and an almost pitying look. “You thought starving yourself would make me agree to a divorce? Foolish.” He presses a soft kiss to your forehead. “You will never be free of me.”

If you had hoped to escape him, all you did was cement his resolve.

---

The room was dimly lit, the soft glow of candlelight casting shadows across the walls. You sat on the grand bed, feeling trapped beneath Mydei’s intense gaze. In his hand was a spoon filled with warm broth, yet you stubbornly pressed your lips together, refusing to take it.

Mydei sighed. “Still being difficult?”

You turned your head away. “I’m not hungry.”

“Not hungry? Do I have to remind you that you collapsed in my arms, barely breathing, and now you’re not hungry?” He set the bowl down beside him with a deliberate slowness before leaning in close, his breath warm against your cheek. “If you won’t eat willingly…”

Before you could react, Mydei scooped up another spoonful, bringing it to his own lips instead. Without a moment’s hesitation, he grasped your chin, tilting your face toward him. You barely had time to shake your head before his lips were on yours. The taste of the broth spread across your tongue as he deepened the kiss, his fingers tightening just enough to keep you from pulling away. Warmth, rich and lingering, forced its way into your mouth, and despite your resistance, you swallowed out of instinct.

He pulled back slowly, watching you with a satisfied smirk. “There,” he murmured, thumb brushing against your lips as if savoring the sight of you like this—breathless, defeated. “Was that so hard?”

You glared at him, but it only made his smirk widen. “If you refuse again,” he mused, taking another bite for himself, “then I’ll just have to feed you like this every time.”

“Now” Mydei purred, holding up another spoonful. “Shall we continue?”

You swallowed thickly, the taste of the broth still lingering on your tongue. Mydei watched you with patient amusement.

“I should punish you for making me resort to such methods” he mused, twirling the spoon between his fingers. “But I suppose the sight of you like this makes up for it.”

You turned your face away, unwilling to give him the satisfaction of seeing your expression. Your heart was pounding, a mix of anger, shame, and something you refused to acknowledge twisting inside you.

“Still refusing to speak? How stubborn.” He leaned in again. “You can glare at me all you want, but you will eat.”

Your hands clenched the sheets beneath you, frustration bubbling up. “You can’t keep doing this” you muttered, voice hoarse from disuse. “You can’t keep controlling me.”

“Oh? But haven’t I already?”

His hand cradled your jaw, forcing you to meet his gaze. “You gave me no choice, love. If you had simply stayed by my side like a good spouse, none of this would have been necessary.”

“You’re insane.”

Mydei laughed “I know.”

He took another bite of the broth and kissed you again, slow and deliberate. You shivered, unable to escape the warmth of his lips, the slow press of his tongue against yours. When he finally pulled away, he tilted your chin up with a single finger.

“Now, swallow.” he murmured, voice dangerously soft.

Satisfied, he ran his thumb across your bottom lip, tracing the slight quiver there. “Good” he praised, as if speaking to something fragile. “We’ll do this as many times as it takes for you to learn.”

Then he picked up the spoon again, and you knew the night was far from over.

----- The days passed, and you gradually regained your strength. But Mydei’s presence never wavered— always ensuring you ate, slept, and stayed within the invisible cage he had built around you.

At first, you remained quiet, resigned. But the more you recovered, the more your old self crept back in, the sharp tongue, the scoffs, the sarcastic remarks meant to push him away, if only a little.

One evening, Mydei sat beside you, offering a plate of food like always. You sighed, arms crossed. “What, are you going to spoon-feed me again? Should I just sit here and let you chew it for me too?”

Instead of being irritated, Mydei simply smiled, as if amused. “Would you like that?”

You scowled. “Absolutely not.”

He chuckled, setting the plate on your lap. “Then eat.”

You huffed but complied, stabbing at the food with more force than necessary. Mydei rested his chin on his palm, watching you with lazy satisfaction.

“You seem much livelier now” he observed. “I was starting to miss that sharp tongue of yours.”

“Oh, don’t tell me you actually like it when I insult you” you scoffed.

Mydei merely tilted his head. “I like anything you do, as long as you stay by my side.”

Your grip on the fork tightened. “And if I don’t?”

He smiled, reaching out to brush a strand of hair from your face. “Then I’ll simply remind you why leaving isn’t an option.”

You rolled your eyes. “Of course you will.”

Mydei only chuckled again, leaning back in his chair. “Go on, fight me all you want,” he mused. “Scoff, glare, push back—I’ll allow it.” His golden eyes darkened slightly. “But you will never ask for a divorce again. That, my dear, is something I will not tolerate.”

You met his gaze, something unspoken passing between you. The more you tried to escape him, the more he tightened his grip. And yet, in his own twisted way, he was letting you have this small act of defiance, as long as you stayed.

You hated how well he knew you.

Scoffing, you shoveled another bite of food into your mouth and turned away. “You’re insufferable.”

Mydei smiled.

#yandere x reader #yandere #hsr x reader #hsr x you #honkai star rail #yandere honkai star rail #yandere hsr x reader #yandere mydei #mydeimos #hsr mydei #mydei x reader #mydei #honkai star rail mydei

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fanficsat12am · 5 months ago

Text

Where the little lamb frolics (the little wolf follows)

As blood is spilled in the palace halls, Telemachus' greatest fight is not against the suitors, but against the helplessness that comes as he watches his beloved in the grasp of danger wc: 1.6k warnings: mentions of blood, violence, death, and implications of harassment credits of the art goes to the wonderful @gigizetz and @saradika-graphics for the dividers ❤️

As you ran through the palace's corridors, the sound of screams echoed off its marbled walls. Arrows sliced through the air with a sharp hiss, followed by a sickening squelch, a piercing shriek, and then, with grim finality, a heavy thud. The suitors who had parasitized the halls for decades were now either clambering to get to the doors or dead, their blood staining the previously white floors.

“Telemachus!” You frantically called out, head whipping in every direction as you continued to scan every face that passed by you in your search.

Your terror mounted with every step you took. The thought of your beloved joining the bodies lying on the ground sent a wave of dread that engulfed the pit of your stomach.

As you passed one of the palace’s storerooms, you heard the unmistakable striking of swords. Despite your instincts telling you to run, you knew that even if there was the slightest chance he’d be in there, you’d rather take that over nothing. Running inside, you find Telemachus locked in a fierce struggle, battling off more than a dozen suitors with a fiery determination in his eyes. The sounds of clashing swords and desperate grunts filled the air as your betrothed fought with a fire that left you both in awe and terror, each move calculated and precise, yet the odds seemed stacked against him.

You sighed in relief to see that the boy was at least alive, but the moment of respite was cut short as one of his opponents successfully disarmed him, his weapon skidding to the side.

Before you could call out to him, a rough tug at the back of your chiton cuts you off, sending you stumbling backward into something. Your blood ran cold as an arm wrapped around your torso and arms with a vice-like grip, their hot breath fanning the nape of your neck. As you tried to writhe your body from your captor's hold, you were met by the cold metal of a blade that pressed deeper into your throat with every move.

The man called out to a familiar face that stood in the middle of the room, Melanthius. You’d recognized him to be the king’s goatherd who provided the suitors the finest food and bent to their every will. His loyalty to the king had long been drowned, if it wasn’t obvious enough by how he had practically become one with the other suitors. A disgusting grin formed on the corners of Melanthius’ mouth as his gaze met yours, a dangerous glint shining through.

“It seems we’ve caught ourselves a little lamb” he taunts, stalking towards you.

Little Lamb. Telemachus knew that nickname anywhere.

His words made Telemachus’ head turn sharply your way, his eyes widening, brows drawing together. Despite all the training and lessons taught to him by the Goddess of Wisdom herself, his heart will always trump his mind when it comes to you. He felt the world stop as he saw the glistening metal drawn against your skin.

The momentary distraction had given the other suitors ample time to capture him, seizing his arms as their fingers dug into his skin like iron chains before pushing him onto his knees. He struggled against their hold, his gaze locked on you as his chest continued to rise and fall in ragged breaths.

Melanthius lets out a low chuckle, “Wherever the little lamb frolics, the little wolf will always follow suit.”

Each stride Melanthius took felt like a weight pressing down on Telemachus' chest, and with every inch the man drew nearer, Telemachus found himself aching—not just wanting, but needing to be by your side. In the prince’s eyes, the scene before him was no different from that of an innocent lamb poised to be pounced upon by a pack of ravenous wolves.

“Don’t you dare lay a hand on them!” he screamed, lurching in every way possible if it meant getting to you. Melanthius turned to look at the struggling prince, finding his futile display entertaining.

“You have no power here, young prince,” he snickered, pausing from his advance to you and instead walking to him, bending down to meet his eyes.

Telemachus glared at the man, “You may bleed the palace dry of its fortunes for all I care. But no harm shall befall my mother and my beloved for I swear by the gods that I shall make you and your men pay with your life” he growled, the fire of his fury continuing to blaze like the forge of Hephaestus that wanted to consume all that dared to stand in his path to you.

The suitor laughed, shaking his head in disbelief. His eyes glinted with a mix of arrogance and amusement as he stood again, making his way back to you. His footsteps fell heavily on the floor as he drew nearer as the air between you thickened with a tension so palpable it could almost be touched.

“Oh, Little Wolf, did you, in your naivety, truly think of them as fools who seek only treasure?” his voice was even and relaxed, masking how poisonous his words truly were.

“Your presence here has doomed the old king. And once we’ve slain him, noblemen shall rightfully take the throne. Along with it, Ithaca, the crown…” he pauses, taking hold of your chin. His stare held a sinister gleam, “and more.”

“No!” Telemachus screamed, the word cracking in the air, sharp and jagged.

Yet, beneath the force of his cry, there was an unmistakable sense of vulnerability, for he understood his helplessness. Despite having the goddess Athena by his side, he wasn't strong enough to shield you. And now, because of that, you were going to suffer. Amid the echo of his cry, there came a sickening squelch followed by a grunt of pain, laced with disbelief.

The grin that had once spread across Melanthius' face had twisted into a frown, crimson blood trailing from the corners. No one had noticed the king who now stood behind him, the attacker’s blade piercing through his chest.

Melanthius sputtered, the thick liquid rising in his throat making the task of speaking almost impossible.

“M…Mer-”

“Mercy?” Odysseus growled, his breath heaved as his teeth grated together. Beneath the unkempt locks of his hair concealed a gaze that flickered with intense rage.

“Mercy?” In a split second, an arrow had found its way to another suitor’s head, the sight leaving the others terrified.

The hands that once held Telemachus with a firm, iron grip had now loosened, now frozen in fear of their inescapable death. You saw the prince move with a speed so unmatched, it was as though the gods had blessed him with the swiftness of Hermes himself. For a brief moment, his eyes locked with yours, and you saw it—the same burning fury that consumed his father. It was wild, untamed, a storm that raged in the depths of his gaze. The prince was no longer a son or a man—he was a force of nature, unstoppable and fierce, bound only by the fierce will to protect what he loved.

With a speed that could only be born from the gods, he shot toward the nearest dory, his hand steady as he seized the weapon. In one fluid motion, he hurled it toward your attacker, its flight a blur of lethal intent. His once-compassionate regard for the suitors had vanished. Mercy had been swallowed whole by a tidal wave of unrelenting vengeance, a wrath so fierce it seemed to rise from the depths of the underworld itself.

You let out a shaking breath of relief as the chilling bite of the blade finally withdrew from your skin, leaving behind a lingering ache like the ghost of its touch. The sharpness of the metal still seemed to hum in the air, a haunting reminder of the danger you’d narrowly escaped. Your body trembled, weak from the shock, as if your very soul had been tested. The ground beneath you seemed to shift, threatening to give way as your legs buckled, but before you could falter, Telemachus’s strong arms enveloped you, pulling you into the shelter of his protective embrace.

As you pulled away, his hands gently cupped your face, tilting it with a quiet urgency.

"Are you alright, my love? Did they hurt you? Please, tell me you're safe."

His eyes searched every inch of your skin, scanning for any trace of injury, any sign of pain that might have been hidden. The touch was tender, yet the fear in his eyes was unmistakable. The world seemed to fall away as he focused, desperate to ensure that nothing, nothing had touched his beloved in any way that might cause hurt for it will only further cement that he had failed. Placing your hands atop his, you give him a gentle squeeze.

"I am well, Tele. Do not worry—" The words were cut short as a suitor’s shrill scream pierced the air, sending a shiver through the stillness. Without hesitation, Telemachus pulled you close, his strong arms wrapping around you as he shielded you from the chaos. As your cheek pressed against the warmth of his chest, you could feel the rapid thrum of his heart, pounding like a war drum in the silence between you. The scent of sweat and earth clung to him, a stark contrast to the cold fear that had gripped you only moments before. His body trembled slightly, not from weakness, but from the tension that came with knowing danger still lurked nearby. Yet, within the strength of his embrace, you knew there was no place safer in all the world.

"As long as I live, I won’t let anything happen to you. I swear it to you," he whispers, drawing you closer to him for he will not make the same mistake again.

#epic the musical #epic the musical x reader #reader insert #x reader #reader x character #telemachus x reader #telemachus #telemachus of ithaca #odyssey #the odyssey #epic telemachus #telemachus epic the musical #epic the ithaca saga #epic musical #epic ithaca saga #epic odysseus #ithaca saga

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hederasgarden · 6 months ago

Text

Ab Initio

Summary: Terrified and alone, you find comfort in an unlikely place - Rome’s mightiest Gladiator. Pairing: Lucius Verus x F!Reader Word Count: 2K Rating: Mature. Heavy angst with references to spousal death and SA. Author Note: This is a follow up to Post tenebras lux but in reality it is more of a prologue to that story. I intended to write an epilogue for the story, but I opened my google doc and this happened instead. Thank you to @ryebecca and @aliensupastar for their beta help. Please comment or reblog if you enjoyed this and want to see more. Or scream at me in my inbox. That always makes my day.

Everything about this place assaults your senses. The air is thick and stifling, heavy with the sour tang of blood, mixing with the acrid stench of the Gladiators' sweat and leather armor. It clings to your skin just like the weight of their eyes. You try to disappear into the folds of your dress, but there's no hiding from the way their stares strip you bare with every passing second.

You stumble in the unfamiliar sandals, the soft leather soles slick against the cold stone beneath you as Viggo pulls you along. No one has explained your presence here or told you what is to happen. One moment, you were in the kitchen and the next you were dragged into a bath that smelled of lavender and honey, your skin scrubbed raw by the hands of women who wouldn’t meet your eyes. They oiled you, perfumed you, and dressed you in intricate and lavish clothes more befitting of a Roman bride than a slave.

Macrinus marches ahead of you, the edges of his expensive robes dragging through the dust of the ground. He hasn’t even spared you a second look, beyond the brief, cursory inspection when he first laid eyes on you where he declared that you would do.

"Hanno," Macrinus calls out, capturing the attention of one of the Gladiators in the training yard.

The man he beckons is tall and commanding, his body a perfect balance of strength and leanness that's a testament to hard-won power rather than sheer bulk. His hair is a mass of curly brown locks that match his rugged beard, but it's his eyes — those deep, dark-set blue eyes — that are the most compelling thing about him. They miss nothing, taking in everything with a subtle, calculating sharpness. When he looks at you, it's not just a glance, it's an assessing, cataloging look.

Macrinus grasps your shoulders and angles you towards him. “I cannot yet deliver you the general's head but I hope you'll accept a consolation prize."

The words barely leave Macrinus’s lips before Hanno’s response rings out, as cold and flat as stone. "I have no need of her."

“Come now," Macrinus presses, voice laced with a light, almost teasing amusement, but something darker lurks beneath that veneer of geniality. "She’s here, and she’s yours if you want her."

Hanno just stares back, and Macrinus sighs.

"I have brought her all the way here," he continues, growing a little more insistent. "If not you, I’ll have to gift her to another. Or perhaps the men can share her.”

You thought you knew fear when your husband was killed as the general's army razed your city, but that’s a distant thing to what you feel now. Before you can stop it, a low, terrified sound slips from your lips. It breaks through the tightly held mask of composure you've tried to keep in place. Hanno’s attention snaps back to you in an instant. There’s something about how he looks at you that’s more measured than before, that makes your stomach churn. There's no compassion or kindness there, only a cold calculation. He looks at you like your discomfort is part of some game or unseen test.

You try to steady your breath, but the terror lingering in your chest is a living thing, crawling beneath your skin. It feels impossible to breathe. Macrinus watches the exchange with quiet satisfaction, but Hanno remains silent, his gaze never leaving you.

After what feels like an eternity, he finally speaks. "Very well. I will take her."

Macrinus claps his hands in approval, a sharp sound that cuts through the tense silence. "I told you when we first met that a slave dreams not of freedom, but of his own slaves," he says with a chuckle. "You are not so different, Hanno of Numidia."

Your new master hums, but says nothing else. A push from behind sends you stumbling forward, closer to him. Your heart races and panic surges through you as you instinctively try to pull away, but Hanno is too quick. His grip tightens around your wrist, the roughness of his calloused skin pressing against yours, warm and solid, despite the coolness in the air of the yard.

"Is that all?" he asks. He doesn’t sound particularly interested, just... expectant.

“Yes, yes, go enjoy your hard won prize,” Macrinus encourages with a knowing grin.

Hanno drops the wooden sword in his hand and shifts his grip to your waist. He spins you to face forward and marches you ahead of him. You’re too numb to resist, paralyzed by the overwhelming terror flooding your every nerve. It’s only when you catch sight of the iron gate of his cell that a flicker of resistance surges through your body. You dig your heels into the dirt and twist in his grasp. He doesn’t even flinch as you try to pull away; his body simply shifts with yours, pushing you forward.

“Please,” you beg. “Do not do this.”

“Stop,” he commands, but he doesn’t sound angry, just tired.

A scream claws its way up your throat but before the sound can carry, Hanno’s hand is there, pressing over your mouth. As he forces you against the stone wall, his body pressing you into the unforgiving surface, the hand not covering your mouth swiftly moves to the back of your head. His fingers splay wide, cradling your skull before it can slam into the cold stone. The gentleness of the gesture is startling and at odds with the force of his body pinning you against the wall. For a brief moment, his touch feels oddly tender, careful even, like he’s worried about hurting you.

"Easy," Hanno murmurs. “I will not hurt you, but you must calm.” His grip tightens slightly, just enough to make sure you feel his presence, and then he asks, his voice more serious, "Can you do that? Nod if you understand.”

After a moment of stunned silence, you nod.

His shoulders drop and the hand that’s been pressed over your mouth loosens a little, though his fingers still linger. “Good,” he praises and you blink, tears escaping the corner of your eyes. “If I remove my hand will you scream?” He asks.

You shake your head and the weight from your lips disappears. You take in a shuddering breath.

“Who are you?” He questions. “A concubine?”

The word stings, like a slap. You almost choke on them, but you gather enough strength to shake your head. "No. I-I work in the kitchen.”

You can see the confusion flicker in his eyes, quickly followed by something else. His voice comes out sharp, incredulous even. "The kitchen?"

“I do not understand what is happening,” you say. The words tumble out before you can stop them. “No one has told me anything. I was dressed and brought here.” A great swell of emotion sweeps through you and a weak, tearful sound escapes from your throat.

Hanno’s expression shifts. He steps back slightly, his grip loosening just enough to give you some space, but still firm enough to remind you that you’re not free to move. For the first time since this encounter began, there’s a crack in his composure, a flicker of guilt; perhaps even a trace of pity.

“You have nothing to fear from me,” he says, tilting his head to capture your attention. “I have no desire for you.”

No desire for you? The phrase is meant to comfort you, but all it does is add another layer of confusion to the mess of emotions churning inside. You can’t bring yourself to ask the question burning in your mind: Why, then? Why bring me here, if not for that?

“I will not hurt you,” he assures you again, before releasing your wrist. “But I cannot send you back. I cannot be sure Macrinus won’t punish you if I do.”

“Punish me?” You question. “I-I have done nothing wrong.” The sob that follows is involuntary, a sound so broken it seems to come from somewhere deep, primal. Like an unmoored boat caught in a violent storm, your emotions spin out of control, and everything you suppressed since you were brought to the arena tumbles out.

"They took me from my husband," you whisper through the tears, your voice barely audible. "My home." Your shaking hands grasp at the delicate golden chains draped around your neck and you tug at them desperately. The metal bends under your fingers, straining, until with a sharp snap, the delicate link breaks.

“Now they have reduced me to…to….this.”

You reach for the heavy jewels that hang from your ears next. They feel like anchors, pulling you deeper into a place that isn’t yours. With a final, desperate yank, you rip them free and they fall with a dull clink. Tears blur your vision, and you barely register Hanno’s movement as he steps closer. His presence is a sharp contrast to the turmoil inside you — steady, solid, unyielding. You expect him to dismiss your anguish and remind you of your place, but instead, he surprises you.

“I am sorry,” he says sincerely. “I am sorry they have taken so much from you, as they have from me. My wife.” He twists the thin golden ring on his pinky, a shudder passing through his body before he continues speaking. “My city. The only home I knew.”

His unexpected tenderness sweeps away the jagged edges of your panic, and you sink to your knees, exhausted. You press the heels of your hands into your eyes, smearing the carefully applied kohl. Hanno shifts closer, and when you pull your hands from your face, you’re unsurprised to find him kneeling in front of you.

“We have both known too much loss at the hand of Rome,” he begins. “But I promise you, I will shield you from what I can.”

“Why?” The question slips out before you take it back. What did he want from you if not service? What kindness is there left in the world for a slave?

His gaze shifts, hardening, and you can almost feel the change in him before the words come. “I am tired of fighting. Of inflicting pain, all in the name of Rome." He exhales and looks up at the sliver of sunlight that creeps through the bars of his window. “And perhaps because I could not save her,” he admits, his voice faltering.

When his attention returns to you he lifts a hand as if he means to touch you. It hovers just a breath away from your cheek before he drops it. “But I can help you.”

The vulnerability in his admission surprises you. You don’t know what to say nor how to react, but Hanno requires neither. He simply offers you his hand and pulls you to your feet when you accept. You let him guide you to sit on the cot, looking up at him tearfully.

“We should remain here for a while. The others will expect me to…” he trails off and you nod.

He settles himself on the opposite end of the bed and rests his elbows heavily on his knees, hanging his head forward. In the dim light, you can see how the lines of exhaustion etched into his face are deeper than you noticed before. What you can see of his arms and chest are a constellation of scars and bruises. Some are old and faded while others are fresh and raw. Each is a testament to the violence and suffering he's carried with him.

You look at your own hands, roughened in their own way from work over the years but compared to him, your body feels unmarked by anything significant. It seems impossible that you bear no scars, no visible traces of the grief and pain that consume you.

You don’t know if you can trust Hanno, but his promise feels like a bridge between the wreckage of your life and whatever might lie beyond this moment of darkness. You want to believe him. You want to hope.

It’s all that’s left to you now.

Next part of the series - Post tenebras lux

♡

My inbox is open for your thoughts on this story, requests for drabbles with Lucius and further scenes with Lucius and the Fisherman's Wife.

#lucius verus x reader #lucius verus #lucius verus x you #paul mescal #gladiator ii #gladiator 2 #post tenebras lux #Lucius and the Fisherman's Wife

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arilevenatz · 3 months ago

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Ateez as dark entities

Pairing: ot8!Ateez x reader

Genre: Dark shit

Warnings: dark and twisted themes, yandere themes, damn I suck at writing warnings, please lmk what I can add here

Synopsis: Ateez as dark entities who are obsessed with you. How would that go? (I would be writing this in the third perspective)

Masterlist

Hongjoong: The Puppeteer

A sinister mastermind who controls people’s actions like marionettes, manipulating reality with strings of fate. His words weave deception, pulling the world into his chaotic play.

He saw her in a crowd, but unlike the others, she wasn’t swayed by his unseen strings. Her free will intrigued him, an anomaly in his perfectly controlled world. He watched her for days, testing how much influence he had over her actions. When he realized she resisted, his obsession grew. He needed to break her, to weave her into his masterpiece—his perfect marionette.

At first, she wouldn’t even realize she was being controlled. Hongjoong would make subtle changes—her thoughts, her actions, her choices—until everything she did led her straight back to him.

Her friends would start acting differently, nudging her toward him. Strangers would mention his name as if he was always meant to be in her life. It was a web of manipulation, and she was tangled in it before she even knew.

The moment she tried to break away, she’d feel it—the invisible strings tightening around her wrists. She’d find herself going back to him, no matter how much she resisted. Even when she thought she was making her own choices, they all led back to Hongjoong.

By the time she realized she had never truly been free, it was too late. She was already a puppet in his hands.

Hongjoong wouldn’t resort to mindless violence. No, his punishments would be calculated—surgical.

A single flick of his fingers, and her limbs would move without her consent, forced into painful contortions. She’d feel the strain in her muscles, the stretch of her tendons beyond what they were meant to endure. But he wouldn’t let her break. Not yet.

“I don’t like hurting you,” he’d say, watching as she trembled under his control. “But if you insist on disobeying, I will teach you.”

And just when she thought she’d collapse from the pain, he’d release her—only to hold her close, stroking her hair as she whimpered. “See? If you just behave, you won’t have to suffer.”

Seonghwa: The Phantom Monarch

A cursed ruler who lingers between life and death, draped in shadows and whispering forgotten prophecies. His touch brings both solace and despair, a ghostly presence haunting his own kingdom.

She entered the ruins of his long-forgotten kingdom, unaware of the ghostly presence watching her. When she touched his throne, a flicker of warmth pulsed through his cold existence for the first time in centuries. He had been a ruler without a queen, a soul without purpose. Now, he had one. If she could make him feel, then she belonged to him.

Seonghwa’s trap was patience. He didn’t chase—he lured. Whenever she left a place, she’d feel his presence lingering behind, just out of sight.

She’d hear his voice in the wind, see his reflection in darkened windows. He became an inescapable part of her world, an unseen force watching her every move.

Then, one night, the world would shift. She’d wake up in a place that looked like her home but wasn’t. The furniture was the same, the air smelled familiar, but the sky outside was an endless void. The door wouldn’t open, the windows showed nothing but darkness.

She’d turn—and there he’d be, standing in the doorway. “You wandered too far,” he’d say, tilting his head. “Now, you can never leave.”

Seonghwa wouldn’t strike her. He wouldn’t even touch her.

But he’d make her feel like she was dying.

He’d whisper a few words, and suddenly, the air would vanish from her lungs. No oxygen, no relief—just the slow, creeping suffocation of her own body betraying her. He’d watch her fall to her knees, eyes wide in terror, clutching at her throat as she silently begged for mercy.

Only when she was on the verge of unconsciousness would he allow her to breathe again. He’d catch her before she hit the floor, his voice a soothing lullaby.

“I hate doing this,” he’d murmur, wiping away the tears streaking her face. “But you need to understand. You are mine.”

Yunho: The Hollow Jester

A deceivingly cheerful trickster whose laughter hides an empty soul. He thrives on others’ misery, playing twisted games that always end in despair, his mask concealing a haunting void

She laughed. It was a sound so genuine, so full of life—something he lacked. He saw her in the reflection of a shattered mirror, a place where only twisted souls should exist. But she was untouched, pure. He had to change that. He wanted to see how long she could keep that smile once she stepped into his world of madness.

Yunho would make her question reality itself. It would start small—objects moving from where she left them, voices whispering from places they shouldn’t be.

She’d see glimpses of him in mirrors, but when she turned around, he wouldn’t be there. He wanted to break her mind before he claimed her.

Then, one day, she’d wake up in a world that wasn’t hers. The people around her would wear empty smiles, their laughter hollow and unsettling. No matter where she ran, she’d always end up back at the same place—a grand, eerie carnival with no exit.

And at the center of it all, sitting on his throne of illusions, was Yunho, grinning as he held out his hand. “Welcome home.”

Yunho would turn it into a game—a cruel, endless game.

She’d wake up in a room she didn’t recognize, doors stretching in every direction. “If you can find the real exit,” his voice would echo from nowhere, “I’ll let you go.”

Desperation would push her to run, to fling open door after door, but each one led somewhere worse—a room full of mirrors reflecting her worst fears, a hallway that stretched infinitely, a pit of darkness with no end. The sound of his laughter would follow her, amused and patient.

Finally, when she was broken, exhausted, curled in a corner with silent tears, he’d crouch beside her, brushing her hair back. “See?” he’d whisper. “You’re always safest when you stay with me.”

Yeosang: The Watcher in the Mirror

An entity that exists within reflections, observing silently and waiting for the right moment to step into reality. Those who meet his gaze feel their deepest fears manifest before them.

She looked into the mirror, and he looked back. Unlike the others, she didn’t turn away in fear. She stared, as if searching for something. That was the first time someone acknowledged his existence without terror. He had been watching her long before she noticed him, but now, she had seen him. And once you see the Watcher, he never lets you go.

Yeosang never had to chase her—she was the one who kept looking for him. Every time she passed a reflective surface, his eyes were there, watching.

She should have stopped looking, should have turned away. But she didn’t. Curiosity turned into obsession, and that was his trap.

One day, she’d reach out to touch the glass, and it wouldn’t be solid anymore. Instead of her reflection, it would be his hand reaching back. A single pull, and she’d fall through, tumbling into his world—a place made of endless reflections, where only he could find the way out. But there was no escape.

“You searched for me,” he’d whisper, his lips brushing against her ear. “Now, you’ll never stop seeing me.”

Yeosang would make her lose herself.

The first cut would be shallow—a single line down her palm, bleeding just enough to stain the floor. But the reflection in the mirror? It would be so much worse.

In the glass, she’d see herself covered in wounds, skin marred by deep, jagged gashes. Her breath would hitch—was it real? She’d feel no pain, but the sight alone would break her, make her wonder if her body was even her own anymore.

