#and never not strike down toxicity where it stands | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

cute-sucker · 4 months

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note: this is pretty dark! so please tw for toxic relationship (with rafe obviously!!) + this is for liona (inspo)

short masterlist: part one here, part two here, part three here, part four here, part six here !

words: 2,024 words

˚❀༉‧₊˚.˚❀༉‧₊˚.˚❀༉‧₊˚.˚❀༉‧₊˚.˚❀༉‧₊˚.˚❀༉‧₊˚.˚❀༉‧₊˚.˚❀༉‧₊˚.˚❀༉‧₊˚.˚❀༉‧₊˚.˚❀༉‧₊˚.˚❀༉‧₊˚.˚❀༉‧₊˚.

rafe was following you.

you could almost feel his gaze on you from the diner sometimes. as if he was waiting to strike. the first time you saw him, he was standing outside the glass diner a strange expression on his face. clearly, he was high out of his mind as he tried to stumble and hang onto the street lamp. you had been talking with jj, him chuckling about you having whipped cream on your face - and you spotted him.

he was staring dead into your soul, and you felt your breath quicken pardoning yourself to the bathroom. no, you couldn't do this, and when jj asked you what happened you had whispered some excuse.

he knew where you were. your masterful escape hadn't been masterful after all.

sometimes rafe scared you. it was the early stages of your pregnancy with him. the feeling of being so suffocated carrying his baby. and it wasn't like he didn't love you no, sometimes you cried to him fists drumming on his chest, screaming, wondering where you had gone wrong.

where had you gone wrong for him to be so punishing. for his protective cage to make you fall prey to him? it was the feeling that your heart would break if he whispered a bad word, and you hated it cowering against his heavy words and hoping that he wouldn't get you back from putting a toe out of line.

being with rafe had been some of the worst and best times of your life. it was when you got a taste of teenage freedom, putting out a small dress to sneak to a party, tasting punch and he was there. you looked a mess with pink glowy lipstick, shyly trying to ease into your new shining persona.

he saw you, a hopeless deer in headlights and suddenly if anyone tried to bump into you - he was there. it felt nice to be cared for, and sometimes he'd take it far. taking you anywhere in your car, and making sure that his hand wandered near your waist.

but it was after the baby that things went wrong. he was cursing at you for being so stupid to get pregnant. you had cradled your head in your chest as he cussed you out, heavy drums in your heart. he tried to persuade you first -

"you don't need a baby. no, you don't need one," he would coo, eyes red from whatever he was on, as you tried not to stop yourself from sobbing. you made miek sounds, practically folding into yourself as you rocked from side to side.

he took this as you disrespecting him, "hey?" he snapped his fingers, eyebrows furrowed as he clenched his jaw, "what the hell is wrong with you? fucking embarrassment," he would spit out, almost as if he was disgusted with your behaviour.

then you would whimper with sadness, and it only amplified his anger, "jesus christ. i'm always taking care of you, and this is how you reward me?" he barked, his voice sharp and unforgiving. you shook your head, telling him you were sorry.

you had your baby in the morning, an early baby. he wasn't even there in the reception, as her wrinkly face mewled for someone. you had tucked her into your lap, swearing - swearing to get away.

but then he came like your prince charming, eyes red while carrying a baby bag, and a stupid pink outfit that he told you she could wear. it was tacky and too big, yet you felt the need to cry. maybe this was a sign that he would change. maybe this was a sign from the gods. there was a forced smile on his face, as he looked at your sticky baby.

it finally came down to how he acted around the baby. never cleaning up after. after all, you were eighteen when you had her, practically children as if you were playing family. he was smoking, abusing drugs and then coming back to your apartment telling you he'd get better.

the day you left was a breath of fresh air.

so what was he doing coming after you? you tried to ignore it, but sometimes out of the blue - weeks after his first sighting, he would be looking at the glass window with a clear look on his face. as if he was going to come in, and yet he didn't. every single time you dared him with your eyes, meek hands shaking as you tried to stay away from that entrance.

at this point, your favourite place was next to the counter, next to jj where you could yap as much as you wanted. sometimes jj would tell you to shut it as he made food, because one time the two of you were talking and he'd messed up an order. the guy had yelled at him, and all jj could do was shrug, a playful smile on your face looking at your flushed face.

the two of you were taking it slow. you didn't know how to do it all, but since that day he sat you down in his lap, playing with the strands of your hair - you didn't know who you were to him. yet, it felt right laughing with him, letting him touch your waist leaving you completely rendered. you were under a spell as if he was the sun and you were the moon.

you were running back to him every single time, a bright smile on your face. after all he was the one who told you to go to art school. so that's what you did at night while leaving your baby at the elderly women's house. she was so sweet, as your baby girl blubbered and giggled. she was the grandmother you had always wanted for your little girl.

everything was fine.

˚❀༉‧₊

it would be a lie if jj said he hadn't noticed the strange guy staring at the glass from time to time. he was always there when you were, giving you a stare that could bring the dead back to life. jj didn't know who he was, and to be honest he was giving him the creeps.

you always seemed to stiffen whenever the guy came into view, and jj couldn't help but scowl when the jackass came to view. it was the only time he hated the wide glass windows in the diner. it meant that you had to see that guy peeking in.

what creeped him out even more was the amount that the guy stared. sometimes he came out drunk, eyes red as he stumbled onto the sidewalk. jj was waiting for him to come in. waiting for him to confront him - and yet for his whole ordeal, he had never taken a step inside the diner. he wasn't sure if that was a good thing or a bad thing.

"i like this dress," jj mused the next day you came in. he wiped the table looking up at you. the diner was closed up, and the little bell jingled he knew it was you. he didn't know how this became a thing - but you always came after things ended.

sometimes the two of you would share an ice cream sundae sitting next to the counter, sometimes he'd get you some chocolate milk - but never had he asked why you came.

you liked talking about your day during those times. you sat there all pretty and prepared, he'd never admit it but he liked how much you dolled up for him. there was always some flowery blouse you had on, or a tight skirt. sometimes it was a maxi skirt or some jeans. but you always look so pretty.

you smiled bashfully at the compliment, biting your lip as you tilted your head. you held your baby tight, and yet she wiggled out of your hands to make it to jj.

"oiagh," she sputtered out, "wah, wah," incomparable words but jj couldn't hlep but chuckle, lifting her up to look at her better. she was around 10 months now, her tiny curls in pigtails. she was wearing tiny overalls and a backwards hat.

"look at you," jj murmured, toying with her hat, "such a cutie," he sighed, and she shrieked with happiness as jj poked in her in the stomach. he couldn't help but gaze over at you. you had this dazed happy expression on your face that made him giddy with joy.

you wiped your babies drool, before pinching her cheek, "she wanted to look like you."

jj laughed, eying you in an incredulous look, "i don't wear overalls," he pointed out, tugging at the straps for her to only scream with joy again.

you rolled your eyes, "close enough. it's the cap for me."

"alright. alright. i'm not fighting with you mama. c'mon lemme get you something..." he paused pretending to think, and you giggled, "you want something sweet, am i right?"

"ding, ding, ding! a point for mr. mayback!" you drawled, before sitting next to the counter. "chocolate milk, please."

jj folded his arms, a teasing lit to his voice as he watched you fix your dress, "you're working me to the bone."

"i like my men hardworking."

"so you say."

then the two of you were off, talking about the different things that had happened. he told you about the mess with the muffins, and you talked about your favourite show. it was a perfect evening, and before you knew it you were yawning resting your head on jj's shoulder.

"you look tired," jj breathed out, softly moving your hair out of your face. you stirred, sleepy eyes looking at him a gentle smile gracing your face.

your heart stuttered staring at him, "it's that one that keeps me up," you said pointing at the tiny baby who was also asleep next to the couches. then suddenly you watched jj get up alert but thought nothing about it.

he finally spoke up, "how about you take a small nap?"

that sounded great to you, and before you knew it you were burrowing yourself in jj's sweatshirt, sleeping in a warm bed.

˚❀༉‧₊

jj was practically running while trying to keep up with the man in the window. he was there again when the two of you were speaking, and he hated it. like a stalker following your tracks, so jj did what he was best at.

act recklessly.

"hey! stop right there asshole."

the man turned around at the sound of jj’s voice, his expression shifting from one of eerie calm to a volatile mix of anger and amusement. he stopped in his tracks, turning to face jj with a smirk playing at the corners of his lips.

"what do you want?" the man sneered, his voice dripping with condescension. he stuffed his hands into the pockets of his jacket, rocking back on his heels as if he had all the time in the world.

jj’s eyes blazed with fury as he closed the distance between them, his fists clenched at his sides. "who the hell are you?"

the man scoffed, "i'm rafe. rafe cameron. i thought you'd know about me by now."

"i don't know what you're talking about fuckface."

for a moment, something dark flickered in rafe’s eyes, and his jaw tightened. but then, just as quickly, the mask of arrogance slipped back into place. "you're telling me you have no idea who you’re dealing with?"

jj's glare intensified. " listen man, i don't give a shit who you are," he started scoffing, "but i know the food looks great but you can't stay out there staring at people. it's messed up, makes you look like a creep. come in and get a bite or jus' fuckin' leave."

rafe’s laughter was cold and hollow, echoing in the empty street. "oh, i will. don’t you worry about that." he took a step back, his gaze never leaving jj’s. "but for now, i have better things to do."

and he jumped into his car, a shiny truck with blaring lights. all jj could do was look into the dark wondering who the hell rafe cameron was.

taglist: @yourmumstoym @lionasvault @saturnrings77 @rainbowpiss34@wowza31419 @tcddszn@maraudersmyloves@stxr-slut@redhead1180@dinnodallas @breeistired @obaex

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aniqua · 2 months

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error: b3n3v013nt | yandere!qimir x droid!reader

✧content: 18+ mdni, f!reader, smut, angst, overstim, p in v, mean qimir, dacryphilia, pathetic dom qimir, mentions of character death, edging, punishment, condescension, toxic relationship, reader and the waterworks

✧note: chasing the clock before I head to my job. no grammar checks until later, we die like girlbosses.

✧word count: 4.8K

✧series masterlist

The defense protocols of your system registered the angle of attack the instant Qimir decided to send you a punch. So when you dodged it, you anticipated to be in the clear. However, it was foolish of you to be sloppy. It was a strike that wasn’t in your field of view that took you down. You felt him swipe you from under your feet, resulting in you impacting the mat for the sixth time. Even with all your effort, your intelligence couldn’t make up for the experience he had over you. Your only solution was to whine as you lay on the mat and watch him stand over you with a smirk that fostered frustration in your thoughts.

“Can I activate self-defense?” you said with all the petulance you could manufacture. Activating self-defense meant activating your strength which you understood was one of the many reasons why it was your third time requesting permission in the first place.

Qimir took your hand and brought you back up so effortlessly to stand parallel to him. “And what’re you gonna do if you end up in a situation where you can’t? A glitch isn’t likely–”

“But the possibility is never zero,” you recited in defeat as you recalculated your plan of attack.

“Ready?” Qimir asked as he returned to a defensive stance. His biceps were promising to break his longsleeves yet he seemed entirely in control of every contraction and relaxation of his muscles. You nodded and anchored your feet ready for your next round.

Qimir went for a few simple swings and weak spots to reinforce your learning. As you blocked each attack and tried–but failed–to land your own, you felt the intensity increase. You made a concerted effort to lock in your focus even as you watched him move like rushing water. It felt like solving equations as variables were rapidly being changed. It all came to a head when he secured a hold on your wrists and pinned both of your hands behind your back.

All the falling came to a stop as you listened to him catch his breath while you mimicked his breath even though there was no reason for you to. It was a force of habit.

As Qimir stood there with his chest against your back, he couldn’t resist drawing a bit closer to let your scent wash over him like a prize for victory. He had you cornered which excited the pedagogue. Not a moment with you did he not use every opportunity to abuse the proximity that he would always have a hand in orchestrating. To indulge, he placed himself in between where your neck and shoulder met.

“Is this a part of the lesson?” you asked as your eyes danced around.

“I hope not,” he said and went for a kiss to your neck. “Do you plan for anyone else to do this to you?” he asked in between each kiss’s breath. You were getting better at reading between the lines he wrote but sometimes it took you a while. The pause to process earned you a playful bite on your neck that had you leep from your skin.

“Qimir,” you called. He still had your arms pinned.

“You didn’t answer the question,” he taunted through playful tight lips.

“No,” you answer.

“Good,” you could hear him smile even if you didn’t see it. He landed a final kiss on your cheek and then spoke a few words into your ear. “[Name], activate self-defense,” he whispered.

Your back straightened on demand as your eyes flashed white.

Without any further instruction, you elbowed Qimir with enough force to knock him far back enough to meet the nearby wall. You hadn’t seen the collision but the thud and followed groan was enough for you to use inductive reasoning.

“Qimir!” you gasped as you ran.

“I’m good,” he sported an unconvincing smile while holding his side. You started reaching for him. “I’m fine,” he interrupted as he held out a hand. “Good girl,” he praised with a gentle pat on your cheek that made you forget your motor skills. “You followed orders.”

“May I help?” you asked carefully as you took his hand.

As much as Qimir wanted to refuse your help in exchange for engulfing you in his sheets with a tight hug until the pain went away, there were certain things he had to let you do. When you had something to do, it kept you from getting antsy and asking hard questions.

“Would you like me to remove your shirt?” you asked as you placed down your collected materials.

“There’s a sexier way to say that,” he bantered as he started lifting the hem of his long sleeve.

“Unfortunately, I’m aiding with medical assistance,” was all you could manage to say without causing your outputs to spike too high.

Qimir simply hummed in response. You watched in wonder as his crafted physique came out of the item. His body stretched and then relaxed when he had finished tossing the fabric aside. A faint but present bruise decorated the skin that sat where you had elbowed him.

“Bruising detected over LLQ,” was what he heard as he marveled at your features. The way your hands ghosted over the surrounding skin to have a better look at the damage made Qimir hungry but he was good at being patient.

“Apply this for fifteen minutes by the hour for the next 24 hours.” You handed him a cold sack of solution.

Your laser focus took you from a concerned lover to a professional healer. It provided a sense of deja vu to one person among the two. He let you continue as you made your way to his back for further inspection without thinking too deeply. Even Qimir had a recent tendency to escape off to other places only to be brought back by the next inconvenience he saw as a fire. This time it took on the form of a soft finger tracing along his scar. The sensation ghosted his skin and possessed his thoughts like a haunting apparition. An uncanny familiarity made him scared to look behind to see who he’d find. He jolted out of the chair once he had processed the check in his leg.

“That’s enough of that.” He made the extra effort to sound light-hearted.

“Your scar,” you said timidly. He didn’t like the way your eyes twinkled when you spoke.