“Which version of you do you think is real?” Yeosang would ask, voice soft, cruel. “The one standing here? Or the one who’s already been ruined?”

By the time he was done, she wouldn’t be sure if she was whole anymore.

San: The Wrathborn Beast

A relentless, cursed creature with uncontainable fury, lurking in the darkness and striking with unmatched ferocity. His hunger for vengeance keeps him shackled in eternal torment.

She was the first to step into his cage without trembling. His rage had driven everyone away, but she stood there, eyes locked with his, unafraid. He hated it at first—the way she didn’t cower. But then, he realized something. If she could stand before a monster without fear, then she was strong enough to endure him. He didn’t want to be alone anymore, and she was the only one worthy of staying.

San knew she was drawn to him despite the danger. He let her think she had control, that she could leave whenever she wanted. But every time she walked away, something inside her ached. She craved the thrill, the way his presence sent a shiver down her spine.

That was his trap—making her believe she chose him when, in reality, he had chosen her from the start.

The day she finally tried to leave for good, he didn’t stop her. Instead, he let her feel the emptiness, the unbearable absence of him. And when she inevitably returned, desperate for the chaos only he could give, he was waiting.

“You walked into the lion’s den, little lamb,” he murmured, arms caging her in. “You should’ve known you’d never walk out.”

San wouldn’t hold back. He wouldn’t lie to himself about what he was doing.

When he was angry, when she had truly pushed him too far, his grip would be punishing. His fingers would dig into her skin hard enough to bruise, his voice low with fury.

“You want to run? Fine. Let’s see how far you can crawl.”

A single shove would send her to the floor, and he wouldn’t help her up. Instead, he’d watch as she struggled, as she realized how weak she was compared to him.

And when she finally gave up, when she curled up at his feet, he’d sigh—exhausted, but satisfied.

“Don’t make me do this again,” he’d whisper, pulling her into his arms despite her flinching. “I don’t like hurting you. But I won’t let you leave me either.”

Mingi: The Nightmare Poet

A being whose words shape reality, crafting dreams that turn into horrifying nightmares. His voice echoes in the minds of those who hear him, driving them to madness.

She dreamed of him before they ever met. His words had slipped into her mind, shaping her thoughts, her fears, her desires. He whispered stories in the dead of night, and she listened. When she finally saw him in the waking world, there was no shock—only recognition. She had belonged to him from the first nightmare, and now, he was here to claim her.

Mingi’s trap was set long before she ever met him. He had been in her dreams for weeks, whispering poetry laced with shadows, planting fears only he could soothe.

Every night, she dreamed of him. Every morning, she woke up with the lingering echo of his voice in her mind. She should have been afraid, but she wasn’t. She was drawn to him, to the way his words made her feel like she belonged in his world of nightmares.

Then, one night, she wouldn’t wake up. She’d open her eyes to find herself in a realm made of her own fears, with Mingi standing at its center.

“You kept listening,” he’d say, a slow smirk tugging at his lips. “And now, you’ll never wake up without me.”

Mingi’s cruelty would be subtle—a slow, creeping thing.

She’d wake up with her memories altered. One moment, she’d remember everything—the pain, the fear, the desperate attempt to run. The next? She’d remember nothing but warmth, love, the softest touch.

Which was real? Which was a lie?

She’d claw at her own skin, desperate to remember what was true. And Mingi would watch, amused, patient.

“You’re overthinking,” he’d coo, pulling her hands away so she couldn’t hurt herself further. “Just trust me. I’ll tell you what’s real.”

And by the time he was done, she wouldn’t even realize she had ever wanted to leave.

Wooyoung: The Siren of Shadows

A deadly seducer whose beauty and charm lure souls into eternal darkness. His whispers are irresistible, drawing victims into an abyss from which they can never escape.

She heard his voice first, a soft melody in the dark. It called to her, leading her deeper into the unknown. He watched her hesitate, but her curiosity won. When she finally laid eyes on him, she was already too far gone. He smiled. She had walked willingly into his grasp, and now, he would never let her leave.

Wooyoung’s voice was her downfall. It was everywhere—in the music she listened to, in the whispered words she thought were her own thoughts.

He sang her name in the wind, in the rustling of leaves, in the quiet hum of the night. The more she listened, the more she needed to hear him. That was his trap—addiction.

By the time she realized she was bound to his melody, she was already too deep. His voice was the only thing that felt real.

And when he finally stood before her, holding out his hand, she didn’t resist. “You’ve already fallen,” he murmured, lips brushing her ear. “Now, let me pull you under.”

Wooyoung wouldn’t need to use force. Love itself would become her prison.

He’d kiss her through the pain. His lips would trail over bruises he had left, his fingers tracing over the bite marks he had carved into her skin.

“I don’t want to hurt you,” he’d whisper against her lips, voice trembling with emotion. “But you keep forcing me to.”

And the worst part? He’d be so gentle afterward. He’d hold her in his arms, press kisses to every wound, wipe away her tears with shaking hands. Guilty. Apologetic.

But he’d do it again. And again.

Until she stopped trying to fight it.

Jongho: The Titan of Ruin

A monstrous force of destruction, his strength shatters worlds. He is an unstoppable force, cursed to bring devastation wherever he treads, his very existence a harbinger of doom.

He found her in the aftermath of destruction—standing amidst ruin, untouched by the chaos he created. She should have run. She should have feared him. But she didn’t. Instead, she reached out, as if daring to touch the force that could crush her in an instant. He had never hesitated in destruction, but for the first time, he held back. If she was unafraid of his power, then she was the only one worthy of standing beside him.

Jongho didn’t need tricks or illusions—his trap was raw, undeniable power. He was a force of nature, and she was the only one who dared to stand before him.

He let her believe she could handle him, that she could walk away whenever she wished. He admired her stubbornness, but he knew the truth—she was already his.

When the time came, he didn’t give her a choice. The ground beneath her feet would shatter, the walls around her would crumble. There would be no escape, no safety. And when she turned to him, the only solid thing amidst the chaos, he’d hold out his hand.

“The world is too fragile for you,” he’d murmur. “Stay with me. I’ll make sure nothing ever takes you away.”

Jongho wouldn’t need tricks or illusions. He would simply remind her of who was stronger.

The moment he caught her, he’d pull her against his chest, his grip firm—unbreakable. “Are you done?” he’d ask, voice calm, but with an edge that sent shivers down her spine.

And when she refused to answer, when she still clung to the last scraps of defiance, he’d hold her tighter. Until she gasped for air, until she realized there was no winning against him.

Only then would he let go, letting her crumble to her knees. “Next time,” he’d murmur, crouching beside her, “I won’t be so gentle.”

But she knew there wouldn’t be a next time. Because now, whenever she even thought about running… she’d remember the feeling of his arms caging her in, and she’d know—

She’d never escape him.

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marcyvamp1re-blog · 6 months ago

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Could you do platonic yandere Bucky barnes x teen reader who is a super soilder. The reader is like 13-14 and was apart of Hydra like him but escaped. After the avengers and bucky find reader, bucky takes them under is wing after the reader escaped hydra

「 LITTLE SOLDIER 」

Synopsis; Trapped in the darkness of his obsession, desperately seeks to reclaim a child lost in his past. After discovering that someone else has taken him in, his broken and twisted mind drives him to commit an unimaginable act of violence. Is it salvation, or a curse? In Bucky's mind, everything makes sense. But who is the true monster here?

Pairing ── James 'Bucky' Barnes x Super Soldier! Teen! Reader. (Platonic!)

Content. MDNI ⚠︎ ── Dark themes, violence/death, blood, insolation, invasion of privacy, kidnapping?, delusion, Angst, murdering, child abuse, Disturbing Content, Unhealthy Obsession, Gaslight, Mental Illness, Corruption, Isolation, Paranoia, Manipulation.

A/N ── English is not my first language — Spanish — Ahhh, it took me forever to post this, I know . I’m so sorry! I got so caught up in other things that I completely forgot about how the Winter Soldier was… and now that I’ve seen him again, what a nostalgia hit! It’s like time hasn’t passed, but at the same time, everything feels so different. Like every time you see him, you discover something new about him, you know?

Yandere! WS! Bucky Barnes who... observed the way your eyes filled with terror as you saw him, a mix of fear and confusion, like a creature trapped in a cage, unsure how to escape. Hydra had molded you, but it had also stripped you of your essence. Like many before you, you were a piece of a gear, meant to be used, controlled, and destroyed when no longer needed. You didn’t understand why you had been chosen for the experiments or how you had ended up here, you only knew you were fragile and that nothing in Hydra was truly "safe."

Yandere! WS! Bucky Barnes who... approached you with calculated coldness, like a shadow crawling in the dark. His gaze, initially empty due to the lobotomy, seemed to fixate on you now, as if a spark of humanity had reignited in his mind. His eyes didn’t shine with empathy, but with a dangerous curiosity. "Little one... how did you survive?" he murmured, more to himself than to you. The idea that someone so fragile could endure Hydra’s tortures, the serum, the constant pressure, intrigued him. But that curiosity soon turned into obsession. The protection he felt for you wasn’t a natural instinct, but one imposed by Hydra, who had ordered him to watch over you, keep you alive, but also keep you under control. You didn’t know that control would become your worst nightmare.

Yandere! WS! Bucky Barnes who... watched as you were subjected to more and more experiments. The nights of training were long, endless, filled with violence and blood. But the worst part wasn’t Hydra’s violence, but the way Bucky treated you. Sometimes, his low and calm voice filtered through the screams of others, speaking to you in a tone that seemed meant to be reassuring, but deep down, it chilled your blood. "Don't worry, you'll do fine. Everything will be fine, you just have to follow my orders." What else could you do but obey? Desperation, the feeling of being trapped in an endless cycle of pain and humiliation, enveloped you like a cloak. And he... he was there, always watching, always waiting. But Sometimes, when your eyes met his, you saw something else, something that made you shudder: the echo of the darkness that once was Bucky, the shadow that could no longer be erased

Yandere! WS! Bucky Barnes who... began following you with palpable obsession, as if you were his property, an object he had to protect at all costs. He no longer confined himself to Hydra’s orders. He found you in every corner of the facility, his presence a constant shadow behind you. "Don’t stray from me, do you hear?" His voice was colder, sharper. Every time you tried to escape, even in your thoughts, the fear of facing him became a constant threat. But something in his gaze had changed, and it wasn’t concern for your well-being. It was control. It was possession. And you had become just another pawn in his game, as captive to him as you were to Hydra.

Yandere! WS! Bucky Barnes who... mistreated you in ways you couldn’t comprehend, and the worst part was that after every hit, every cruel order, he would always return to you with a vacant smile, repeating the same words: "I do this for your own good." Why did he do it? Was that his way of showing you there was still some humanity left in him? Or perhaps, he could no longer distinguish between his own identity and Hydra’s orders. Every time he hit you, every time he left you marked, you could feel the confusion in his gaze, as if it wasn’t him acting, but something bigger, darker, that had taken his place.

Yandere! WS! Bucky Barnes who... after the last failed mission, when you faced an enemy stronger than you could handle, Bucky took you to his side, pressing you against his chest, soaking you in his blood and yours. "Don’t worry, I won’t let them hurt you," he whispered, his voice rough and full of desperation. The obsession he had felt for you, growing over the years, exploded in a scream. He wanted you to know that you, you alone, belonged to him. And though he feared you, that obsession had replaced everything else. Hydra had turned Bucky into a machine, but now he only wanted to have you under his control, beyond what he understood or wanted to admit.

Yandere! WS! Bucky Barnes who... was no longer just a Hydra soldier. He was a monster created by the shadows of the past, and your presence in his life was the only thing that kept him tied to something human, something he could never control. He looked at you with blind madness, he needed you, but worst of all: he feared you. And while he kept you captive with his cold hands and broken mind, what was left of his humanity slowly faded, leaving only a sick need that not even he could comprehend.

Yandere! WS! Bucky Barnes who... saw you fade into the shadows, like a whisper in the dark, escaping from his reach. Panic struck him like a torrent, but not in the way one might expect. It wasn’t just the fear of losing you, but the feeling that something had been taken from him, something he could not recover. You had escaped, and it was his fault. Hydra wasn’t going to let him go so easily. With a roar of fury, he ran through the hallways, his heart pounding. "Come back here! Don’t you dare run from me!" he would shout, but his voice only echoed in the empty corners, with no answer. He knew it was too late, that you had already escaped, and something inside him began to break, a part of his mind crumbling under the weight of his own guilt.

Yandere! WS! Bucky Barnes who... felt Hydra drag him back into their control, like a shadow that devoured him slowly. The anxiety of losing you wasn’t just a worry, but a madness that ate away at him from the inside. His superiors, with their cold and commanding voices, ordered him not to pursue you, to let you go. "You are nothing but a tool for us, Soldier. If she escapes, it doesn’t matter. You must complete your mission." But Bucky didn’t listen. He couldn’t listen. All he could hear was the sound of your breath, your distress, and how your figure faded from his reach. All he wanted was to see you again, to take your hand, and never let you go. But he couldn’t, he couldn’t escape Hydra’s grasp.

Yandere! WS! Bucky Barnes who... was once again subjected to Hydra’s yoke, as if he were a machine with no right to feel. Every attempt to escape their control was useless. Every attempt to rebel against what was expected of him only led to deeper torture. Physical pain, mental pain, it didn’t matter. He felt nothing anymore, only the constant sting of despair over your loss. Hydra had broken him once again, but this time, the feeling of losing you consumed him in a far worse way. You were gone, and he was to blame. How could he have allowed you to escape? How could he have failed to protect you?

Yandere! WS! Bucky Barnes who... in his desperation, sank into madness. He became a wandering specter within Hydra’s facility, every dark corner becoming more torturous than the last. Every second, his mind fragmented, the images of your face, your frightened eyes, repeating over and over like an echo he couldn’t silence. "You’ll come back, right? You’ll come back to me..." he whispered alone, but there was no answer. And when Hydra finally decided to send him on a mission against the heroes, his mind was on the edge of collapse. It was yet another sacrifice by the same machinery that had created him.

Yandere! WS! Bucky Barnes who... when the Avengers found him and freed him from their control, reality hit him hard. The internal war between his desire for redemption and his madness over losing you exploded in his chest, like an emptiness so deep it seemed to swallow everything. There, in the midst of battle, the truth crushed him: “I let you escape… I failed you...” Panic enveloped him, and his teammates, while helping clear his mind of Hydra’s shadows, didn’t know the truth behind his suffering. They knew Bucky had been manipulated, but they never understood that for him, the true enemy had been guilt. The guilt of letting you slip away, the guilt of not keeping you under his control, of not protecting you when it was his only mission.

Yandere! Bucky Barnes who... had spent so long, years, fighting to find something that would redeem him, something that would pull him out of the abyss Hydra had thrown him into. The Avengers had accepted him, and little by little, the darkness that once dominated his mind began to fade. He had reconciled with Steve Rogers, his old friend, his brother. The wounds of the past began to heal, and at last, Bucky could feel something close to peace. He had found a purpose fighting alongside the heroes, protecting the innocent, trying to make right all the destruction he had caused in his life. But though his soul seemed to find some calm, his heart was still a battlefield. The obsession with you never disappeared. It was something that stayed hidden in the depths of his mind, where guilt and despair never completely abandoned him. Every time someone mentioned a child or a young person with traits or abilities similar to yours, a shiver ran down his spine. What if it was you? What if he found you again? That was always his broken hope, his private demon that never stopped haunting him.

Yandere! Bucky Barnes who... walked through the city on a regular day, like any other, without expecting something so deep and disturbing to happen. The air was fresh, and the city thrummed with the normality of everyday life. Children played in the park, adults walked calmly, unaware that something sinister lurked in the shadows. It was then that he saw him. A teenager, about 13 or 14 years old, with his hair falling messily over his forehead. But it was something more that made Bucky freeze in his place: that small mark on his arm, almost faded, but unmistakable. The same Hydra mark that had been etched into your skin, the symbol that had marked him too, that had made him its own. The mark he would never forget.

Yandere! Bucky Barnes who... felt like the world was crumbling beneath his feet. His heart began to race, his breathing erratic. It couldn’t be... It couldn’t be that after all this time, after all the suffering, after the guilt he had carried for years, he would find you like this, so close, yet so far. His legs trembled, his fingers clenched into fists, trying to hold on to any semblance of sanity while the emotion drowned him. The teenager didn’t look at him, distracted by his own thoughts, but Bucky couldn’t stop staring at him, observing every small detail. Everything about him screamed that it was you. "It’s... It’s my child." He thought, but his mind was so fragmented that he didn’t know what to do with the feeling overtaking him. Terror and hope mixed like poison in his veins.

Yandere! Bucky Barnes who... began to walk slowly, as if approaching a specter, as if he feared that by getting closer, the dream would vanish. The elderly couple didn’t notice him, and the teenager remained as oblivious to his presence as if everything were in place. But Bucky knew something had changed, that this was the opportunity he had been waiting for, even though his mind was so confused he didn’t know if it was a dream or a nightmare. Each step he took toward you made him feel more and more desperate, more anxious, as if an abyss were opening beneath his feet. "Should I do it? Should I get closer? Would he want to see me?" he thought, his hands trembling with uncertainty and guilt. Time had passed, but for him, the child he had lost was still the same, and his madness made him think that maybe he could still fix it, repair what he had destroyed, as if he could take your hand again and tell you everything would be fine.

Yandere! Bucky Barnes who... finally crossed the threshold of doubt. With each step toward you, his mind emptied of logic, and the only thing he felt was a wild urgency, a deep desire for everything to return to how it was before. He only thought of the child he had let go, the child who had been marked by Hydra, the child who was now here, in front of him, unaware that his savior was also his jailer. With his heart pounding, a mixture of fear and hope, Bucky took the last step and stood before you, his gaze filled with twisted and anxious devotion, while his lips whispered almost breathlessly, as if he couldn’t believe what he was seeing. "It’s you... it’s really you, right?"

Yandere! Bucky Barnes who... watched as your face, upon noticing his presence, transformed from a calm expression to one of pure panic. The eyes of that teenager widened as if he had seen a ghost, his body instinctively recoiling, a visceral reaction to seeing him. The fear reflected in your gaze was like a dagger stabbed into his chest. His fractured and obsessed mind didn’t understand what was happening at that very moment. He couldn’t comprehend how, after everything he had done, after the life he had stolen from you, you could still be so afraid of him.

Yandere! Bucky Barnes who... felt something twist inside him. It was pain, but also anxiety, a sensation that suffocated him when he saw you take a step back, trembling all over. And then, to his horror, something he hadn’t anticipated: you started to cry. Tears began to stream from your eyes, as if your body couldn’t contain the fear any longer, and Bucky froze at that moment. How could it be that he caused you so much pain, even now? "No... I didn’t want to scare you," he thought, but his thoughts couldn’t reach you. The horror in your face was a warning that you never, ever wanted to see that monster you once were again.

Yandere! Bucky Barnes who... watched as you turned and began to run, your figure quickly disappearing into the crowd. Anguish enveloped him, the fear of losing you again made him react in desperation. He tried to reach you, to shout at you, but his legs seemed incapable of moving quickly enough. "Wait, please!" he screamed in his mind, but the words didn’t leave his lips, they were trapped in a sea of madness. You were gone. And Bucky, with a broken heart, stood there frozen as your figure vanished before him, like an illusion he couldn’t hold onto.

Yandere! Bucky Barnes who... couldn’t stand it. He couldn’t let the tragedy repeat itself. Using his sharp tracking skills, he delved into Stark and SHIELD’s technology, recovering all available resources to follow you, to know who you were now. The Avengers helped him, yes, but what he needed most was to find an answer, a solution, something that would lead him to you. Every second that passed without knowing about you was driving him crazy, feeding his need for possession, his urgency to have you, to protect you, to reclaim you.

Yandere! Bucky Barnes who... for days, Bucky unearthed information, tracked records, and dove into the Stark and SHIELD databases. Nothing stopped him. He knew your Hydra mark would give you away, that even if the scar was almost erased, someone, somewhere, would know something. And so, it was how he finally uncovered the truth: you had been adopted by a local family in the city. In fact, they lived in a quiet neighborhood, far from everything that could have been your past. A loving family, seemingly, who had given you a home and a life he could never offer. The revelation overwhelmed him. They had forgotten you, but to him, you were no ordinary child. You would always be his child, the one he had left behind and now could not let go.

Yandere! Bucky Barnes who... felt a growing rage inside him as he clung to the new information. How could someone else take his place? How could he allow it? The people who had adopted you, those strangers who treated you as their son, didn’t know what was behind you. They didn’t know what Hydra had done to you, what he had done, what he had promised you. And in Bucky’s mind, that only meant one thing: he wasn’t going to let them go on with their peaceful life. You belonged to him, and although the idea of being a father terrified and disgusted him, to Bucky, all of that boiled down to an unhealthy obsession with possessing what he had lost. Reconciliation with his own past didn’t matter because, at that moment, only you mattered.

Yandere! Bucky Barnes who... couldn’t stop thinking about how, after everything that had happened, you could be happy with a life he hadn’t been able to give you. But the guilt consumed him. Every time he thought about the family that had adopted you, his mind filled with dark shadows, disturbing thoughts about what he could do to "protect" you from them. He knew his obsession was becoming more dangerous, darker, but he could no longer stop. He couldn’t lose you again.

Yandere! Bucky Barnes who... couldn’t bear the fact that someone else had you, someone who didn’t know your pain, your suffering, or your true story. When he found the house where you lived, his mind twisted even more. Steve’s warning still echoed in his ears, his friend insisting: "Bucky, don’t do this. You can’t go on with this madness." But the warning was useless. To him, there was no turning back. Steve’s words no longer had power over him, fear, guilt, or remorse faded into the darkness. The only thing left was the sick desire to have you back, to "save" you from those people who were "usurping" you.

Yandere! Bucky Barnes who... infiltrated the house, getting rid of any security or surveillance as if they were mere obstacles in his way. No one in the house knew what was about to happen. The darkness of the night enveloped him as his footsteps echoed silently down the hallway. He moved with the precision of a predator, his breathing calm and cold, knowing exactly what he was going to do. The first victim was the adoptive father, a man who never saw the danger coming, a lethal shadow that pounced on him, and before he could react, Bucky had already silenced him brutally. With a precise blow, the blood spilled mercilessly, staining the floor and walls as Bucky continued his mission without a hint of emotion on his face.

Yandere! Bucky Barnes who... killed the adoptive mother with the same efficiency. It didn’t matter who they were, whether they were young or old, if they had raised the child with love, their presence in the life of his child was the only thing that mattered. As his knife sank in again and again, the blood flowing from the victims formed a river of chaos and death. The rooms of the other adopted siblings became a massacre without remorse, their bodies fallen in silence, as if their lives had no value in the face of his obsession with you. The metallic shine of the blood on the walls, the way the lights reflected on the surfaces of the house, only fueled his euphoria. No one in the house survived, they all fell to his unstoppable violence.

Yandere! Bucky Barnes who... finally ascended the stairs, his mind shadowed by what he had just done, but without remorse. He reached your room and stopped at the door. You could hear his breathing, heavy but calm, as if everything was under his control. And then, he saw something that made him smile, that twisted and macabre smile only he could show: you. You were asleep, unaware of the chaos that had just unfolded downstairs. There was no way you could hear the screams, the sounds of blood being spilled. You were just there, resting as if nothing had happened.

Yandere! Bucky Barnes who... approached your bed, his hand trembling slightly as he watched you. The horror of what he had done no longer mattered. The only concern in his mind was seeing you, the child he had lost, again. You belonged to him. Madness enveloped him as he looked at your innocent face. He leaned down to you, and in a soft voice, he whispered through subtle laughs, his warm breath on your ear: "I’m so happy to see you, little soldier. You don’t have to be afraid anymore. No one will hurt you again." The softness of his words completely contradicted the sea of blood he had left behind, but to him, it all made sense. He had brought you back. Finally, after so much suffering and pain, he had claimed you.

The floor was covered in blood, the echoes of the massacre ringing in his mind, but all he could focus on was you. You, his lost child, his little soldier. He watched you while you slept, completely unaware of what had just happened around you. And despite the violence, despite how horrible everything had been, he was happy. He knew that from now on, everything he touched, everything he desired, he would steal for himself. And finally, Bucky Barnes, the Winter Soldier, felt that his life had regained something he could never have: control.

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koiiiji · 8 months ago

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disaster

tw ; NSFW DNI IF YOU ARE MINOR!!! this work contains really disgusting topics such as incest and suggestive content, don't read it if you are not okay with such works!!! remember, we highly condemn such behaviour in real life!!

air felt thick, suffocating. you knew about Shingen’s death, the whole estate has been turned upside down, screams and noises of fight followed like shadows. Shintaro Yamazaki had always been cold, but the man who now stood in your doorway was unrecognizable — drenched in blood, eyes wide with a mix of fury and madness.

he was no longer the composed, strategic older brother you once knew. he was something far darker.

“i followed the rules,” he growled, stepping into the room, his voice trembling with a barely contained rage. his hands were still wet with blood — your brother's. "all my life, i did what i was told. obeyed the rules and traditions. stayed in line. and for what?"

you took a step back, but there was nowhere to go. his gaze was locked on you, burning with something dangerous. Shintaro's body trembled with fury, a man who had been stripped of every sense of control.

“for lies,” he spat, voice breaking. “i was the older one. me. not him.” his breathing became erratic, his fists clenched so tight that his knuckles turned white. “i gave everything to Shingen, all the power, all the respect… and what did i get?”

he paced like a predator in a cage, his movements jagged and uneven, his mind unraveling right in front of you.

“years. wasted years, living under his shadow… for nothing,” he seethed. “all that loyalty, all the sacrifices — lies!”

suddenly, he stopped and looked at you. his eyes, once calm and calculating, were wild, filled with madness and something far more disturbing. he moved closer, and you could feel the raw tension radiating from him.

“you…” his voice was quieter now, but dripping with venom. “you’re still here. you weren’t part of all this lie… but you were always watching.”

before you could react, Shintaro’s hand wrapped around your wrist, pulling you closer. his grip was painful, his body trembling with rage and something deeper — something unhinged. his face was inches from yours now, and you could see the flicker of something other than anger in his eyes.

he wasn’t here to kill you.

not yet.

“you’ve always been there,” he murmured, his voice softening in a way that was far more dangerous than his earlier rage. “but thankfully you mean no harm... you are the youngest, right, little bird? you mean no threat for me becoming the next head of Yamazaki.” he caught your other wrist, pressing you with all his body to the wall. with a horribly languid, soft voice, he kept purr into your ear “maybe i kept you around for this. you've been such a good little sister... maybe that’s why i will let you live.”

you froze, feeling your pulse spike in terror. his other hand moved to your face, brushing a lock of hair away with disturbing tenderness, his blood-stained fingers leaving a red streak against your skin. he leaned in closer, his breath hot against your cheek, and whispered, “Shingen been neglecting you for so long... but now, you don't need to worry, now you're mine... i will take good care of you”

you tried to pull away, but his grip tightened. his eyes gleamed with a twisted satisfaction as he looked down at you, completely in control.

“you never lie to me, did you?” he asked, almost mockingly. “yes, you were such a good girl for your brothers...” his hands tighten around your wrists, and his knee forcefully pushed between your legs, making you feel a nasty, warm pressure on your inner thigh.

rage in his voice had transformed into something colder. slowly he coming to his senses, more cold, more calculated. he wasn’t here to kill you — not yet. he had other plans. plans that would break you, just as he had been broken.

his fingers traced your jaw, and the fear in your chest exploded as his grip moved to your throat, squeezing just enough to make you gasp, but not enough to cut off your air. his smile twisted into something dark, something monstrous.

“Shingen is gone,” Shintaro whispered, his lips grazing your ear. “and now, you’ll take his place. but not how you think.”

you tried to move, to fight, but his grip was iron. older brother you once knew was gone, replaced by someone broken, someone who now saw you as something to control, something to possess. or did he ever saw you as his sibling?

“you won’t escape,” he murmured, his lips curling into a smirk. “you’re mine now. there’s no one left to protect you.”

the room felt smaller, the walls closing in as Shintaro’s dark, twisted laughter echoed in your ears. He had lost everything — and now he was going to take everything from you. slowly. deliberately.

and there was no way out.

#[ ~ koi.talks🗣]#lookism #webtoon #webtoon lookism #lookism webtoon #lookism manhwa #lookism x reader #yamazaki #shintaro yamazaki #yamazaki shingen #shingen yamazaki #shingen #shintaro #x reader #smut #lookism smut #lookism 523 #lookism spoilers

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st4rpiece · 8 months ago

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Hi, could you do like some fluffy headcanons with Crocodile. Like with a daughter!reader, he found her and raised her. She's been by his side throughout Baroque Works, jails separates them for a while, but then she makes her way back to him as the Cross Guild is former.

Just, fluffy crocodad headcannons with a daughter!reader. She could work alongside him to, like a secretary. Reader is just happy to be by their dad again^^

father figure

SFW

characters: sir crocodile x daughter!reader summary: crocodile takes in an orphaned child not expecting to grow fondly of her CW: just fluff, lowercase intended, not proofread

—————

crocodile had always been known as a figure of unyielding stoicism and calculated ruthlessness. as the leader of Baroque Works, this was the kind of man his associates and his enemies knew him to be. his lack of affection made dealing with his job much easier as it left no weak points. something he never planned on changing but, fate had a peculiar way of challenging those with the coldest hearts.

it all started when he stumbled upon a small, orphaned child during one of his operations. his sharp eyes started down your dirty and frail figure with initial disgust. your wide eyes, frightened with terror as you clutched the bread you had stolen from his crew.

"who are you?" his voice was gruff, but there was a hint of curiosity.

you looked up, the piece of bread tightly held against you. "i'm just trying to survive," you replied, your voice surprisingly steady despite the fear in your eyes.

crocodile studied you for a moment, something in your gaze stirred a long-buried part of him and for reasons he couldn't quite fathom. leading him to make a decision that surprised even himself. "come with me," he said, turning on his heel.

he wasn't sure why he took you in, but when asked, he justified it as "practical"—you needed protection, and he had the means to provide it. and for a while, his interactions with you matched his words. he was distant and formal, more akin to a business transaction than a familial bond. providing you with your basic needs, leaving the rest up to his crew.

you, however, was undeterred by his cold demeanor. you approached him with the fearless curiosity only a child could muster. you followed him around, your small hand often tugging at his coat, asking endless questions about everything you saw. you drew pictures, and even attempted to braid his hair one evening. despite himself, crocodile found his heart softening. he started to look forward to your chatter, you innocent laughter, and the way you clung to him whenever you were scared.

but as days turned into weeks and weeks into months, something began to change. he found himself spending more time with you, teaching you about the world in his own gruff manner. he showed you how to read maps, how to defend herself, and even how to play chess.

while he was going through his newest findings on the poneglyph's, you approached him with one of your textbooks. "dad, can you help me with this reading?" you asked, your voice filled with anticipation. crocodile's heart skipped a beat at the word "dad." he didn't have it in him to correct you, and though he would never admit it, he cherished the title. he set aside his papers and spent the evening helping you with your book, his rough exterior melting away in your presence.

from then on he became your dad. a change his associates noticed almost immediately. exchanging knowing glances with each other whenever they saw him gently fixing your hair or reading you a bedtime story. Over time, they grew fondly of you, often bringing you small gifts or teaching you tricks of their trade. the once cold and fearsome headquarters of Baroque Works became a place of warmth and laughter whenever you were around.

after his defeat in Alabasta, crocodile was arrested. the charges against him were numerous, and the trial was swift. giving him no time to say goodbye or send you to a proper caretaker. a thought that consumed his thoughts daily as he sat in his cell. despite the harsh conditions of his confinement, crocodile's primary concern was always you.

countless sleepless nights were spent wondering. wondering if you were being taken care of properly. wondering if you were happy and eating well. wondering if you missed him as much as he missed you. the uncertainty gnawed at him, making his imprisonment even more unbearable. but he held onto the hope of seeing his daughter again, the thought of your smile was his only solace.

once he was released, crocodile wasted no time, moving with the singular purpose of reuniting with you again. his heart pounding with fear and anticipation as he and his associates, who had also been released, searched for you. they scoured the streets of the last island they were on, asking everyone they met if they had seen a little girl with bright eyes and a fearless spirit. after days of searching, they found you. you were staying with one of crocodile's old associates, a retired assassin, who had taken you in and cared for you as best as she could.

when crocodile saw you, his heart swelled with relief and joy. his anxiety and worries vanish after confirming his daughter was safe during his absences. you immediately ran into his arms, your face lighting up as tears streamed down your face. "dad!" you cried, throwing your arms around him.

crocodile hugged you tightly, his usual stoic mask slipping away. "i'm here, princess. i'm here," he whispered, his voice choked with emotion. he then lifts you up carrying you in his arms as he turns to look at his associate, gratitude shining in his eyes. "thank you for taking care of my daughter."

the associate nodded, a small smile on her lips. this was the first time her boss thanked her. "she’s a special girl."

crocodile nodded in agreement, his heart full. you had become his world, and he would do anything to keep his world safe. which meant getting locked up like that wasn't an option, but that was for later. making a mental note to call mihawk later, but right now he had some catching up to do.

—————

thank you so much for the request!!

i thought of a few ways to go about it, but this one just felt right, although it isn't really an hc.

and i loved the idea of the reader working with their crocodile, but i see crocodile as the kind of dad who would much rather preserve their innocence, by keeping them away from the dangers of his job as best as he could.

in the end, i hope i did your idea some justice and you (and everyone else) enjoyed !!

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nutterzebutters · 5 months ago

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Honestly given the update I'd like to say a few thigns

First things first, white lily cookies separation!

This character is so brief that one might not think about it, however I do have it in mind that this Tower keeper had purposely reminded pure vanilla and white lily of the riddle in order to push Lily to make a decision sooner, rather than later as originally intended. I do believe it was a good decision for her to go off on her own, as we all know that pure vanilla is quite lost on the topic of dark enchantress vs lily- at this very time we are unsure if truthless recluse is a further repressed version or a version that has somewhat accepted it. Furthermore, if truthless recluse is a shard/illusion I do feel it may defeat a lot of storyline purpose, and do hope that it is truly a pure vanilla or part of him that has since transformed.

As for this sprite - I will not lie this is not the Sprite I was expecting to be edited for beast eyes! I totally expected the mental breakdown Sprite. I've seen a few say that this might not be pure vanilla as Shadow milk is tampering with memories- however!!!

Part of the tactic is to put pure vanilla in situations so that he may react himself in order for shadow milk to place the narrative that he will become just as bad as him. He can use these reactions and insecurities against pure vanilla- after all he poked at pure vanilla on the matter of Lily becoming dark enchantress. That she may have been more qualified to wield the power of Truth regardless, using pure vanilla's self perceived failures as the device.

This one's a little peculiar, I have a few ideas here.

Step one, I feel I should clarify if it's not already obvious that the implication of pure vanilla being Shadow milk is not a literal one~but one that works in tandem with the ladder truth of the story. Much like Shadow milk, pure vanilla does lie! Even if Shadow milk used it for his own game, pure vanilla is self-aware enough to recognize that he too has lied so that cookies may find a sweeter world. Even if it's about himself, or about the situation at hand regardless if it was for comfort it is always dug him into a hole and has even gotten him in trouble with friends. He too is somebody that has been shown to be skilled tactically- it is very reasonable to say that beyond the soul jam this was the sub-context shadow milk was bothering pure vanilla about back in episode 2 of beast yeast, "the biggest liar" as a means to place on pv.

Now let's talk about the sheer silent terror that Truthless recluse is bc I can't express enough how unnerving he could be.

Throughout the entire time, fortune teller cookie still kept a rather calm demeanor. Keeping pure vanillas soft spoken attitude and quick thinking when it comes to help- even when faced with his current self. He was silent, he was an observer and he did it without much hassle showing how cold and calculating fortune teller cookie operates. It's a different type of imposing presence than Shadow milk but I would imagine it isn't any less cold.

It does not seem that shadow milk had given him any power boost either, rather that he was holding back the first time gingerbrave and Co fought him. This is a character who is making moves with precision bearing a frigid expression not at all like the warmth that the characters have come to know. The safety that was pure vanilla cookie has been ripped out from under Earth bread at this point, as for a large majority he has somehow remained the catalyst/nexus for a lot of progress events in the main story..

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

I don't have a screenshot of this part, but I do remember golden cheese appearing next to clotted cream in the Republic! I do feel that shadow milk had used the likeness of such figures to instill what may have been a previous anxiety of pure vanillas. Especially towards golden cheese, whom seeks comfort in the fact that he has experienced the same events regarding his kingdom. It shows that for pure vanilla there's always been a confliction and form of denial regarding Lily- losing the trust of everybody he has put every effort into protecting is definitely a huge fear.

I'd also like to point out in case some were confused, the doubt pv has of his power being Shadow Milks is not merely a ownership conflict despite the wording!!!!!! I can already smell the misinterpretations.

It's that everything pure vanilla has worked through was only really lent to him, his skills and anything else that may connect to the soul jam has created a permanent tether to the ladder: making it near impossible to escape. Even from episode 2, Shadow milk has set up the very open paranoia of forever watching pure vanilla- it's a consistency so we cannot say for sure that this part is a lie!! After all, in the developer commentary live stream it stated that shadow milk is more incomprehensible than the other beasts- and just unlike the other beasts his relationship with pure vanilla and the way their soul jam works is entirely different.

Pure vanilla is aware that now that shadow milk has been there the entire time, he needed to be extra careful. Now with this vision he feels that he can't use it at all unless he wants to bring danger to the cookies he cares for- damned if he does and damned if he doesn't! As if the soul jam attached to him is nothing but a tracking device with a chain.

Just like the countless appearances of Shadow milk you can only really go off of consistencies in a world of lies. One of these consistencies is the idea that pure vanilla is more connected to the other-realm/dark side of the moon then your typical cookie. It's hard to say if he inherently came from the realm, like some sort of magic birth such as candy apple but the fact that shadow milk left it so open ended leaves it as a possibility-

NOW. I will not be showing the awakened spoilers, as I am aware they are about and circling. For those who wish not to see it, I will not show it! However I will talk about a few details that I will keep for the sake of selective obscurity as I do believe that the pure vanilla Nation won💀

We all remember the theories?? Hell, even with the connections to moonlight and keys. Y'all he's gorgeous. I cannot WAIT until he gets patched in. It also seems that some of truthless recluse stayed! Hinting to the idea that pure vanilla did not escape unscathed and reinforcing the narrative that being somewhat more intertwined with Shadow milk is not a lie. That pure vanilla will eventually gravitate towards a different balance, Fun things!

#cookie run kingdom #crk #pure vanilla cookie #TruthlessRecluse #corrupted pure vanilla #shadow milk crk #beasts crk #theory #media analysis #feel free to discuss #pure vanilla crk #fypシ #white lily crk #purelily

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dark-fanfics-moon · 30 days ago

Text

THE PET Remmick x Reader

Part 2

Synopsis: You try to stay sane as Remmick attempts to make you warm up to him. But…will it work ?

(This is my first Sinners fanfic. I hope you will enjoy reading it as much as I did writing it. Also, you have French ancestry here.)

Part 1 here: https://www.tumblr.com/dark-fanfics-moon/783014726264291328/the-pet-remmick-x-reader?source=share

Remmick’s eyes glinted as he watched you intently, the corners of his lips curling into a wicked grin. He was enjoying every second of this—the power, the control he had over you. It made your skin crawl, but you were too tired, too broken to protest.

You shivered and asked, “Why didn’t you kill me ?”

The vampire’s expression darkened for a moment, but the smirk never fully left his face. He stepped closer, his cold fingers brushing your cheek. “I ain’t gonna kill you, lass,” he said with a slow, deliberate drawl. “I told ye: yer mine now. And I don’t break me toys. I like to play with ’em first. Maybe get a lil’ love, ye know ?”

A chill ran through you at the thought of being his “plaything.” The very idea of it made your blood run cold, but there was no denying the hunger in his eyes. That unspoken desire, mixed with a twisted sense of affection, filled you with dread. You swallowed hard, your heart pounding in your chest.

“Why take me ?” You finally dared to ask.

Remmick leaned back, seemingly lost in thought for a moment, before he answered with a hint of something like nostalgia. “Difference between me hive and humans is… we ain’t really all that warm. Don’t get me wrong, I love me family. But hum…I discovered I liked keepin’ warm ones too. They make good companions on the road and can keep us safe during the day…”

Fear twisted in your gut as the realization hit. You’d heard the myths, the whispers about vampires keeping humans as pets, but never in your wildest nightmares did you think you’d end up as one. It was all too real now, and the terrifying truth was sinking in deeper with each word.

The vampire chuckled darkly, as if enjoying the look of horror in your eyes. “Don’t worry, darlin’. I’ll keep ye fed and safe…but I gotta warn ye…life with me will be different than what you’re used to. I ain’t like anythin’ y’ever experienced.”

You felt a sick mixture of terror and curiosity. You knew the life he had planned for you would be nothing short of a nightmare, but there was a strange thrill in the thought of living on the fringes of society—living a life so twisted that others would never imagine it. Still, you tried to cling to whatever shred of normalcy you could.

“Could I write to my brother on occasion ? To let him know that I am alive ?” you asked, hoping for some semblance of freedom.

The vampire paused, his red eyes calculating as he considered your request. “I suppose I could allow that. But no more than once every few weeks. And I’ll read every word ye write. I don’t need ye tellin’ someone where we are.”

You let out a small, relieved breath, at least a tiny victory amidst the horror.

Remmick smirked, amused by the display of sheer relief. “Now…Don’t get too excited, darlin’. I’m still in charge here. And I expect yer complete obedience in exchange for these lil’ niceties.”

You sighed, resigned to your fate. “I understand…”

“That’s a smart lass,” Remmick approved before he pointed a finger at you. “Yer learnin’ already. I think yer gonna be a fast learner—unlike me other pets.”

He stepped away, sizing you up with a calculating look before continuing. “Now that we’re on the same page…it’s probably a good idea to go over some house rules.”

You felt your stomach twist in dread at the thought of following his rules, but you knew you had no choice. With a hesitant nod, you gestured for him to continue.

Remmick leaned back with a wicked grin. “First rule: You do what I say without question. If I say jump, you ask ‘how high.’ If I say kneel, you hit the ground. Understand, darlin’ ?”

You clenched your jaw, suppressing the anger bubbling up inside, but you nodded reluctantly. “I understand. I’ll do whatever you say.”

He smirked approvingly. “Good. Second rule: Yer my responsibility. Which means, I don’t want ye goin’ off on yer own. Everywhere ye go, I’m there with ya. You ain’t goin’ nowhere without me permission, got that ?”

Your brow furrowed. “How about during the day ?”

He chuckled again and shook his head. “Oh darlin’…You’re adorable. During the day, ye go nowhere. Ye watch while I rest. You’re goin’ to be stayin’ with me. That means no goin’ to town, no goin’ to church. Just sittin’ tight until night falls again.”

His smirk deepened. “But if ye get bored ? You can always be buddies with the other pets of the hive ! Wouldn’t that be nice ? Besides, we’ll need ye to move us when the sun is out. But don’t worry. The other pets will show ye how it’s done.”

A wave of helplessness swept over you, but you knew there was no point in protesting. You nodded again. “I understand.”

“Good. Yer really catchin’ on quick,” he said, clearly pleased. “Third rule: Ye don’t put up a fight. I ain’t in the habit of wastin’ me precious time and energy on stubborn pets. If I ask ye to do something that makes you unhappy ? Well, you’ll do it anyways. Yer gonna follow me rules, and the rules of the hive, even if it makes you angry.”

You bit your lip to keep from speaking, from snapping at him. You knew better. “I understand. I won’t give you any trouble.”

Remmick smiled, pleased with your compliance. “That’s what I like to hear. Fourth rule: Ye don’t say no to me. Ever. If I want yer blood, I take it. If I want yer company, I take it. If I want ye in bed with me as a damn cushion fer me head ? I’m doin’ that as well. No complainin’, no fightin’, no refusin’, no resistin’ or anythin’ else along those lines, m’kay pet ?”

You shuddered at that despicable word. ‘Pet’. But you nodded nonetheless, unable to do anything else.

Remmick continued, his tone turning more serious. “If I tell ye to do somethin’, you do it. No ifs, ands, or buts. You’ll keep me hunger satisfied and do whatever I want, when I want.”

You scoffed, unable to keep the sarcasm out of your voice this time. “Didn’t know I had a vampire toddler on my hands.”

Remmick’s grin widened, but there was something predatory in his eyes now and drool fell from his chin. “Mouthy, are we ? Fine by me. You’ll learn real quick, darlin’. Real quick.”

You shuddered at the sight and looked away prompty. He seemed to understand your discomfort and sighed before wiping his chin. He then realised that his clothes were still soaked in blood. He got his shirt and undershirt off before throwing them at you.

"Wash those."

You looked at the blood there and your whole body shivered at the realisation that it might be your own father’s blood on those clothes. You let them fall on the floor. You couldn’t help but shudder, the sickening thought creeping into your mind that this could very well be your father’s blood—the man you’d just buried.

Your hands trembled, and a cold sweat broke out along your skin as the room seemed to close in on you. The reality of everything—your father’s death, the way you were now under Remmick’s control—felt too much to bear all at once. The blood on those clothes felt like it was crawling up your spine, a silent reminder of what you had lost.

Remmick’s voice broke through your panic, calm and detached. “Well, what’re you waitin’ for, darlin’ ? Get to it.”

You swallowed hard, your body stiffening at his words. The last thing you wanted to do was touch that blood, to remind yourself of the violence that had ripped your life apart. But you knew better than to refuse. You didn’t have a choice. You bent down slowly, gathering the clothes from the floor, trying to keep your composure. The blood seemed to burn your fingertips as you picked them up, but you forced yourself to hold onto them. It was just another part of this twisted new life Remmick had made for you—one you were still trying to make sense of.

With a quick, stiff nod, you turned away, heading towards the exit of the trailer. The cool air hit your face as you made your way to the nearby stream, the rhythmic sound of rushing water offering little comfort against the storm of emotions swelling inside you. You kneeled at the edge of the stream, the bloodstained clothes still clutched tightly in your hands.

As the cold water touched the fabric, your sobs began to escape, raw and uncontrollable. Each tear felt heavier than the last, like it was pulling you deeper into the darkness of what had become your reality. The blood didn’t just stain the clothes—it stained your soul, a constant reminder of the horrors you could never unsee. Your father, the village, everything you’d once known, all shattered in an instant.

The water seemed to mock you, its gentle flow unable to wash away the heaviness in your chest, the memories, the fear, and the overwhelming sense of helplessness. The clothes slipped from your trembling fingers as you cried harder, the water barely able to cleanse the stains on your hands, let alone the ones buried deep inside you.

You wanted to scream, to run far away from everything. But where would you go ? What would you do ? Remmick’s shadow loomed over you, both a constant presence and an ever-present threat, and you had nowhere to turn. You sank to your knees, your body shaking as you held the bloodied fabric to your chest. The stream, though it tried, couldn’t carry away the burden you were now bound to. And yet, here you were, sobbing in the cold, wishing for something—anything—to make it stop.

…

Once the task complete, you approached the carriage and the faint, haunting sound of Remmick’s banjo drifted through the air. The low, rhythmic plucking of strings mixed with the night’s silence, the eerie melody fitting in with the dark weight of the evening. His dark eyes glinted as he played, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips as he looked up briefly, catching sight of you.

The sound of his banjo was a strange comfort, but it didn’t ease the dread pooling in your stomach. The blood still clung to your memory, even though you had washed it from the clothes. It was impossible to wash the images from your mind.

He didn’t speak immediately, as if waiting for you to say something first. You stood there for a moment, unsure of what to say. You swallowed hard, trying to keep the tremble from your voice as you spoke.

“…I’ve done what you asked.” Your words felt empty, hollow in the air between you.

Remmick’s smirk deepened, though it was softer now, more amused than predatory. “Did ye now ?” He set the banjo aside and stood. “I’m glad to see ye’ve come back. Thought I might’ve lost ya to the night.” He stepped closer to you, his presence, as always, dominating the space. He then added with a grin. “Woulda hated havin’ to chase you all night, puppet. But am fast. Hella fast. Ye wouldn’t have made it through the night.”

He then playfully pinched your nose and smirked before taking the clothes from your arms.

You couldn’t help but flinch, the memory of his cold blood-soaked chin still fresh in your mind. “I did what you wanted,” you repeated, the words somehow a bit stronger now, despite the gnawing fear inside you. “Now what ?”

“Now, I’d say we take the next step. But before that…” He leaned closer, his voice low, “You’ve been through quite a bit tonight, haven’t ya ?” He reached for your arm, his touch light but firm, pulling you gently inside the carriage. “Come on in. We family now, ain’t we ?”

The chill from outside still lingered in your bones as you stepped into the warmth of the carriage.

“Family…” you muttered under your breath, feeling the weight of the word like a cold iron shackle around your heart.

He then tapped the place on his knee.

"C’mere me puppet."

You froze.

His voice was gentle—mockingly so—but the command behind it was unmistakable. “C’mere me puppet.” He repeated. The words laced with false affection, like a hunter calling to a wounded animal. Your eyes flicked to his knee, where his hand patted expectantly, and then up to his face. That smug, knowing smirk never wavered. Every inch of your body screamed at you to run, to escape, to do anything but obey. But your legs moved before your mind could catch up, conditioned now by fear, by exhaustion, by the brutal reality of your new existence.

You stepped closer.

Remmick’s eyes followed your every movement, his eyes dark and gleaming with twisted satisfaction. You lowered yourself slowly, tentatively, onto his knee, barely touching him. He laughed softly, almost like a purr, one hand snaking around your waist to pull you in tighter—until you were perched fully across his lap, your side pressed against his chest.

“There we go,” he murmured, brushing your hair back from your face with a tenderness that only made your skin crawl. “See how easy that was ?”

You didn’t answer. You couldn’t. The weight of his gaze pressed down on you, making your mouth go dry.

He studied you for a moment, his thumb running idle circles along your side. Then he leaned in, nose brushing your cheek, his breath cold and smelling faintly of iron. “I ain’t gonna hurt ye tonight,” he whispered. “Not unless you make me. You’ve had enough, haven’t ya ?”

You nodded, barely able to breathe.

He chuckled. “That’s my good lil’ lassie.”

Your stomach churned.

Then, to your surprise, he didn’t press further. Instead, he leaned back into the plush seat, arms still around you, his banjo resting against the opposite wall like a discarded thought. You remained frozen. For a moment—just a moment—you let yourself breathe and listen. To the soft sway of the carriage from the blowing wind outside, the horses’ hooves trampling the ground, the dull thrum of blood in your ears. You couldn’t trust him. You wouldn’t trust him. But as your body sank involuntarily into the exhaustion gnawing at you, and as his hand stroked your hair absentmindedly, you realized:

This was your life now.

And you would have to survive it. Even if it meant pretending to be his puppet…for now.

He then whispered in your ear. “Sleepy, puppet ? You can rest yer eyes fer a few minutes. I’ll watch over ye.”

You were too exhausted to deny and simply closed your eyes…falling into a light sleep.

A few minutes later…Remmick woke you up and led you out of the carriage. The carriages were nestled together in a circle, their wooden exteriors glowing faintly in the moonlight, casting long shadows across the ground. You could hear the soft murmur of voices, a mixture of laughter and whispered conversations, though it was clear this was no ordinary gathering.

“Don’t be scared, doll,” Remmick’s voice purred as he guided you forward. The scent of burning wood and fresh night air mixed together in an unsettling blend.

There, standing in the center of the gathering, were the other “pets”—humans, like you, who had been taken by the vampires. They were dressed in strange, mismatched clothes, most of them looking weary but oddly content. Some were sitting by the fire, a few leaning against the side of a carriage, while others were interacting with the vampires in a way that, to you, felt disturbingly normal. They all seemed so…comfortable in this twisted existence.

One of them, a young woman with wide eyes and a soft smile, stood up as you approached. She wore a simple dress, but there was an aura of weariness around her, as if she had long accepted her fate. Her voice was soft but welcoming when she spoke.

“Remmick’s new one, huh ?” she asked, looking you up and down with a curious gaze. “I’m Lyla,” she introduced herself, extending a hand towards you. “Annie’s familiar. Don’t worry, you’ll get used to it. We all do eventually.”

You looked at her hand for a moment, your stomach turning. How could anyone get used to this ? You had seen the blood, smelled it. Felt the weight of it on your skin. You had seen what Remmick was capable of.

You didn’t take her hand, and after a moment of hesitation, she withdrew it with a soft chuckle, not offended. “You’re still fresh,” she murmured understandingly. “It’ll take time.”

Another figure stepped forward—tall, with sharp features and a quiet presence. His eyes were dull, as if the life had been drained from them long ago. He nodded at you but said nothing. You could feel the weight of his gaze, cold and distant. He looked like someone who had long since given up on hope.

“Don’t mind Aidan,” Lyla said softly. “He doesn’t speak much. He was one of the first brought in. He’s Stack’s familiar.” She glanced at you knowingly, her eyes narrowing. “Some of us don’t last as long as others. Don’t let that scare you.”

You swallowed hard, looking at each face in turn. They were all different, but the same in their quiet acceptance of a life they hadn’t chosen. Their eyes were haunted, but resigned.

“You’ll get used to the rules around here too,” Lyla continued, her tone more serious now. “Stick close to Remmick. Don’t step out of line. Don’t make waves. He’s not one to take kindly to disobedience.”

You felt a pang of fear, the weight of her words sinking in. You had already witnessed how quickly things could spiral out of control. Remmick’s smile, his twisted pleasure in your discomfort, still lingered in your mind. But there was something else too. A strange attachment, an odd affection from him that made your stomach twist in a way you couldn’t quite place.

You looked around. Remmick had stepped away momentarily, talking to another vampire who had appeared from one of the nearby carriages. The moment he was out of earshot, Lyla leaned closer, her eyes darkening slightly.

“You’ll be fine,” she whispered. “He likes you. That means he’ll keep you around. But just remember—you’re a possession, not a person here. Never forget that.”

You wanted to protest, wanted to scream, but all you could do was nod weakly. In this strange, twisted hive of vampires and their pets, what else could you do ?

You were trapped.

Lyla’s words rang in your ears like a dull bell tolling in the distance—ominous and final.

A possession, not a person.

You stood there, surrounded by strangers who shared the same chain, the same fate, their expressions dulled by time and routine. You didn’t want to believe this was your life now. But as you looked around the circle—at the flickering firelight casting grotesque shadows across tired faces—you knew it was.

You were still staring at the fire when Remmick’s arm slithered back around your waist.

“There now, doll,” he murmured into your hair, his voice low and sweet, like poisoned honey. “They treat ye alright ?”

You didn’t answer at first, the tension in your shoulders betraying every thought racing through your mind. But then you nodded, barely, your lips pressed into a thin line.

Remmick smiled, pleased. “Good. I knew you’d blend in just fine. Some don’t take to it well—always fightin’, cryin’, refusin’ to listen. Makes it messy. Makes me messy.”

He turned you gently toward him, brushing your cheek with the back of his hand, eyes lingering a little too long. “But yer different, aintcha ? Got fire, but ye know when to keep it on low.”

The words made your skin crawl, but you forced yourself not to pull away. Behind him, Lyla had already moved on, settling down beside Aidan again.

“You’ll sleep with me tonight,” Remmick said casually, as if announcing the weather. “Best to keep ye close. First few days are always the hardest.”

A sharp chill twisted through your spine.

He leaned in again, lowering his voice. “Don’t worry, puppet. I’ll take good care of ye. I won’t bite—unless you ask me real nicely that is.”

There was laughter nearby. A low cackle from one of the other vampires watching from the shadows. It made you flinch, and Remmick chuckled at that, turning you with a firm hand and guiding you back towards his carriage. As you stepped away from the fire, the sounds behind you grew muffled, as though the world itself was slowly sealing you in.

You glanced back only once.

Lyla was watching you, her smile gone now, her eyes sharp with a kind of knowing pity. You weren’t sure what she saw when she looked at you—maybe someone who reminded her of herself. Or maybe it was just the face of despair.

Your eyes caught sight of the fire burning bright next and you stopped. The fire crackled, its orange and red flames dancing in the cool night air, casting eerie shadows on the faces of the vampires and their pets. The flickering flames seemed to beckon to you, promising an end to all the horror, the fear, and the suffocating uncertainty that had plagued you since the night Remmick had taken you.

You wondered how long it would take for the fire to consume you if you simply stepped into it. Would it be fast ? Would it hurt as much as you thought it would ? Or would it be a final release—a way to escape this twisted life once and for all ?

The flames roared in response to your thoughts, each crackle like a whisper of temptation. You felt the heat on your skin, the air thick with the scent of burning wood, and for a moment, the world around you seemed to fade. The others—Lyla, Aidan, and the rest of the pets—became distant, like figures in a fog. All that remained was the fire, and the suffocating weight of your own despair.

But as you stood there, frozen in your thoughts, you heard Remmick’s voice—low, mocking, but tinged with something darker.

“Thinkin’ ‘bout jumpin’ in, are ye ?” he asked, his tone playful. “That ain’t gonna get ye what you want, lass. Ain’t no release in that. I told ya, yer mine now. And I don’t take kindly to me toys tryin’ to break themselves.”

You could feel the weight of his gaze on you, reading you, studying you.

“You think this fire can end it all ?” he continued, his voice calm but menacing. “Nah. It’ll just burn ye up. And then where will ya be ? Gone. Just like that. Poof. A pile of ashes. Useless to me. Useless to everyone.”

You didn’t look at him. You felt something twist inside you—anger, frustration, and the overwhelming weight of your helplessness. But you didn’t want to die. You didn’t want to give him the satisfaction. You couldn’t.

He stepped closer and slowly backed you away from the fire.

“Instead,” he cooed, “let’s see how long you last in me world, eh ?”

You shuddered, the desire for escape still lingering in your chest, but now you knew. The fire wouldn’t set you free. Remmick, in his twisted way, held that power over you. And whether you wanted to or not, you were stuck playing by his rules. The fire no longer looked like an escape. It looked like surrender. And he saw it. Remmick saw everything—your hesitation, your pain, the spark of rebellion trying to stay lit beneath the weight of fear. He fed off it. It thrilled him.

His hand slid slowly up your arm, deceptively gentle, but there was nothing kind in his grip. It was a warning.

“I’ll say it again, sweet thing,” he murmured, almost tenderly, but his breath was ice. “Don’t break yourself. That’s me job if it comes to it.”

You finally looked at him, really looked. The firelight made his face seem inhuman—shadows twisted across his sharp features, accentuating the unnatural stillness in his eyes. And yet…there was something feral in him, something restrained. A hunger barely tucked beneath that silken voice and practiced odd charm.

He was beautiful in the same way a tiger might be—impressive, powerful, deadly.

“What if I want to step into the fire and end it all ?” You asked and Remmick stayed silent for a moment before humming.

“You want to be ashes ?” he whispered, thumb brushing your jaw. “Who said ye were allowed to ? Have ye already forgotten about our lil’ rules ? Yer me responsibility, pet. And I would be real sad if you decided to deprive me of yer lovely company. And ye wouldn’t want me sad now, would ya ?"”

You jerked your face from his hand. Subtle, but he noticed. His smile curled into something crooked, pleased.

“Still got fight in ye. Good. Now, c’mon, pet. You’ve had yer moment. Let’s get ye warm somewhere else.”