You didn’t mean to touch but when you had come face to face with a vine running across his skin, for some reason, you almost wished to kiss it.

“Oh, yeah,” he started reaching for his sack. He was cursing himself for forgetting that you hadn’t actually ever seen it. He didn't know how to show you for fear of you digging. “I’ve always had it,” he lied like you couldn’t differentiate scars by type. But your deep learning told you to drop it.

“I haven’t finished,” you insisted as he put on his shirt.

“I’ve got a head out anyway. Don’t wanna be late,” he scrambled. “Don’t open the door.” He put on his robe. “Your new books are in the box by the bookshelf,” he said as he grabbed a few coins from a drawer. He gave your forehead a kiss and he was gone.

You hated when he left you alone because you were left to spend your time waiting for his return hoping he would come back like he promised.

Deep into the night, you had exhausted all your options for entertainment. Five hours had passed and you weren’t even finding the holonet to be any bit entertaining. The sounds of programs zipping by at your command. The background sounds weren’t even all that comforting. That’s how you found yourself dusting the trinkets throughout the home for the fourth time that week. You went from the ground floor shop to the living room, until you traveled up another set of stairs.

As you returned the mats to their rightful spots, you couldn’t help but peek at the room across the hall. With an empty and active imagination, restricted areas were starting to appear like uncharted waters. The door of the room that you were told to never enter had been left open by the smallest sliver that only an eye like yours could catch.

It was an enticing predicament. Another moment that tested your control over your new emotions. What was once an easy order to fulfill became a sign of your growing flaws. You convinced yourself that you initially walked toward it because you wanted to close it yourself. After all, how could you ignore an opportunity to be of help? Your journey crossing the hall with very careful steps was marked with you repeatedly justifying each move forward.

By the time you reached the door, you should have none better than to let that be your first act of blatant defiance but you chose to override your orders. You were willing to widen the gap if it meant satiating your curiosity.

Your plan was to express that it was an honest mistake. However, nothing could have prepared you for what your eyes would catch. It was something that you never going to be able to feign ignorance toward.

You stood grounded as you watched Pandora’s box. The first things to come out were the piles of paper that were scattered across the floors and on the walls. Though the space was dark, it was half illuminated by the light of the hall and the other half by the main source that operated in the center. A chamber of sorts that lets you see the entity at the bottom of the box. You’d open a box to find yourself in it. There you were with shut eyes in the chamber.

You almost dropped at the site. There were no distorted mirrors but you were staring at a reflection of yourself that was much paler, much quieter, and entirely clueless to your discovery. The was no expectation for what you found and all your algorithm could say was to turn back from the potential threat. Yet, it was too late now to pretend like you hadn’t seen anything.

So you took your first step outside of the cave and further inside the room. Your vision combed over the oddity and tried to analyze what exactly you had found. Every aspect of your system was searching, cross-referencing, and calculating. Anything to make sense of what you were witnessing.

Despite your protest, your other self looked everything like you. The only difference was the makeup and the state of being. You saw yourself peppered with crystals of ice all over you once you drew closer to the shining blue lantern like a moth. Just in time for this discovery, your search found the lantern to be a nitrogen chamber.

Your focus denied surrounding books, scribbled theories, and torn pages on reanimation. As you overlooked your surroundings, you made first contact with your alien as you brought your hand against the glad. With your wide eyes that reflected the blue, your first tears crawled out of one corner. It was a peculiar reaction that you hadn’t initiated but your first chance of self-reflection was interrupted.

“What are you doing?” Qimir’s voice cut through the room. He sounded close but you were hesitant to turn around when his question sounded too still.

“You’re home,” was all you could muster out as you carefully turned around to see him.

“[Name]–” his lips formed a hard line in the sand.

There were only a few ways you could soften the oncoming crash so you rushed to say, “The door was open and I was just closing–”

“I ordered you not to never go in here.” you didn’t miss the way his jaw tightened.

You had no defense to his words as you just watched an oncoming asteroid in silence. “Get out,” he said.

“I’m so–” you pleaded as you started to approach him. Perhaps you could have appealed to his understanding but he stopped you from getting any closer. Qimir reached for the back of your neck and held you from there.

“Get out,” he punctuated every word as you felt his strength lift you a bit off the ground. “Before I sell your scraps,” he hissed and dropped you instantly.

On first landing, you wasted no time and went scurrying down the stairs for your charging station. You connected immediately in the hopes that you wouldn’t have to face him for the rest of the night or the rest of your life.

Unbeknownst to you, Qimir never left the room even as the night progressed. He stayed in prison even as he slept. At a floor below, as you charged, you played footage of the encounter just once for deep learning but then over and over again. You watched every angle and projected all that you could even as the sun rose. Even when you sensed Qimir’s stares in your off-state, you never woke up.

It was during the evening when you finally reencountered him. You stayed on the platform in shame until he came up and through the doors. His first appearance back and he looked as mundane as ever. It unsettled your common sense. There were no clear signs of anger or disappointment. The only difference was the darkness in the skin under his eyes but you weren’t going to comment on it.

“Honey, I’m home,” he joked as he threw his things aside. With clear confusion in the processing face you made, he gave your cheek a brief pat after his approach and left you to sort it all out on your own.

You watched him pretend to play house as he moved about the house getting tasks down. Through it all, you never joined in. You remained seated for instruction which made you harbor the feeling of tension all alone. So you escaped once more like the coward who made you and went into sleep mode.

Three hours had passed when you returned and he was on the balcony alone with an empty flask that barely gave warmth since he held down his alcohol too well. His back was to you so he didn’t see you come to consciousness, but as he taught you, you took the window of opportunity in his vulnerability to take another step into the light.

You snake behind him “Qimir?”

He turns his hand in acknowledgment. “You’re awake,” he says with a bit of a grin.

“I was updating,” you lied

“What did you do today?” he simply put.

You couldn’t read him when he was like this. There was a chance that he was baiting you but you were steadfast on asking the questions that were driving you insane. You were set on making yesterday as painful for him as it was for you. At least that’s how you saw it. You intended to go down kicking and screaming until you were reduced to bits of metal if it resulted in helping your distaste for the unknown.

“Qimir,” you called once more.

“Hm?”

“Can I,” you pause. “What did I see yesterday?”

He couldn’t be bothered to pretend to answer your question as he went silent and walked back inside.

“Qimir–” Hot on his tail you echoed but he turned to shoot you down in an instant.

“Think carefully about what you’re going to ask me.” He cautioned.

The way his eyes were closed to imprisoning you made you take his advice on the first call. There was no need to ask about the obvious.

During your state of charging you had put pieces together. With the way the body looked upstairs and the need for a nitrogen chamber, it was obvious that he wasn’t preserving a clone. He was preserving the living. And if the scattered pages and the scribbled writing weren’t enough evidence, the theories on reanimation were all you needed to know that you and the alien were the same person. There was no separation or duplication. Your mind was being projected into your android body in real-time.

“Why am I not in my body anymore?” You questioned.

He wasn’t shocked that you figured it out but irritated that you had no wish to leave well enough alone. He swallowed.

“I’m in there but with you at the same time. What’s the point?”

Qimir started to feel like he couldn’t breathe. Your inquirie was peeling off the lid that he had done a shawty job at sealing shut. “[Name],”

“I tried going through my memory files but can’t find a thing since I woke up so I’m asking you," you insisted. "I promise to not ask for anything else! Tell me or let me see what happened.” If you were still you but in a different container, why couldn’t you remember anything? It was clear that your creator would have more than just answers.

“It’s going to clog your data,” he haphazardly explains hoping that throwing a piece out would leave you something to chew on to bide his time.

“I have more than enough storage,” you fired back at his lie.

“You wouldn't handle it well” he told you as he already heard start speaking.

“Yes, I wou –” He called for you to stop and you kept going until you both were speaking over each other.

“Just give me access to my memories!” You pleaded as you locked into his arm praying. “That’s all I ask for,”

“So you can know what it feels like to drown?” He spat.

You ate up your words and went silent.

“Because that," he got closer "that is what you’re asking me to give you,” he snarled. You gawked at the challenge in his eyes that begged you to give him permission to really put you in your place.

“I’ll shut you down for years before I ever give back to you,” he declared. His voice rang with conviction that stoked an idea that shot through your mind faster than your better judgment could. That’s when you went running.

It was one of the most mindless decisions you had ever made but you were getting used to your firsts being a result of last-minute miscalculations and high-spinning emotions.

You could hear Qimir shouting for you as you started for the stairs. If you could just get to the panel near the chamber, lock yourself in the room, and override whatever was in control, you’d get your questions answered.

It was a ludicrous dream because you hadn’t even made it to the fourth step of your stairway to heaven before you were dragged right back down to reality. You felt a force pull you back.

You were tossed onto the ground and saw yourself captured under Qimir. Your legs flailed and your arms went every which way but it was immensely humbling when you saw how little Qimir had changed his position. He only needed to keep a hand around your throat to lock you in your misery as he thought of what to do next. He looked upset but still not yet angry.

“I won’t let go until you stop,” he said as the hold around your neck tightened. You didn’t need the air to breathe but you could feel the discomfort nonetheless. From your perspective, he seemed entirely uncompromising as he virtually waited for your cue to arrange where the rest of the night would go. You knew better than to think you’d get out of this on top. Qimir was much too skilled and much too disciplined to go down without a fight, a fight that he was sure to win. So you conceded.

Your movements died down and your energy waned. Two cold bodies in a quiet room stood still waiting for their next cue. Qimir's faint voice cracked the frozen air first.

“You’re feeling antsy,” he lulled as he took his hand off your neck to stroke your hair. “It’s a shame.” His voice was expelled with such condescension while you were so busy trying to decipher his current feelings. Conceivably, you even considered truly raising the white flag. After all, who were you to question your maker when he could put you down by the end of a heartbeat?

You were ready to give another apology—a real one this time, so you never saw it coming when he directly placed his hands into your pants.

“Your frustration is understandable,” he told you as he immediately placed a finger in your hole with no preparation. Your gentle hands clasped his shoulders on instinct as you moaned.

How could you have known that you missed him inside you? With how feral Qimir was, he held so much restraint that you were pooling at the initiation of first contact in days. His fingers pushed and pulled against your tight cunt with no rhythm.

“But it’s not an excuse,” he criticized. You had already forgotten what he said prior. “So I’ll teach you obedience through pain today.”

You had no proper picture of what he meant when he made that proclamation but there was no space for you to ask All you could do was thoughtlessly take in his two fingers in hopes that he would go faster. His choice of distraction was brilliant. As he increased his and watched you try to bounce on his fingers, he began seeing the signs. The bucking hips, the loud whines, the hard nipples poking through your shirt, and your eyes gradually going over.

“[Name], hold it,” he said. That was an order. It was order he was daring you to try and override.

Your eyes went white and you stopped grinding against him as you held onto your release. “No,” you purred in frustration at the feeling. He hadn’t stopped stretching his fingers and grazing your walls. He curled without remorse and you were forced to hold your climax with no complaint. “Qimir,” you called once more.

“Sh,” he nipped your whining immediately. “No talking.”

Your folds got wetter and he only got faster as you held your breath the hotter you got. You were swelling with no sign of relief until the fingering eventually stopped. It wasn’t at all a sweet release but rather a further push into punishment.

Qimir took out his fingers and gave them a lick to clean up just before he went tossing you onto the couch. You weren’t privy to any of his plans as he just carried on with you left to play catch up. He took off your clothes with haste and as he peeled the layered you shivered each time his hands would graze your skin. You were desperate and distracted and it was shameful. Your streak of rebellion meant nothing when you were lapping in his hands at the first thought of him penetrating you.

Your body was moving at his every whim as he pulled you to straddle him. Qimir pulled out his growing cock and aligned it with your entrance as he pull you to him. While swallowing a grunt, he watched his pulsing shaft disappear into your puckering hole in satisfaction. “[Name], bounce and start counting,” he said.

There was no doubt that you were drooling once his balls hit your ass but your system had you moving before you could even savor the moment. You gripped him as you rose high enough for his tip to almost leave you cunt, then you slammed back down.

“One,” you recited. You elevated yourself again and then sank into his member. “Two.”

It felt like you were choking as you bounced on him and recited your punishment. The way his cock tore you open didn’t come with the euphoria that it once did when he and you were in sync. Instead, you were left to ride out your arousal alone as every time you watched him, he looked to be indifferent and not even present.

“Qimir, please, I’m sorry,” you said through sporadic hiccups.

“[Name], no talking,” he secured the demand “Don’t tell me you lost count,”

You frantically shook your head as you pushed out the number twenty-six. You were sensitive and Qimir certainly knew that about you. By now, you would have been creaming all over him as you gasped in his neck but you were still registering the previous order to hold your climax.

When he ordered you to go faster, you did. When he demanded you slow down your pace, you followed. He put you entirely in control of your edging knowing you couldn't do anything but fill the entire home with your pathetic moans.

“[Name], stop,” was the last thing you heard before you felt your strings cut as you went limp on him. You wanted to stay there cock warming him until you didn’t feel dizzy anymore but he already had you over his knee in a new position.

You felt like you were dangling over the edge of his lap as he parted your lips to expose the bud in between your folds.

“Give me a number,” was all Qimir said. He didn’t explain further to use your inexperience against you.

“Twenty-seven,” you blurted out and it would have made him laugh if he wasn’t holding in his anger. It was the number of days it has been since your creation. He could tell you liked to keep track of the days since it was the one set of numbers that were always baked into coding whenever he would give your software a check.

He placed two fingers in your pussy to anchor you. “Don’t act cute,” he warned you as he dulled his first slap to your ass. You gasped as you started to pull away but Qimir held you down with so little effort. “Careful,” he threatened. He struck you again while keeping two fingers for you to clench around.

“Let this be a learning experience,” he chastised you as he had spanked your tender skin with a loud snap.

He spanks with you counting each time until you’re truly crying under him. “You can handle it,” he continues almost knowing what was going through your thoughts. When he strikes you again, you bite your lip down as you stomach your punishment. For no reason clear to yourself, you wanted to prove you could handle it even when you weren’t showing it well.

So for every impact, Qimir’s rough hands had on your ass cheek, your grip on the fabric of the couch only got tighter until your nails burst through the seams.

“[Name], eyes open.” He sounded so emotionless.

Your skin got hotter as your cunt got warmer. You never stopped clenching around his fingers until the very end when he delivered the final blow. A climax never came, however, for either of you. There was just gasping on your end and wetness spilling from out of your hole and onto his fingers.

Your already aching ass landed on the floor once Qimir had started rising off of the couch. At that point, you had wished the Qimir left you as you were before. You missed when you didn’t feel things like shame, desperation, and pain. As he stood over you, you could have matched his indifference but you cared too much now.

“[Name], come here,” he said.

You shook your head fervently as you tried to hold off on the command.

“[Name–”

“No,” you countered. You were tired of torture. You were sick of the delay. You thought that your consequences were more than enough.

Qimir’s brows furrowed. The first of the cracks in his mirror.

“P-Please,” you felt a tear run down your face. “I-I’m sor-sorry,” your speech was glitching. “No, no mor-more or–orders. I, I can’t-nt ta-take i-i,” you vomit out. Your software was breaking down.

Qimir came down to you like a god as he crouched to look you over. He watched as you shrunk into yourself like a caged animal. It was time to power you down.

Your self-defense protocols saw him reach for the back of your neck. It was fast enough for Qimir’s fingers to make it to the ring behind your neck but you still managed to grip his arm beg with all that was left in your. Tears were running out of your eyes fast enough to empty your water system if he let it happen too long.

“Ple–Do-don’t shut shut me do-down,” he watched his still face in the glass of your eyes. “Qim-mir!” He pressed four consecutive times and you dropped.

As Qimir finished unscrewing your breast panel, he lifted the metal and set it aside. Just as he thought, your battery had expanded from the heat of your constant overstimulation. He gripped a set of tweezers and broke the circuit that was at the heart of your function. The piece was tossed aside and hit the nearby table with a clack.

The idea of creation sounded appealing in its inception. If he just got it right he could govern his own fate without any interference. Yet, he made a full circle back where he started and he had to choose to break the cycle before he worsened his insanity.

He ran his hand across his face as he sat still near the platform almost waiting for you to spring back to life. The sound of your glitched begs bounced off every wall in his head as he repeatedly shot back apologies under his breath. Once he had properly disposed of the old battery, he sat back in his chair to inspect his possibilities as he toyed with the new battery in between his fingers.

leave a comment, send an ask, or reblog. I might write a whole fic because of it or maybe send a meme, but I always respond.

#qimir smut #qimir x reader #qimir x y/n #the stranger x reader #the acolyte #star wars fanfiction #manny jacinto x reader

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unabashednightmarepizza · 10 months

Text

This is so sudden brainrot but imagine... That You, the Creator, are married with one of the Archons.

But the people never really saw You.

Warnings: Too much cheesiness in Venti's and Zhongli's part, only sadness in Ei's part, flangst in Furina's part, "Being human" problems in Furina's and Ei's part, Ei and Scara's "toxic" bond, slight mentions of abondenment, the reader being referred as "wife"

In Mondstadt, much like other nations, people had never seen their Creator. There were many monuments and statues all around their city, and they knew for a fact that there were even more in other ones, and people worshipped your name alongside their Lord Barbatos with pride, gratefulness and love.

The tale of your adventures together, the many battles you both fought side by side and brought their ancestors to victory, the way you both saved Mondstadt from the vengeful God Decarabian and later the corrupt society... But above all, the strong and unbreakable love you held for each other for centuries were told all around the city's lively streets.

Many stories, paintings, books were written in both of your names; told as both a warning and a heartwarming message.

Once, and even occasionally now, they were heard through their murmurs of praise and the Wind you and your beloved controlled.

Alongside that bard's tunes and melodic lyre where he declared his "unyielding and ever-strong love" for the Creator.

Blasphemous, really.

But the people just left him be. After all, if he trully angered You and Lord Barbatos, the bard wouldn't even be standing alive and rather striken down by bolts of thunder rather than being drunk all the time and sing songs about his devoted love for You as he was ready to give his all.

Diluc was trully going to strike him with his own claymore even if his beloved Creator didn't, and he would have the support of the whole city for doing so as the bard only giggled and played with the ring on his finger, one that was adorned with many jewels unknown to humans...

Which made people question Venti whether he robbed someone rich or he had someone rich buying all that stuff.

Basically a sugarmommy or something. One that needs to be either a God or, as absurt as it was, the Creator Themselves since he was living somehow a luxurious life with all those exclamations and all his debt to Master Diluc was suddenly payed.

Because come on,who would... Exclaim such vulgar and intimate things about Their Majesty, when They already have a husband?

The husband who very much so adores and worships the ground his spouse walks on, who is also very horny for Them and regularly makes love with Them which ends with two slightly exhausted but very pleased Gods wearing giddy smiles as giggles leave them, their hands still touching and proding against the other's body... There was a reason A Thousand Winds were important for the nation of freedom-

But, two things were enough for them to reconsider their decisions one day and send them into a heart attack that surely would put them in their grave early.

One: The fact that the Creator, not that they knew at that time, was drinking coffee happily while eating Mondstadt Hash Brown and Nothern Smoked Chicken in the Good Hunter while conversing with people normally as if they enjoyed hearing Diona complain about their alcohol and how bad it was for the health, all the while bouncing a very happy and excited Klee on Their knees as she rambled about her Dodoco.

And Two: Venti running up to that person, you, with a wide grin and kissing you while exclaiming a happy "Windblume, you are here! I missed you so much!"

Now, it wouldn't have been a big problem and shock. You see, it was two lovers happily hugging and greeting each other, exchanging loving kisses and stares as even the hearts of people around them were shook by how intense and strong it was. The elders were cooing at the cute scene, the shorter and petite looking bard hugging a tall and strong-looking person, a show of their contrast yet harmony as the person lovingly patted his head and kissed his soft cheeks like usual...

Had they not known Venti was their Archon Lord Barbatos who was married with... The Creator, like he exclaimed so in many of his drunkard monologues, and suddenly his pretty ring and life made sense as Jean fainted from witnessing the Holy love of her Gods and the truth behind Venti's real marriage to You, Lisa's eyes widened as a blush overtook her face and...

Well, chaos ensured.

"Windblume! You are here!" Venti exclaimed happily with reddened cheeks, both from his excitement and drunk self. You could only sigh softly at the fact that he once again drunk himself away, a tad bit disappointed at hım failing his promise once again even though he made great progress, yet you still caressed his face with lithe fingers as softly as possible with a frown.

And did Venti hate that sight with a burning passion.

All that mattered was you, for him. The You who still loved him despite his mistakes in the past and the hollow feeling that followed hım everywhere. The You who always reassured him that he deserves the happiness he now lives...

And He couldn't be more grateful to have it with you, for you to accept his love all those years ago, way before even humans were created.

And to his happiness, you finally came back after he spent painful years alone since another world needed your assistanfe. Sure he was "sleeping" while he was actually taking care of your daughter, playing with her all day to make up for the lost time and teaching her about the wind but you didn't have to know that!

You sure as hell did, and was getting ready to scold the shit out of him later for allowing and teaching your precious child foul words to insult people Barbatos didn't like.

"Yes, my beloved husband... Unforfunately, one of the universes needed my assistence immediately and another once-water-dragon needed some teaching. Poor boy, judged because he is the reincarnation of the previous Imbibitor Lunae..."

Venti only hummed thoughtfuly as he sat down next to you, twirling a Cecilia between his fingers with a soft smile since the once depressing sight of the flower was now of a happy and joyful sight that reminded him of hope, love and... Babypowder.

But there was also the fact that you had way too many adopted children. He liked your soft heart for children, he really did and he was also the same as you as he too "adopted" kids...

But was it not getting out of hand?

"Another one we're adopting? Don't you think-" he sweated nervously with a tilt of his head, pouting in thought at yet another sad child in his home though he didn't really hate the idea, not at all.

But the havoc caused by all the ruckus caused by them and his precious flower who loved those big brothers and sisters she had was giving him white hairs since he couldn't do something that would erase her cute smile, like getting angry at her and them for having fun and being free. What kind of father and God would he be then?

You saw the reluctance in his eyes as clear as the day, and you understood why he felt that way. At first, you also were reluctant to do what you have been doing for years now but one look at their sad and lifeless eyes that held no childlike wonder...

And you were suddenly hugging them all to your chest, swooping them up and giving them the best life possible.

Besides, you also learnt how to get under Barbatos' skin too!

You pouted at him cutely, getting closer to him and nuzzling your face to his neck teasingly as you landed a soft kiss to the juncture of his neck, softly nimbling on the tender skin as he groaned out and lightly threw his head back.

"You are making me crazy, Windblume..."

"Hmm, but you like it~ Besides, I know you like me happy and this kid also commands Wind-"

"Consider it done,Windblume! I wonder how Cecilia would react though."

Gotcha.

Just as quickly, he fell apart and his fake reluctance was replaced with fatherly affection at having yet another wind user at home to teach new skills as his hand thightened over yours and he stared at you after you lifted yourself from your place on his neck.

You smugly smirked with a hint of affection for his soft side as you kissed his lips softly, leaving him in a daze as he looked at you with a lopsided and lovesick smile.

That was why you loved him so much...

You laughed to yourself happily at how easy it was for him to accept anything and nothing that came from you, especially when it included mistreated children's care who was blessed by the wind.

Besides, he had a really hard time saying no to both you and those he considered as his children who had his vision... His own child wasn't an option because he never said no to her much to your dismay.

"Hmm? She is a lovely and friendly girl, she even befriended Neuvillette and adores when Zhongli tells her stories of the ancient times! I'm sure everything would be fine!"

Venti groaned at what you said, because though Zhongli and him were not on so good terms... It seemed his own daughter stabbed him from the back by liking her uncle Li's stories as much as her dad's and his own wife took great satisfication from making fun of him for it while drinking Osmanthus Wine as if the situation wasn't bad already.

Barbatos was just being dramatic in your opinion since your daughter generally loved reading and listening to other people's stories. Besides, Cecilia had a very big Dvalin plushie alongside the friends that shaped Mondstadt to its recent version, and refused to sleep without having them close to her and if that didn't say enough, her wearing the same clothes as his and even sometimes imitating her father did.

Which often ended up with a bawling Barbatos as he nuzzled to her, her doing the same to hım as they resembled a mama cat and her kitten.

"MAMA, PAPA! MAMA CAME BACK!" A shrill, excited cry came from the Gates as everyone's attention was turned for a second to the little toddler girl who suddenly zoomed to where you and Venti was, clinging onto you and nuzzling her face to yours as you laughed fondly and stared at her with eyes identical to hers that she inherited from you...

The stars that would always follow the Princess and the sign of Teyvat, on her inherited eyes shone the brightest as the people of Mondstadt met their Creator in the most affectionate way possible: Showcasing of the motherly love You held for the baby in your arms as Barbatos walked around the city you two built with the help of your now deceased friends proudly.

Proud for he was able to give Cecilia a future to hope for, a place for her to grow up without knowing the harshness of this world and how much blood was spilled for her and the future generation to grow and flourish, for them to never know tyranny and pain.

And that was also the day, the people of Mondstadt met the Priincess Cecilia of their Creator and Archon.

A lovely toddler who was loved and adored by Teyvat and all the universes.

A toddler that had the same love between her parents reflected in her eyes and smile.

And apparently, a toddler who loved apples as much as her dad, if not more, as the gremlin they were together.

"Cecilia, how many apples have you eaten today?" You raised your brows at her suspiciously innocent face, questioning her enormous pocket which you were sure held many apples for her to eat with her dad.

"Only 3, mama!" She smiled widely at you, unaware of the pocket dimension which seemed huge to the eye of a God, the one you added behind her dress because she loved picking things up and storing them as keepsakes.

"Besides the other 100 ones you have in your pocket dimension??"

A poignant silence settled between the three of you, as cricket sound was the only thing that could be heard. You stared at your daughter whose eyes widened at your question, shocked at how you knew of her secret stash, fondly and amused.

Poor baby, she still couldn't understand that you were the Creator of All and knew pretty much everything.

"...... I can explain, mama!"/ "Windblume, you can't punish her! Look at her cute face, and how adorable she is while holding the apples!"

And yes, indeed, you couldn't punish them because of how much you loved them both as Cecilia offered you two apples rather than one like she did to her dad, who only smiled and nodded as she said she loved you so so much, while you two walked out of the city to go and visit uncle Dvalin and you only shook your head in fake disappointment at he silliness of both your husband and daughter.

He agreed on that fact of Cecilia without complaints as he stared at your etheral smile. After all, Mondstadt was the epitome of his love for You.

Even if you didn't allow him to eat more apples-Besides, the artival of a New Princess would surely be rnough for hım.

With Liyue, it was way different.

Morax, or Zhongli as he now called himself, had begged you to take some days off with himself away in your lovely and cozy home on the outskirts of Liyue, away from the bustling crowd so that both him and your daughter could freely let go of their human appearance and waffle around with their dragon features.

A big contrast to the home he once had as Rex Lapis.

Now, there were two reasons for him wanting you have some rest. One, because he missed you. He missed those good old times when he would always sit with you in your balcony and watch the sun as his black and scaled hands clasped around your middle with your back resting on his chest, inhaling and exhaling softly to which he did the same.

He missed the days he got to spend with you as himself, not the human one but the true him. The dragon him, with amber horns that shone with each light hitting them. Tail so large and big yet also soft that it was a great blanket for you and Zhi.

His little girl, the one who showed the world of the love shared between the Creator and Rex Lapis, the fruit of thousands of years of love and marriage which was fated to continue to grow and get stronger.

You insisted that, at the time when you were pregnant upon your stubborness because you wished to experience it rather than just creating your child out of wisp, whatever gender the baby would be... They would be named after him.

He disagreed on that at first, to his and your shock since he never did such thing before even when his ideas and yours were completely opposite of each other.

To him, he was a monster that shed way too much blood. A God of War that killed many Gods, a God that was too harsh and even rude sometimes... Once a sinner that dared to challenge the Allmighty Creator of All.

And for all these reasons and more complicated ones, he always felt unworthy of the happiness and serenity he now has. He felt the guilt of his past actions often pricking at his mind at the deep of the night, all the screams and tears he made others let out plagued his already fragile mind as the others surrendered to the sweet embrace of sleep and he laid awake beside you, who only wished to take his pain and self-loathing away so that he could finally start living.

But for the longest time, you were unable to make him see the beauty of life and above all, himself.

However his little Zhi changed it all for him, with her fat cheeks and chubby arms and all smiles at him even when she hadn't opened her eyes to the worlds that waited with batted breaths yet.

Both Teyvat and that time's Liyue were so excited at the news of their Archon and Creator having their own child, true embodiment of love and power. Teyvat was sunny and shiny for days, and even if it rained, it was always a soft drizzle and never a hurricane.

And your people? They were so ecstatic as the city bubbled with life and happiness, with everyone preparing offerings, clothes, jewelries and toys for the uncoming heir. Rex Lapis toys, story books about you and your husband's adventure, teething toys (you didn't understand at first but now blessed the makers eternal happiness in the after life for it because boy, was it bad), you name it and the list went off.