You stared after him, your heart pounding like a drum in your chest as you stared at his back.

When the time came…You would burn him down to hell.

…

A few minutes before sunrise:

Without a word, Remmick took out heavy iron shackles, cold against your skin as he fastened them to your wrists, attaching them to the sturdy post of the carriage. The act was casual for him—like a routine he had done countless times before. Once the shackles were secure, he stepped back, admiring his work, his smirk wide. “Now, don’t go anywhere, darlin’. I’ll be back after me lil’ nap,” he told you, his voice dripping with sarcasm, though it still held that chilling undertone that made your blood run cold.

He then opened the lid of a box situated at the back of the trailer with a quiet, eerie creak. He glanced back at you, a final, mocking smile spreading across his face. “You’ll be safe here for the day, lass. Don’t try anythin’ funny. I’ll be right back when the sun sets again.”

Then, without another word, he climbed into the box, closing the lid with a dull thud that reverberated in the silence around you. You were left alone, shackled to the carriage, the stillness of the morning pressing in around you. The only sound was the faint rustle of the wind through the trees. You sighed. You weren’t going to resign yourself to this fate. You were going to find a way to escape. Maybe not today, but you weren’t going to just give in to this life. Remmick might have had the upper hand for now, but you weren’t going to let him completely break you. Not without a fight.

You closed your eyes for a moment, steeling yourself. Whatever came next, you’d be ready. Or at least, you’d try.

Lyla’s footsteps were soft as she approached and broke you out of your thoughts, the sound of her shoes on the grass muffled by the stillness of the morning. She came into view with a tray of food in her hands. She set the tray down in front of you, her hands gently brushing over the shackles as if she could somehow will them to vanish. Her gaze lingered on them for a moment, a silent understanding passing between you before she finally spoke.

“Don’t you worry, hon’. Remmick’s not cruel like this all the time,” she tried to reassure you, her voice low and comforting. “He’s just cautious. But, when he starts trusting you, he won’t keep you shackled anymore. I promise. It was the same when Annie chose me. She had to make sure I wouldn’t do anything to harm the hive.”

You looked up at her and almost laughed. How could someone like Remmick ever trust anyone ? And what did it even mean for you to be trusted by something like him ? You might as well sell your soul…Still, Lyla’s words offered you hope. Maybe, just maybe, there was a chance to change things. You looked inside the tray—bread, a few vegetables, and something that resembled meat, though you didn’t care to question the source.

Lyla smiled softly. “He’s not as bad as he seems. He just…needs to control things. If you show him you’re not a threat, he’ll ease up. He always did with the others eventually.”

You looked up at her. “What happened to them ? To the…other people he took as pets before me ?”

She smiled. “He turned most of them since they wanted to become vampires. He just had to wait to make sure they were ready and deserved to be part of the family.”

You knew you would regret asking—but still asked next. “What about those he didn’t turn ?”

At that, her smile faltered slightly. She didn’t answer. She didn’t have to. Maybe she didn’t know and preferred not to. Or maybe she did and didn’t want to frighten you. Either way, you knew you didn’t want whatever fate came to those who disappointed Remmick.

Lyla’s gaze flickered to the carriage where Remmick had gone to rest. “Don’t worry. You’re strong. You’ll survive. I can see it in you. You can adapt—you can change. He likes people who can surprise him. Just…don’t let him get bored. I know it sounds crazy but….Remmick is a very simple man and he likes very simple things. Family, music, passion…He is very passionate. He won’t kill you as long as he can still sense passion inside you.”

You didn’t know how to respond to that. Maybe it was the weariness of everything, or maybe the fear that had taken root deep inside you. But for the first time in a long while, you allowed yourself to feel something other than dread—something faint, but growing stronger with each passing moment: the smallest spark of defiance.

“Thank you,” you said quietly, your voice barely above a whisper. “But I don’t want to be anyone’s pet—especially not his.”

Lyla’s eyes softened. “I know. But it’s not always about what we want, darling. It’s about survival. If you’re going to make it out of here with your soul intact, you have to play the game. You’ll see.”

You didn’t know if she was right. But you also didn’t know what else to do. You finally nodded. Lyla’s words echoed in your mind long after she left, the tray of food untouched by your feet. Play the game. That was what she said. You huffed and started eating.

You want to play Remmick ?

Fine.

Let’s play…

…

That evening:

You stared at the shackles on your wrists, the metal now warming slightly under the sun’s slow crawl through the trees. Every second Remmick slept in that box was one step closer to sunset, and the nightmare resuming. But you couldn’t sit here all day waiting. Not without trying something. The others were beginning to stir. You could hear distant murmurs—other “pets,” as they were so disgustingly called—moving about the camp. A laugh. A cough. The subtle noise of life continuing under the weight of captivity. And none of them tried to run.

Not because they didn’t want to. But because they knew better. But you didn’t know better. Not yet. And maybe, just maybe, that was your advantage.

You leaned forward, testing the slack in the chain. There wasn’t much. Just enough to sit upright, shift your position, maybe stand if you were careful. It was designed to humiliate—not to break your body, but to chip away at your will. And yet…something was off. One of the links near the post looked slightly thinner than the others—worn, maybe, or badly forged. You stared at it for a long time, then tucked the thought away like a blade hidden in cloth. Not yet. Not now.

You needed more than broken metal to escape. You needed a plan. A weapon. A place to run to. And someone willing to help. The thought of Lyla returned. Her sorrow. Her softness. She hadn’t just brought you food. She brought you a warning, disguised as comfort. He always eases up. But only if you stop being a threat. If you become…tame. But you would never be tame. You just had to look it. That’s how you’d survive. That’s how you’d earn his trust.

And then, when the moment was right…You would stop playing the game. You would end it. But, Lyla had also said not to bore him…You wondered how to do that ? So far, the only moments he had seemed to enjoy himself were moments when you had tried to defy him. Was that what he wanted ? Was that something he enjoyed ? Suddenly, the lid from the box went off inside the trailer and there he was.

He smiled at you.

“Here ye are, me dolly !”

You stiffened as Remmick’s voice reached your ears, the smooth Irish drawl dripping with a mixture of amusement and something darker. Your gaze remained fixed ahead, pretending not to notice that he was awake. Your heart thudded loudly in your chest, but you refused to give him the satisfaction of seeing your fear. You tried to step away, but the chain tugged at your wrist, the weight of your situation pulling you back into his grasp.

Before you could make any further attempt to retreat, his hand shot out and seized your arm, his grip firm as he forced you closer. You looked up at him—eyes cold, face set in a mask of defiance, though your pulse betrayed you.

His smirk widened, knowing exactly how you were trying to keep your distance.

“Hey, me pet. Miss me ?” he teased, the edge of his voice as sharp as the fangs that were hiding behind that grin. However, he frowned at your answer.

“No,” you muttered firmly.

After a moment, he chuckled softly, tightening his grip as he stepped even closer. “Aw, don’t be like that, darling. I can feel it. Yer just a bit shy, aintcha ? But don’t worry, I’ll warm ye up.”

His voice made your skin crawl.

“Let go of me,” you demanded, glaring up at him.

Remmick’s eyes twinkled with malicious amusement as he slowly dragged you closer, so close you could feel his breath on your skin. “Now, now. Calm down, me pet. What’s gotten into ya ? Ye were so sweet last night. What made ya suddenly so hostile towards yer poor master, hmm ?” His smile widened, his sharp teeth glinting in the low light.

The suffocating heat of his presence filled the space between you, and every instinct in your body screamed to break free—to run. But the chain held you in place, and for all the words you could muster, there was nothing you could do but meet his gaze, steely and unyielding.

The vampire’s grin never faltered as he leaned towards you. “C’mon…Tell me, pet. Tell yer Master Remmick what happened and maybe he’ll be able to help ? I’ll make it go away.”

He sat you down on his lap, the cold, hard surface of his body pressing against you. He waited for an answer but got none and sighed. He then decided to grab his banjo. You were being cranky and he sought to soften you up with a bit of music.

“Sing,” he commanded, his voice soft but laced with expectation.

You stared back at him, defiant. “No.”

The vampire’s smile slowly faded, replaced by a low growl of displeasure. “Don’t push it, darlin’. I’m tryin’ to be nice. I ain’t used to puttin’ up with a disobedient doll fer more than a few nights.”

You huffed, your denial burning even brighter. “I wonder why…”

You were determined to test boundaries and see just how far you could go.

His eyes narrowed, the playful glint vanishing, replaced by something colder and darker. “I ain’t askin’ fer much, darlin’. Just a bit of obedience, a lil’ cooperation. Is that really so damn hard for ye to understand ?”

You stared back at him, your gaze hard. “Yes, ‘master’…or whatever…”

He chuckled, his lips curling into a smirk, amusement taking over his annoyance. “Don’t get cheeky with me, darlin’. I ain’t playin’ that game. You belong to me now. You’ll call me ‘sir’ or ‘master’ in public. And in private ? Well…You’ll call me whatever I tell ye to—like a good lil’ well-behaved pet should.”

You raised an eyebrow, a challenge in your gaze. “What now ? What should I call you ? Remmick ? Or was that just a fake name you gave me for the fun of it ?”

His lips twitched. “Remmick’s fine. But if ye ever feel the urge to get affectionate, ye can call me—”

You rolled your eyes, your patience thinning and cut him off. “Not interested.”

Some of the vampires who had just woken up started laughing or growling nearby. And some of the pets were actually horrified or in shock at your sudden defiance. You huffed. If Remmick wanted to get rid of you ? Then he might as well do it. But you were done being his nice little pet. You didn’t want his caresses or treats or anything else. You glanced around at the vampires nearby, your mouth curling into a sneer. “Bloodsucking fuckers.”

The other vampires snarled and bared their fangs, but Remmick’s smirk never faltered. With a commanding growl, he spoke to them. “Back off. Me pet seems moody tonight. Ain’t yer problem.”

The others instantly backed down, understanding who held the true power. His attention returned to you.

You scoffed, your words dripping with disdain as you dared to reply. “…Fuck you, demon.”

But instead of getting mad, Remmick chuckled at your curses, but his amusement was quickly replaced by a more dangerous edge. “Now, don’t ye use that nasty language when speakin’ to me, darlin’. I don’t like it when ye swear.”

You shot him a glare and then flipped him off, your determination unyielding. He didn’t like your curses ? Good. You wanted him to hate you. If he thought you would graciously offer your belly and submit—he had another thing coming.

His expression darkened, his grip tightening around you as his tone turned colder. “I’m givin’ ye a warnin’. Don’t push me. Especially if ye like yer fingers.”

Reluctantly, you lowered your middle finger, your rebellious streak still strong but you did like your fingers. “Sorry. It’s genetic. A human thing.” You grinned, clearly enjoying the small victory.

Remmick rolled his eyes, not buying your excuse for a second. “Sure, darlin’.”

Then his expression shifted to something playful again, a smirk tugging at his lips. “Ye know what ? I got one of those habits too. A vampire thing. Ready ?”

Before you could respond, he lifted you with ease and threw you into the air. You screamed, panic rising as your body went up in the air and fell towards the ground. But in a flash, Remmick caught you, his arms wrapping around you just inches before you hit the ground. He laughed, his deep voice vibrating through your body as he held you.

“First time catchin’ a flyin’ human. Ready fer another round, darlin’ ?”

You instinctively wrapped your arms around his neck, your heart racing. “No, no, no, no… Don’t you dare !”

He simply smirked, clearly relishing the fear in your voice. “Oh, darlin’…”

Before you could protest further, he tossed you in the air again. You screamed, your fear turning into pure panic.

“YOU ASSHOLE !” you yelled, your body twisting mid-air as you waited for him to catch you again, the blood pounding in your ears.

The vampire’s laughter echoed in your ears, a chilling sound that seemed to enjoy every moment of his entertaining game. “Don’t whine now, darlin’. Yer gonna be doin’ a lot of flyin’ with me.”

He caught you again, a smirk playing on his lips at your heart pounding in your chest and as you literally clung to him with both arms and legs. “Now that I know you’re afraid of heights, I’m gonna be takin’ ye higher and higher every chance I get…”

You screamed as he effortlessly loosened your hold on him and tossed you once more, the world spinning around you. “You’re gonna end up breaking my bones if you keep doin’ this, you idiot !”

His laughter rang louder, more sinister. “Just gettin’ ye used to the sensation, darlin’…This is gonna be yer life from now on, I’m afraid…and I’m gonna relish every scream you make.”

By the time he finally stopped, you were shaking, your breath coming in short bursts. You could feel the adrenaline still rushing through your veins, your body stiff with fear.

“Please…stop.” You finally begged and held him tightly—breathing heavily against his neck as you tried not to vomit. One of your hand was almost digging into his head and the other in his shoulder as you desperately tried to stop him from throwing you up in the air again. “I’ll stop being rude…just please. No more of this or I will die. My heart will stop.”

Remmick smirked at the plea in your voice and knew that he had won. He relented, a smug expression curling across his face. “Oh, fine…fer now. I’ll save the torture fer later.”

You were left panting, your body trembling from the shock of the repeated tosses. The world still spun around you as you clung to his neck, trying to catch your breath. Remmick’s chuckles were dark, rumbling from deep within his chest, but he finally set you down gently on the ground, his fingers lingering on your skin, just in case you would fall straight to the ground.

“Aww…What’s wrong, lassie ? Can’t handle a lil’ uppies session ?” He taunted you with a smirk full of smug satisfaction.

You glared at him, still trying to steady yourself, but your voice was hoarse. “You’re a monster…”

His smirk never faltered. “Oh, darlin’, you don’t even know the half of it.”

The other vampires who’d been watching, their fangs still bared and their expressions twisted in varying degrees of hunger and amusement, slowly started to step back, their interest in you fading as Remmick regained control over the situation.

Lyla, who had been hovering in the background, stepped forward, her expression a mixture of concern and quiet resignation. She glanced at you, her eyes softening with sympathy. “Master Remmick, please, do not push her too hard. It has only been a couple of nights. She just…”

He shot her a warning look, his gaze dark and challenging. “She’ll learn. She has to. Now get back to your own master, lassie. Annie must be wonderin’ where ye went.”

Lyla sighed, shaking her head. She shot you one last glance before stepping back. “Stay strong,” she whispered under her breath, and then disappeared into the shadows—back to her own master.

Once she was gone, Remmick returned his attention to you.

“Let’s get one thing straight, darlin’,” he said, his tone dark and serious. “Ye belong to me now. You’ll get used to it, and you’ll like it eventually. This isn’t some game. This is yer life now.”

You clenched your fists, the rage within you bubbling to the surface once more. “You’re wrong. I won’t get used to this. I won’t ever like it.”

Remmick stepped closer, his face inches from yours. His eyes were cold, but there was something in them—a dark amusement, mixed with the weight of authority—that made your stomach churn.

“Oh, darlin’, you’ll come around,” he whispered with a smirk. “You’ll see.”

His words echoed in your mind, chilling you to the bone. You weren’t sure if he actually believed what he was saying, but it didn’t matter. You wouldn’t let him win. You couldn’t.

…

For the next few nights, you remained shackled to Remmick’s trailer. Every so often, Remmick would appear, casually strolling in with an eerie sense of satisfaction, bearing a new gift.

At first, it was a brooch—delicate, intricately designed, and clearly stolen from a victim. Its dark, weathered beauty sent a shiver down your spine, but you refused to acknowledge it. His eyes would gleam with pride as he presented the object to you.

“Ye like it, don’t ya, darlin’ ? Innit pretty ?” he’d ask, his voice dripping with amusement, though his tone was just a touch of mockery.

You refused to respond, your eyes narrowed, refusing to show any interest. But he didn’t seem to mind; he simply dropped the brooch on the floor in front of you and sauntered off.

The gifts continued: a delicate necklace made of silver and blood-red jewels that looked far too beautiful to have been anything but plundered from a corpse. His eyes would sparkle when he’d hand them over, watching your every move as if waiting for you to break, to show some hint of gratitude, or even just curiosity.

“See, darlin’ ? I know how to treat me special dolls,” he’d croon, always reveling in the sick pleasure of your silent disdain.

Then came the earrings—simple, but elegant. You stared at them for a while, wondering who the unfortunate soul had been. He seemed to take great delight in the thought that you might be considering their origins.

“Ye like those ?” he asked one night, dangling them just out of reach, taunting you. “They’re the best I’ve found so far. Real fine quality.”

You refused to take them, even though the beauty of the jewelry almost tempted you. The thought of touching something that had once belonged to a dead person—and had come from his hands—made your skin crawl.

Every time, you would remain silent. Your response to him was one of defiance, even in the face of his twisted generosity.

And each time, Remmick would leave you alone with the gifts, taunting you with the thought of them being so close, yet so far from your grasp. He knew you wouldn’t accept them, but that was part of his game—the pursuit, the insistence that you would come to him eventually. Despite your anger and resistance, the days wore on, each one blurring together in a haze of unease and fear. You hated the way he was slowly eroding your resolve, bit by bit, with every visit, with every gift. He had a way of wearing you down, his presence so overwhelming and unyielding, it felt as if there was no escape.

But no matter how much he tried to get you to accept his offerings, you refused. You couldn’t let him win. Even if it was only through the smallest acts of defiance, you would resist him—because if you gave in to him, even in the slightest way, it would mean surrendering everything.

“Not taking me gifts, darlin’ ?” he’d ask with a knowing smile when he’d see you leave them untouched. “After all the trouble I suffered to get ‘em and give ‘em to ye ? Am hurt. Truly. But…I suppose we’ll just have to see how long that lasts, won’t we ?”

And you would stare back, your expression hard, but beneath the cool mask of defiance, a part of you wondered how much longer you could keep this up before the weight of your situation would finally break you. For now, though, you held on—clinging to whatever remnants of yourself you had left, despite the chains that bound you, the gifts he left, and the darkness of his presence that slowly began to seep into every corner of your life.

…

A few nights later:

The night had passed in its usual eerie silence until you heard it—an unsettling, low whine that echoed through the walls of the trailer. It wasn’t a sound you expected to hear. You peered inside the trailer—curious. Was that Remmick ? What was going on ? You had heard him do and say many things. But, this was different. His voice was strained, filled with an animalistic desperation, as though he was fighting something internal and out of his control inside his box.

Your curiosity, mingled with a sense of unease, pushed you to your feet. You tugged at the chains reflexively, but there was no escaping the confinement, so you carefully moved towards the box. You hesitated before taking a tiny look, peering inside to find him thrashing, his hands curled into fists as he twisted inside his prison-bed. His face was contorted in pain—something was tormenting him. The usual confident, unnerving smirk that always tugged at his lips was gone. Instead, his mouth was open, letting out animal-like whimpers—like a wounded beast.

You didn’t know what to do. The Remmick you knew was not the type to show weakness. He was always the predator, never the prey. This…this wasn’t like him at all.

You watched for a moment longer, unsure of how to handle the situation. He groaned again, louder this time, and you could hear the desperation in the sound. Your chest tightened as a strange sympathy for him stirred, even though everything inside you screamed that this was wrong. That this was some kind of trick, a manipulation to draw you in, to make you soften towards him.

But as you stood there, uncertain and unsure, the instinct to do something—anything—took over. You sank to the floor in front of the box, your body tense as you rested your palm on the surface of the box. The cool wood felt oddly comforting beneath your fingertips, grounding you in the midst of the strange moment. You could feel the vibrations of his groans through the box, his body still writhing in torment. You didn’t know what kind of nightmare could be twisting him so badly, but you felt compelled to stay. To offer something, anything.

“Remmick ?”

The groaning stopped for a brief moment, and the silence was deafening. Then, just as quickly, he let out another low moan, the agony in his voice palpable. You bit your lip, a wave of uncertainty rushing over you. Hesitating for only a second, you slowly pressed your palm more firmly against the surface of the box, as if somehow, that small gesture could offer him some sort of comfort.

Another groan escaped his lips, this one lower, almost guttural. “No…please…” he mumbled, his voice faint, almost unrecognizable.

…He was clearly scared.

You furrowed your brow, unsure of what to do next. You had no experience with this—no experience with him like this. But some part of you didn’t want to leave him in his suffering, even if it meant putting aside your hatred for a moment. You swallowed hard, barely daring to speak as you repeated his name, this time more firmly. “Remmick, what’s happening ?”

There was no response at first. His groans quieted for a moment, and you almost wondered if you’d imagined the whole thing. But then his voice cracked again, that broken whine slipping from his throat, so much more vulnerable than you had ever heard him.

“I…can’t…” he whimpered, sounding so far removed from the taunting predator you knew him as.

Something inside you shifted—a strange, reluctant empathy for him, despite everything that had happened between you. You weren’t sure if you were doing the right thing, or if this was some kind of trap, but all you could think of was that he was hurting. Whether you liked it or not, you couldn’t just turn your back on him now.

“Hey. Everything’s alright, okay ? You’re safe…” It felt almost ridiculous, offering comfort to a monster like him, but you couldn’t shake the feeling that maybe, just maybe, this was real.

His body jerked violently inside the box, and for a split second, you thought he might lash out at you, but then he simply collapsed into silence. His breathing was ragged, and you could hear the exhaustion in every breath he took. You didn’t know what to do beyond the simple touch of your hand against the box. But you stayed, waiting for him to regain control, unsure if you should say more. You had never seen Remmick so…human before. And while you would never admit it, that moment made you question everything you thought you knew about him.

And about yourself.

…

The next night, you didn’t speak about what had happened during the day. The flickering flames cast wild shadows as the vampires were all reunited once more around the fire, making the camp look like something out of a fever dream. You could see Remmick, wild and free, dancing with the crowd after they had fed once more. His feet moved with precision, a blur of quick steps that made you pause, staring in awe at the speed and rhythm of his movements.

Irish dance, you realized, the steps so fast they looked like they could fly off his body at any moment. He laughed, a sound so unburdened by malice that it seemed foreign coming from him. It was a joy you hadn’t seen from him before, not in the way it radiated out of him now, his face illuminated by the firelight. For a moment, he looked like the man you had met that night when he came to your village.

You felt a strange tug, a sense of something—maybe longing, maybe curiosity—that pushed you to stay where you were, hidden in the shadows of the trailer. The horses were nearby, their breath steaming in the cold night air, but you were too focused on the memory of his steps to pay much attention to them.

Slowly, and with a hint of hesitation, you began to mimic his movements. At first, it was clumsy, your feet tripping over themselves, each step too wide, too stiff. You had little experience with dancing, much less something as precise and fast as Irish tap dancing. But still, you tried, feeling the rhythm build in you, even if it was a shaky imitation. You smiled to yourself and closed your eyes as your feet started stomping on, tapping and stomping the ground.

You didn’t notice when Remmick stepped out of the firelight circle and moved closer to the trailer—wondering where you had disappeared to.

It wasn’t until you felt the shift in the air—the faintest crackle of energy—that you realized he was watching. You froze, half caught in a step, one foot lifted in midair as your heart skipped. But he didn’t say anything. He simply leaned against the side of the trailer, arms crossed, a small amused smile tugging at his lips. His expression was soft, almost fond, as he observed you. For a moment, neither of you said anything. The fire crackled, sending sparks into the air, but all you could hear was your heartbeat. Remmick didn’t mock you, didn’t tease you, just watched you from the shadows, his eyes flickering with amusement.

You felt a warmth spread in your chest despite the cold night air, a strange sense of camaraderie that you hadn’t expected. There was no mockery, no cruel remark. He was simply there, watching you dance in your own uncoordinated way.

The silence between you both stretched for a while before he finally spoke.

“Havin’ fun, dolly ?” he asked, his tone light, almost teasing but without the usual bite. “Keep at it, and ye might just get the hang of it.”

You blinked, surprised by his comment, and then, without really thinking, you let out a breathless laugh, the tension easing in your shoulders. “I don’t know if that’s true. I feel like I’m tripping over my own damn feet here.”

Remmick pushed himself off the trailer, stepping closer to you—but not too close. Instead, he gave you space, just enough for you to feel his presence but not so much that it was oppressive.

“Ye just need practice, honey,” he told you.

You stood still for a moment, considering his words. The warmth that had blossomed in your chest stayed there, lingering longer than it should have. It was strange—this moment of connection, of unexpected kindness from him. It wasn’t much, but it was enough to make you realize there might be more to him than you’d thought.

For a moment, you didn’t mind that he was watching you. You didn’t mind at all.

Remmick’s grin widened as he stood next to you, his movements sharp and fluid as he proceeded to demonstrate the steps to you. He didn’t rush—he simply showed you, step by step, with the same casual confidence that made him so dangerous and yet, oddly, reassuring.

“First. Foot here,” he instructed, lifting his right foot and placing it firmly on the ground, a steady foundation. “Then here,” he added, guiding his foot to a new position with smooth precision. “Then there,” he finished, completing the step with a flourish.

You watched his feet closely, trying to mirror the movement, your body stiff and unsure. But Remmick was patient. His gaze never left you, and he didn’t smirk or laugh at your clumsy attempt. Instead, he nodded approvingly as you tried to follow his movements.

“Now, faster,” he urged, a glint in his eyes that made you feel both challenged and…oddly encouraged. He demonstrated again, quicker this time, the steps flowing into one another with fluid grace, the sound of his feet striking the ground in perfect rhythm with the pulse of the night. You tried to follow, the movement awkward at first, your feet stumbling over themselves. But there was something in the way he moved, something in the way his confidence made you feel like you could do this too.

“Faster, huh ?” you muttered under your breath, focusing harder as you tried to speed up. It felt like you were tripping over air, but Remmick’s voice was there, soothing as he corrected you with gentle guidance.

“Foot here. Now here. Then there,” he repeated patiently, moving with you, showing you again. The rhythm of his feet became contagious, the beat pulsing through you as you tried again, your feet growing less awkward with every repetition.

The firelight flickered, casting long shadows over the both of you as you danced next to each other, and for a moment, the world outside this moment faded. It was just the two of you—his guidance, the rhythm of the dance, and the strange, unspoken understanding between you.

When you finally moved through the steps without stumbling, he let out a low chuckle, his eyes bright with amusement. “Look at ye, darlin’,” he noted appreciatively, giving you a proud grin. “Ye gettin’ the hang of it pretty good.”

You stopped, breathless but with a grin tugging at your lips, a small but genuine accomplishment simmering in your chest. “You really think ?”

Remmick took a step back, watching you carefully, the soft glow of the firelight outlining his features. He didn’t look like the same man who had teased and mentally tortured you for nights on end…

“Just keep practicing, doll. You’ll be dancing like me in no time,” he promised you and smiled—a genuine smile. There was something warmer to his smile—tender almost.

For a moment, you stayed silent, processing the shift in the air between you two.

“Thanks, Remmick,” you replied softly, offering him a brief smile before returning to your position, eager to try the steps again, more confident this time. He chuckled but didn’t comment, merely crossing his arms and watching as you danced, his eyes following your every move with an approving glint.

“Me thinks we gonna make ye a professional Irish tap dancer in no time, me dolly.”

Remmick’s presence beside you gave you just enough confidence to believe, if only for a moment, that you might actually get it right.

But confidence had its cost.

You lifted your foot for the final tap and stepped just a little too far back. The loose gravel shifted beneath you, and suddenly the ground tilted—the world slipped. You let out a startled gasp, arms flailing as you tried to catch yourself.

Before your body could hit the ground, a firm hand closed around your waist.

In a blur of motion, Remmick pulled you back towards him, your momentum swinging you forward—and instead of stopping, he spun you. Your breath hitched as he guided you in a full circle, your feet barely brushing the ground, his arm secure around your middle as he laughed. The world wheeled past in firelight and sparks and shadows, until he slowed and brought you to a clean, almost theatrical stop. One of his hands found yours without thinking, the other still bracing your back.

For a second, neither of you moved.

You were inches from him, your breath uneven, caught between shock and thrill. His eyes flicked over your face—not mocking, not smug. There was surprise there. Maybe wonder. Maybe...something you didn’t want to name yet.

“You alright there, lassie ?” he murmured and his eyes gave you a quick once-over.

You swallowed, nodding slowly as you caught your breath. “Yeah. Just...missed a step.”

He didn’t let go immediately. Neither did you.

“Could’ve fooled me,” he said, and this time there was the ghost of a grin on his face.

You laughed, breathless. “Hey. That was gravity and panic, alright ?”

He tilted his head, considering you. “Maybe. But for a moment...ye actually looked happy, lassie.”

That made your heart stutter.

He let go then, slowly, his fingers brushing yours just a second longer than they needed to. He stepped back, but not too far—just enough for air to pass between you again, enough for the moment to settle between you like ash from the fire.

“Let’s try it again,” he said quietly. “This time, I’ll catch ye before ya fall.”

You didn’t doubt that he would.

You steadied yourself, still catching your breath from the unexpected spin, when Remmick took a step back, eyes watching you intently. Then, without warning, he spun on his heel and darted in front of you. You blinked in surprise as he landed squarely in your path, boots tapping a rhythm into the dirt that made the earth seem to thrum beneath him. His shoulders rolled back, chest lifted like a showman stepping onto a stage.

“Alright then, dancer,” he declared, laughter already bubbling in his throat as he then challenged you. “Yer turn now. Let’s see what ye got.”

You hesitated for half a beat, but then your feet moved—on instinct, on rhythm, on the sheer stubborn urge not to be outdone. Gathering the rhythm you’d just learned, you lifted your foot and tapped it out: left foot up then down, right foot up then down, left, right…Then, barely daring, you added the little hop he’d shown you. The gravel under your boots crunched in time, sparks from the fire catching the movement of your feet. You stomped the beat he’d taught you, mimicking the steps as best you could, moving forward even as he matched you, step for step.

For a few seconds, it was awkward—a stumble here, a missed tap there—but it didn’t matter. Because Remmick was laughing.

A real laugh.