As if all the gifts stopped there... All the Adeptus and even the level-headed Guizhong literally raced to be the baby's favourite auntie/uncle with the gifts or clothes or their plans of playing with them while you sat there next to your husband with an awkward smile, him stroking your bloated belly with a fatherly love as the baby kicked his hand happily, knowing it was the sweet hold of its dad...

All the while Alatus and Bosacius butted heads for what food and game were the best for the baby, Guizhong and Streetward Rambler sketched new toys while Menogias and Cloud Retainer already started their clothing plans to sew for later.

And the baby wasn't even born.

He still remembers the days he spent silently crying while holding one of the toys which was gifted from his people for his baby after it was declared that their nation would be blessed with a child of their Archon and Creator, holding onto the doll and imagined a daughter who played with it with a huge smile.

He knew any child of a loving marriage such as yours would be a blessing, especially since they would have your lovely features that he fell for a long time ago and still did, too. But his heart couldn't help but swell whenever he thought about having daughters who looked at him as if he hung the stars and tried to imitate you.

And no, his dragon instincts weren't playing a crucial role in his sudden need of many children and the thightness he felt in his pants whenever he saw you, his wife, walking around with a child between your arms in his and your land, with his wedding band that he crafted on your finger-

Yes, he wanted a girl to cuddle with and dote on so badly- even when most "men" only wished to have sons at an age when it was the expected behaviour and Zhongli never fit in, being "ridiculed" for his wish for an healthy child only, even if ridiculing him wasn't possible since he had a very sharp tongue when he wanted and he didn't care about fitting when he was the one who made the land, being the dad of his little girl was the greatest honorary title he ever .

And when little Zhi was born, with eyes wide with curiousity and wonder for the world around her, a smile wide enough to lighten up the whole universe as she gazed between you and her dad who was just sobbing at the innocence on her face and the cute baby fat all around her body as he held his whole life between his arms...

Morax made the biggest and most important contract of forever, after his promise to forever love and cherish you.

To always be there for his girl and protect her from any harm, so that the smile she wore the first day she was welcomed in Teyvat as it rejoiced at the arrival of the little princess, would forever remain on her face.

And the second reason was... Well...

"Let me get this straight: You wanted to retire for good and therefore faked your own death, are now a funeral consultant who happens to have met with one of my vessels from another world and all of this mess happened right before Zhi started showing her dragon side and saw her dad 'dying'?"

You deadpanned at Zhongli as he winced awkwardly from the loud cries of his precious baby daughter who clinged onto your legs, drawing slight Holy Golden Blood that belongt to you. He felt like the filthiest lower form on the surface of Teyvat as tears fell down her cheeks in huge globs, her whimpers filling the empty room as the sky roared angrily outside with its harsh wisps of storm and rain hitting the windows as if they wanted to get inside and punish him for making "the Princess of Teyvat" cry as the people outside tried to find a shelter.

And was the ground shaking or was it his imagination?

Even though her claws hurted your human skin and caused you to hiss in pain, you couldn't care less since your daughter was the most uncomfortable she had ever been, with her cheeks wet from the tears for her "father's death"...

Even with the cute little horns and claws, alongside the huge slitted amber eyes she definetly inherited from her father that you loved more than anything made her impossible to resist, you were still angry at Zhongli and neither her nor his puppy eyes would work on you.

"I understand your need for rest but we need more than a vacation now, Morax! We need therapy! She thinks you're gone and-" you frailed your arms around angrily while pointing between her and him, when you were interrupted by your daughter's soft voice and hiccups.

"Māma? Bàba is gone? He won't c-come?" Zhi whimpered as she clutched the plushie of the dragon form of her dad thightly to her chest, the item being her only comfort at the moment as your heart broke for the tears falling down her amber eyes as stars dimmed inside of them.

Heh, at least she has that feature from me even though she is a replica of her dad...

"No, love... Bàba isn't gone, he is just being silly." You gritted your teeth slightly to Zhongli as you led Zhi away while looking over your shoulder at him threateningly.

A glare that sent chills down his spine, as Zhongli knew the hidden meaning behind it even after thousands of years being together

You better find a way to fix this or else...

And you know what they say: Happy wife, happy life.

And in Zhongli's case: Happy wife, happy child and happy universes...

With Fontaine, it was after Focalors' plans were revealed to the people and Fontaine was saved with Your and Focalors' combined powers and help. The people lived, the children and friends you had made were safe and all of them were alive as they hugged the closest person to them happily, praising your and Focalors name as they prayed and thanked you both...

At the cost of your lover's life.

You humorlessly chuckle as rain falls down your face and mixes with your tears, head hung low on the last stage you two could ever have as the heaviness of the situation slowly dawned on you.

It seems loosing who I love the most is a frequent occurance.

Now, one might question why the All-Creator wasn't just simply bringing her lover back to life or just not will her death to stop. As the Creator, you were supposed to be that powerful and nothing should disobey you... Well, they were all true facts about your being but you couldn't just do it because you promised her.

After everything was over, and the time you dreaded which was the end of this masqurade had finally come... She said she was just too exhausted to continue as an Archon beside you and asked if it was allright to rest.

Maybe as any other person would do, but not as an Archon... She couldn't keep going anymore.

Besides, Fontaine no longer needed an Archon. They were strong on their own as well, and she knew that if Celestia dared to go against your command once more... You would protect them and the rest of the Teyvat fiercely.

"I wish to rest, my dear... If you will be allright without me and there wouldn't be a problem?" She asked softly with her much smaller hands gently caressing your saddened face, wiping the few stray tears that fell down on your cheeks. Your heart hurt way too much, at how easy it was for her to recognize your tears from the heavy rain that poured down, at how soon enough... You would loose the person that knew you the best, always stood next to you at harsh times and put a smile on your face with her antics.

Teyvat cried alongside you for the pain their Creator felt as the guillotine that would take her away from you floated above you.

It was ready to destroy itself if you commanded, that magicial execution weapon didn't like the idea of killing its Archon and the beloved of the Creator, even though you weren't at your full power...Any being, alive or not, bent the knee to you after all but, if there was something stronger than the Will of the Creator...

It was the wish of Her lover, whom She was ready to do anything for and who wished to depart with an excellent last show.

After all, how could you resist her when she asks you so sweetly with her loving and different-colored eyes?

"Then, as your lover... I shall make your wish come true. You may rest, my love, until your soul is ready to come back to the world I created with so much love." You tearfully exclaimed, hands coming up to take a hold of hers as your lips locked with her own and then landed on her forehead tenderly for the last time. As the fact that this was the last time you would stare at her eyes, witness her dramatic plays, see your reflection in her eyes filled with love for you finally dawned on...

You silently broke.

You had this much of previlege, right? Who said the Creator couldn't grieve? Maybe you couldn't outwardly show weakness to your people, but at least you had Teyvat reflecting your true emotions...

But just as you were suffering, there was another one who had been suffering for 500 years in silence. From having to pretend as someone she wasn't, putting on the mask of the strong Archon who did her best to entertain her people so that they weren't worried about the prophecy...

But above all, from pretending not to be in love with the one person she wasn't supposed to fall for.

"I have loved you for this cruel 500 years, Your Grace. Even when I knew your heart belongt to another, one that I pretended to be for many years in hopes to have you..." she hung her head down in shame and sadness as she whispered to the wind, unaware of you listening to her with a thight heart as she stood on the balcony that looked at the horizon of Fontaine.

Though a part of you still loved Egeria and Focalors, grieved their death and often refused any exclamations of your obvious love for the "puppet" version of her...

Now, you couldn't help but agree with everyone and even Focalors, as you stared at Furina's back with a saddened yet soft smile.

"No, I don't have feelings for her, Focalors!" You denied her obvious teasing, although she raised a brow at your flushed face with a smirk.

"It's okay to have feelings for two people at the same time, love! Even more so when It's you, the All-Creator!"

"Focalors!" You bursted out with a hand clutching your chest in embarrasment, dress flowing behind you with each movement as you ran away from her teasing remarks as she laughed at your misery which put a smile on your face even when your body said otherwise.

What a good melody it was as her light laugh resonated in your Chambers...

"What? I'm sure there are others who wish to be your consort so badly!" She rolled over on your bed, laying on her stomach as her feet kicked back and forth happily, her fingers twirling her hair as she gazed at your back, biting her lips but mind actually busy with... This new revelation.

Focalors had always been a different kind. When all the other Archons were either greedy or keen on fighting, she loved scheming her plans and watching in silence from the shadows. That way, most thought of her to be powerless and not strong enough to be an Archon... Unaware of the fact that sometimes brains was much stronger than brawn and they were being imbeciles by not noticing this.

And that fact was what attracted you to her in the first place, eventually resulting with a happy and Holy unity of two person in love much to Focalors enjoyment as she rubbed it on her fellow Archons' face.

But in this new case, although she was surprised by the turn of events, she was fine with sharing You... With her humane prototype Furina.

Someone she was very fond of, even though she was created to act like the Hydro Archon herself... Someone Focalors was proud to create who was slowly becoming what she always aspired Furina to be.

Human.

"Alright, fine! I get it! So what if I have feelings for her? It's not like-"

"You should confess to her."

You still remembered how Focalors smiled softly at that time, no hatred or dislike or even jeaolusy evident on her face as she encouraged you to follow your heart, knowing the truth behind your protective stance concerning your feelings for Furina.

She knew how this plan would end, deceiving the rogue Heavenly Principles never came without a price... And she didn't want you to be alone when it happened, didn't want your kind heart to harden with grief and loneliness.

Furina would be much better of a wife for you, than Focalors could ever be. After all, what kind of wife would give up on her own spouse just when they would have their happily ever after?

At that time, such absurdity repulsed you.

You, having feelings for another? Yet alone someone who was created to deceive your traitor of a first creation Celestia?

Ridiculous.

Not that you thought of her to be ridiculous because she was obviously adorable whenever a new human invention or music excited her and she came to you, begging you to accompany her so that she could understand humans better since you were the one who created such complex yet intriguing beings.

And definetly not that you decided that blue suited her well, when you introduced her to new clothings that complemented her in the best way possible.

"Now, I see that I could never be that... If only true love was enough..."

But poor Furina, now completely human and free, didn't know about any of this. She still was a prisoner in her own cruel mind which yelled self-deprecating and harsh words to her, mocking her for falling for her God.

It wasn't even her intention to be created that way. She didn't mean to fall for your kindness and unconditional love, not when she knew she received them because she was created to replace your lover as the Archon of Fontaine. She knew you only spent time with her because Focalors probably asked you to, because you and her had to get along well for the next 500 years as Focalors remained in shadows for the plan you two made to work.

She knew she would be thrown aside as soon as her part of the play was over...

Yet, her heart still beated hard whenever your eyes found hers and she held onto your hand at times she was afraid.

She still fell for you hopelessly whenever you patiently watched and listened to her plays and antics, and even cracked a smile whenever she forgot what she was supposed to say.

And whenever she saw that smile and hear that laugh, it was like she had become more human as more time she spent in your presence.

But defeated she was, she knew it was impossible to have you for real. At least now that she lost all of the godly power she held and Fontaine was safe from the evil clutches of Celestia as you prepared to go and face Them.

Your Shades.

But, as the once-God-of-Justice... She was wrong about one thing, one thing you felt guilty about: The fact that she thought of herself to be unworthy of You, when it was possibly the other way around.

Indeed, if only she knew the truth... That You held her at the highest position in your heart, which had been the case for 500 years unknown to both you and her.

"I doubt she is strong enough for all these, Focalors... However, such fragile thing yet even if she faces many hardships, she is perfectly human." You idly traced patterns on her arm as she laid next to you in your realm, humming quietly while she relaxed back onto you. You couldn't help but let out a chuckle at her kitten-like behaviour, nuzzling to you while you inhaled her flowery scent...

Though your thoughts were cut short when another set of heterochromatic eyes came to your mind, the same color as the one between your arms... But more humane, more expressive... One that made you fall in love and gaze at for a long time as the sun framed her face in the most ethereal way...

You froze when you realized an affectionate smile lifted your lips up, shaking your head as your heart started to pick up. Suddenly, her excited smile whenever you brought another set of sweets from another world for her to try, or the rare curious and not teasing stare while she munched on food as she listened to what you said with passionate eyes, as if she wished to hear more of you, be in your presence more...

Or that one time when she was just so close for you to lean down and capture her lips-

And the woman next to you heard the exact moment you realized your feelings in your heart.

As if she knew your inner thoughts, she slowly rose up and stared down at your thoughtful eyes with loving ones as her hand caressed your cheeks, making you close your eyes in peace with the calming sound of water almost lulling you to sleep. "Is she weak in your eyes for it?"

Focalors was an Archon, blessed with just a tiny part of your power, but she was able to see right through you. She knew you had been harbouring some kind of... Attraction towards a certain eccentric one that was also too bad at hiding her own feelings as she quite literally hung off of you every chance she got, much to her amusement.

What was even funnier was the fact that you too, though the Creator, were quite bad at hiding your feelings as well and if she needed to be the one to step up and make you realize them soon, Focalors was going to make it come true in one way or another.

"She simply... Amazes me with the strength of her will." you stopped to ponder for an answer for the best words to describe your thoughts, without showing much of your raging emotions. It wasn't a lie after all, the way she sacrificed herself for her people simply amazed you and made your affections grow for the girl. Knowing this, Focalors only giggled knowingly as you rolled your eyes at her when a question whose answer was very obvious and tenderly uttered by you, left her lips.

"And what would you do if all of this ends one day?"

"I'd still be there for her until the end of time..."

"I know you're listening, Your Grace..."

You chuckled under your breath at how she still held some powers of her, though you weren't surprised since she was the secret beloved of the Creator and therefore, the world still blessed her with powers; as you stepped away from your place in the shadows, heels slowly clicking against the marble floor. You soon came to a stop next to her, looking at the rejoicing people of Fontaine who were praying to and thanking both her and You, staring at the horizon together.

Dreading what needed to be said, even if the harsh truth would break her heart, as you looked at her from the side.

"I loved and still love Focalors, Furina."

She sniffled, nodding her head in understanding. She already knew that and prepared herself for the rejection she would have to face. She was happy that her people was safe and happy, that the prophecy didn't happen and destroy her nation...

But, did she not deserve happiness too? Didn't she shed enough tears silently by herself? She didn't even know what she was supposed to do with her new life given to her, a free life for her to enjoy and do as she liked...

With the person she loved the most.

Your heart twisted painfully at her crystal eyes glossing over, which made you question yourself for a second if that was the right way to confess. You were so sure Focalors was laughing her ass off at one point up there, watching this comedic scene quite amused but right now, you needed to take a step to both of your's happiness and make things right as you took a hold of her hand that stood next to her side idly and sighed.

Here we go...

"But I also love you." She whipped her head as soon as she processed your words, eyes immediately focusing on your form that was just a few feet away from her. Her eyes noticed you wearing the Hydro Sigil Necklace she specifically gifted you with, different colored blue hues mixing together in harmony as the stars of Teyvat complemented your face alongside that necklace that shone with the light of a new day in the most perfect way.

The necklace which was the proof of her first doing as Furina and not the Hydro Archon, without any saying from Focalors.

"Y-Your Grace? W-What does it-"

"Did you really think I didn't know the truth about your and Focalors plan? I was the one who suggested it and she was the one who progressed it!.. It seems I truly have a weakness when it comes to Hydro girls!" You joyfully exclaim with a giggle, watching as her face turned pale before a deep crimson took over. Her mind turned to literal mush, unable to comprehend the sudden turn of events.

Was this one of her wild dreams where she was just... happy with you? No consequences?

But no, this was very much so real as she looked down at your joined hands together and stared into your eyes.

" You have always wanted to have someone listen to your struggles, your pain and burdens, right?" Furina couldn't help the squeak that left her, hurriedly nodding her head as she allowed her tears to fall freely after your next words, hugging you thightly as her tears soaked your gown.

"After years of watching you grow in yourself as the woman who loves all kind of sweets and a knack for being dramatic... The innocent human who endured everything we have planned, unfortunately... I can't help but confess that I had fallen deeply for you."

"Therefore, I shall be that person. Forever, if you wish?" You gracefully took a hold of her slender and smaller hands, finger tips caressing her smooth and soft skin as if it was a fine china. Her heart, now human heart that was free of its shackles, swelled with love with each stroke your hands did.

And her heart caved in, her tears falling down on her cheeks and down to your palm gracefully as she gave a sincere smile amidst her own pain and relief, a smile of the happiness she was starting to have.

"I... That would be a great happiness, Your Grace." You chuckled affectionately, stroking her cheek with the tip of your finger as you landed a kiss on her forehead.

"None of that now... Y/N would do just fine." She beamed visibly at you and nodded, looking at the people below with a new kind of hope blooming inside her chest.

Maybe things would be better from now on?

"By the way, short hair really suits you well, love." You cheekily exclaimed with arms around her waist, hugging her from behind as you stared at the redness coating her cheeks.

Oh, yes... Everything would definetly be better for good.

With Inazuma, things weren't so good unforfunately because of the tense and rocky relationship You and Ei had.

When you had to go on a long work trip where you were to see from close how other universes were doing, not seeing your innocent and loving son with your wife wasn't on your "Top Ten Things to See When I Return" list.

Neither seeing the hunted Visions on your Statue was, as your children were in pain, crying and begging for you to come back and kneeling in front of...

"What's the meaning of this, Ei?"

When the citizens of Inazuma heard their Creator's voice as warmth and comfort engulfed them and freed them from the shackles that kept them bound to the ground, they failed to notice the edge in your tone or rather chose to ignore it.

The angry, scared yet disappointed edge as Teyvat rumbled beneath the feet of people and sky roared above them... All the while Ei stood in front of your shrine with an unreadable and cold face.

This, wasn't Ei... This couldn't be the woman you loved and had a child with...

Child... Baby... Son... Kunikuzushi...

Your eyes widened in fear for your little son, as there was no sight of him and you couldn't feel his presence in the city anymore. Panic overtook your face, heart dropping to your stomach at the possibility of Ei doing something she would regret later and guilt filling your every part at not being more mindful of how she was before you left.

It couldn't have been that bad, enough for her to do something stupid to him... Right?

Damn, you never imagined her hurting Kunikuzushi... She always seemed so loving and affectionate with him, perhaps she was a good actor.

"Ei, where is my Kuni? Where is my son?"

Ei continued to stare at your face as you begged her for answers desperately. Though it was another puppet of her, you could always sense and feel Ei in her and right now, you knew that behind the cold and irritating stare...

She, too, was breaking apart.

But surprisingly enough... You didn't care much about it, your only concern right now was your son. You didn't care that you referred to him as only your son and not hers.

She lost that previlege a long time ago, it seemed.

"He was too human..."

And that was enough to tell you what Ei had done.

You staggered back with a sob, eyes filling with scorching tears as your heart suddenly stopped from the spikes threatening to tear you apart. Even as a God, you weren't pain-proof and at that moment, you wished nothing more than not being able to feel that crashing pain.

Your hand instinctively went up to the necklace your baby son gifted you after a merchant saw him looking at it with huge amazement. Now, the old lady wasn't a fool as to not know who the boy that held stars in his wide and innocent purple eyes was.

Many even wondered where that kindness,sweetness and innocence came from when their Archon was usually... Aloof.

But they agreed that it must have come from you, his other parent and the one he loved and clinged on the most... The Creator that created the worlds with utmost love, selflessnes and kindness unmatched.

And they were right, as Kunikuzushi pointed to the purple and dark blue pendant with a loud coo and wide smile as his cheeks-still filled with baby fat- was reddened by the weather made him look even more cute and made the passerby's eyes fill with tears at the cute display, he kindly asked how much he needed to have the necklace for his mama. Some clenched their hands in cuteness agression, wanting to hug the baby thightly and pinch his cheeks...

But they knew they would be striken down by the Shogun if they did it... Though some still dared to pat his purple tufts of hair, knowing that their Creator never minded and rather loved the affection Their people gave to Their son, the Prince of Teyvat.

"I bough' fo' you, mama! How does it looks?" Kunikuzushi innocently asked as Ei and you looked at the toddling baby fondly who showed his newest treasure proudly with a shy smile, yet a bit insecure since he took a look at the many jewelries you had at home and thought you wouldn't like his gift.

You tenderly smiled from your position on the bed with hugging Ei and let him plop down on your lap, nuzzling to your chest like a kitten as he stared up at you with fullblown eyes, especting an answer from you with his little heart pounding in his chest excitedly.

He only got a tearful smile and a heart filled with unconditional love for him.

"Perfect, my lovely Kuni... Mama loves you so much... So, so much..." You hugged your son thightly to yourself, your heart constricting painfully for some unknown reason as if something bad was bound to happen...

But you foolishly didn't listen to your heart that told you to take a good look at your wife, who looked at the smiling toddler on your lap with somewhat sudden, cold eyes...

Though both of you shared the same parental love for the boy, unforfunately for you and Kunikuzushi... Ei had more plans for him and therefore wanted him to be perfect for it but his humanity was making him unperfect, whereas he was already perfect in your eyes for his humanity...

For his love and wonder for the world around him, his love for you in the most simple act you did... Fear for the unknown but feeling still safe because he knew his mama would be there to protect him from any bad guys and danger! You did it many times with the treasure hoarders, or the Hilichurls and assassins!

So, where were you? Why did you not come when he needed you, called for you, cried for you to save him from this so-called Doctor? Did you too abandon him because he made you upset?

In the end, you failed Kunikuzushi... You failed in every possible thing about him when you couldn't protect him from his own mother, the one who should have loved him and did everything in her power to keep him happy and smiling wide.

You failed at noticing Ei not being in her right mind and at being there for your family.

And now, you all were paying the price.

"And that is why he was perfect... I guess, just not for you." you gritted out angrily as you too pulled your sword out at the same time as she did, not seeing the tears that shone on her porcelain skin and regret for what she had done all those years ago washing over her.

Your disappointed face right before she scumbed to your power and will was only the cherry on top, as she kneeled on both knees in front of you, her hand discarding the katana that slained many living beings as her whole life slowly was torn apart by none other than her destructive hands and doings.

"I trusted the mother of my son... Just for you to abandon him and make him also believe I abandoned him too in this already painful life... Because I thought no harm would ever come to him, least I thought it would be from my own wife."

It seemed that your Ei had become someone else, and she held no value to neither your son who was the happy outcome of your marriage with her, nor You anymore... And even if she cried tears of river, she would never be able to convince you otherwise.

"I will find him and beg for his forgiveness..." you muttered weakly before you turned your back to her for good, at least until things calmed down, as you descended down on the shrine that once witnessed both your union and also the creation of your son...

And now, your departure.

"My love..." Ei weakly mumbled from behind you, finally realizing the severity of what she had done and now, lost... as your emotionless eyes found hers from below the stairs, dress dancing through the wind as if to mock her for her mistakes and failures, she understood that maybe it was her fault.

First her sister, then her friends, then her son and now... You.

The one she always loved from the beginning and swore herself to for Eternity...

She ruined everything, every good thing that ever happened to her because she was either late or didn't see the true value of those in her life...

Like the family you two had created, what should have been a new purpose and a second chance for her was now only another regret in her list of numerous mistakes.

"I'm not going to let him walk down on this path alone... Goodbye for now, Ei." you willed yourself not to look at her shivering form, you knew you couldn't take the sight in. Though you acted cold right now, a part of you still loved her deeply. That part still yearned for her and her heart that she insisted she buried a long time ago, that part still wished to see the small smile as you gifted her with yet another treat and kissed all over her face, later showing how much you truly loved her...

They all seemed so far away now, all those happy days were long gone...

Neither you nor her turned back to take one look at the other as she too retreated back to her Plane of Euthymia, or thought back to the abandoned dreams you both had as all the good memories suddenly started to fade away and you disappeared in front of her eyes to find your son, as you made it clear, and she didn't hold any grudges for the way you angrily spitted out for she too, felt ashamed for what she had done.

And perhaps you both always walked on different paths from the beginning...

She, to a path of Eternity in which she lost herself.

And You, to a path of mending whatever was left of your family and hoping to find your son.

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halcyone-of-the-sea · 1 year

Text

A NOOSE TO HANG ONTO (III)

NAVIGATION || RAVISHING ALLURE MASTERLIST || NEXT: CHAPTER IV

PAIRING: Nikto x F!Reader (Soulmate AU)

WORDCOUNT: 7.3k

WARNINGS: Angst, mentions of stalking & stalking behavior, talks of death, weapons, violence, suggestive thoughts/comments, toxic modeling standards, food issues, etc. (Series 18+)

*I do not give others permission to translate and/or re-publish my works on this or any other platform*

Sometimes you wonder if meeting your soulmate would even matter—it would never fix the void in your heart, you know. It would be foolish to think that it would.

But there is such a drug attached to being loved as you are, despite your flaws and failings, destined to be tied in a game of commitment. Yet the simple fact showed that, while soulmates were able to bring you color, that didn’t change people's nature.

Even among those tied pairs, divorce was rampant; assaults, and murders as well.

Soulmate Psychosis, it was called. When your mind broke from having it all figured out, or even when you knew it was falling apart.

It happened to your father and it happened to millions of other spouses too. When your entire life is already decided when you look at someone, it can be…a lot.

So, part of you was happy that you’d never know who yours was unless they told you themselves—you can hope and pray that they stay their tongue and give you a chance to fall for them naturally. Because it scared you, truly, becoming like all of the rest. A statistic.

Lord, don’t let yourself become a statistic.

Nikto silently walks at your heels as you push through the front doors of your penthouse, taking off your ball cap and stuffing it into your jacket pocket.

The man at the front desk calls to you, and you raise a hand in greeting, sliding a soft smile his way.

“Seraph!” Isaak has been working at this building for as long as you can remember—the man with grayish hair and dark eyes. A face that was sharp and a nose crooked; like a chocolate-chip cookie, dark splotches along his face led to the impression of freckles.

The man was slightly older than you, lanky, and always dressed luxuriously.

“Having a good day, Isaak? Has that girl come back and given you her number yet?” You slow your pace to the elevator, digging into your pocket and peeling out one of the keys from your lanyard for your floor. You nearly drop the thing before you snap and catch onto the metal quickly. Nikto lets off something like an annoyed growl behind you at the interruption from the man across the room.

He’s impatient, you hum and send him a little glance over your shoulder. Light eyes dig with a warning. You only chuckle and shake your head calmly. One would think that for a PMC he would have all the patience in the world.

“You know I keep trying to get her to go away,” Isaak smiles at you. “The only woman I’d accept a number from is you, my Little Angel.”

Where the flirtatious comments had gotten you into bed with the man before, now they just didn’t strike you as they had before. Not…anymore.

You clear your throat and blink away for a moment before you school your expression back to an easy malleability.

“Good try.” Your focus goes back to the keys, fingers jerkily sifting through them.

Isaak’s brows furrow at your form, perhaps a bit of offense making his face twist—dark eyes slip down your body; pupils dilating.

A black form steps slightly forward, a large shoulder blocking you from view in one firm movement. Like some wolf with its neck fur standing on end, Nikto’s head is lightly bent down; eyes so intense that they render Isaak frozen in a sense of internal instincts warring with one another.

Nikto doesn’t speak, doesn’t make a sound—only stares and doesn't blink, immobile as a stone.

The soft music of the lobby blurs to the sound of a heart pounding.

You don’t even notice, humming when you find the correctly marked key from its slate mass and moving forward to press the illuminated button of the elevator.

“Oh!” Your mind pulls itself back to the present and away from letters and fire. “Isaak, this is Nikto—he’ll be…” A pause, eyes narrowed in confusion. “Are you okay?”

The man looks like he’s about to piss himself.

Without another word, Isaak scurries into the backroom, the door hitting so hard closed behind him that you flinch slightly and blink in shock. Standing for a moment, you tilt your head slowly right before the elevator dings, signaling you can enter.

Nikto suddenly grabs the meat of your arm and moves you inside.

“Woah!” You call, huffing. “Careful!”

“Inside,” the PMC grumbles, eyes tight and beady.

Your feet stumble when he lets you go, having to steady yourself on the back railing so you don’t fall over and hit your face on the floor. A sharp look is leveled at Nikto as he drops his duffel bag to the ground and hooks his arms at the collar of his rig, grunting and shifting his legs to set himself.

Blinking rapidly, you sigh out a fast breath.

“You know,” you begin, slotting your key into the plaque that says your floor number, twisting, and then taking a step back. Eyes darting to your side, you ease out slyly. “I’m sure people would like you more if you had the ability to articulate what you’re feeling. I’m getting the sense that you carry your emotions around like you’re trying to choke someone out.”

Nikto glares ahead, a brick wall of nothing but a harsh breath.

You smile softly and chuckle.

“Don’t worry, I’m sure I’ll get you into shape in no time.” Pale eyes slowly slide to your face and Nikto’s dead gaze stays there—brows in such a straight line it’s like looking at a statue. “I always do.”

While being around your mom led you to a subdued state, you had no trouble easing back into your usual route of subtle flirting; it was natural to you, even after traumatic events. A cushion, if you will. It felt good to still be able to regulate yourself and have some level of control over your life.

The three bodies and the Stalker, that senseless shadow, still haunt the back of your eyelids but having a distraction in the light was helping. Something new to focus on.

“We need copy,” Nikto glares at you, ignoring your soft tone.

As the elevator rises incredibly high, you hum in question, smile flicking to a confused frown. He grits his teeth under his mask.