Not the cold, taunting chuckle you’d come to brace for—but something honest, bright, sharp with joy. It escaped his lips like something unguarded, and for a moment, he looked completely disarmed.

Remmick’s eyes lit up and he chuckled—a rich, warm sound that echoed against the night. Encouraged, you pressed on, matching pace and then quickening the beat: tap–hop, tap–hop, until your legs felt like hummingbird wings. Suddenly, he laughed again and, almost on impulse, mirrored your steps. His feet flew in perfect rhythm: a flourish here, a stamp there, each motion precise and alive.

“You tryin’ to steal me spotlight, dolly ?” he teased, his voice breathless from the laughter. “Because yer makin’ a fine mess of it !”

“That’s not fair ! You jumped in front of me !” you shot back, matching his grin, breathless and a little wild with giddiness.

“And yet here ye are, still tappin’ along,” he said, lifting his foot in a flourish and tapping out a rhythm that challenged you to follow.

You met him step for step now, the two of you mirroring each other, dancing in sync—his precision and flair meeting your determination and growing confidence. Your shoes struck the dirt, echoing off the trailer walls and the trees beyond, and for a few heartbeats, it felt like the rest of the world had gone still, watching.

He twirled again and your promptly followed. “Ah ! That’s it, lassie ! Look at ye ! Me pretty lil’ dancin’ queen !”

You snorted. “Please, I look like I’m trying to chase off ghosts.”

“Aye, and dancin’ ‘em straight back to hell, I’d wager,” he laughed, stepping closer now, tapping a slower rhythm, waiting for you to match.

You did. And when you moved in time with him, he gave you a crooked, approving smile.

The fire cracked behind you, the night wind rustling the horses and tents, but neither of you noticed. Not when your feet moved in tandem and your laughter mingled with his, echoing into the dark like a promise.

Just for tonight, it wasn’t hate. It wasn’t fear. It was dancing. It was you and Remmick, face to face, tapping out a rhythm that no one else could follow. You were sweating and exhausted…but when you looked up and saw the genuine smile on Remmick’s face.

…You realised you could have danced all night that you wouldn’t have complained once.

#remmick x reader #remmick x you #remmick x y/n #sinners 2025 #sinners movie

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dxrlingluv · 23 days ago

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So uhhhhhh

Apollo with siren!reader who's mad at him because he agreed to release Odysseus so easily?👉👈

(maybe the reader can grow human legs like ariel too, but too traumatized to swim in the ocean again for sometimes lol)

Not so sunny now, is it?

A/N : I have been feeling very sad lately so Angst for everyone. Apollo art is from Gigi.

WARNING : Fem!Siren!Reader, Angst with no comfort.

Word Count : 2.7k

The salt spray felt like a cruel mockery against your skin, each droplet a phantom echo of the waves that had once carried your sisters' laughter. Now, those waves only whispered of their screams, their terror, their silence. Odysseus. The name was a venomous serpent coiling in your heart, its fangs dripping with the ichor of your stolen family. He was miles away, trapped on Calypso's isle, yet his shadow stretched even here, to the gleaming halls of Olympus.

You had come seeking solace, a sliver of justice, your grief a tempestuous sea crashing against the shores of divine indifference. And Apollo... oh, Apollo. Your Apollo. His light had once been a beacon, a warmth that promised understanding, a shared passion, a love that transcended the boundaries of god and siren. You had clung to that hope, a drowning mariner to a piece of driftwood, because he was your driftwood, your guiding star.

Then came the moment that shattered everything.

Athena, her voice echoing with the authority of wisdom and the weight of a long-held alliance, stood before the assembled gods. Odysseus was not present, a prisoner of a different kind on a distant shore, but his fate was being debated nonetheless. Athena, ever his champion, spoke as if he were there, her words a shield around him. "He was trying to escape a terrible fate himself," she reasoned, her gaze sweeping across the divine council, finally settling with particular weight on Apollo. "They were trying to do him worse, all he did was reimburse them. Now they thread with caution first, to live another day and sing another verse."

Your breath hitched. Sing another verse? Your sisters, whose songs were the very essence of their souls, whose melodies could lure gods and mortals alike, would never sing another note. Their verses were brutally, irrevocably silenced. And this... this was their justice? To be a cautionary tale for a butcher, a man whose freedom was being argued for by a goddess while he remained leagues away, oblivious to the pain his actions had sown here?

Your gaze flew to Apollo, pleading, desperate. Your Apollo. Surely, he, the god of music, of poetry, of truth, would see the obscenity of it. Surely, his light would pierce through Athena's cold, calculated defense of her absent favorite. He knew your song. He knew them.

But then he spoke, his voice, usually so resonant with passion for you, now carrying a detached finality that chilled you to the bone. "If that's true," he declared, his eyes not meeting yours, seemingly looking past you to some distant horizon where Odysseus's plight perhaps seemed more pressing than the fresh graves of your kin, "release him." The words were a decree, a divine judgment that sealed your despair.

The words struck you with the force of a physical blow. The golden light of his presence seemed to dim, to curdle into something suffocating. Betrayal, cold and sharp, pierced through the already gaping wound of your grief. It was a pain so profound it stole your voice, the very tool of your power and your lament, the voice he claimed to cherish above all others.

He hadn't even looked at you. He hadn't seen the devastation in your eyes, or perhaps he had, and it simply hadn't mattered. Your sisters, your kin, your loss, your song... dismissed. Weighed against the convenience of a mortal hero—a hero not even present to account for his deeds—and found wanting. By him.

The world tilted. The marble floors of Olympus felt like sinking sand beneath your feet. You wanted to scream, to unleash a torrent of sound so potent it would crack the very foundations of this place, force them to acknowledge the sacrilege. But all that emerged was a choked gasp, a sound more broken than any dirge.

He had ordered Odysseus's release, a pardon granted in absentia. The man who had slaughtered your family, who had stolen their voices, would eventually walk free, his path smoothed by the gods themselves, orchestrated by Athena's unwavering advocacy and sealed by Apollo's decree. And Apollo, your Apollo, the sun god who you had foolishly, naively, believed loved you, might understand the sanctity of a song, had been the one to effectively unlock his chains from afar.

The warmth you once felt in his presence was gone, replaced by an icy desolation. His light no longer offered comfort; it burned, searing your already raw wounds, illuminating the depths of his betrayal. How could he, who cherished music above all, condone the silencing of such unique, irreplaceable songs? How could he, who had held you in his arms, who had whispered promises of forever, stand by as the murderer of your sisters was exonerated through such a detached, impersonal judgment?

The word "love" felt like ash in your mouth. Had any of it been real? Or were you just another fleeting amusement, your siren nature a curiosity, easily discarded when it became inconvenient, or when the pleas of a more favored goddess held more sway? You remembered the stolen moments, the secret trysts in hidden coves, the way his golden eyes had seemed to devour you whole. Lies? All lies?

You turned, stumbling away from the golden hall, from the gods, from him. The vibrant colors of Olympus seemed garish, offensive to your mourning. Each step was an agony, not just for the loss of your sisters, but for the death of a trust you hadn't realized you'd so completely given. You had given him your heart, your soul, your voice. And he had thrown it away.

A strange, aching magic had bloomed within you amidst the chaos of your grief – the ability to walk on land, your powerful tail traded for unsteady human legs. It was a cruel irony. You had gained a world, yet lost your own. The ocean, once your sanctuary, your home, the very blood in your veins, now felt like a vast, watery grave. The thought of submerging yourself, of feeling those currents that once cradled you, now brought only a fresh wave of terror, the phantom sensation of your sisters' final struggles. You were a creature of the deep, marooned on the shore, your true form a reminder of all you had lost, your new one a constant, aching vulnerability. And he knew what you sacrificed.

This new, fragile body only amplified the sting of Apollo's betrayal. When you were a siren, powerful and feared, his indifference might have been a slight. But now, as this... thing, this half-formed creature caught between two worlds and belonging to neither, his dismissal felt like a condemnation. He had not only abandoned your grief, but he had abandoned you, in this strange, terrifying new existence, an existence you embraced for him.

The sea called to you, its voice a mournful echo of your own silenced song. But you couldn't answer. The waves that once promised freedom now whispered of drowning, of loss, of the cold, dark depths where your sisters lay. You were trapped on the land, with legs that felt alien and a heart shattered by a god's careless words. His betrayal was not just a wound; it was a chain, binding you to this dry, desolate earth, far from the solace of your true home, a home you were now too terrified to reclaim. And the sun, his sun, beat down relentlessly, a constant, burning reminder of the light that had failed you.

The days bled into a monotonous cycle of grief and fear. You haunted the edges of the land, your new, clumsy legs a constant reminder of your stolen home and your profound loss. The sun, his sun, felt like a personal affront, each ray a golden barb picking at your wounds. You avoided places where his influence was strongest, where his worshipers gathered, but Olympus was vast, and the gods, infuriatingly, were everywhere.

It was on a desolate stretch of coastline, where jagged rocks wept into a turbulent sea – a sea you could no longer bear to touch – that you saw him. Apollo, radiant and serene, was observing the crash of waves against the shore, a lyre held loosely in his hand, as if contemplating a new melody. The sight of him, so peaceful while your world was a maelstrom of agony, ignited a fury so potent it momentarily eclipsed your fear. He looked as if he hadn't a care in the world.

This was it. The dam of your carefully contained anguish finally broke.

"You!" The word tore from your throat, raw and hoarse, no longer the melodious call of a siren, but the jagged cry of a wounded animal.

Apollo turned, his golden eyes, usually so warm when he looked at you, widening slightly in surprise before settling into a look of placid inquiry. "An unexpected encounter," he said, his voice as smooth and unmarred as polished marble. "What troubles you, little siren?"

Little siren? The casual endearment, once a spark of your affection, now felt like a diminutive insult, a dismissal of the enormity of your pain.

"What troubles me?" you echoed, a hysterical laugh bubbling in your chest. You stalked towards him, your steps uneven on the rocky terrain, each movement a testament to your unnatural state. "My sisters are dead! Slaughtered! Their songs silenced forever by the man you deemed fit to release!"

His brow furrowed, a flicker of something – annoyance? Pity? – crossing his perfect features. "The judgment concerning Odysseus was complex. Athena presented a compelling case. Justice, in the eyes of the gods, is not always simple vengeance."

"Justice?" you shrieked, the sound sharp enough to make the gulls startled into flight. "You call that justice? He butchered them! He ripped their voices from the world! And you, the god of music, of song, my Apollo, you nodded and agreed! Were their lives, their art, so worthless to you? Was I so worthless to you?" Your voice began to tremble, not just with rage, but with the burgeoning power that grief had twisted within you. The air around you grew heavy, charged with an unseen energy.

"Their loss is regrettable," Apollo stated, his tone still maddeningly calm, though a sliver of divine power now underscored his words, a subtle warning. "But mortal lives are fleeting. Odysseus acted to preserve his own, and the lives of his men. It was a harsh necessity of their world."

"A harsh necessity?" Tears streamed down your face, hot and furious. "They were not warriors, Apollo! They were singers! They were my family! Your family, if you had truly cared for me!" You gestured wildly towards the churning ocean. "That sea, the one you gaze at so placidly, it's their grave! And I... I can't even return to it! I walk this cursed land on legs I never asked for, terrified of the only home I've ever known, because of him! Because of you! Because I loved you!"

A low thrum began to emanate from you, the air vibrating with unsung, grief-stricken notes. It wasn't a song of luring, but of pure, unadulterated pain, a sound that could shatter stone and soul. "Did you ever care? Was any of it real? Or was I just another melody to you, easily forgotten when a more powerful voice, like Athena's, called your attention? Was I just a pretty song, a fleeting fancy, a siren to be used and discarded?"

Apollo's golden aura intensified, a defensive shimmer against the rising tide of your anguish. "You presume too much, Y/N. My decisions are not made on whims or fleeting affections. There are balances to maintain, cosmic scales you cannot comprehend. You were...more than that."

"Balances?" you spat, the word tasting like poison. "Is that what my sisters were? Weights on a scale? Easily tipped and discarded? Is that what I was? A balance? A cosmic thing?" The grief-fueled power surged. Small pebbles around your feet began to tremble. The waves behind Apollo seemed to recoil slightly, their roar momentarily subdued by the dissonant chord of your despair. "You speak of comprehension, but you comprehend nothing of this! This pain! This betrayal! You spoke of love, of forever! What was that? Another fleeting balance?"

You raised a trembling hand, pointing it at him. "You, who claims to cherish every note, every verse! You let their symphony be silenced and then sanctioned their murderer's freedom! You are a hypocrite, Apollo! A false god of a stolen art! A liar! You are my liar."

For the first time, a true fissure appeared in his divine composure. His eyes narrowed, and the golden light around him blazed, no longer just defensive, but radiating a dangerous heat. "Be wary of your words, Y/N. Grief does not grant you license to insult the divine. Especially not after everything we shared." His voice was no longer smooth; it held the rumble of distant thunder, the promise of a storm. The lyre in his hand seemed to hum with suppressed power.

"Or what?" you challenged, reckless in your agony. "Will you strike me down too? Add another silenced voice to your tally? Is that your divine justice? Is that how you repay love?"

The air crackled between you, your raw, untamed siren grief clashing against his controlled, immense divine power. It wasn't a physical fight, but a battle of wills, of sorrow against detachment, of mortal agony against immortal decree. His light pressed against you, heavy and suffocating, trying to quell the storm of your emotions. Your pain pushed back, a tidal wave of despair threatening to engulf everything.

But you knew, even as you raged, that this was a fight you couldn't win. He was a god. You were... broken. And he was the one who broke you.

The energy receded from you, leaving you gasping, trembling, and utterly spent. The brief, furious strength drained away, replaced by a desolation so profound it felt like the bottom of the coldest, darkest ocean trench.

Apollo's light softened, the harsh edges of his anger fading, replaced by a complex mix of emotions. He saw you standing there, broken and trembling, the raw grief etched on your face, and a pang of regret pierced through his divine composure. He realized, with a sickening lurch, the full weight of his words, the casual cruelty with which he had dismissed your pain.

He wanted to reach out to you, to pull you close and offer comfort, to whisper apologies and try to mend the shattered pieces of your heart. He wanted to explain, to justify, to make you understand the impossible choices he faced, the cosmic forces that bound him. He wanted to tell you that you were more than a song, more than a fleeting fancy, that his feelings for you were real, and deep, and enduring.

But pride, that ancient, unyielding pride that defined him as a god, held him captive. He couldn't bring himself to fully retract his words, to admit he was wrong, to show such vulnerability before a creature of the sea. He feared that any attempt at comfort would be misconstrued, that it would diminish his authority, his divine image. He was a god, and gods did not grovel, did not beg for forgiveness.

And so, he settled for a hollow, distant tone. "Your grief is a tempest, siren. But it blinds you. You are being irrational. There is nothing more to be said."

He turned his back on you, the golden radiance of his form a stark contrast to the gray desolation of the shore, and your heart. He began to walk away, leaving you there, on your unsteady legs, with the ghosts of your sisters and the fresh, gaping wound of his final, dismissive words. He left, and a part of him, the part that truly loved you, wept.

The fight was over. And you had lost more than you thought possible. He hadn't just let Odysseus go. He had, in that moment, let you go too. The chasm between you was no longer just a matter of differing perspectives; it was an unbridgeable abyss, carved by his indifference and your shattered heart. The angst wasn't just a feeling anymore; it was the very air you breathed, cold, sharp, and unending. The love you thought you had was dead, and he, in his pride, had killed it.

#epic the musical #epic x reader #epic fanfic #fluff #epic apollo #dxrlingluv #apollo x reader smut #apollo x reader #apollo #epic athena #epic odysseus #epic fanart

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http-tokki · 1 year ago

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ʚ⁺˖ ↠ blue

ᰔ pairings: dabi/touya todoroki x fem!reader ᰔ content/tags: mha spoilers, childhood pov, abusive childhoods, childhood crush, blood, allusions to self harm/suicide, explicit language, smut, kinda not really, its smutty talk, angst, allusions to s/a, power dynamics, time jump to when touya is like 26, creative liberties have been taken with the original story, set in the century 2400 ᰔ wc: 10.5k ᰔ a/n: so there is a bit of a weird timeline with this one. instead of touya dying at 13, I've made it he dies at 16 and the subsequent events are a lil delayed, in the manga he is 24 atm but here i have him as 26, please suspend your disbelief for a sec cause the amount of work ive put into this so it makes sense, i almost went crazy

March 10th 2460 Touya: aged nine You: aged eight (and three-quarters)

Breakfast is at five, lunch at twelve, and dinner at seven.

The clock hands tick over the first five graduations and onto the sixth, meaning it is six minutes past seven and dinner is late.

Lateness is not tolerated by the Todoroki clan.

No reason, whether it be big or small, would be accepted nor understood by the head of the family, and punishment for being tardy ranged from groundings to lectures and in the most severe cases, a beating. However, those parameters do not extend to said head, who you think to be more akin to that of a prison warden than a father.

You watch the housekeeper slide the last of the food onto the table and take another look at the clock.

7:08.

The table had been set, food diligently prepared and presented, plates piled high with greens and dripping meat, three different kinds of fish, an array of soups, and other liquid foods. Mrs Todoroki often had trouble eating, so instead opted for warm broths and hot teas, and they were all going cold while you waited for Mr Todoroki to come in from Touya’s nightly training. Saliva coats your tongue as you breathe in the heavenly scents wafting from the mountains of food, your stomach growling in protest at not being filled with the delicious smells.

Ten minutes pass and just before the eleventh has a chance to be observed, the sliding doors to the dining room whoosh open. With the ease and casualness of someone who is above the law of the household, Enji Todoroki strolls in followed closely behind by the eldest sibling.

Touya trails behind his father, movements sluggish and slow, his frail body slumped in exhaustion and what you would only later realise as terror. You can almost see the muck that weighs on his body, dripping off sharp bones in big flat globs of swamp green mud, seeping into the reeds of the tatami mats below. Fresh wounds litter his arms, blooms of dark red blood pock the sterile bandages that were hastily wrapped around his limbs. The stark white began at his wrists and climbed up and up his arms until they disappeared beneath the sleeve of his t-shirt. You follow Touya, eyes lingering on his wounds as he sits down opposite you.

“Fuyumi. Is he-“ Your question is hushed, spoken from the corner of your mouth to avoid raising suspicion of the subject.

“He’s okay, we don’t talk about it.” Her answer comes in a rush, eyes darting towards her father like a prey animal watching their stalker. “Just eat.”

Fuyumi’s mouth pulls into a frown for a quick second before her attention moves to the food before her.

You nod, attention shifting from the boy across the table to the plate that had been prepared just for you. A small helping of meat and fish paired with a big serving of rice and vegetables, the nanny even going as far as to put it into a divider plate as though you were a toddler, but you thanked her regardless, smiling up at the haggard-looking woman as she nodded politely and moved onto tending to baby Shouto. The food only holds your attention for so long before you glance back up at Touya, watching as he cuts into his steak with the precision of a man far beyond his years. Each move slow and calculated; every shift of his arms or turn of his head deliberate and purposeful, small actions to avoid raising awareness of his person. Come to think of it, all the children, save for Shouto, moved like that. As if they were in constant apologetic states just for breathing, existing, and with their father you understand why, but it doesn’t stop you from staring at the boy before you.

"Stop looking. He doesn't like it when you stare." Fuyumi whispers, smacking her knee against yours.

"But it looks like it hurts." You whisper back, unable to look away from the red splotches on the white bandages.

You want to ask if he is okay. If he needs a doctor and who did that to him? Was it a bully at school? How was the school not getting involved if he was being bullied this bad?

"Fuyumi," Touya sneers from across the table. "Tell your friend to stop staring at me."

Unabashed hatred simmers in his blue eyes as his glare falls on you. Heat rises to your cheeks, stumbling out an apology, and vowing to never look at him again.

No one had ever looked at you like that. With such hatred and malice, you didn’t even know existed.

"He plays rough, always falling over at school," Mr. Todoroki’s voice booms throughout the room, so loud and sudden it is like a thunderclap on a clear day. "You've got to be more careful, Touya. What would people think if they saw you like this!"

The lack of care for his son’s well-being gives you pause mid-bite. The vegetables fall from your fork as goosebumps skitter along your skin.

What would people think if they saw you like this?

What would they think other than he had been in an accident? Is Touya’s broken body a regular occurrence that people would be so used to seeing that it would start to raise suspicion? Had he been hurt on purpose? Why would Mr. Todoroki say that? Did Mr. Todoroki do that to Touya?

Your attention is pulled outwardly as Natsuo starts to talk about his day, telling his mom and the housekeepers all about the latest games and toys at school, the newest edition of a card game you like captivates you and your thoughts are swept away from the strange boy across from you.

Dinner ended as it always did.

Mr. Todoroki called the housekeeper over to deal with the mess and children as he retired to his office and Mrs Todoroki took her evening walk around the grounds of the estate. You can’t stay the night despite it being a Friday, you’re never allowed to stay the night. Fuyumi had stayed at yours plenty of times, your parents never saying no to another friend but never you at hers. You thanked both her parents and waved bye to her brother before the youngest housekeeper walked you home. That’s how every Friday night ended.

That routine had become a staple in your life, going on two years, before there was a change to the way of things.

------

July 1st 2362 Touya: aged eleven You: aged ten

The shift was subtle and gradual, like the way a house is warmed by a fire on a winter’s eve. Slow and steady, seeping into all corners of the once-frozen house until all you know is warmth and you can’t remember how the cold felt. That’s how you would describe Touya’s presence in your life. From the arctic interactions each Friday night at the dinner table to someone you would call a friend.

The first thaw of the ice wall that had formed around your friend’s brother, was an accident.

Knee deep in the heat of summer, you had rushed over after summer school, swimmers in your backpack and a dream of jumping into the fresh cold heaven that was the local pool. You had come looking for Fuyumi, hell-bent on getting your poor friend out of the stuffy old house and somewhere she could have fun without the risk of her dad making her or her siblings cry.

You had come to hate Mr Todoroki.

He hadn’t done anything to you personally to deserve the contempt you held towards your friend's dad but you had heard enough from Fuyumi. She had told you all the times he made her mom cry. How there would be arguing and then the sounds of breaking plates followed by her mom’s cries. Mrs. Todoroki never said anything was wrong, never alluded to anything other than a mild argument but there had to be something more, right? Adults didn’t cry over nothing!

“ ‘Yumi, let's go to the pool!” you call down the hall. “I’ll buy ice cream this time.”

The housekeeper had let you in, instructing that your friend was in her room finishing up some school work but after you checked her room and found no sign of her, you went looking.

That is how you found Touya.

Walking into the bathroom under the assumption you would find Feyumi, you are greeted with a situation you are not old enough to understand the severity of.

Touya slouched on the bathroom floor, surrounded by bloodied towels, unspooled bandages, and uncapped ointment tubes. A piece of gauze caught between his teeth as he attempts to bandage his bleeding hand.

He shouts at you to leave, his command broken as he hiccups around the sobs falling from him. Scorched skin covering the majority of his arms, fingers red and blistering as they shake.

That image sears into your brain. Imprinting itself onto your eyelids so that each time you fall asleep, you see Touya; broken and bloody.

There isn’t much you remember from that afternoon, only flashes and stills that live in the recesses of your mind.

The feel of the cold tiles on your exposed legs as you knelt before the once terrifying older boy who had never had a single nice thing to say to you.

The smell of salt and metal of his fresh blood.

The sound of Touya’s cries as you peeled incorrectly placed bandages off raw and exposed skin.

The acidic taste of bile in the back of your throat upon first laying eyes on the scene before you.

It had been too much for little you to comprehend so you just forgot most of it. Thrown it into a locked drawer in your mind and lost the key.

That was the beginning of the thaw, a gruesome and bloody beginning to a friendship that spanned years and ended just as horribly.

------

September 23rd 2463 Touya: aged twelve You: aged eleven

“So it's this really old movie that my mum used to watch” you explain as you click on the familiar title screen. “It’s about a girl who gets transported to this weird world and she has to solve some weird riddle to get out.”

Touya looks at you like you had grown a second head but accepts your weird movie recommendation. You sit down next to him, popcorn bucket jiggling as the couch sinks under your frame.

The beginning animation of Spirited Away starts and the familiar tune wraps around you like a warm hug. This was the movie you liked to watch whenever you felt sad, and you noticed Touya was a little sadder than normal these days so you offered to have a movie night. His siblings had all said yes but upon discovering that the movie was one from decades ago, backed out. So with just the two of you left, you sit in silence and watch as the beautiful world comes to life.

It’s a nice moment between the two of you, sharing something so personal with someone you would have never considered a friend and here the two of you were, watching a movie. Like friends!

“I’m gonna call you Chihiro cause all she does is cry and that’s all you do too,” Touya announces as the credits begin to roll.

“I do not!” you retort, slapping his arm lightly. “I cry a normal amount for a girl my age!”

Touya rolls his eyes. “Whatever, Chihiro.”

------

February 14th 2464 Touya: aged thirteen You: aged twelve

Spring is only a month away yet it feels as if it were the middle of December.

The cold of winter had sunk its claws deep into the city and it seemed as if it did not have plans to let go of it anytime soon. Everyone in Tokyo bundled up against the frost that coated the wind but it wasn’t the cold that had your hands trembling as you gripped a single rose.

It was Valentine's Day and you were about to ask Touya to be yours.

The nerves that had built in your stomach had taken over your extremities. It was as if your entire body was a live wire that every so often touched an exposed pipe and jolted.

In the two years since the bathroom incident, you had grown closer to the oldest Todoroki, sparking a friendship that consisted of more than smiles and shy hellos across the dinner table. Phone calls and text messages were the daily, walking to school and home together was the new norm, all things that one would consider friendly but there was a part within your heart that was growing to like Touya a little more than a friend. You knew it was a crush, you weren’t a little kid anymore, but you also knew that he was unattainable for many reasons. One was that he was a sibling of a close friend and the other being that he was not someone who thought about life that way. There was no room for crushes in Touya’s world. There was only hero work. How to become a hero and then how to become the number one hero.

You had heard this speech a million times. His plans to surpass his father in the rank of heroes and become the ultimate symbol of peace. Heroes had no time for girlfriends, only villains.

But you had no plans of becoming a hero so there was no real reason you shouldn’t try, right? Your mom had bought you the flower this morning, picking up on the crush that you had developed on your friend and very excitedly pushed you to give Touya a gift.

“What do I do with this?” Touya asks, confused as he takes the flower from your hands.

You had stopped halfway through the walk home and turned to your friend, eyes wide with fear, and shoved the bloom into his hands. Originally the plan was to hand it to him as you said goodbye for the afternoon but you were swiftly running out of ways to regulate your breathing to counteract the anxiety wreaking havoc in your stomach.

“It's for you” you answer, eyes trained on your shoes.

“Me?”

“Yes.”

“Are you asking me to be your valentine?” There is a pause. “Do you like me?”

Yes.

“No!” you lie, shouting the word even though you didn’t mean to. “I felt bad that you hadn’t gotten anything, so I got you something and there you go, it doesn’t mean I like you.”

You hear footsteps, watching Touya’s shoes move closer to yours. “Just admit, you like me.” He teases.

“I do not!” balling your fists, you stomp your foot. “I already told you why I got them now shut up before I take them back!”

Another pause.

“Thank you,” Touya says gently. “Even if it's just cause you felt bad for me”

Spring had come early for Touya Todoroki.

------

June 28th 2466 Touya: aged fifteen You: aged fourteen

Romance had blossomed between the two of you, then wilted, then blossomed again, then wilted again.

Teenage hormones had been unleashing havoc on your friendship for the past year. One day you were fine and the next, barely speaking but it wasn’t anyone’s fault.

“You two just need some time apart and then you can talk about it, you guys will sort it out.” Your mother had cooed, stroking your hair back as you cried one afternoon after you and Touya had had a ruthless argument.

The topic of fighting was always the same. His insane need to overtake his father and prove him wrong. The need within him had turned insatiable. Morphing from a dream that would one day be achieved with dedication and hard work into something that was turning your best friend into a ravenous beast.

“You’re not listening to me. I need you to listen to me.” Touya shouts as you walk home together.

“I am. You’re just not making sense.” You roll your eyes at your friend, turning your attention away from the raving lunatic walking beside you.

“Why would your dad have it out for you? He’s your dad?”

Touya huffs and stops, hand wrapping around your wrist to pull you back.

“My dad isn’t like your dad. He doesn’t love me or any of us. He just wants us to be better than All Might.” His words are slow as if explaining something to a toddler. “He knows that I am more powerful than him and now he’s scared that I might beat him so he wants me to stop training.”

You groan out his name, annoyed at the constant conversation topic. “Your dad wants you to stop training because you keep hurting yourself. He has told you that a million times, he’s just trying to keep you safe.”

“If he wanted to keep me safe, he wouldn’t have let me train like this. This isn’t about me being safe, this is about me outranking my dad.”

“Touya-“

He continues his tirade. “Enji has realised that I am better than him and Shoto but he doesn’t want his loser son who can only use fire to become the number one hero. I don’t know why you’re on his side. Why can’t you be on my side for once?”

“I am on your side!” you shout, yanking your arm away from his grasp. “I’m always on your side, why do you always make it seem like everyone is against you!”

Touya’s mouth snaps shut at your sudden outburst.

“I can’t keep having this argument with you. I feel like you don’t even want to be my friend so you come up with this stupid stuff to push me away and if you want that, fine. Just tell me so I don’t have to listen to you anymore.” You huff and turn around, starting on your way home without your friend.

You don’t hear his footsteps follow you.

His apology comes in a text later that night.

I'm sorry, Chihiro. Can we still be friends?

------

October 19th 2466 Touya: aged fifteen You: aged fourteen “Can you promise me something?” Touya’s words become mist in the mid-autumn night.

“Depends.”