“The key, Whelp, да?” Your eyes spark.

“Oh, sure,” you shrug. “I don’t have one.”

Nikto’s shoulders move back, blinking at you quickly. “You…” he trails off into a snarl of Russian. A hand comes up from his side to harshly dig into the bridge of his hidden nose.

You have to restrain a wide smile, the muscles in your face twitching.

When the doors open, you’re led into the sight of your safe place—an entire world away from the one outside the half-closed blinds of an opposite wall of all windows.

“I’ll order you one,” you try to reassure Nikto, sending him a side glance as you let all of the tension leak out of you as you step inside. “No worries.”

The man follows, jaw tense, as he stoops down and swipes up his bag.

“How is it that you do not have a second key?” Nikto’s eyes dart around the living room, not showing the slight way he’s taken aback by the size of everything and the design choice.

It was certainly…unique.

High mass, there were knickknacks on nearly every surface—a far-off ceiling due to the open second level where the rooms must be. There were hanging beads from the stairs, and plants that grew large and verdant; Nitko blinked at paintings on nearly every surface of the visible wall. A hanging chandelier that emits light over the antique-looking furniture of wood and velvet.

Even a taxidermy deer head, with its antlers holding jewelry that glints rich and luxurious. Books and painted bits of the walls that were near sheer fabric draped as an accessory from the top of bookshelves.

“Sorry for the mess,” you utter, sincerely, “if I’d been told that you were going to be staying here, I would have gotten the spare room ready.”

The kitchen is simple and mixed in with the living room in the form of a large island piled with magazines and notebooks.

You sigh and look around, wrapping your arms around your waist as you glance around the space. Not a stranger to the confused looks you’d get from your style.

Aly described it as a fairy tale. A hut in the woods holding secrets and magic. So different than what AMA had you displayed as—a cold angel of white and sharp feathers.

A product of some great lust machine.

“Just wait until he sees the loft,” you murmur, thinking about all of the various fabrics and tailored clothes you’d had in the open space directly when you walk up the stairs. The Dress Form torso mannequins wearing dresses you’d made with pricked fingers and shaky nerves.

You hoped he hadn’t met his Soulmate, because you’re sure it’s a hideous mess of colors up there. The thought makes you pause, and you realize you haven’t asked that question to yourself yet.

Did Nikto see color?

“No need,” Nikto immediately returns to his stoic monotone at your concern over the state of things. “I make do. Step aside.”

Slipping off your shoes, you place them in the old claw foot parlor table you’d made into your entryway storage, glancing at the void as he walks around your creaky wooden floors with his heavy boots.

“Shoes,” you remind, voice light.

The beast halts, his back to you halfway onto your handmade Persian rugs. You watch his fingers twitch around his duffel bag straps, as you go to close your secondary door; hiding the gaping wound in the building as the elevator leaves. A soft click emanates just as the man grunts lowly and lets his bag slam to the floor.

In one movement, the Russian bends down and unlaces his boots in firm and quick motions, grabbing them and turning like a puppet on a string. He plants them next to yours on the parlor table and sends you a tight look with hard eyes.

Nikto’s accent flares in his quick comment. “You are strange, Girl.”

You hum and shift out of your jacket, folding it and placing it atop the shoes.

“Oh, so I’m strange because I don’t want you tracking dirt on my clean rugs? The people you live around must be slobs.”

“We do not live around others.”

You blink, staring into his eyes as your skin pulls lightly. “Then I’m sorry. That must be very lonely.”

Nikto’s muscles tense under his gear, great thighs hardening. He growls low after a moment of stiffly watching you. “I do not need pity, certainly not from you,” and then stalks off, leaving his bag in the foyer.

Lips slightly parted, you let him walk away and snoop, taking account of the rooms and the layout for his own needs. Sighing, you rub at the back of your head before letting your hand drop back down, pulling at the fabric of your turtle neck.

You couldn’t deny that you found Nikto physically attractive—the large stature and built frame made your neurons fire, how he loped along with his bulky gear. Sure, that was natural, and despite the attitude, you did feel secure around him. He had an extensive record for a reason, and your mother would only include the best in her decisions.

It also attested to the fact that you didn’t find his aggression at all fear-inducing if that made any sense at all. To everyone else, he would be the pinnacle of an axe murderer, but, for some reason, he didn’t feel like that to you. A bit loose, sure, but the knowledge that this man was entirely mission-driven sat well with you.

It confused you—why did you not entirely mind having him around?

I can live with this, you tell yourself, brushing off your sweatpants and telling yourself not to think of the bakery or about Sergi, Yefim, or Petya; Aleksandr.

But when all that’s moved away like a curtain in front of the window, the view still remains.

The Stalker.

You still couldn’t rationalize it. How could someone do that? Be so bold and brute-like? And it was all over you.

Never had you been overconfident in yourself—you knew you had the looks and the money, the ability to do what few people could, but that had never gotten into your head. It was common knowledge that every model had a shelf-life and yours would probably end sooner than later if this kept up.

Any damage to your flesh that left long-term scarring was an instant dismissal. No negative press for AMA, either.

In all of this, you were walking a very thin path of horror and reality, like a show at a circus. And you of all people know you can’t walk in a straight line.

The overwhelming feeling of being hunted was setting in and you were entirely in the woods with blood poured over your body; weighing down a dress of linen and calling the beasts to feast upon your flesh with a ravaging appetite.

Swallowing the bile in your throat, you quickly go to find where Nikto had slinked off to, suddenly very cold and not liking the silence. On the way, you flick at your record player, and the old rusty thing spits out Clair De Lune as the glass sun catchers shaped like stars glimmer from the loft’s beams.

“Nikto?” You call in question, looking around before you murmur to yourself. “Where did you get to?”

Carefully grabbing the railing to the stairs, you watch your feet as you slowly ascend, piano music in the background; fingers tight and hard as you slide it up one at a time. You only knock your foot once, two steps from the top, but quickly recover with only a huff and a tiny chuckle.

Nikto walks through the top seating area filled with your materials and fabric, glancing at every book and measuring device that you have; the half-finished pieces. You blink and watch, wondering what he’s thinking as he clicks his tongue before walking to the first door and pushing it open. Your eyes slightly widen at that.

“Well, you sure do like making yourself at home,” your voice calls to the dark figure, and you shake your head. You begin following as if he is showing you around your place and not the other way around.

“I am doing my job.” Nikto’s voice spits out from the opening as you shuffle in. He glances around the small guest bedroom quickly. “Your home is cluttered.” The Russian mutters. “Messy.”

“I call it controlled chaos.” You ease, hands slipping into your pockets beside your phone and wallet. “You’ll find I’m fond of shiny things.”

“We can tell.” Head tilting, you restrain yourself from asking why he keeps referring to himself in the first person like that.

“You’re free to take this room if you want.” There are three doors that make up the separate walls—the one you’d both just walked through, one to the adjoining library and joint bathroom, and the other to your master bedroom with a respective master bath.

All connected to one another like a train car.

Nikto grunts and slips his eyes to the bits of personalization you’d left, though not as much as the rest of the penthouse. The bed was a Full size, there was a desk with bits of lush greenery coming off from a planter, and storage for clothes in the form of a large wardrobe you’d found in an antique store.

Classy, you thought, however, your standards for decoration weren’t the pinnacle of design. A set of Russian nesting dolls from your mother was put onto shelves, and in one of the corners, a hanging oil lamp sat above a nightstand.

Gray plush duvet and a fluffy rug you were told was purple when Alyona stayed over, with large pillows that looked like bear fur.

“Again,” you send a glance to the blank stare that Nikto keeps on you. “I didn’t know you were staying over.”

“It is… sufficient.” Gruff and final, though with an air of annoyed disgust, the Russian goes into the library second to last and then heads into your room with his broad back expanding; leaving a trail of authority in his wake.

Under your breath, you quietly mock him before rolling your eyes and following. For all this, you ended up being correct. Nikto was a good distraction.

The first thing that he notices is the stuffed animals.

They take up most of the window nook, some incredibly large and fluffy while others are small and could be crushed in his palm, even sitting atop one another if the space allowed. Nikto blinks at the sight of a very large bear plushie with a small bird on the head—little felt feet sticking out in front of it.

You clear your throat, the hot embarrassment flooding your face as your smile turns sheepish.

“Just…uhm…it’s just a little bit of an addiction.” Like the rest of the house, that fairy tale feeling emanates here as well—fancy curtain holders, old tea cups holding palm-sized pewter statues, paintings, and stained-glass lamps from the nineteen hundreds.

Pale eyes tilt their gaze down to you, silent as always.

“But at least it’s not drugs!” You push out quickly, awkwardly chuckling and shrugging your shoulders.

Your feet shift from under you, the large room that you call your own not something you planned on having to describe today. There was something incredibly intimate about letting someone into your house—someone you didn’t know especially.

Nikto puffs a bit of air in something akin to a scoff, turning his head away from you but not after a slight quirk of his brow.

“Are you sure you are not on drugs?” You snap up to stare at him, falling silent for a moment as he turns and leaves.

Gaping, you stutter, slightly amused, “W-was that a joke, Nikto?” He doesn’t answer and a slow smile grows on your lips. “Hey! C’mon did you just make a joke? Awe,” you coo, “I really am good at this!”

“Stop talking.” Nikto snarls, glaring as he goes down to the ground level. “You are making my ears hurt.”

You hurry to the stairs, following after with a steady mood, chuckling.

“If you’re going to be my glorified roommate, I think talking is part of the—” A sharp gasp rips from you as your leg hits on the banister, your foot locked through the metal as you yelp loudly at the sudden pain. In a quick tilt your vision slides, a swift sensation of gravity taking over as your body takes you tumbling backwards.

You tense mid-air, mind already made up about the incoming pain of your head knocking off the hard material, your skull rattling and splitting open; blood and brain matter spilling out to coat the—

Arms snap around your waist, legs still on the top half of the stairs and back hitting a large chest as you grunt in surprise; eyes blinking wildly.

Heart hammering, your head quickly looks up only to find the piercing eyes of Nikto burning down into you. Your nose brushes his face mask, the harsh fabric of the lover half pressing into yours.

You both stay there for a moment, Nikto’s blazing gaze unphased, it seemed, by the close contact. Inside of your gut, your stomach flips, and a tightness flares in your lungs.

Upon the air, your voice stutters out, tiny, “M-my bad.” You accent it with a helpless chuckle.

Nikto’s breath brushes over your forehead, and with a quick jerk of his arms you’re set back up on top of the stares. Even here, you meet the man’s height perfectly—him a few steps below you yet still a giant.

“This will be a problem, yes?” Nikto barks out. You steady yourself on the railing and take a deep breath. “You. You are…” His eyes twitch as if trying to find the correct word in English. He grunts to himself, fingers twitching.

You tilt your head, still calming down. Your throat is tight at the heat that still emanates from where Nikto’s hands had wrapped around you.

“...Shaky?”

“Hm,” Nikto doesn’t seem like that word fits best, but he nods once firmly, folding his arms over his chest and never once releasing you from his stare. Studying you as a monster does a maiden. “Да.”

You jerkily shrug, rubbing at your neck with one hand.

“Well, I guess brain damage will do that to you,” your lips tilt in an amiable smile—trying to play off what you say as you continue. Nikto’s body goes still, yet his attention never leaves. His eyes narrow. “I should have told you when we met, but you were, eh,” you chuckle, looking away for a moment. “Pretty quick with wanting to leave.”

A strained silence falls; an unknown emotion in the air.

“I—” Your voice is cut off by your phone vibrating from inside of your pocket, and with your hand snapping to that general area, you blink in surprise. “Oh.”

Fishing it out with awkward fingers, you find the illuminated screen and a text from Alyona calling up to you.

‘Video call w AMA & managers. 5 min. Be ready!’

“Shit,” you mutter, immediately going into your professional headspace.

But before you can rush off to grab your computer and slap makeup on your face, Nikto’s hand yanks your phone from your grasp. Blinking at your empty palm, your face darts up with a swift offense growing.

“Nikto!”

“Quiet.” The man taps into your contacts and you watch helplessly as he begins slashing in his own number with his digits firmly pressing in hard intervals to the keypad.

Huffing, you shake your head and leave him there to do what he needs to do, not overprotective of a device and more concerned with the time constraint that was leveled like a noose around your neck.

You had to look somewhat good for the call, after all, they could be waiting to tell you you’re fired.

They wouldn’t do that with Alyona there, you reason as you narrowly dodge running onto a side table before you enter your room again, though this time from the main door. Not the managers either.

Your lips pull straight.

But if the CEO was on call, then you’d have to worry. He had no problem being ruthless about policy and public image, always so pretentious with his power over all of the men and women employed at Allurement.

But then again, he had always seemed to take an interest in you, anyway.

You slip out of your turtleneck and pull on a silk top that seems either white or a very very pale color—either way, they always put you in something near to white, so it didn’t matter. Since it was a video call, there was no need to show your bottom half; the sweatpants stayed.

Makeup was the hard part.

With your nerve spasms always showing up at inopportune times, it took a long time if someone else wasn’t doing it for you. You had ways to combat it, sure, but none you could get ready in five minutes.

Three, you tell yourself.

An idea hits your head like a rock.

“Nikto!” You call, rushing to your vanity and pushing aside a plush raccoon to snag your mascara. There wasn’t time for anything else. “I have a favor!”

“No,” the man materializes in the opening of your door, the backdrop of your fabric mess in the loft behind him; the clashing of shades momentarily confuses you, blinking quickly, but you recover with a huff and a plea.

“I need you to put my mascara on—my hands are too unpredictable right now.” He’s growling in the way you’re already accustomed to. This must be one hell of a day for him. “Your job is to protect me right? I need you to protect me from public humiliation.”

“Then humiliate yourself.” Nikto’s narrowed eyes lower even farther, face turned sharply to you as you walk over and hold out the stick. “This is not my job.”

You dig hard into his eyes, serious if not a bit willing. “I’d owe you.” Your tone is hard but true.

The Russian bear’s shoulders roll slightly, getting higher and more irritated. He grunts at you. After a long and heartstopping moment, he grabs onto your pocket and slips your phone back inside, jostling your body into his as you make a noise in surprise.

In that same movement, the mascara stick is yanked from your hand and fingers grapple onto your chin.

Your eyes go wide; body instantaneously tensing, as the unyielding grip moves your chin to the side and one hand unscrews the mascara with a slight pop of the seal.

“You are dependent,” Nikto’s digits are tight, but you don’t blink or pull away as the stick spreads pigment. “I do not like it, Girl. Like child running with a knife.”

“Aren’t you such a ray of sunshine?” You grumble but stay deathly still. Nikto’s body is tight against yours, leaning over you.

The guy certainly didn’t mind getting handsy if he needed to. Thinking like that makes your feet shuffle tinily under you, a heat emanating from your cheeks and your thighs momentarily becoming stiff.

His body warmth bleeds through his bulk; the grating press of his chest plate to your upper body.

“Stop breathing,” Nikto hisses and your cheek is moved to the side, knee knocking into his leg.

You feel and see the stick descend and move your lashes delicately, quite adverse to the attitude you’re getting. The Russian is attentive and set on getting his task done, even if he despises it.

“What kind of a request is that?!”

“Hush!” He barks and you both try to glare at each other as the last of the mascara is bushed on. “Get out.”

You pull back and frown up at him.

“I’m sorry you think that your attitude is appropriate, Nikto.” With your nose in the air, your hands grapple for your laptop on the way out of your room and sit at the desk out in your loft. Tossing a stack of fabric to the floor and brushing down the surface.

Behind you, there’s a plain-colored sheet hung to the wall for conferences—and you make sure it’s in place as you plop down to your seat.

Nikto’s angry eyes bore into you from the doorway, which he slowly leans against and crosses his arms heavily.

He mutters under his breath in fast Russian, shaking his head as you unlock your laptop and log in, easily clicking where you need to go and pulling up your video call with twenty seconds to spare.

Alyona’s face appears first, looking to the side, and you send a soft smile before you unmute yourself.

“Feeling better?” The woman perks up, eyes coming to you. She beams.

“Солнышко!” You laugh, tilting your head. “No, no, forget about me, how are you?” Aly gives you her full attention. “I need to come over and visit, yes? We should have a girl’s night again. Just us.”

“I’m…alright,” you simply say, fast to reassure her of her worries. There was no need to burden the model with your fears. Not when she’s still living with her own. “And that might be a bit difficult on the ‘just us’ part, unfortunately.”

She sighs but is serious in her concern.

“New bodyguard, Seraph?” Nikto listens to everything from across the loft, and you glance up at him before you open your mouth to speak in the affirmative.

“Live-in.” Alyona thins her lips, but, surprisingly, doesn’t seem off-put.

“Perhaps that is good, hm? If it’s to keep you safe, I would be willing to deal with it.” Before you can admit that it’s not the worst idea in the world, though draining, three others pop into the call.

Yours and Alyona’s managers, and, of course, the CEO of AMA.

You have to hide your curse before it sneaks out of your mouth. Everyone greets one another, and you send polite smiles and hellos in return. Corporate professionalism a virus that sweeps your features into a mask of compliance and brain-dead agreements.

Kliment Fedorov, CEO of Allurement Modeling Agency, shows his large and round face in the very center of the screen; with tiny eyes like a fly and a bald head. He’s in his office.

The man calls your name and smiles wide, pure white teeth leaning more towards fake looking than just the results of frequent brushing.

“It is good to see both of my best girls getting along. No lasting marks, I hope?” You and Aly dart look.

“None, Sir.” You both answer, still smiling and falling in line. They only speak in English for your comfort—in your manager’s box, you see his translator lean into his ear and relay the words being let out.

“Good, good! This is great news. Seraph,” you perk up, Nikto from the back shuffling while looking around his surroundings. He picks at a piece of reflective fabric on a side table with his brutish fingers, twisting it before huffing and tossing it away. He snoops as if put off by the high-mass areas, used to order and cleanliness.

Not that it wasn’t clean, but outwardly it gave off a certain impression of clutter.

“How soon can you be back? We have had even more propositions offered because of this event.” Your lungs stutter. “Mrs. Solovyova and yourself are very profitable for the company at the current time; this only made your popularity better!”

Your manager, Kostya, spits off into his native tongue with its harsh edges. Nikto’s head shifts back your way but says nothing.

Profitable? Wanted? You can’t say you’re overly thrilled at the comments. Just like you can’t say you want to get back to work when the Stalker knows exactly where you’ll be.

Who could say when he would strike again? A day? A week? Going back to AMA would make the target on your back as large as a damn elephant.

Kliment waves a hand and your manager falls silent at the sheen of anger in his fly-eyes. He continues.

“Of course, AMA had to take precautions, Ladies.” Alyona shifts in her box on the screen, glancing to the side. “We were very close to having to terminate your deal with us. Such events are…ah, dangerous for our image.”

It’s like a punch to the gut you knew was coming. The only reason you were still employed was because of companies trying to profit off of the girls who beat the odds and survived a direct attack on one of their own.

You could already see the headlines—had seen the headlines.

Aly and you know the response you need to give.

“Thank you, Sir.” Smiles are stiff, but a sheet of pleasure washes Kliment’s face.

“Well, of course, my girls! I would never get rid of such beauties, no, no. This agency is your home—I love my women like my own.” His eyes stay on you, and your body shivers even miles away. “But lovely Seraph, again, when can we have you back? Everyone has been asking, yes? Photographers lining up! But of course, you’ll keep your assigned one.”

Everyone? You swallow down saliva thinking about crowds and the peering eyes.

“Uhm,” Nikto openly stares, and you glance up at him. He offers no help above a tilt of his head; arms over his chest. “W-when would you need me back, Sir. My calendar is always free for you.”

“Good! Tomorrow, then. Mrs. Solovyova?”

“...That works for me, Sir.”

“Perfect!” You sigh and close your eyes for a moment before the CEO jumps into business—your managers taking notes in preparation for scheduling and locations. “I will send the details over to your departments and good wishes to the companies, I’ll expect to hear of you both being in tomorrow.”

He leaves the call, but not without a smirk forming on his face.

The managers talk for a few moments, getting almost everything in order before they too leave.

Aly and you release a deep breath, both sagging. The other woman is first to speak.

“Bastard.” Nikto scoffs from across the room. You peek before you rub your head and nod in turn.

“A creep, one hundred percent.” Alyona sighs, and her palm acts as a headrest as she lays her chin on it. She licks her lips, face going hard.

“You don’t think that he…” Your brows tilt in confusion before you catch what she’s trying to say.

“No, Aly, it can’t be him.” She frowns. “T-that would be,” you force a laugh, hands beginning to spasm. Swiftly you move them under the desk. “That would be insane.”

Nikto takes his phone out of his pocket and taps something into the screen, feet spacing themselves in a display of a perfect soldier.

“I wouldn’t be surprised if it was, Солнышко.” You turn away for a moment. “Anyone could be at this point.”

“My mother said there was a break-in at the bakery before the explosion. Someone planted that bomb because they guessed on an off chance that we would go out.” You breathe sharply. “Do you know how insane that is? Anyone could have,” swiftly stopping your sentence, you shake your head to clear it. “It’s…the person who’s doing this can’t blend into normal life. It has to be obvious, and everyone’s missing it.”

“Easy, Little Seraph,” Alyona eases, showing you a hand to get you to come back to her. “We will figure this out, yes?”

A hand rubs along your face and you whisper out, “Okay.”

“I’ll see you and the new man tomorrow—you know you can call me with anything. Nikifor and I worry about you. Yekaterinburg is a dangerous place, regardless.” You have to smile at that, lightly chuckling. Aly tilts her head as her hair brushes her shoulders after a moment of quiet thinking. A lighter air spreads out like her voice from the speakers. “...Who did your makeup in so little time?”

“See you tomorrow!” You grab the end of the laptop and slam it closed as the woman yells out to you.

“Don’t fuck him on the first day!” Wanting to shrivel up and die, you avoid Nikto’s suddenly brutal gaze and quickly push a smile to your lips.

“S…she’s joking.” His pale eyes aren’t amused.

Nighttime is a strange affair between the two of you.

You jump at every strange noise—like Nikto rearranging his room better to his standards—as you think of dinner for two. Laying on the couch, back in your turtle neck, it’s hard to focus above the scrape of hardwood and the low grunts from above; the distant rhythmic stomp of feet.

You rub your eyes and groan low. This was going to be a task, even for your usually placid attitude.

“What the hell does a monster eat?” The comment is directed at the taxidermy deer on your wall as you move to stand. “Liver? The souls of my enemies?” You blink, pausing before you mumble. “Maybe that’s not so bad, now that I think about it.”

Your pantry was already sparse at best.

Tapping the cupboard, you settle on something that Alyona had taught you to make with her mother. Cabbage Soup—Schi or щи—low overall in calories but still filling when you know your limits; healthy as well as hardy. You mess with the bag of potatoes and peel out a few, turning and setting them down on the island.

With the dark night soon setting in, you push the automatic button on your wall and watch the curtains close the rest of the way with a soft buzzing sound. Sighing, you flick on the lights and get to work as the gray blobs of potatoes fall apart under your knife, set to the side.

Cooking, while you still had a complicated relationship with food, did truly make you calm down. The tremors eased up, your feet stopped moving so much—you even felt yourself getting hungry as the ingredients were roughly chopped and dropped into a pot to boil.

If you allowed yourself it, you wouldn’t have minded growing up to be a cook instead of some form of greed and envy. But the thought of that now made you lose your appetite entirely.

When you’re half done with your tiny bowl, water on the side with nothing else, Nikto stalks down the stairs.

He takes one look at your bowl and speaks lowly.

“Щи.” You hum, recognizing the word that Aly’s mother had said. He grunts, chest jerking as he comes around the island to the boiling pot; his back now to you. “You will starve with that small of a portion, Whelp.”

Blinking, you sip down some of the broth from your spoon and furrow your brow. That nickname still makes your eyelids narrow in slight disapproval, but you let it go.

“I don’t think so, Nikto. It’s the last bit of calories I need for the day.” Pale eyes watch over his shoulder, pulling smaller.

“I find that insulting.” His hand grabs the ladle, bringing it up to stare. The Russian’s shoulder blades pull out at the motion, the line of his spine most likely showing through his skin under all that gear. You should tell him it’s okay to take it off, but you highly doubt he ever does outside of sleep. “Pointless.”

“You try being a model,” you remark. “You’ve got the body for it, at least. I know a few people that would swoon over the height alone.”

Nikto’s visible skin pulls, biceps tense. “Swoon, Girl?” The accent makes it sound like a bark from a dog.

You take your last spoonful, covering your mouth with your hand as you speak.

“Like,” pausing, you swallow, “actually I don’t know what that means. Become emotionally affected, I guess?”

“I do not care if people become ‘emotionally affected’ by my height.” Nikto pulls a bowl from the cupboard—a large one. “Such things are below me. All that matters is the mission.”

“Sounds boring,” you huff. “Sour cream is in the fridge.”

The light from the machine greets you as the condiment is taken out and emptied into a nearly overflowing bowl of cabbage soup. Blinking at the amount of food that would burst your stomach if you ate it, you shrug and clean out the last of the broth by bringing the lip of the bowl to your mouth.

Nikto huffs, looking down at the soup. He pauses.

“Where is баранины?” Your confusion must be plainly stated on your face because he seems to clench his jaw and say through his teeth. “Lamb.”

“Alyona never made it with meat,” you answer, hopping off your stool and moving to put your dirty dishes in the sink. “But I’ve heard everyone makes it differently depending on where you grew up. Was that how your parents made it?”

When you turn back around he’s already walking away from you. Watching, wide-eyed at how silently he cleared the room, you make a small sound in the back of your throat as he disappears upstairs.

The silence wafts back in, only the small noise from the record player dancing in your ears.

You lick your lips for the remaining taste of food and clean up with a still-growling stomach, shaking your head at the strange character living with you. Hoping this doesn’t drag out any longer than it has to and you’re able to find the stalker soon, you hear your phone go off on the counter as you mull over your predicament.

After you put the last of the leftovers away, you pat your hands on your pants and reach for your device, flipping over the screen and reading what will probably be a text from Aly for tomorrow.

You pause.

UNKNOWN NUMBER:

‘Why won’t you let me love you?’

Staring, whatever sense of normalcy you had from cooking was snatched away. The blood in your veins halts with a blockage of iron and fear. Instantaneously, adrenaline spikes, making your pupils go small and your jaw clench.

Hands shake. You almost drop your phone.

With a quick punch of your fingers, you delete the text and block the number—tossing your device back to the counter and moving away from it until your back hits the cupboards.

Spasming palms slap to the stone countertop, grip tight.

You stare at the phone for a very long time, hearing nothing but the dull drone of the piano, the sounds of the city outside, and the pulse of your veins. Static was in your ears.

Gasping for a sudden deep breath, you clear your throat and turn away to finish cleaning, your body unable to stay still.

That night, like the ones previous, you find trouble sleeping.

The room was only illuminated by the fairy lights you’d strung from the ceiling, a soft fade and reentry like twinkling stars hanging in a black sky. You stare at them with open eyes, laying on your back surrounded by a multitude of quilts and blankets—pillows that crowd with doughy insides.

Nikto was turning in his bed, and the movement was setting you on edge.

The PMC had ordered you to keep the door between your rooms open at night, in case something was happening he would hear you better. You held your tongue on the fact that if this creep managed to get into your penthouse then it was already over for you. Regardless, now you could hear every shift and grunt—every huff of annoyed air.

No doubt the Full bed in the spare room was too tiny for him, nothing compared to your King.

Sighing and covering your eyes with your forearm, you call out sleepily.

“Are you sleeping alright?” The shifting stops. You wait for a response but get none. “Nikto?” Nothing.

Sitting up, your large silk pajamas hang off one shoulder as you yawn; covering your mouth you stand and steady yourself on the oak bed frame. Standing so you can get your bearings, you decide to do what you normally do when you can’t sleep.

Grabbing your phone’s flashlight, you flick it on and head to the kitchen—being extra careful and taking the stairs at half the speed you normally would. In the kitchen you grab at the stacked teacups and pick one with flowers on the sides; giggling to yourself at the thought.

Magnolia Tea.

Its smell burns into your nostrils as you prepare it in near-darkness, like a beacon of light the liquid shimmers. You remember your mother making it for you after the accident—helping you to sleep and stave off the nightmares; the insomnia.

You finish your cup in the kitchen but bring the second back up with you. Spilling only a little onto the tea plate, you go through the main door to your room and then turn to the blackened opening of Nitko’s doorway.

“I made tea,” your voice echoes. But no sound.

Maybe he was already asleep now.

“No need to drink it, but it helps me when I can’t sleep. Magnolia, if you’re curious.” You chuckle, fairy lights illuminating your face. “Sorry, I’m keeping you up. I’ll leave it in the doorway, okay?”

Silence, but perhaps a tiny huff from inside the lion's den. Good or bad, you have no clue. Slipping back into bed, you try not to think about what you’re sleeping above—the letters from the Stalker’s gifts.

You’d never opened them, and you never would. Inside that lockbox is where they would stay.

Your phone vibrates on your nightstand, and even with the tea in your stomach, it is a long, long, time before your eyes flutter closed.

Yefim’s body dances like a puppet on a string, a shadowy figure pulling the cords and letting his decimated corpse sway; jewelry stapled into his burnt neck like a collar. A noose that your desperate fingers try to hang onto.