You turn to face your friend, feeling the dew-soaked grass squish beneath your shoulders. Hidden behind the garden wall, lost within the shrubbery the two of you hid from the housekeepers who had been tasked with wrangling the children in for dinner. Touya had run first, taking off down the hall the second he heard the call of his name and you followed, unaware as to what you were running from but you followed him everywhere so why wouldn’t you now?

“Please don’t forget me.”

“Forget you?” your brows crinkle in confusion. “Why would I forget you? Are you going somewhere?”

Touya is still on his back, attention rapt on the stars twinkling above him.

“Just when we get older and go to different schools and things change, you know.” He sighs. “Just don’t forget me.”

You sit up, concern overtaking your confusion. Why was he talking about this stuff now? Your friend turns to look at you, mouth pulled down in a frown as tears line his cerulean eyes.

“I won't.” You shake your head, scooting closer across the grass and grab his cold hand, interlocking your fingers together, you squeeze and swear an oath. “I promise, I won’t ever forget you.”

November 24th 2367 Touya: aged sixteen You: aged fifteen

Nights come quicker in winter.

Which means less time spent with Touya.

But at least there is a little extra time when he walks you home on an evening.

It is a little awkward. Walking so close together but not actually touching aside from the occasional brush of fingers that sent your heart into a sprint. There is something unspoken between the two of you, something that teeters on the edge of romance but not something that you are both ready to dive into. It’s not like you are kids anymore, if you are going to date, it will be different than if you just liked each other. You will have to act like a girlfriend and not his friend and you didn’t know how to be a girlfriend. Was it any different than how you acted now? Plus, kissing and hand-holding. God, you want to kiss him.

You both stop at the gate of your house. The lights in the living room are on which means your parents are up waiting for you.

Touya drops your backpack at your feet.

There is a beat of stillness between the two of you, the tension rising with every second. You had not spoken a single word to each other the entire walk home and you don’t think you will even say goodbye. Touya offers you a tight smile and steps back, confirming your suspicions of a silent goodbye.

"Hey, I need to tell you something." You blurt out the words, not wanting him to leave just yet.

"Yeah?"

"I…umm," you stammer, slipping your hands into your jacket pockets. "I know it's your birthday in a few weeks, so I wanted to know what you want as a present."

"That's a question, Chihiro” Touya's mouth lifts at the corners. “You said you needed to tell me something."

“I got mixed up." You amend.

"You sure? There isn't anything you need to tell me?" Touya pushes, taking a step to close the gap.

"I'm sure. I just got confused" You nod, affirming your choice of words. “What do you want as a gift?”

"Hmm,” He pauses and takes a few more steps closer, lips pursed as if deep in thought. “Well, I want some of those cookies your mom makes."

Touya stops a few feet from you, close enough for a hug but not close enough that it was weird.

You laugh. "Really? That's it? You don't want a proper present?"

He nods. "Wrap it up, and it'll be a proper present.”

“Okay, cookies it is” You mirror his nod and smile. Your palms start to sweat, cheeks and ears begin to burn as you look up at your best friend.

“Any more questions?”

You shake your head. “Nope, that’s all.”

“Okay, well I’m gonna go 'cause I should have been home ten minutes ago but you are such a slow walker” he teases, bouncing up on his toes.

“I-Um,” you stutter, unable to come up with a snappy comeback due to his proximity. “Go home before you get into trouble.”

“I’m gonna.”

He makes no move to go.

Silence fills the gap.

“Ahh, well I’m going to go since-“

You’re interrupted by a soft kiss against your cheek.

You still, unable to move at the realisation that Touya had just kissed you.

“Okay, I’m going.” He announces and takes a step back. “I’ll see you on Monday?”

You nod, raising a hand in goodbye as he starts back down the street.

“I hope you like me too, 'cause that kiss made me late and my dad’s gonna kill me!” he shouts back, already halfway down the street.

“I do…like you…back” you shout awkwardly, feeling every inch of blood your body had flood into your cheeks. “Good luck. Hope your dad doesn't kill you!”

------

November 30th 2467 Touya: aged sixteen You: aged fifteen

You speak at Touya’s funeral.

The third speaker of the ceremony, having been urged on by Fuyumi and Natsuo despite your protests, and the one to close off the day before his ashes were taken home. You tried not to cry, bottom lip wobbling all day and you would have made it had you not been shoved on stage, microphone held to your face as you unfolded the crumpled sheet you had stuffed into the pocket of your coat.

The rest of the day was a blur as was the week, then the month and only after six full months of grieving daily, crying god only knows how much, did you finally start to see the light at the top of the hole you had buried yourself in but unlike the times you and Touya would play together, his warm hand wasn’t there to help you back up.

------

January 4th 2477 Touya: aged sixteen You: aged twenty-five

You think about Touya Todoroki often.

How your best friend had been killed in some freak accident. How despite his father rushing into the flames to save his son, had come out unscathed yet all that was found was Touya’s jaw bone. It didn’t make sense and you had driven yourself crazy with theories surrounding his death. It was an accident, they had all said. Even if it was an accident, Enji Todoroki was not innocent.

You think about the kind of man Touya could have been if he had lived, what kind of hero he would have become. How he would save the day then turn and smile at his adoring fans, blue eyes blazing bright with pride. You often think about his eyes, remembering how they softened whenever he would smile at you, brighten as you offered half of whatever snack bar you had that day. You think about him enough that you think you’re going crazy when you look up into the eyes of a stranger and see Touya staring back at you.

"Touya?" you whisper as you stare at the strange man.

You had walked headfirst into their chest while crossing the dark street, ducking under awnings to avoid the winter rain. Hoping to cut ten minutes from your usual walk home, desperate to beat your roommate home and into the warm embrace of your apartment’s limited hot water, you took the risk of walking down the alley; what you weren’t hoping for was to bump into your best friend’s dead brother. There was no way it was him, maybe he was a distant Todoroki. Enji did seem like the type to spread it around so maybe a few illegitimate children were running around with the eyes of Endeavour.

His hand reaches out to grab your arm, nails digging into your exposed flesh. You want to wince, to cringe away from him but something within you is telling you to hold your ground. The stranger pulls you closer, all false bravado leaving you as you realise what’s about to happen. Your body tenses, hands uselessly curling into fists at your side.

"Who the fuck are you?" a harsh whisper cuts through the quiet patter of rain.

The hand your arm tightens when you take too long to respond.

“I’m sorry, I thought you were someone else.” Your answer whooshes from you, all air leaving your body in a single sentence.

The stranger ducks his head to get closer to yours and you turn your face away, afraid to look into the face of the man who had the eyes of a long-lost love. This had to be some sort of joke, right? You were not about to be assaulted by a guy who had Touya’s eyes, there was no way the universe was that cruel.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to I’m sorry, please.” Hot tears roll over your cheeks, your bottom lip quivering as you fight the frown wanting to form. You were not above begging despite knowing it wouldn’t do any good, if there was some way to get out of this situation alive and unscathed, you were going to try it.

“Hey,” the stranger calls to you, shaking you gently. “Hey, I’m not gonna hurt you.”

Great, he’s playing mind games now. You’ve seen enough true crime to know that there are no good people left in the world, especially the ones who lurk in alleyways.

A cold hand reaches out and grips your chin, lifting your face to his. The gesture is intimate, gentle and familiar.

“I’m sorry, I really didn’t mean anything by it. I'm sorry, I-“You’re sobbing now.

“Look at me” he interrupts, fingers tightening on your cheeks.

He repeats his order when your gaze doesn’t move.

You sniffle, blink back tears that refuse to stop coming, and focus your attention on the man before you.

“I’m not going to hurt you so stop crying,” his voice is soft.

The hand that was on your arm now cups your cheek, thumb brushing away the tears that coat your cheeks. His skin is rough and warm, but there is a bite of something cold on his palm. He holds you with such tenderness you feel a tug at your heart not for any feelings towards the stranger but because you had never been held like this before. That a complete stranger who was probably a crazy psycho villain was holding you with the care you hold a baby animal with.

“I need you to stop crying and answer me, can you do that?” he asks, nodding as his thumb continues to brush over your cheek.

You nod, taking in a shaky breath.

“Good girl.” Heat floods your cheeks. “Now, why is a pretty girl like you walking alone at night?” he asks softly.

You blink up at him, surprised at the switch in demeanour.

“I just finished work and this is shortcut.” you don’t have time to come up with an elaborate lie. “I’m really sorry about the whole name thing, you just look like a friend who died and I thought that maybe he wasn’t actually- I’m sorry” You feel the tears welling up again.

“Well, he’s not me.” He sighs, removing his hands from your face. You kind of miss the warmth they had. “I’m sorry you lost someone, but I don’t think accusing strangers of being dead people is a good idea.”

You nod wordlessly, too stunned at his shift in tone to formulate a response. The man reaches up for the hood of your raincoat, pulling it over your head tight to shield you from the rain.

“I need one more thing from you okay?” he asks, ducking his head to look into your eyes. “You gonna listen to me again?”

“Okay.” Your voice shakes.

“Don’t mention that name to anyone else, alright?”

He waits for your nod and then releases your hood. “You’re such a good listener” The fact he is praising you has your heart spinning. Wasn’t he ready to attack you a few minutes ago?

“Now go home” he nods his head to the exit of the alleyway. You follow his nod and look back at the light-filled street. “And don’t walk down backstreets anymore, you could get hurt.”

By the time you turn back to face him, he is already halfway down the alleyway arms raised in a farewell. You watch as he turns the corner and only when he is gone do you let yourself breathe. ------

March 6th 2477 Touya: aged sixteen You: aged twenty-five

"Let it go, dude," Natsuo sighs for the umpteenth time as he packs his books away. "You're lucky you didn't get hurt. He could have been a complete psycho."

Your friend is right and has been every other time you have brought up the strange man from the alley and you can tell by the way he shoves the textbooks into his backpack that his patience is running thin. Over the years, you had grown closer to Natsuo, looking at him like a little brother who you could force to hang out with and do things Fuyumi didn't want to. Unfortunately for him, he was the first person you called upon meeting the stranger (Knowing Fuyumi would have had a heart attack upon hearing about your encounter). Initially, Natsuo was concerned, terrified for your physical and mental wellbeing even going so far as to suggest letting his father know about the incident to launch a formal investigation but you were quick to shut that down. You hadn’t been hurt and the man didn’t seem to be skulking in alleyways to assault anyone so there is no reason you should get heroes involved.

"Dude, he looked so familiar! I know him," you press on, hands splayed on the library table as you lean in as if you were about to reveal a secret. "I think he was a childhood friend."

You had purposefully omitted the fact the stranger bore a striking resemblance to his dead brother or how his entire aura radiated familiarity and warmth something you only really felt from said brother.

Natsuo laughs and zips his bag closed. " 'Yumi was your only childhood friend."

"Fine, a neighbour, maybe I don't know, but I know him."

"Should I schedule you with my family psych, or will this fade by next month?" You frown at Natsu, sigh, and then give in to his pronounced lack of interest.

"I don't need to see anyone because I know I'm right," you start to pack up your things. "But, just for you, I won't mention it again."

------

May 17th 2477 Touya: aged sixteen You: aged twenty-five

You feel stupid.

Really fucking stupid.

So monumentally stupid with every single decision that has led you to this moment. Led you to stand before a thick metal door, the sliding peephole pulled back to allow the man guarding the entry a view as to who knocked like some girl scout. The box of cookies in your hands does nothing to evade that image.

“I have a meeting with…Dabi?” you look down at your phone, squinting at the blurry name on your screen then back to the man guarding whatever was in that building. “I think.”

You have no idea if you’re being set up. If the person you had been corresponding with was the infamous villain or just some poser but what you have deduced from your months long investigation is that you had in fact met Dabi in that alleyway so whether it was him or not you were about to meet, he is your only lead into finally figuring out what exactly happened to Touya

“You think?” You hear the smirk in his voice at the uncertainty in yours. “I think you might have the wrong door, sweetheart.”

It is the right door. The creepy encrypted message you received gave you this very location with the exact time to arrive. This was a giant risk on your behalf. Trusting strangers on the internet to give you accurate information as opposed to being lured into a trap for human trafficking but the need to know more about the mysterious man you had met weeks ago was gnawing at your insides so much that you were more need than person. The hunt had begun with a very broad search into Touya’s death and the records surrounding the tragedy before very quickly veering into villain records and archives. There was a small lead with a hospital admittance for an unidentified burn victim in a hospital a prefecture over from Tokyo but that went cold when the body of the patient was identified two weeks post mortem through dental records. You had all but given up when a weird email in your spam box caught your eye. It was from an unknown sender, hence the immediate spam allocation, and had nothing but a link to a chat site. There is no amount in the universe to quantify the stupidity in your subsequent actions from clicking the link to chatting with the stranger on the other side of the screen but they had the information you wanted and so you followed their instructions to a bookstore, then a bar and then finally an internet café where you logged into the already open discord chat that had the location of the final meeting point. You quickly snapped a picture of the chat before it disappeared and three days later, here you stand in a deserted alleyway surrounded by boarded-up doors and graffitied walls.

“This is the address I was given.” You explain, holding up the phone so the guy can get a look at the message. “I promise I'm not with the police or anything, I just have some questions for Dabi and I know that makes me sound like I’m a police officer but I’m not and I’ve been looking for him for weeks so please, let me in.”

Your mouth sets in a frown and despite wanting to look intimidating and rough, you know you look like a child pouting in an attempt to get more cake. “Please, I’ll give you some cookies if you want.” A shitty bribe but a bribe nonetheless.

The man snorts. “You really have cookies in that box?”

“Yes. Fresh and homemade made and some of them can be yours if you let me in” You wiggle the box.

There is a beat of silence then the sliding peephole slams shut.

Fuck.

You close your eyes, disappointed in the fact you had come so far only to be shut down by some guy behind a door. Maybe this was the universe stepping in and preventing you from getting killed or trafficked. Maybe you should let this whole thing go.

Just as the last of your hope leaves you, you hear the click of a lock and then the door is sliding open. The man who you had been speaking to not ten seconds ago stands before you, muscular tattooed arms crossed over his equally muscular chest.

“Choc chip?” he asks, eyes trained on the box in your hand.

You nod.

“Fine, come in” The man tilts his head in a gesture to welcome you in. “Leave some on the counter.”

You nod again, your pace quick as you enter the building beyond the door.

The hallway is dim and damp, filled with cardboard and wooden crates stacked along the walls. The ceilings are high with exposed piping and hanging fluorescent bars that would have once lit up the entire walkway. Light bleeds beneath the many doors that line the hall, muted sounds following the flashes of colour that leak from the closed-off rooms. The smell is unpleasant, with mildew and mould growing along every available surface but what did you expect a dirty unoccupied building to smell like?

“Where’s the?” you turn to ask about the counter, but the man has disappeared. The door slides shut caging you in from the outside world, from an escape if need be. “Hello?” you call out and take a step back, dried leaves crunching beneath your feet.

Fuck. Fuck.

You turn on your heels, heading for the door you had stepped through a few seconds ago but are stopped by a familiar voice.

“Did you really bring me cookies?”

You whirl, fingers tightening on the box between them. “Yes, but if you don’t want them, it’s okay. I just thought that I might-“

You watch as the man you had met weeks before steps into the dim light. Breath catches in your throat as you are met with the face of the villain that has filled your screen for weeks now.

Dabi.

He is taller than you remember. Towering a full foot over you, his intimidating figure looms in the dim light. Your eyes follow the line of his scarred skin over his cheeks, down his neck, over exposed collarbones before disappearing beneath the neck of his shirt. Heat fills your face at your wandering gaze and you’re thankful for the lack of lighting.

“Who says I don’t want cookies?” Dabi smirks, taking a step out of the shadows.

“No one.” your answer is a broken stammer, earning a bemused snicker from your companion.

You take in a breath and square your shoulders. “I just don’t want to accuse you of anything.” A better delivery.

The villain hums and takes another step closer. “So, it is you then.”

Another foot closer, and when you don’t back away, one more. His steps are careful; small and reserved as if trying not to frighten you anymore than you already are. The routine is repeated, a hesitant dance of pushing proximity limits until he is less than a foot away. Blue eyes narrowed on you, brows furrowed in intrigue. Same blue as before. Same blue eyes as Touya.

His apprehension and fascination leave as quickly as it came, and you're left staring at a man who looks as if he wants nothing more to do with you.

“So, pretty girl, what can I do for you?” tone casual, pet name rolling off his tongue effortlessly. “You’ve gone through all this trouble to what?”

The thought of lying did cross your mind on your way over but you had already jumped through enough loops to get this meeting, you aren’t in the mood to play games and risk his irritation.

“I wanted to talk to you about something.”

Dabi tilts his head to the side the way an animal does to hear better. There is something so unsettling about the he moves, something not entirely human.

“Talk about what, angel?” his eyes blaze blue as he notices the twitch in your lips at the byname. “About the league? About you? Me?”

“About you.”

Heat pools in your stomach at his affectionate pet name, embarrassment following suit. You should not be letting him get to you the way he is, but it could also be a good bargaining chip. If you couldn’t afford his services monetarily, physical payment would not be entirely painful.

“We can talk about me but first, I want to ask you something.”

“Sure.” The false confidence you had summoned before has not left you yet.

The insincerity of your act is palpable, but Dabi lets you go, lets you take this small win.

“How long did it take you to find me?” his question is genuine, interested in just how exclusive access to him is.

An exhausted sigh leaves your body at the mention of the time that you had put into locating him and his lips quirk at the gesture.

“Four months and 2 weeks, I think.”

An irrationally long time but there are questions that demanding answers.

“So, you’ve spent almost five months thinking about me?” he taunts.

Me. The emphasis on the pronoun doesn’t evade you but you don’t have time to dwell on his excitement.

“Yes. And now I’ve answered two of your questions, can I ask one?”

Dabi shrugs and reaches for the box in your hands. Rough fingers brush against the back of your hands, goosebumps skittering over your skin at the contact. He takes his time opening the small white box, bottom lip pulled between his teeth in contemplation at the contents before him and after a full minute of silent deliberation, does he pick one. Slender unscarred fingers dig into the box, fishing out the biggest and most chocolate filled treat.

“Did you make these?” Dabi holds up the choc chip cookie, inspecting the biscuit in the low light.

“That’s three questions now.” you announce as the unofficial score keeper. “and yes, I made them this morning.”

The making of the desserts had been a coping mechanism on your part. Too nervous to sit still but not so overstimulated you were willing to exercise to shake off the extra energy, you turned to an activity you hadn’t touched since university. The recipe was one you know by heart, having it gifted to you by your mother on your eighteenth birthday, you were free to think as your body worked through the motions. However, the purpose behind you baking said sweets was not entirely self-soothing.

Dabi nods and bites into the biscuit.

“I know you already said you don’t know the guy I mentioned when I first met you and I haven’t mentioned him to anyone again just like you asked me, and I figured with you being a villain, you might have connections that I don’t have and you can access more information as to what happened to him and I promise that I can pay. I’ll pay whatever you want but I don’t really have that much but I’ll pay in food, and that’s kinda why I brought some cookies to show that I can bake but that will only be a small amount because I’m good for a couple thousand-“ you reach into your back pocket to fish out your wallet. “I promise, I won't ever mention this to anyone, but I just really need your help, Dabi.” The juxtaposition of your pastel purple Kuromi wallet holding thousands of dollars as payment for a villain’s services almost makes you chuckle but the lack of recognition from your companion causes you to pocket the purse.

Dabi’s stare is unamused as he chews.

“Why is this guy so important to you?” he asks around a mouthful of chocolate. “You’re willing to blow thousands on some dead guy, not to mention you’ve risked your life coming here, so why is he so special?”

Your fingers curl into a fist, nails digging into your palm before you relax and answer.

“Because he died in a really weird way, and I need to know if there was anything I could have done to prevent it.”

“That’s a stupid reason.” Dabi spits out.

A frown tugs at your mouth.

“He’s dead. Who cares how he died and whether you could stop it or not.” He continues, rolling his eyes as your pout forms. “What’s the real reason you’re looking for answers? There’s something else.”

“It’s stupid.” You mutter, suddenly embarrassed at the reasoning for your investigation.

“Ohh, it can’t be that stupid if you’ve put all this effort in.” Dabi croons. “Come on, angel. You’ve gotta tell me why if I’m gonna do all this work looking for him.”

You take in a deep breath in hopes of smothering the tears that are threatening to spill but the lump sticking in your throat has other plans.

“Because he was my best friend and I loved him and I never got to say goodbye.” You sniff, nose starting to run as the tears build. “Please.”

Dabi stares at you.

“You made these?” the question comes out of left field.

You blink at the villain, unaware as to where he is taking the conversation but answer him nonetheless.

“Yes, I did. It’s stupid I know, bringing cookies as a bargaining chip but I-“

“Your mom’s cookies are better.” Dabi interrupts.

My what? My mom?

“What?”

He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. “I’m sorry but her cookies will always be the best.”

Your jaw slackens as you stare at the man before you.

“My mother?”

“Yes. Your mom made better cookies, and it’s not for lack of trying. Yours are really good, but they’ll never beat your mom's.”

Is he fucking with you? Is this some elaborate psychological warfare that he enacted on all his victims? Are you about to die? How does he know about your mother’s cookies?

“Aww, don’t get upset Chihiro. I'm just being honest.”

The nickname rattles your soul.

Touya.

Before you can even register that you are moving, you have crossed the space between your bodies and swung at the villain.

Your clenched fist collides with his jaw, surprising him out of his teasing. Arms wrap around your waist as you collapse against the villain. Your knees break the fall, bones scream out in pain as they slam into the concrete, and you brace for further impact but it never comes. There is a moment when you truly believe you are going to be killed, incinerated into nothing but ash for your assault but nothing happens and so you are left with no other choice but to get answers from the man under you. There is no clear choice as to why you chose violence, some primal part within you acting out of instinct. There isn’t enough time for you brain to catch up or even process that information that had been thrown at you. . In most high-pressure situations, you would retreat inwards and carefully unpack each and every detail of the occurrence like you were a kid under a Christmas tree; not a package left untouched, but you don’t have that luxury in the current moment.

Hot fat tears stream down your face as you grip Dabi’s cheeks in your hand, his skin rough beneath your fingers.

“You’ve been alive this whole time?” you cry, fingers digging into the gaunt flesh and when no answer comes you ask again, the palm of your hand connecting with his cheek in a sharp slap. “You left me to think you were dead, but you’ve been alive?”

Below you, the villain stares up in disbelief. Eyes wide at the mad woman above him, screeching like a banshee let loose. His thin shirt is scrunched tightly between your fingers, pulling the material taunt against his body. You have no control over your actions, feral and bowing to your emotions. You watch as your hand slips to his neck, pushing at the base of his throat.

Finger wraps around your wrist, pulling your weight off his windpipe and then the world shifts.

You are flipped over as easily as a leaf in the wind. Now on your back, the dust that had been kicked up from the floor sticks in your lungs and you cough as you cry.

Dabi hovers above you. Legs on either side of your hips, hands pinning yours above your head preventing you from causing any more harm to him. You try to kick, to wrench your hands from his grasp, throw him off you with your hips but nothing. You fight back against your opponent, teeth gnashing as you desperately try to find purchase on skin but he has done this too many times before to leave anything to chance. All points of access to an injury on his behalf are sealed up, held high above you and there is nothing you can do to reach.

Your cries are loud and deep and aching. Air leaves you with each heaving sob and you fear you may never breathe again. Spit and tears mix in a hot mess across your cheeks and you would wipe away the mess if not for your hands held above.

“I hate you so much.” You seethe, teeth clenched as you breathe in. “I fucking hate you.”

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry.” You hear Dabi apologising over and over again.

A hand brushes over your forehead, then your cheeks, then your jaw.

“You left me.” You wail. “You left me there, all alone.”

Your chest heaves, air being gulped down as if you had been held underwater to the point of drowning and it felt like you had been. You had been held under for so many years and now you were getting a moment of air, and your brain could not process it.

You take a few more breaths, calming the blood roaring in your ears and pounding heart and finally when your breathing returns to a semi-acceptable rhythm, do you finally acknowledge the man above you.

Dabi glides his palm along your jaw, thumb brushing over your cheekbone before resting his fingers along the side of your neck.

“I’m so sorry.”

A frown pulls at the corners of his mouth.

There is no longer a villain before you. Dabi does not exist. The boy above you is Touya. Your Touya.

You knew it. You knew it was him all along.

“Is it really you?” your voice is hoarse from crying.

“If I answer, you need to promise to keep it a secret,” he whispers, free hand curling in the ends of your hair that lay splayed out beneath you.

“Promise.” You nod and hold out your pinkie the way you did so many times as children.

Touya interlocks his pinkie with yours.

Fresh tears prick at your eyes.

“Hi, Touya,” you whisper.

“Hi.” He whispers back, hand pulling away from yours to glide over your jaw and slot into the hair at the nape of your neck. “I missed you.”

You wrap your arms around his waist and pull his body against yours in a bone-crushing hug. A laugh leaves your friend as he loops his arm around the back of your neck, holding you close. You pull back, face now centimetres from him and wait for him to make the next move. Your body follows his breaths, following his lead just the way you would follow him all those years ago. A lump forms in your throat and you know you look insane; hair mused, cheeks flushed and soaked in tears, eyes still red and crying.

Touya closes the distance, mouth hovering above yours and you think he is going to kiss you but nothing comes.

“Did you really love me?”

A sob leaves you involuntarily.

“I loved you so much, you have no idea.” The truth spills from you. “I love you so much.”

At the confession, Touya kisses you.

His mouth is soft on yours in the gentlest of kisses, almost as if he was afraid that you would fall apart if he pushed any harder. You part your lips to test the waters and when Touya follows your lead opening his mouth against yours, you grip onto the shirt bunched up around his waist. He lets you lead, lets you take control and set the pace for the first few minutes. Following your moves and pressure against your body to not push you any more than you already had been but as you whimper beneath him, his demeanour shifts.

Fingers tighten in your hair and the hand that had been holding himself up comes to rest on your waist, slipping beneath your body to pull you closer to him. Your mouth opens wider beneath his and you feel his tongue trace your bottom lip before flicking into your mouth. Menthol and chocolate fill your senses and you scramble for more, hands gripping his face as you desperately try to get your fill of him; of Touya. The steel of the staples bites into your palm but you don’t care, don’t care what form you have him in, you have your Touya back.

You’re being lifted off the floor, hoisted to sit on his lap, feeling the entirety of his body against yours.

You pull away to stare at him, not believing this is happening and that at any moment you are going to wake up or snap out of your delusion.

“Are you okay? Did I hurt you?” Touya asks, eyes frantically searching for the reason you aren’t kissing him anymore.

Your chest constricts at his concern. The same sweet and caring boy you fell in love with all those years ago.

“I’m okay, I just-“You stroke his cheeks and he leans into your touch, inhaling a shaky breath. “I missed you so much. There was so much we didn’t get to do.”

He frowns and nuzzles further into your palm. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay. I don’t want you to apologise, I just want..” You can’t form the words. Can’t articulate the need within you for him. All these years you’ve held a torch for your deceased best friend. All these years you could have had him with you and now that you do, you aren’t letting go. “I just want you.”

Touya’s frown deepens. “Even now?” His thumbs stroke circles along your clothed skin.

You know he is referring to his crimes. All the bad he has done and probably will do. You do not care. You had long ago abandoned your hope in the heroes of society, having been granted a look into the past of the now top hero. There is nothing for you in that world, nothing on offer that could sway your feelings for the man below you.

“Even now, and tomorrow and the day after that and yesterday and the day before and the month before that” You smile, knowing you weren’t making sense but none of this made sense. “I never forgot about you.”

Touya’s eyebrows knit together in an expression you don’t know and for a moment you panic; worried you had crossed a line that you didn’t know existed. You want to apologise, take back the words that had so carelessly tumbled out but his grip on your body stops you.

“I never stopped thinking about you,” he sighs, hands sliding up to press into the small of your back.

“Really?” you beam, unable to stifle the excitement that grows in you at his confession.

You are no longer an adult woman sitting in a dirty and dusty warehouse; you are fifteen and hearing your crush confess words you had been so desperately wishing to be spoken.

Your best friend’s fingers trailing over your spine pull you back to the present.

“Never for a single second,” he tests the waters and slips one hand under the hem of your shirt. “I never wanted to forget you.”

When no protest on your behalf comes, Touya slips his other hand beneath the material and begins to trace shapes into your skin.

“What did you think about?” your question is breathless, head beginning to swim as you feel heat bloom in your stomach.

Touya hums in thought, fingers beginning to climb your ribs. “Good things. Great things actually.” hands splay over the band of your bra. “some bad things but that isn’t important.”

Your thighs slip further apart at the implication; weight now fully resting atop his hips. There is no doubt that he can feel the heat from between your legs, the warmth that had begun to pool in the seam of your panties.

“Bad things?” you ask the question without knowing what kind of answer you would get. “I was nothing but nice to you, what bad things could you be thinking of?”

You feel his cock twitch at your innocence. Perfect.

Your answer comes in the form of an action. Touya leans forward and captures your mouth in a searing kiss. All teeth and tongue as his fingers pressed hard into your spine, holding you against his body as if you are a buoy and he is lost at sea. Your own hands begin to wander, sliding from where they came to rest on his neck, into the hair at the nape of his neck and as he digs his teeth into your bottom, you pull at the strands between your digits.

Touya pulls away, breathless.

“I always kept an eye on you, you know.” he pants, pushing your body away only enough to ogle you freely. “And I’ve gotta say you grew up so well.”

There are two thoughts that cross your mind in that spilt second. One: to bring up the fact he has kept you within his sighs for years, has been in the shadows of you life and how there is a part of you, not that big but enough to plant a seed of betrayal, that you can’t forgive him for that. Two: to throw caution to the wind and give into the part of you that aches for him.

The latter wins out.

“I did always think that Dabi was really handsome” you admit, an air of nonchalance in your words.

“Oh yeah? Even with all the new mods?”

“New mods?” you laugh. “Why do you make it sound like you’ve upgraded a game or something?”

Touya laughs with you.

“I’m serious,” vulnerability swims in his eyes as he looks up at you waiting for praise. “Do you really think that I’m still handsome?”

You nod and duck your head closer to his. “I still think you’re so handsome and you will always be handsome, which is really unfair.”

His lips are pressed against yours in a soft kiss. It's gentle and sweet, with no hint of the darkness lurking just below.

“Even after all these years how do you manage to make me so weak?” Touya pulls away to admire you.”You, my pretty girl, are my weakness.”

He tucks your hair behind your ears, holding your cheeks in his cupped hands and pulls you back in for a kiss and you melt into his touch at the possessive compliment.

“All these years, I never thought I’d get to talk to you again let alone touch you.” His mouth moves to your neck, pressing sloppy open-mouthed kisses against your skin. “but, fuck, have I thought about it.”

Your skin flushes at his confession.

His teeth sink into your neck, hard enough to leave a mark but not enough to break the skin.

“Thought about kissing you like this” his words are slurred.

Slick begins to pool in your panties, the seam of your jeans dampening.

“Thought about having you in my lap, just the way you are and how good you’d feel on my cock.”

Your head swims at his words.

“When I saw you again for the first time a few years ago, it took everything in me to not walk up to you and kiss you right there and then.” He bites lower, nipping at your collarbone.

Rough hands make their way under your shirt, exploring the expanse of your back.

“Thought about holding you and kissing you and taking you home.” he bites again. “God, the amount of time I’ve spent imagining you under me or spread out just for me.” Breathing becomes hard. “All for me, just for me.” He chants your name as if it were a prayer.

You grind your hips over his, feeling his cock hard and aching beneath you. Touya groans against your throat, fingers digging into your skin. Hands begin to wander downwards until they find purchase on the buttons of his pants, stopping at the metal for approval from the man beneath you and when it comes in a rushed yes, please you flick open the clasp. Your movements are awkward and nervous, having never thought this would happen and you can tell Touya is just as jittery. His fingers dip under the waistband of your pants, toying with the soft elastic of the band. Your hands follow his and pull at the material, trying to pull it down but stop at the realisation there is no way you could do this and still look seductive.

“I’m trying really hard to make this hot, but I don’t think it’s gonna work.” You admit, giggling at the absurdity.

Touya shakes his head, removing his hands from your hips to hold your face again. “I don’t want to fuck you here.” He presses a kiss to your nose.

Before you can ask, he is answering.

“I’m not gonna have the first time I fuck you be on a dirty floor in a random building.” A kiss on your right cheek.

“But what if I want that?” you retort, hand reaching down between the two of you.

His breath catches as your fingers brush against his clothed cock.

“I know you want that,” he pulls your hand away and entwines your fingers. “and you know I do too,” A kiss to your left cheek. “But I had a plan back when we were younger,” he brings your hand to his lips. “and I’ve already had so much taken from us that I’m not letting our first time be taken too.”

Your heart squeezes. He really is the same boy you fell in love with.

“So as much as we both want it, please let me do this, okay?”

You pout, a habit you had formed long ago that usually got you what you wanted from him.

“Please, baby.” The pet name is a gut punch.

You nod and hold up your pinkie.

“You promise?”

Touya grins wider than you had ever seen and entwines his finger with yours.

“I promise.”

May 17th 2477 Touya: aged twenty-six You: aged twenty-five

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ᰔ a/n: NOT PROOFREAD! ohmygosh, this was a long haul. I wrote it and then rewrote it and then rewrote it and so on and so forth till I got here. tiny TINY smut cause i didn’t wanna write a whole ass thing so I might do a one shot of it later. this exhausted me holy- also shout out to billie eilish lmao her entire new album helped me write this mainly chihiro, the greatest and blue but also harry styles' as it was and madds buckley's brother

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sollis-occasum · 11 months ago

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you think i'm gone 'cause i left - anakin skywalker/darth vader x fem!reader (part 1 of 3)

summary: After failing to save you from a painful death, Darth Vader remembers his past with you and realizes why he can never completely leave Anakin Skywalker behind.

warnings: angst, no use of y/n, reconstructive surgery, blood, mentions of major character death (or not who knows), darth vader is his own warning, probably grammar mistakes (i'm not a native speaker)

word count: 3.8k

part 2

Darth Vader, the master of the dark side of the Force, the legendary lord of the Sith, the tyrannical leader who terrorized the galaxy, remembered very well the moment when he swore to dedicate his worthless life to Lord Sidious, his lord and savior.

While his body, burned and torn apart by the lava, was trying to be fixed by the health droids, he was writhing in despair and moaning in a painful voice. The wave of pain spreading from his lungs to the rest of his body with each breath showed him a type of physical pain he had never experienced before, and even the cold metal hands touching his burned skin were insufficient to alleviate his pain.

"He should be unconscious by now," he heard a distant and very deep robotic voice, which he thought belonged to one of the medical droids. Yes, the pain he felt at that moment would be enough to kill another human being and maybe even drive them insane, and God knows that's what Anakin wanted with all his heart as he lay on the operating table screaming. But how could this be possible when he sees your lifeless body over and over again every time he closes his eyes?

In fact, he had calculated all the possibilities down to the smallest detail while making his plan. There was no war he wouldn't fight, no enemy he wouldn't face to create a future that included you. He was ready to turn his back on the entire galaxy just to see you smile one more time. Moreover, Palpatine had made a promise to him. He said that contrary to popular belief, it was possible to resist death and that he knew how to do it, and that he would help Anakin in trying to save you. All he had to do was accompany him to the dark side. Anakin had done everything he was told. He had given up on who he was, accepted the name his new master had given him, brutally executed separatist leaders, and led thousands of clone troopers in attacking the Jedi Temple he once called home. Even killing those little children who looked at him with admiration with the lightsaber they saw as a symbol of peace was not important to him. Of course, he wasn't proud of himself for betraying what he believed in in his past, but he also knew that what he did was a small price to pay to save you. So why didn't what he did work? Why couldn't he prevent the scene he had seen many times in his nightmares from happening?

He gripped the operating table tightly with his mechanical hand and mumbled your name in a voice only he could hear. He kept saying your name over and over again, as if he was drawing strength from you, as if you could come and save him if he said it enough times.

He closed his eyes tightly and tried to focus on something other than your pained facial expression and bloodied body. If he wanted to survive, if he wanted to rise up and take revenge for what was done to you, he had to find a way to endure the pain he suffered, and what was there in this life that gave him as much strength as you? He tried desperately to remember the moment you first met.

Nearly a month had passed since Qui Gon Jinn's death, and during this time his new master Obi Wan Kenobi had begun training him to become a Jedi. He was grateful for the opportunity given to him and did not want to be ungrateful. However, there were so many moments during his training that he despaired and wanted to return to Tatooine... First of all, Obi Wan Kenobi was not the person he imagined. Yes, it was an undeniable fact that he was a powerful Jedi. He was also smart, very smart. Anakin knew there was a lot of thing he could learn from him. However, it hadn't been long since he had ended his life as a padawan and Obi Wan had obviously not yet fully figured out how to be a good master for his young student. There was no distance or formality between them that there should be between a padawan and a master. They were more like two brothers who fought often. Obi Wan was pushing Anakin very hard to teach him basic things as soon as possible, and Anakin was always managing to drive Obi Wan crazy with his smarty-pants attitude.

He could also sense how the younglings at the temple felt about him as he began to learn how to use the force. Although none of them were directly mistreating him or making a rude remark, Anakin would sometimes catch their gaze. There was displeasure in those looks, obviously his presence disturbed them. A child who appears unexpectedly becomes a padawan without training in the temple and becomes the center of attention of the entire Jedi council... The other younglings must have felt unfair. But one day, he met a young girl who looked at him differently than others: You.

With your bright smile that could light up the whole galaxy and your compassionate gaze, you extended your hand to him and introduced yourself, telling him that he could always come to you if he needed anything. They said you were 9 years old like him, but it was so hard for him to believe it.

You were different from all the other children Anakin had met at the temple, with your confident demeanor and room-filling presence. Your surprisingly mature attitude and wisdom gave those who saw you the impression that you never made mistakes and that you always knew what was right, causing them to respect you.

Moreover, you were beautiful, very beautiful. Even your messy hair waving in the wind, your face dripping with sweat, and your loose-fitting uniform couldn't prevent Anakin from seeing this beauty. When his eyes met your beautiful, understanding eyes, he immediately looked away and wanted to run away. There was no doubt that you were the angel the pilots who came to Tatooine were talking about. However, he could not find the courage in his heart to admit this to himself or to tell you. He felt so small, so helpless in front of the being that he wanted to get away from it as soon as possible and think about what this warm feeling that filled his heart that he had never felt before was.

Yes, he wanted to run away from you when your eyes met. But ironically, this was the first time he didn't want to return to Tatooine to his mother.

For the 3 years after you met, you had no communication other than chance encounters at the temple and furtive glances at each other. Even a life form without eyes could easily understand that you wanted to be closer to each other, but you had neither the time nor the courage to do so. You were very busy with your studies. In the future, you wanted to be a female Jedi as respected as Shaak Ti, or even more so, and you were working very hard to achieve your goal. Anakin, on the other hand, began to go on missions given by the council with Obi Wan, and the difficulty of these missions was increasing. You were so close to Anakin, yet he felt like you were hundreds of light years away from him. You were unreachable to him.

Anakin heard that you were accepted as a padawan by Plo Koon when you turned 13. According to rumors in the temple, the Jedi knight from Dorin noticed your great potential and volunteered to train you. Maybe you weren't as good at using a lightsaber as the other padawans, you might not have been as strong or as durable, but you were smart, very smart. Your dangerously high intelligence level, combined with your composure, easily compensated for your other weaknesses, making you a promising Jedi knight candidate. Even the council had high hopes for you. That's why they didn't interfere with Plo Koon's training style and allowed him to take you out early on missions that could be considered at least partially dangerous.

It was thanks to one of these missions that you came together again. The Senate thought that a small newly established weapons factory on one of the republic's planets was making some irregularities and put pressure on the Jedi to resolve this situation. The council assigned you and Plo Koon to inspect this factory.

It didn't sound that difficult, actually. You would make a short journey to reach the planet in question, tour the factory, talk to the engineers, examine some documents and intimidate the managers.

What could go wrong with such a simple task? To be honest, you weren't known for being lucky, and as usual, trouble had found you.

Anakin and Obi-Wan didn't even need to contact Plo Koon to realize that the Senate was right about the factory producing weapons for Mandolorian terrorists. Less than a day after you arrived on the planet, you reached the council and reported that the factory was completely abandoned, saying that you were trapped and surrounded by thousands of droids and asked for help. The council also assigned Obi Wan and Anakin, who had returned from a mission to a nearby planet, to support Plo Koon and you. Anakin still remembered Mace Windu's explanation word by word when he explained the urgency of your situation to his master Obi-Wan. And how those words filled his little heart with fear.

"You must reach the weapons factory as soon as possible, Master Kenobi." Mace Windu said in a stern tone. "Or it might be too late to save them."

Even if these words had not been spoken, the more serious expression than ever on Mace Windu's face would have been more than enough for even the most primitive creature in the galaxy to understand the situation.

As the spaceship they were on made a sudden return to your planet by order of his master, Anakin was wondering why he was so worried about a girl he had only talked to a few times. While he could keep his cool even during missions where his own life was threatened, why did the idea of you in pain make his heart beat faster and his head spin? He was trying to breathe to calm down, but even his breathing was so irregular that Obi Wan felt the need to turn to him and reassure him that everything was okay. How could Anakin explain to his master that he was afraid for you, not himself? Would he understand if he told him?

While the young padawan was in these thoughts, the ship entered the atmosphere with a sudden jolt and landed near the factory. As the deafening noise of explosions and droid weapons filled his ears, he got off the ship and started running without waiting for his master's command. He could hear Obi-Wan calling to him to stop, but he didn't have the time or patience to wait. This was not a scene they were unfamiliar with anyway. When all this nonsense was over, he would happily hear Obi Wan's scolding and humbly accept his punishment, but right now wasn't the right time to think about that. The only thing that mattered at that moment was saving you, and he was going to do it no matter what it took. Because it was his heart, not his brain, that told him to do this, and Anakin was not mature enough to resist his heart. With a swift move, he pulled out his lightsaber and sliced the first droid he encountered in half.

When he heard the sound of your footsteps mixing with the sounds of the battle droids, he realized how close he was to them, but he didn't even slow down for fear of being late for you. He was destroying all the war machines in front of him, clearing the way and moving towards the direction where he sensed your presence.

When he and his master, who finally managed to catch up with him, arrived at the production facility where you were fighting the droids, he started looking around for you, without even bothering to check how Plo Koon was doing. Plo Koon was one of the most powerful Jedi, someone like him could survive without the help of a padawan, but not you. He could feel with all his being that you needed help, but no matter how much he looked around, he couldn't see you.

While Anakin was looking around the burning production facility to find you, he saw two silhouettes in the smoke. One of these silhouettes, the one leaning on the ground and cowering against a wall, belonged to a young girl. The other was the silhouette of an armed droid, as tall as a human but as skinny as a skeleton. Moreover, this droid's gun was pointed at you and was about to be fired. Anakin knew his feelings were not wrong. You were in a difficult situation and needed his help.

He was sure that he wanted to run towards you, save you by smashing that droid into thousands of pieces, and then kick its ugly metal head and throw it to the farthest corner of the galaxy. But he knew he didn't have time for that. So he did something even he didn't expect and threw his lightsaber towards you, hoping you could catch it in time. He knew that this move was madness. What kind of maniac would give up the only weapon he had among thousands of battle droids and leave himself defenseless? Especially if he doesn't know the other person well?

But Anakin had never regretted what he had done, not even for a moment. He saw you pull the thrown lightsaber with force and catch it, then slice the droid in half before he could fire to you. Yes, you were safe, but that safety was only for a brief moment. He had no time to relax, otherwise he knew you would be open to attacks from other droids. Without wasting any time, he followed the green lightsaber shining among the smoke and reached him. You were finally in front of him.

To be honest, your situation wasn't looking so bright. You were seriously injured and your body was covered in blood. Anakin had knelt down next to you and gently held your face between his fingers, afraid of hurting you even more. He could feel the warm drops of blood running down your face, flowing from his fingers to his wrists, but he didn't care about anything other than your safety at that moment. "Are you okay?" he asked, trying to hide how worried he was. Just by looking into your eyes, he could see how much the conflict you were experiencing had worn you out, but you put on a brave and determined expression and nodded, trying not to let the pain you were feeling reflected in your voice, "I'm fine." you muttered. "I'm fine, but I think my legs are stuck and I can't move them."

"Don't be afraid, I'll find a way to get you out of here."

He could see a shattering mass of metal pinning your legs. He took the lightsaber from your hand, carefully opened it, and held it up to the metal plate. "I'll try not to cut off your legs," he said, trying to smile to calm you down, and then added. "At least one of them."

You must have liked Anakin's little joke, too, because your lips turned slightly to the side despite your helpless situation. "Don't worry." you said, laughing. "They will break off on their own anyway, even if you don't cut them."

After receiving a sarcastic approval from you, he began to cut and separate the metal pieces with great patience. He made every move carefully and attentively, afraid of hurting you. When your legs were finally free, he took a deep breath and looked at your face again.

"It's not safe here. We have to get out of here."

"But my master is still fighting." Even though you tried to object, Anakin did not accept it. "He can take care of himself, and the support sent by the council is on the way."

His tone and expression were so determined that you gave up and surrendered to Anakin. You didn't have the strength to resist even if you wanted to. He wrapped his arms tightly around your body, stood up and started walking towards the factory exit. To be honest, you were a little heavier than you looked, and your blood was staining his clothes, but as long as you could rest your head on his chest and he could feel the warmth of your body, nothing else mattered.

Your next meeting was in the infirmary at the Jedi temple. 3 days had passed after your unfortunate duty at the factory and you had just regained your consciousness. During this time, Anakin began to help Jocasta Nu in the archives, upon his master's orders. It could not be said that he was very happy with his situation, but he still considered himself lucky that the punishment for his disobedience during duty was so small. Besides, even though organizing the archives was a tedious task, it kept his mind busy, and he definitely needed it.

Every moment he wasn't busy with something, he was thinking about you and what happened at the factory that day and trying to make sense of what he was feeling. That strange feeling that he thought he had forgotten years ago was back. Why did his heart beat faster and his face turn red every time he thought of you? Were these normal? His master had told him that a Jedi should not become attached to anything, but he should also be compassionate. Anakin could not understand this contrast. He was also afraid of being attached to you. But this was very illogical. Could one person become so attached to another person in such a short time? All these questions confused little Anakin more than ever. Finally, he realized that he could not bear these questions any longer and decided to visit you in the infirmary at the end of the 3rd day. Besides, he also had something that belonged to you, and he had to return it to you as soon as possible.

When he came to you, he saw that you were much more cheerful than he expected. You still looked very weak and you were obviously going to be in the infirmary for a while longer. Still, without letting this demoralize you, you were patiently waiting for your recovery, and in the meantime, you were trying to pass the time by reading the war history texts you took from the archive.

Still, you smiled so widely when you saw Anakin that he was convinced you were glad to see him, too. Trying to suppress the uncomfortable feeling he felt in his stomach, he put on a confident expression and quickly walked over and sat on your bed.

"You look better." he said with the light of hope appearing in his eyes.

You smiled warmly at him. "Thank you, Anakin." you said. "I feel better too."

After a brief hesitation, he pulled a lightsaber from under his cloak and handed it to you, "I think this is yours." he said. "I found it at the factory."

Just seeing the familiar blue color of the lightsaber brought peace to your soul. You happily took the saber from Anakin's hand and began to examine it. "God, thank you so much Anakin. I thought I had lost it."

"My master always tells me that the lightsaber is a Jedi's life and they must protect it at all costs."

Even though you lost your lightsaber for reasons beyond your control, what Anakin said made you a little embarrassed. "Of course, I'm not trying to justify my irresponsibility, but what happened that day was unexpected. I must have dropped it during that chaos."

"To be honest, I've lost my lightsaber too many times."

The confession of the padawan in front of you made you smile a little. Actually, what you should have done was to politely thank Anakin for saving your life, and when the time comes, pay him back at all costs. However, owing your life to him placed such a heavy burden on your shoulders that you felt crushed under this weight, no matter how humble the attitude of the boy in front of you. Before you even thought, the words were coming out of your mouth. "Master Kenobi says that our lightsaber is our life, right? So, according to the master's logic, you entrusted your life to me in the factory, and you also saved mine by finding my lightsaber."

Anakin looked at you in surprise, not knowing what to say at your words. Yes, your reasoning based on his master's words was correct, however, he did not expect you to approach the subject from this perspective. Fortunately, you continued talking without a long pause, and he was spared the trouble of finding an answer to give you.

"I am grateful to you for saving my life, Anakin, and I swear that one day I will repay you. Please give me your lightsaber until that day, and you can take mine."

"So you want us to surrender our lives to each other?" Anakin asked with mixed emotions. Wouldn't this agreement create a commitment between you? Anakin could not comprehend the depth of this devotion.

You nodded decisively in response. "Yes. So we can remember this promise between us for the rest of our lives. These sabers we exchanged will be a symbol of our friendship and trust in each other, and one day I will repay my debt to you. Until then, I want to remember the promise I made to you every time I look at your saber."

Then you added timidly, "If you want too, of course."

Anakin thought for a few seconds, then without a word, he handed you his lightsaber and accepted this pact that would bind your hearts and bodies together forever. Thus, a very special bond was formed between you that will never be broken again. Who knew that this innocent bond established between two children would one day bring disaster to the galaxy...

#x reader #hayden christensen #star wars #anakin x reader #anakin skywalker #anakin skywalker x reader #darth vader #darth vader x reader #plo koon #obi wan kenobi #hayden christensen x reader #star wars x reader #fanfic #x you #anakin x you #angst #anakin skywalker angst #darth vader angst

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arilevenatz · 5 months ago

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Ironheart

Pairing: captain!hongjoong x reader

Genre: Angst, action

Word count: 13.3k

Warnings: Child Abuse, Blood, injury, graphic Description of Injury, gore, pirate king hongjoong, lethal face card of the cameos (there will be two surprise cameos)

A/N: so yeah captain hongjoong is here. Not gonna lie, I cried while writing this. It has been in the back of my mind for a long time and I have finally written it.I don't know if it's good or not you guys will be the judge of that! and please like and reblog, it really motivates me to write, thank you!!

Masterlist

The sea was a vast expanse of restless waves and ominous clouds as the pirate ship Halazia sliced through the water like a predator on the hunt. Its sails, black as midnight, bore a crimson emblem—a snarling dragon that struck fear into the hearts of all who dared cross its path. At the helm stood the notorious Captain Hongjoong, a name whispered in fear across the seven seas.

Draped in a long, tattered coat with gold embroidery, Hongjoong’s piercing eyes glimmered with a mix of cunning and menace. His voice, sharp as the crack of a whip, commanded respect—or death. To defy him was to invite the unforgiving depths of the ocean.

The Halazia's crew, a motley band of cutthroats and thieves, worked with disciplined chaos. They revered Hongjoong, not out of loyalty, but out of fear. He was a man who showed no mercy; betrayal was met with the sharp edge of his blade, and failure was punished with cold indifference.

“Land ahead, Captain!” called Yunho, the ship’s navigator, from the crow’s nest.

Hongjoong’s lips curled into a sinister grin. “Prepare to drop anchor,” he barked. “Tonight, we take what’s ours.”

The crew scrambled, each man knowing his role as the captain’s plan unfolded. The small port town ahead was quiet, its people unaware of the storm about to descend upon them. Hongjoong’s reputation was built on raids like this—swift, brutal, and leaving nothing but ruin in his wake.

Below deck, the Halazia's armory gleamed with weapons. Seonghwa, the ship's relentless quartermaster, handed out cutlasses and pistols to the crew. “Make it quick and clean,” he growled. “The captain doesn’t like loose ends.”

As the Halazia approached the shore under the cover of darkness, Hongjoong unsheathed his sword, its blade catching the faint light of the moon. His voice cut through the night like a blade.

“Tonight, we remind the world why the name Halazia is whispered with terror.”

The crew roared in agreement, their bloodlust ignited. For Hongjoong, it wasn’t just about gold or glory—it was about power. And no one, not kings or gods, would stand in his way.

The Halazia glided silently into the small port under the shroud of night. The unsuspecting town, nestled on the edge of the island, was quiet save for the distant crash of waves against the shore. Its residents were blissfully unaware that terror had arrived at their doorstep.

“Lower the anchor,” Seonghwa ordered in a hushed tone, his sharp eyes scanning the darkened town. The crew worked swiftly, the only sounds were the creak of ropes and the splash of water.

Hongjoong stepped onto the gangplank, his boots striking the wood with deliberate force. “No mercy,” he commanded, his voice cold and unforgiving. “Take everything. Leave nothing behind.”

Yunho and Mingi led the first group ashore, their movements swift and calculated. Mingi’s massive frame carried crates of supplies with ease, while Yunho mapped their route through the maze of narrow streets.

Wooyoung darted through the shadows, his nimble hands prying open doors and snatching valuables with practiced ease. He hummed a quiet tune to himself, a stark contrast to the fear he left in his wake.

San, ever eager for a fight, kicked down the door of the local tavern, sending its patrons scrambling. “Hand it over, or face me!” he roared, his blade gleaming in the dim light.

Jongho remained by the cannons, his sharp eyes fixed on the town. He was ready to unleash hellfire at the first sign of resistance, though he doubted any would dare.

Yeosang followed the raiding party at a measured pace, his medical kit in hand. He had no illusions about the chaos that would ensue, and he was prepared to patch up the crew—or anyone foolish enough to stand in their way.

By the time the town's alarm bell clanged in desperation, it was too late. The Halazia's crew moved like a storm, looting every corner of the town. Gold, food, weapons—nothing was spared.

Hongjoong stood in the center of the chaos, his sword drawn, a chilling smile playing on his lips. The flames of a burning warehouse reflected in his eyes as he declared, “Let this be a lesson to all who think themselves safe. The sea belongs to us.”

As dawn approached, the Halazia sailed away, its hold overflowing with stolen treasures. Behind them, the once-thriving town was left in smoldering ruins, its people haunted by the memory of the dragon-emblazoned sails.

As the first rays of morning sun illuminated the island of Aphynx, its streets bore the grim evidence of the night’s raid. Doors hung off their hinges, market stalls lay in splinters, and the blackened remains of a warehouse sent tendrils of smoke spiraling into the pale sky. The townsfolk gathered in silence, their faces etched with disbelief and despair.

In the center of the town, Mayor paced nervously, his finely embroidered coat now stained with soot and sweat. His eyes darted over the wreckage, his mind racing. Every crate of provisions, every ounce of gold, every weapon had been stripped away. Aphynx was defenseless, vulnerable, and utterly at the mercy of the sea.

“This was no ordinary band of thieves,” he muttered, clutching a scroll of parchment in his trembling hands. “It was them... the crew of Halazia.”

A young messenger arrived, breathless and pale. “Sir, the kingdom must be informed,” he urged. “Without help from Wonderland, we won’t survive another raid.”

Mayor nodded grimly. He knew there was no time to waste. “Prepare my fastest horse,” he commanded. “We ride to the capital immediately.”

By midmorning, the mayor and his escort departed, the sound of hooves echoing through the barren streets. Their destination: Wonderland, the kingdom under whose banner Aphynx pledged fealty. The crown would not take this insult lightly—piracy threatened their trade routes, their reputation, and their wealth.

As the mayor approached the towering gates of Wonderland’s capital city, he steeled himself for the audience with the royal court. He would demand justice, but deep down, he feared that even the kingdom’s might might not be enough to face the legendary Halazia and its fearsome captain.

The kingdom of Wonderland stood as a beacon of strength and unity, its influence stretching across the seven seas. Its towering white walls and majestic spires reflected the brilliance of its rule, and its bustling streets were a testament to the prosperity its people enjoyed. At the heart of this mighty kingdom sat King Eldred, a ruler beloved by his people for his wisdom, fairness, and unwavering commitment to protecting his land.

But what truly set Wonderland apart was its secret weapon: the Nishi. These elite warriors operated in the shadows, their faces concealed behind eerie white masks with two eye slits. The sight of a Nishi was both reassuring and terrifying—they were symbols of the kingdom’s unyielding resolve and its ability to strike from the shadows. Trained in combat, strategy, and espionage, the Nishi were unmatched on the battlefield and in the murky world of subterfuge.

As Mayor Alden stood before King Eldred in the grand throne room, flanked by banners bearing the kingdom’s sigil, he recounted the horrors of the raid. “Your Majesty, Aphynx has been stripped bare,” Alden pleaded, bowing low. “The people have nothing. The Halazia will return unless we act swiftly.”

King Eldred leaned forward on his throne, his sharp eyes narrowing as he processed the report. “The Halazia,” he repeated, his voice measured. “Captain Hongjoong and his crew dare to challenge Wonderland’s peace.”

From the shadows, a figure emerged, silent and imposing. The Nishi wore their signature mask, their presence sending a chill through the room. “Shall we mobilize, Your Majesty?” the Nishi asked in a calm, almost mechanical tone.

The king rose to his feet, his regal robes flowing around him like the waves of the sea. “Not yet,” he declared. “The Halazia is cunning, and we will not be drawn into a hasty response. I want information—where they’ve gone, who their allies are, and what they seek.”

He turned to the Nishi. “Deploy your finest. Track the Halazia. And when the time comes, we will remind the pirates why Wonderland is unchallenged on the seas.”

The masked figure bowed and disappeared as silently as they had arrived. The king’s gaze returned to Alden. “Fear not, Mayor,” Eldred assured him. “Aphynx will be avenged, and the Halazia will pay for its crimes.”

A few days after the raid on Aphynx, the Halazia anchored in a secluded cove to divide their spoils. The crew was in high spirits, reveling in their success, but the mood shifted when a small, unmarked vessel approached their ship under a flag of truce.

A lone messenger, dressed in simple but pristine clothes, was rowed aboard. He carried a scroll sealed with the royal insignia of Wonderland. The sight of the mark immediately put the crew on edge.

Seonghwa was the first to intercept the messenger, his sharp eyes scanning the man for signs of treachery. “State your business,” he demanded coldly.

The messenger bowed respectfully, his voice steady. “I come with a message from His Majesty, King Eldred of Wonderland.”

Hongjoong, seated on a barrel nearby, motioned for Seonghwa to step aside. “Give it here,” he ordered, his voice low and commanding. The messenger handed him the scroll with trembling hands.

Breaking the seal, Hongjoong unrolled the parchment. His eyes scanned the elegant script:

> To Captain Hongjoong of the Halazia,

The Kingdom of Wonderland invites you to discuse the recent events at Aphynx. We believe diplomacy may resolve this matter without further bloodshed or hostility.

You are offered safe passage to the island of Eletheris, where a representative of Wonderland will await you.

We hope you will consider this opportunity to avoid unnecessary conflict.

Signed,

His Majesty King Eldred*

Hongjoong’s lips curled into a faint smirk as he handed the letter to Seonghwa. “Diplomacy?” he mused. “From Wonderland? Either they’ve grown soft, or they’re planning something.”

San, ever eager for confrontation, crossed his arms and scowled. “It’s a trap. No kingdom invites pirates to talk unless they’ve got blades hidden behind their backs.”

Mingi, thoughtful but cautious, shrugged. “Could be a way to buy time. They might not know where we are and want to stall while they gather their forces.”

Wooyoung, leaning against a mast with a sly grin, added, “Or maybe they’re scared of us. That raid shook them up.”

Seonghwa handed the letter to Yunho, who studied it carefully. “The location is Eletheris,” Yunho noted. “Neutral ground, but also isolated. Perfect for an ambush.”

Jongho, standing by the cannons, spoke up in his usual calm tone. “We should assume the worst. If we go, we prepare for a fight.”

Hongjoong tapped his fingers on the hilt of his sword, deep in thought. Finally, he stood. “We’ll go,” he decided, his voice cutting through the murmurs of the crew. “If Wonderland wants to talk, we’ll give them a show. But we’ll be ready for anything.”

A sinister grin spread across his face as he turned to Seonghwa. “Prepare the ship. We’ll make our move at nightfall.”

The crew exchanged uneasy glances, but none dared question their captain. Suspicious as they were, they trusted Hongjoong’s instincts. The Halazia would sail for Eletheris—not for peace, but for the opportunity to show Wonderland just how dangerous a cornered pirate could be.

As the crew debated the letter, Yeosang emerged from below deck, wiping his hands clean with a cloth. His sharp eyes scanned the gathered group, noting the tension in the air.

“What’s going on?” he asked, his calm voice cutting through the discussion.

Seonghwa handed him the letter without a word. Yeosang read it quickly, his expression unreadable. “An invitation to ‘talk,’” he said, his tone skeptical. He folded the parchment carefully and looked at Hongjoong.

“If this is a trap, which it likely is, I hope you’ve accounted for the injuries we might sustain. I’m running low on supplies after Aphynx, and if Wonderland has their warriors, this won’t be a simple skirmish.”

Hongjoong’s smirk remained steady as he met Yeosang’s gaze, his voice laced with confidence. “Prepare for the worst, but we’re not backing down.”

Yeosang nodded, handing the letter back to Seonghwa. “I’ll do what I can. Just try not to get yourselves killed unnecessarily. I’d rather not have to stitch anyone back together because of bad decisions.”

With that, he turned and disappeared below deck again, leaving the others to their discussion.

The Halazia arrived at Eletheris under the cover of twilight, its black sails stark against the fading light. The crew stood ready, their hands brushing weapons as they prepared for whatever awaited them. The island, a neutral ground known for its wild forests and rocky shores, seemed unusually quiet as they approached the dock.

As the crew disembarked, they were met by a contingent of Wonderland’s warriors. At the forefront stood a tall, imposing man clad in gleaming armor, a crimson cloak flowing behind him. His sharp features radiated authority, and his piercing gaze swept over the pirates like a hawk assessing prey.

“I am General Kael of Wonderland,” the man announced, his voice steady and commanding. “Welcome to Eletheris, Captain Hongjoong. His Majesty extends his gratitude for your willingness to meet.”

Behind Kael stood a line of warriors, their stances disciplined, their weapons polished to a deadly sheen. Among them were four figures that immediately caught the pirates’ attention—the Nishi.

Clad in flowing black cloaks, their white masks with two eye slits were hauntingly featureless. The presence of the Nishi sent a ripple of unease through the Halazia's crew.

Hongjoong stepped forward, his posture relaxed but his eyes sharp. “A grand welcome for pirates,” he remarked with a faint smirk. “I wonder if this is hospitality or intimidation.”

Kael’s lips curled into a small, humorless smile. “Perhaps a little of both. The king values peace, but Wonderland does not take threats lightly.”

Seonghwa exchanged a glance with Hongjoong, his hand hovering near his sword. San, standing nearby, muttered under his breath, “They’re itching for a fight.”

Kael gestured inland, toward a path that wound through dense forest. “His Majesty awaits you at the royal outpost further inland. You will be escorted there. I trust you and your crew will conduct yourselves appropriately.”

Hongjoong inclined his head, his smirk unyielding. “Lead the way, General.”

As the crew followed the warriors into the forest, the Nishi flanked them silently, their presence a constant reminder of Wonderland’s power. The forest was thick and eerily quiet, save for the crunch of boots on the dirt path.

Yeosang walked near the rear of the group, his gaze flickering between the Nishi. “If this is a trap, they’ve gone to great lengths to set it,” he murmured to Seonghwa.

Seonghwa nodded subtly. “Stay sharp. If they wanted us dead, they’d have done it already. This is a show of strength.”

As they neared the outpost, the imposing silhouette of a fortified structure came into view. Wonderland was not just extending an invitation—it was making a statement.

As the crew of the Halazia trudged along the forest path, flanked by the silent Nishi and Wonderland’s warriors, tension hung thick in the air. Despite their outward composure, the pirates exchanged quiet whispers, their curiosity about the masked figures overwhelming their usual bravado.

Wooyoung leaned closer to Yunho, his voice barely audible. “What’s with the creepy masks? Who walks around like that?”

Yunho shrugged, his brow furrowed. “I’ve heard rumors, but nothing solid. Some say the Nishi are assassins, trained from birth to kill without hesitation.”

San, walking ahead, glanced back with a scoff. “Assassins? They look more like ghosts. It’s the quiet ones you’ve got to watch out for.”

Mingi, ever the practical one, muttered, “I’ve never seen anyone move like them. It’s unnatural. Did you see how they didn’t make a sound, even on the dock?”

Jongho, his tone calm but wary, added, “If Wonderland brought four of them here, they must be expecting trouble. No kingdom wastes resources like that for a simple meeting.”

Seonghwa, catching their murmurs, spoke softly but firmly. “Focus. Whatever they are, we’re not here to fight them. Not yet.”

Yeosang, his keen eyes studying the Nishi out of the corner of his vision, finally chimed in. “I’ve heard whispers in ports about them,” he said. “The Nishi are Wonderland’s shadow—their secret weapon. They’re not just warriors; they’re spies, assassins, and strategists. Their masks are said to symbolize detachment from emotion. No mercy, no hesitation.”

Wooyoung shivered, his usual smirk replaced by unease. “Sounds like a nightmare. You think they’re human under those masks?”

Yeosang gave him a faint, enigmatic smile. “Human, yes. But how much humanity is left in them? That’s another question.”

Hongjoong, walking slightly ahead, glanced back at the group with a sharp look. “Enough,” he said, his voice low but commanding. “Whatever they are, we’ll deal with them if we have to. Until then, keep your wits about you. Wonderland’s trying to intimidate us, and we won’t give them the satisfaction.”

The crew fell silent, their unease replaced by steely determination. The Nishi remained as still and silent as statues, their masks giving nothing away, but the pirates knew one thing for sure: they had entered a world far more dangerous than they’d imagined.

The grand hall of Wonderland's palace was an imposing sight, with high arches and intricate tapestries adorning the walls. The crew of the Halazia stood before King Eldred, whose presence filled the room with an unspoken weight. His regal attire shimmered in the light of the chandeliers, his eyes sharp and calculating as he regarded the pirates.

"Captain Hongjoong, welcome to Wonderland," King Eldred said in a calm, steady voice, his gaze briefly sweeping over the crew before settling on their leader. "You've been quite the thorn in my side. But I believe diplomacy is the best course now."

Hongjoong, arms crossed, met the king's gaze with a wry smile. "I'd agree, Your Majesty. But let's not pretend this is anything but a show of power. You want to make sure we don't think we can walk away from this, don't you?"

Before King Eldred could respond, a sudden movement drew the attention of everyone in the room. A man-seemingly a servant-lunged toward the king with a dagger in his hand. The room fell into stunned silence as the assassin's target became clear.

But before anyone could act, one of the Nishi moved with blinding speed. In a single motion, the Nishi unsheathed a gleaming blade and, with flawless precision, cut the assassin's hand clean off at the wrist. The dagger fell to the floor, and the man screamed in agony, collapsing to the ground as blood pooled beneath him.

The Nishi stood motionless, their white mask revealing nothing-no satisfaction, no hesitation, just cold efficiency. Without a word, the other Nishi advanced, securing the would-be assassin and dragging him away, the severity of the moment leaving no room for mercy.

The room remained still, the only sound the heavy breathing of the wounded man as he was pulled out of the hall. King Eldred, unfazed by the attempt on his life, turned his eyes back to Hongjoong.

"Do not mistake this for weakness, Captain," Eldred said, his voice unwavering. "My kingdom is protected by those who do not falter, no matter the circumstances."

Hongjoong's gaze shifted to the Nishi, his interest piqued. He had seen many warriors in his time- skilled men and women, each formidable in their own right-but the way the Nishi moved, the speed, the precision-it was something entirely different. These were not mere soldiers. They were something else.

"The Nishi," Hongjoong mused, his voice low enough only for his crew to hear. "What are they? You say they protect this kingdom, but what are they truly?"

Seonghwa, standing beside him, spoke quietly. "Rumors. They're said to be more than just fighters. Spies. Assassins. Trained from the moment they can walk."

Hongjoong's eyes flicked back to the Nishi, who stood motionless at the king's side. His curiosity deepened. "Trained from birth... and no emotion. Just warriors without hesitation."

Yeosang, who had been silently observing the Nishi, nodded. "That's what they say. They wear those masks for a reason-to erase any trace of humanity. They're tools, not people."

Hongjoong's smirk returned, though it was tinged with something new-respect, perhaps even admiration. "Fascinating," he said quietly. "They're more than just soldiers. They are something beyond. And it seems Wonderland's power lies in them.”

King Eldred observed the pirates with a slight tilt of his head. "Indeed. The Nishi are the foundation of my kingdom's strength. Without them, Wonderland would be but a memory. And now, Captain, I suggest we return to the matter at hand."

Hongjoong's gaze lingered on the Nishi, but he returned his focus to the king. "Of course. Let's talk."

But as he spoke, the feeling in the room shifted. There was an unspoken understanding now, one that Hongjoong had picked up on, and he couldn't shake the thought: Wonderland had more to offer than riches. Its true strength was in its shadows- the Nishi. And that, more than anything else, was what intrigued him.

The grand hall of Wonderland fell into a tense silence after the attack on the king, the lingering unease palpable. The pirates stood with guarded expressions, while King Eldred’s steady gaze remained fixed on Hongjoong. The Nishi, ever silent, returned to their posts, their white masks as unreadable as ever.

The king cleared his throat. “Captain Hongjoong, let us return to the reason we are here. Your recent actions on Aphynx have caused great suffering. Wonderland cannot allow such acts to continue.”

Hongjoong, unshaken, stepped forward, his tone casual yet laced with authority. “You want us to stop raiding your lands? That’s fair, Your Majesty. But pirates don’t sail away empty-handed. If you want our respect, you’ll have to offer something in return.”

Eldred’s jaw tightened. “And what is it you seek, Captain? Gold? Resources? Wonderland is not a kingdom that barters with thieves.”

Hongjoong smirked, his gaze shifting to the Nishi. “I don’t want your gold, Your Majesty. I want your shadows—your Nishi.”

The hall erupted into murmurs, and even the ever-stoic Nishi seemed to shift slightly. King Eldred’s expression darkened, his voice rising. “You dare demand my kingdom’s most sacred protectors? The Nishi are not pawns to be traded!”

Hongjoong didn’t flinch, his smirk unwavering. “You want us to stop touching Eletheris and your other territories? Then give me three of your Nishi. And not just any—I want the best. Warriors who can ensure my enemies fear the Halazia as much as they fear Wonderland.”

The king leaned forward, his knuckles whitening as he gripped the arms of his throne. “Do you think I would sell my kingdom’s greatest weapon to a pirate? You overestimate your position.”

Seonghwa, calm and calculating, stepped in. “Your Majesty, consider this: Wonderland’s resources remain untouched, and the Halazia becomes an ally rather than an enemy. You lose nothing, but gain peace.”

The king hesitated, the weight of the decision evident on his face. He turned his gaze to General Kael, who stood at his side. “What do you make of this?”

Kael frowned, his voice low. “Risky, but tactically sound. Better to have them as allies than adversaries.”

Eldred’s eyes returned to Hongjoong, his reluctance clear. “You ask for much, Captain. The Nishi are not merely soldiers. They are trained from birth, their loyalty bound to Wonderland alone.”

Hongjoong’s smirk softened into something more serious. “I don’t need their loyalty, Your Majesty. I need their skill. Three Nishi, and I swear Wonderland’s lands will never again know the Halazia’s wrath.”

The king sat back, his expression one of defeat. “Very well,” he said reluctantly. “But you will not choose. I will decide which Nishi to send.”

Hongjoong’s smirk returned. “No, Your Majesty. If I’m to trust my life and crew to them, I will choose. Send me your best, or the deal is off.”

Eldred’s fists clenched, but he finally nodded, his voice heavy with resignation. “You will have your three Nishi. But know this, Captain: should you betray this agreement, their blades will be the first to find your throat.”

Hongjoong chuckled, a glint of satisfaction in his eyes. “We'll see about that.”

The crew of the Halazia had been granted an unexpected stay in Wonderland, a rare opportunity to explore the fabled kingdom and observe its famed Nishi up close. The palace guards kept a watchful eye on the pirates, but Hongjoong and his crew were far from intimidated.

On the second morning, they were led to a large training arena within the palace grounds. The space was surrounded by high walls and overlooked by balconies, where nobles and soldiers often gathered to witness the Nishi in action.

“This,” General Kael announced as the pirates entered, “is where you will decide. The Nishi you seek are among the finest we have. Observe them well.”

The Nishi, clad in their signature black cloaks and white masks, were already in the arena, demonstrating their skills. They moved with an elegance that was almost otherworldly, their swords flashing in the sunlight as they sparred. Each strike was calculated, every movement a testament to their rigorous training.

Hongjoong watched with keen interest, his arms crossed as he leaned casually against a stone pillar. His sharp eyes darted from one Nishi to another, assessing their movements, their precision, and their lethality.

“These aren’t just warriors,” he murmured to Seonghwa, who stood beside him. “They’re artists of war.”

Seonghwa nodded, his gaze fixed on the display. “Efficient. Deadly. They don’t waste energy or time. You’re choosing weapons, not people.”

San, standing nearby, grinned. “Weapons or not, I wouldn’t mind seeing what they’re like in a real fight. Sparring’s one thing. The heat of battle’s another.”

Yeosang, ever observant, added, “Their discipline is unmatched. But loyalty is another matter entirely. They’ve lived their lives for Wonderland. You think they’ll follow us?”

Hongjoong’s smirk returned. “They don’t need to follow us. They need to obey orders. And I intend to make sure they see the Halazia as worthy of their blades.”

As the demonstration continued, one Nishi stood out. Their movements were impossibly fluid, their strikes faster and more precise than the others. Even among the elite, this figure commanded attention.

“That one,” Jongho said, his tone firm. “They’re the one I’d trust in a fight.”

Wooyoung tilted his head, watching another Nishi with blade, who moved with a deadly rhythm. “I like that one. Quick, unpredictable. My kind of chaos.”

Mingi, ever practical, gestured toward a Nishi with a massive glaive. “That one’s strength could turn the tide in a skirmish. We need power as much as speed.”

Hongjoong listened to his crew’s observations, his mind already working. He approached General Kael, his smirk never wavering. “We’ll need more time to observe. But I already have a few in mind.”

Kael nodded stiffly. “Take your time. The king’s orders are clear—you may choose three. But remember, Captain, they are not yours to break. They serve Wonderland first.”

Hongjoong chuckled, his gaze drifting back to the arena. “We’ll see about that.”

The days passed with the pirates watching the Nishi train, each session revealing more of their deadly skills. By the end of their stay, Hongjoong and his crew were ready to make their choices—Nishi who would become part of the Halazia’s legend, and perhaps its greatest weapon.

As the sparring sessions continued, Hongjoong’s sharp eyes scanned the arena, observing the Nishi with a mix of curiosity and calculated intent. His crew murmured among themselves, pointing out impressive maneuvers or debating the merits of strength versus speed.

But then, something—or rather, someone—caught Hongjoong’s attention.

Standing at the far edge of the arena, away from the other Nishi, was a lone figure. The Nishi wasn’t participating in the training but instead stood silently, its posture rigid, observing the others much like Hongjoong and his crew. The way it leaned slightly, arms crossed, almost mirrored Hongjoong’s stance.

This one wasn’t like the others. Its stillness was different—not passive, but deliberate. The air around it seemed to hum with an invisible tension, as if it were assessing not just the Nishi in the arena but the pirates themselves.

Hongjoong tilted his head, his smirk fading into something more thoughtful. “Who’s that?” he asked, his voice cutting through his crew’s chatter.

General Kael followed Hongjoong’s gaze and frowned. “Ah, that one. It is not a combatant today. A senior Nishi, more involved in leadership and strategy.”

“Leadership?” Hongjoong’s curiosity deepened. “What’s its name?”

Kael hesitated. “Nishi do not use names. They are referred to by rank or designation.”

“Then give me its rank,” Hongjoong pressed, looking bored.

“Second Blade,” Kael said reluctantly. “One of the most skilled among them. But it is not intended for this... arrangement.”

Hongjoong’s interest was piqued further. The detached aura of the Second Blade, combined with its air of quiet authority, intrigued him in a way no other Nishi had. There was something magnetic about the figure—a mystery that demanded unraveling.

“That one,” Hongjoong declared, pointing at the Second Blade. “It’ll be my first choice.”

The general’s expression darkened. “Second Blade is not for sale, Captain. It serves the king directly.”

Hongjoong’s smirk widened, a glint of mischief in his eyes. “You said I could choose. And I choose it. If the king values peace with the Halazia, he’ll agree.”

Kael stiffened but said nothing, knowing this matter would ultimately fall to the king.

The Second Blade, as if sensing the attention, turned its masked face toward Hongjoong. Even with no visible expression, the intensity of its gaze was palpable. For a moment, the pirate captain and the enigmatic Nishi seemed locked in a silent exchange, one that neither his crew nor the other warriors could decipher.

“I like it,” Hongjoong said, more to himself than anyone else. “There’s something about it. A spark I haven’t seen in anyone else here.”

Seonghwa, standing nearby, raised an eyebrow. “You’re sure about this? It doesn’t seem like the type to take orders easily.”

Hongjoong chuckled. “That’s what makes it interesting. I want the best, and that one’s the best.”

As the pirates continued to watch, Hongjoong knew he had made his decision. He wanted the Second Blade—not just as a warrior for the Halazia but as a puzzle to solve, a force to understand. And he wouldn’t leave Wonderland without it.

After days of observing the Nishi, the Halazia crew finalized their choices. True to Hongjoong’s word, the first pick was the enigmatic Second Blade, the senior Nishi who had caught the captain’s eye with its silent yet commanding presence. The other two selections were equally skilled—strong, agile warriors with ranks just below the Second Blade.

When General Kael informed the chosen Nishi of their new roles, the Second Blade simply nodded, its white mask betraying no reaction. The other two Nishi, larger and imposing, accepted the news with quiet compliance.

As the three assembled before the pirates for their departure preparations, something became strikingly apparent.

“Wait a minute,” Mingi said, breaking the silence. He squinted at the lineup, tilting his head as if trying to reconcile what he was seeing. “Is it just me, or is that one... shorter?”

The crew turned their gazes toward the Second Blade, and sure enough, it stood a full head shorter than the other two Nishi.

Wooyoung snickered, elbowing San. “You picked the shortest one, Captain. Thought you were all about power and presence.”

San crossed his arms, frowning slightly. “Size doesn’t matter if it can fight. You all saw what it did to that attacker in the throne room. Fast and precise.”

“It’s true,” Jongho added, his voice calm but analytical. “Height isn’t everything. If anything, it might make it more agile.”

Still, the contrast was hard to ignore. The Second Blade’s stature seemed almost diminutive next to the hulking forms of the other two Nishi. Yet, despite its smaller frame, there was something undeniably commanding about it.

Hongjoong, who had been quietly observing the exchange, finally smirked. “You’re all looking at this the wrong way. It’s not about size. It’s about presence. And that one,” he gestured toward the Second Blade, “has more presence than anyone else here.”

The crew exchanged glances but didn’t argue. They’d seen enough to trust their captain’s instincts, even if the choice seemed unconventional.

Yeosang, ever the practical observer, leaned toward Seonghwa and murmured, “Smaller frame or not, it’s still the most intriguing of the three. The way it carries itself... it’s like it’s always thinking three steps ahead.”

Seonghwa nodded in agreement. “If anything, the contrast makes it even more dangerous. People underestimate what they don’t fully understand.”

As the crew prepared to leave Wonderland with their new recruits, the Second Blade remained as silent and enigmatic as ever. Despite its shorter stature, it exuded an undeniable authority that seemed to silence any lingering doubts.

Hongjoong glanced back at it one last time before boarding the Halazia, his smirk growing wider. “Short or not, you’re exactly what I was looking for.”

In the dimly lit barracks where the Nishi rested, the Second Blade stood by a window, its white mask catching the faint moonlight. Across the room, the two newly chosen Nishi, seungcheol and Mingyu, sat on a bench, their masks placed neatly beside them.

Seungcheol, the elder of the two, crossed his arms, his brows furrowed as he broke the silence. “I don’t understand it. Of all the Nishi, why pick you first?” His tone wasn’t hostile, but there was an unmistakable hint of curiosity.

Mingyu, chuckled softly. “Come on, Seungcheol. It’s obvious, isn’t it? The captain likes the mysterious ones. Second Blade’s got that whole ‘silent and deadly’ vibe going on. You can’t compete with that.”

The Second Blade turned slightly, its masked face tilted as if considering whether to respond. After a moment, it spoke, its voice low and measured. “The choice was the captain’s. Not mine. Does it bother you?”

seungcheol sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. “Not really. I just think it’s strange. You don’t even interact with anyone, and suddenly, you’re the captain’s favorite.” He leaned back against the wall, his gaze narrowing. “But I guess that’s part of the appeal, huh?”

Mingyu grinned, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees. “Honestly, I’m just glad I got picked. Can you imagine staying here, doing the same drills every day, while the three of us get to see the world? Feels like a promotion to me.”

seungcheol rolled his eyes. “You would see it that way.”

Mingyu shrugged. “What? It’s true. Besides, the Halazia crew seems... interesting. They’re not exactly the kind of people we’re used to, but they’ve got their own kind of charm.”

The Second Blade returned its gaze to the window. “They are unpredictable. That makes them dangerous.”

“Dangerous to us?” seungcheol asked, his tone more serious now.

“To everyone,” the Second Blade replied, its voice calm but firm. “But that is why we were chosen. To ensure their chaos is controlled.”

Mingyu leaned back, resting his arms on the bench. “Controlled, huh? I don’t think those pirates are the type to take orders. Especially not from us.”

The Second Blade turned fully now, its posture straight and commanding despite its smaller frame. “Then we adapt. As we always have.”

seungcheol watched it closely, his expression softening. “You’re really something, aren’t you? No hesitation. No second-guessing. You just... do.”

Mingyu nodded, a playful smile tugging at his lips. “Yeah, that’s what makes it so cool. Honestly, I think we’ll learn a lot from this one. Even if it’s shorter than both of us.”

seungcheol snorted, but the corner of his mouth twitched upward. “Don’t let the captain hear you say that. He might have your head.”

The Second Blade didn’t react to the teasing, instead walking toward the exit. Before it stepped out, it paused and said, “Rest while you can. Tomorrow, everything changes.”

As it left the room, seungcheol leaned toward Mingyu, his voice low. “I’m not sure if I admire it or if it gives me the creeps.”

Mingyu laughed, patting seungcheol on the shoulder. “Why not both? Keeps things interesting.”

The two fell into a comfortable silence, both wondering what lay ahead as the newest recruits of the Halazia.

The following morning, the Halazia crew and their newly acquired Nishi stood at the gates of Wonderland, preparing for departure. The Second Blade stood slightly apart from seungcheol and Mingyu, as stoic and silent as ever, its mask firmly in place.

The pirates were busy securing their belongings and discussing the logistics of integrating the Nishi into their operations. Hongjoong, however, couldn’t shake the lingering curiosity he felt toward the Second Blade. Something about it was different—unreadable, yes, but also magnetic in a way he couldn’t explain.

As the group prepared to board the Halazia, Hongjoong lingered near the Second Blade, his curiosity still piqued. He turned to her, gesturing for her attention. “Second Blade,” he said, his tone casual but firm, “before we leave, there’s something I need to clarify. You’ve barely spoken a word since we met. Let’s change that.”

The Second Blade paused, tilting its masked head slightly, and finally spoke. “What do you wish to clarify, Captain?”

The voice caught everyone’s attention. It was soft yet sharp, calm yet commanding—a voice that held the kind of authority forged through years of discipline. But what stood out most was its unmistakable femininity.

Hongjoong’s eyes widened briefly before his expression settled into his usual smirk. “Well, well. You’re full of surprises, aren’t you?”

Mingi, standing nearby, blinked in surprise. “Wait a second... That's a woman?”

A crew member laughed nervously. “A woman? On a pirate ship? Isn’t that, like... bad luck or something?”

The atmosphere tensed for a moment as some of the crew exchanged uncertain glances.

Another chimed in, “I’ve heard the stories. Women on ships are supposed to bring misfortune.”

Before anyone could respond, Hongjoong’s voice cut through the murmurs like a blade. “Enough.”

The crew fell silent as their captain stepped forward, his sharp gaze sweeping over them. “Bad luck? Misfortune? Since when have we, the crew of the Halazia, believed in such pathetic superstitions?”

He turned to them, his smirk hardening into a glare. “Do you think the Halazia have survived storms, battles, and betrayals because of luck? No. We’ve made it this far because we’re the best. And I’ll take anyone who proves their worth—man or woman.”

Hongjoong’s gaze then shifted to the Second Blade. “And this one? This one’s already proven it’s better than half of you just by standing there. So unless you’d like to challenge that, I suggest you keep your mouths shut.”

Wooyoung scratched the back of his neck, glancing at the Second Blade. “Honestly, after seeing her fight, I’m not about to argue.”

Hongjoong turned back to the Second Blade, his smirk returning. “You’ve already got my respect, Second Blade. And that’s not something I give out lightly.”

The Second Blade inclined her head slightly, her voice calm and unbothered. “Respect is earned, not given. I will continue to prove myself, Captain.”

Hongjoong chuckled, stepping back. “I like you, Second Blade. You’re full of surprises. But if you’re going to serve on the Halazia, you’ll need a name. I can’t keep calling you by rank.”

She hesitated, as if the thought hadn’t occurred to her. Finally, she said, “Call me whatever you wish. It makes no difference to me.”

Hongjoong’s smirk widened. “Then I’ll think of something fitting. Welcome aboard, Second Blade.”

She inclined her head slightly, a gesture of acknowledgment.

As the crew of the Halazia made their final preparations to set sail, the Nishi stood off to the side, silent and unreadable. Seungcheol and Mingyu exchanged glances, each wondering what life aboard the infamous pirate ship would hold for them. The Second Blade, as calm and composed as ever, remained still, watching the pirates as they moved about with practiced efficiency.

Hongjoong returned to the main deck, his sharp eyes scanning his crew. “Alright, let’s get moving. Wonderland’s hospitality is wearing thin, and I’d rather not linger where too many eyes are watching.”

The crew murmured in agreement, their movements quick and purposeful as they cast off from the docks.

Seungcheol leaned slightly toward Mingyu, his voice low. “This crew is... different. They don’t seem to operate on any rules I’m familiar with.”

Mingyu shrugged, his tone light but curious. “That’s what makes it exciting, don’t you think? We’ve been stuck in Wonderland for too long. It’s about time we see how the rest of the world works.”

The Second Blade didn’t join the conversation, but its masked face tilted ever so slightly, suggesting it was listening.

As the ship drifted farther from the port, Hongjoong approached the three Nishi. “I’ll be clear with you now. You’re no longer in Wonderland. On this ship, you follow my orders. I don’t care about ranks, titles, or protocols from your past. You’re part of my crew now, and that means loyalty to me and me alone.”

Seungcheol and Mingyu nodded in unison, their movements precise and obedient. The Second Blade simply inclined its head again, its silence speaking volumes.

San, standing nearby, crossed his arms as he eyed the trio. “Can they fight in real battles, though? Wonderland’s training is one thing, but out here, it’s chaos.”

Hongjoong didn’t answer immediately. Instead, he turned to the Second Blade. “What do you think? Can you handle the chaos of the seas?”

The Second Blade’s voice was calm and unwavering. “Chaos is an opportunity. It reveals the weaknesses of those unprepared. I have no intention of being unprepared.”

Mingyu chuckled under his breath. “I think that’s the most poetic way I’ve ever heard someone say ‘yes.’”

Seungcheol shot him a look, though there was a hint of amusement in his eyes.

Hongjoong smirked, clearly satisfied. “Good. Then let’s see how you adapt to life on the Halazia. You’ll have plenty of chances to prove yourselves.”

As the ship gained speed, Wooyoung called from the galley, “Captain! If they’re part of the crew now, they better learn how we eat. Mingyu looks like he could finish off the week’s rations in one sitting!”

Mingyu glanced toward Wooyoung, his posture relaxed. “Only if your cooking’s as good as you claim.”

Wooyoung grinned, leaning out the doorway. “You’ll regret challenging me, rookie. Dinner’s in a few hours. Let’s see if you survive it.”

The crew laughed, the tension from the earlier departure easing. The Nishi, while still enigmatic, were beginning to feel less like outsiders and more like the newest pieces of the Halazia’s puzzle.

As the sun dipped lower in the sky, Hongjoong stood at the helm, his eyes flickering between the horizon and the Second Blade. That strange pull toward her lingered, growing stronger with every interaction. He couldn’t quite place it yet, but one thing was certain—this journey was about to get far more interesting.

The crew murmured in agreement, their movements quick and purposeful as they cast off from the docks.

Seungcheol leaned slightly toward Mingyu, his voice low. “This crew is... different. They don’t seem to operate on any rules I’m familiar with.”

The Second Blade didn’t join the conversation, but her masked face tilted ever so slightly, suggesting it was listening.