How long could you keep this game up?

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ayamago · 3 months

Text

𝟎𝟒 | 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐁𝐋𝐔𝐄 𝐒𝐄𝐄𝐌𝐒 𝐄𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐍𝐀𝐋

Pairing: Jinx x Gender-Neutral Reader

Summary: In a world where the mere thought of her absence felt like losing a piece of yourself, you remained by her side. You walked in her footsteps until your own seemed to fade, drawn in by her chaotic spirit yet troubled by the idea of losing her.

Back to 𝐁𝐔𝐋𝐋𝐄𝐓𝐈𝐍 𝐁𝐎𝐀𝐑𝐃 & 𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐈𝐄𝐒?

𝐎𝐍𝐄-𝐒𝐇𝐎𝐓 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓.

Hi everyone, just a heads up, this was a drabble, so it might sound a bit choppy and all, but it was all in good fun. If I ever did write an Arcane story, I'd definitely go all out, but for now, enjoy this little piece.

𝐏𝐄𝐑𝐂𝐇𝐄𝐃 𝐀𝐓𝐎𝐏 𝐀 𝐃𝐈𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐍𝐓 𝐓𝐎𝐖𝐄𝐑 𝐈𝐍 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐑𝐓 𝐎𝐅 𝐙𝐀𝐔𝐍, your legs dangled over the edge as your gaze stretched upward into the vast, cerulean expanse. The sky, paradoxically blue and melancholic, paints a somber backdrop to your solitude. Constellations, like fractured dreams, twinkle faintly, their stories etched in the cold darkness. The weight of your thoughts hangs heavy, pulling your head down even as you try to hold it high. Below, the world churns in shadows, but up here, you are alone with the silent whispers of the night, where the horizon seems both an end and a beginning.

Your mind drifts to thoughts of your old friend, a ghost from the past still buried deep within the trauma you carry. You remember her vividly—her striking blue hair that seemed to shimmer even in the dimmest light, and her piercing blue eyes that held both mischief and wisdom beyond her years. She was a whirlwind of energy, always a step ahead, yet somehow never leaving you behind. The nights spent whispering secrets under the stars, the laughter that echoed through the hidden corners of Zaun, all seemed like fragments of a distant dream now. The loss still stings, a dull ache that never quite fades, but up here, in the quiet embrace of the night, you allow yourself to remember. To reminisce about the friend who once colored your world in shades of blue.

Powder, that was her given name, fitting for a young girl whose fascination with tinkering led to explosive creations, even if they never worked as intended. She was a marvel in her own right, chaotic yet brilliant. But Powder ceased to exist after the Tragedy, giving rise to Jinx—a transformation that you struggled to fully embrace. You loved her deeply, having sacrificed much to remain at her side, but her evolution was as disorienting for you as it was for her. At times, doubts crept in about whether staying with her was the right choice. She was extraordinary, too good for this world, yet burdened unfairly by fate.

And her fears and worries only intensified in his presence. He ruled the Under City with all its darkness and allure, the very embodiment of malevolence. Yet, twisted as it was, he cared for Jinx in his own twisted way. You never trusted Silco; he was a corrupting influence who painted those who once cherished Powder as villains in her tale. Despite your efforts to steer her away from his influence, she was already lost to his sway. You knew this, yet you chose to stand by her. With a sigh, you shrugged, closing your eyes as the toxic winds of the city embraced you.

She ascended the stairs with a deliberate pace, drawing near to you while you remained oblivious to her approaching like a phantom. Her love for you ran deep, even if you couldn't fully grasp the intensity of her feelings. With her sister presumed dead and only Silco's words about it, you were now the sole anchor in her life, steadfast amidst the chaos and pain that threatened to overwhelm and break her.

She wrapped her arms around your neck, her fingers adorned with pink and blue nail polish catching your eye as you glanced down. You recognized her presence immediately, not just from the physical closeness but from the intimacy you shared. Feeling her embrace, you relaxed, allowing yourself a moment in her hold before she broke the silence with her words.

"Hey there, missed me, Toots?” She said, withdrawing her arms from around your neck and moving to sit beside you. Her blue eyes locked onto yours, waiting for your reply with an earnest and expectant expression.

As you gazed into her eternal blue eyes, you felt yourself drowning in an ocean of sadness.

How could you not miss her?

#arcane #jinx arcane #jinx league of legends #jinx x reader #jinx x you #arcane x reader #arcane x you #silco and jinx #silco arcane #drabble #oneshot

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thaisibir · 2 months

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Faith, Science, and Lessons to Learn in Claymore

Here come my thoughts I've articulated the best I could on why I absolutely love Claymore for over ten years. I love how faith and science are represented and explored in this series, especially how they are not only compared side by side but brought together. And I don't exaggerate when I say this series had taught me valuable life lessons and how to be a better person.

Faith vs science: Rabona represents the institution of faith. The organization is an institution of science. As Claymore is a story centered on, of course, the Claymores, and the world as they know it, we see a lot more than the institution of faith how the institution of science operates. And it's a very cruel, brutal operation. Girls are salvaged and trafficked to be subject to experimentation and training, conditioned to think and work like cogs in a machine. Their entire lives revolve around constant, endless missions of killing yoma. All the while they're fighting against their own inhuman side. They're ticking time bombs destined for nothing but a violent death. It's a vicious cycle. A system set up to doom them from the start.

I have to mention how incredibly disgusting and clever the psychology behind the organization's system is. 47 Claymores are deployed and scattered throughout the continent at all times, but few ever come across one another. I'm sure that after training, most full-fledged warriors go through their entire careers without ever meeting another of their own. The few times they meet up are strictly for missions only. No time for real bonding and fraternizing. In fact, it seems to be discouraged and deliberate. And there is no care or effort whatsoever put into fostering friendly relations between Claymores and the common folk. They have no home, no family, not even friends, no autonomy, only complete dependence on the organization. Not unlike a toxic relationship where the victim has no choice but to be shackled to the abusive partner. That's exactly how the organization wants it to be. They want their subjects to be powerful, dependable, but expendable and replaceable at the drop of a hat. The lonely and isolated lifestyle imposed on Claymores, along with the rules, keep them in line. Keep them apart and they would never get a whiff of the skeleton in the organization's closet and entertain the idea of rebelling. We all know that didn't last forever. (More on that in a later section...)

All right I think I've been beating a dead horse talking about how horrible the organization is. In contrast to their operations involving exploitation, dissection, and separation of Claymores, Rabona is the site of their unity and humanization.

Rabona is the pivoting point for bringing together a Claymore and three humans in their efforts to take down a yoma. It's where we learn that bonds are stronger than the carnal desire to awaken and feast on guts. Years later, it's also in Rabona where the same cooperation happens. Just on a much greater scale. Humans and Claymores collectively learned to fight alongside each other. Irene proved that it's possible to survive outside the organization. Galatea took it a step further, being the first to show that it's possible for a warrior to live happily among humans, albeit in secret. By the end, an era of a truly peaceful coexistence begins. It's a beautiful irony that the city well known for its spirituality, image of holiness, and rejection of the "unholy" becomes the first place to openly welcome Claymores.

The organization topples and falls apart from a single decisive strike. Meanwhile, despite multiple assaults from powerful Awakened Beings, Rabona still stands. And I'm sure it will continue to endure and flourish with the Claymores as its new resident defenders. An institution built on fear and blind obedience is much weaker than one built on the warriors' true sense of allegiance, belonging, and home.

That is not to say that science is all bad in Claymore. After all, surgery is what physically brought Teresa and Clare together.

Father Vincent: I need to talk about this man and how vastly underrated he is. In a story full of incredibly strong and kickass half-monster women, Vincent is not only one of the few ordinary men in the cast, but the best of them morally speaking (second to Raki). That scene of Vincent with Galatea, Clarice, and Miata made him my favorite male character in the series. He had come a long way since his first appearance. Even then, he had come around from a position of prejudice and his city's idea of holy vs unholy to acceptance and gratitude for Clare. His brief sharing with Galatea of that turning point shows incredible self-awareness and introspection, a mindset we should all strive to have. Then, as the head priest of the religious order entrenched in Rabona, he initiates that change at the greater societal level, turning Rabona into a sanctuary that welcomes all Claymores. I especially love that panel where he raises a hand of blessing to Galatea and says he wants to pray "for her and her wonderful companions." I found that incredibly touching. Those words must mean the world to Galatea, and to any Claymore if they heard. After all, they're so used to being dehumanized and reviled. Vincent is the perfect foil to the terrible men of the organization, second to Raki when it comes to showing empathy and compassion to Claymores and regarding them as more human than monster. Vincent sets a great example of what it means to be a decent human being, and just what it means to be human, to be capable of growth and change for the better. I'm sure we all want to be badass like the Claymores, but really we must try to be the Father Vincent in people's lives. You don't need yoma power to be an agent for good and change.

The measurable versus the immeasurable: In this world where only the strong survive, power and rank is everything. Or so it seems. Like I mentioned earlier, the organization is insidiously clever in using a ranking system to define the Claymores and keep them in line. Claymores have very few possessions to call their own: the emblem and armor they wear, the sword they wield, and the number they're given. Numbers are what separate and define them, what seem to give them identity, worth, and purpose. Enter Clare, the series protagonist, who flips a giant middle finger at all that. Unlike some Claymores who obsess over numbers (lookin' at you, pre-timeskip Helen), Clare doesn't let her low rank define or upset her. Mathematically and rationally speaking, with the flesh of a half yoma warrior, she's only a quarter yoma, therefore half the strength of a typical Claymore and the weakest of them all. Clare gives that rationale the middle finger too. What keeps her alive from beginning to end is her limitless, immeasurable, astounding courage and endurance that impressed Teresa from the beginning. And there's her great capacity to love and care for others. Love forged those strong, lasting bonds with Teresa and Raki. The lengths she went to save Jean inspired a loyalty like no other, and what leads to one of my favorite quotes in the series: "She saved my life. Her rank meant nothing then and it means even less to me now."

The Seven Ghosts embody true sisterhood allowed to flourish outside the confines and prying eyes of the organization. Living, hiding, and training together, sharing survivors' guilt from that massacre in Pieta, they are fueled by a drive that's far greater and more enduring than mere petty competition for ranks within the organization. They don't fight just to survive, but to honor the memory of their fallen comrades. Years later, those old ranks they were given mean nothing. The Ghosts become more than that, undefinable, and for all their strengths and weaknesses they come to regard each other as equals, as true friends and sisters ought to.

And finally, the most powerful manifestation of love is none other than Teresa and Clare, the twin goddesses who defeat the one horned monster. The organization had tried and failed many times to replicate that perfect synergy. They left out one important part of the equation. Clare and Teresa's love for each other makes their union a truly powerful thing that defies the limits and bounds of numbers and stats. Many times throughout the series, especially by men from the organization, it's brought up that Clare's true abilities and potential don't align with the number she was given. She's truly a wild card, defiant in the face of obeying the organization's rules and rationalities. It's human nature to assign numbers and ranks to things because we like to compartmentalize, but the real world is a lot messier than that. Clare is there to teach us that we are not defined by the numbers we earn or are given.

All of this is to say that the most important lesson I took away from Claymore is this: it's what you do for others that truly counts, not what others think of you. Love and compassion is enough to move the most powerful being in the entire series to tears.

#claymore #claymore manga #claymore anime #claymore spoilers #in this essay i will

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cheolsfae · 6 months

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Hi could u do Soulmates as Songs?

If u do,pls do one for Enhypen🌈

shuffling through my liked songs!

*Disclaimer: For giggles!*

Jungwon's: Firefly - BANNERS

"world's apart, when it went dark, you were always on my mind. Illuminate, set ablaze, you make me light up like a firefly."

He's down bad for this person. This person is the light in the darkness for him. They really are his personal sunshine!

Jay's: To be human - Marina

"All the people living in, living in the world today, we're united by our lover, we're untied by our pain"

Getting the vibe that this person is someone who is very compassionate similar to how he is but maybe a little bit more than he is. Very cute!

Jake's: Carousel - 5 Seconds of Summer

"I's feeling like a dreamer don't you try and wake me now, my life's just a carousel spinning around, I'd pay again just to keep from stopping it now."

One, ironic that it's an aussie band for the aussie member. Two, when they get together the whole thing is going to feel kind of magical. All the hardship is going to be worth it to them in their eyes.

Sunghoon's: Holy Water - Freya Ridings

"I shouldn't love you, Vulture circle above you, and you keep me holding on to the devil that I love in you"

This feels like a little bit of a toxic situation. But they do deeply care about one another. It might start out as a friends with benefits situation.

Ni-ki's: I do adore - Mindy Gledhill

"Twinkle in your eye that strikes a match that lights my heart on fire when you're near, I hide my blushing face and trip on my shoelace... Puppy love is hard to ignore when everything you do I do adore!"

Y'all he might already know this person! He might be already down bad for this person Could have a bit of a crush on them at the moment or something. This is so cute!

Heeseung's: True - Marina

"Always said we're gonna be true, we will never change, they could never do it better than we are together."

This person doesn't care one bit about what someone else thinks of them. They are going to stand in their power and be who they are and not feel bad for it one bit!

Seonwoo's: Bite - Troye Sivan

"You can coax the cold right out of me, drape me in your warmth. The rapture in the dark puts me at ease. The blind eye of the storm, where you can be reborn and kiss me on the mouth and set me free. but please don't bite."

This could start out like Sunghoon and just be a situation-ship. It'll kind of go from there. I feel like the his future spouse is going to be the one to catch feeling first!

#—faes readings #enhypen #enhypen scenarios #enhypen x reader #enhypen imagines #enhypen fluff #jake sim #jay park #park sunghoon #yang jungwon #kim seonwoo #nishimura riki #lee heesung

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oh-shtars · 3 months

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Lol I meant like Anny’s Nightmare Asha and Black Hole Aster but I also love your nuanced take (+bonus points for Nimona)

Ahhhhh okay. Sorry I’m dumb 😭😭

I’ll be honest, I haven’t given much thought to the alternate possibility of what the dark version Hopes and Dreams would be like. But DAMN, you guys are starving for angst crumbs aren’t you??

Fine.

For Sueño, I think he’s the one with the loosest thread. Maybe somewhere in an alternate timeline, he does lose it and really snaps at Magnifico’s cruelty. His dark aura and desire for vengeance and hatred corrupts his core and instead of pure Wish Magic, it becomes Curse magic.

Because with the cost of using this kind of dark magic, he loses all rationality and goes mad. And I MEAN very mad, with a hatred towards all humans other than those he deems worthy. After all, all these mortals ever want is ‘more than this,’ isn’t it? Instead of a Wishing Star, Sueño becomes something that the rest of starkind fear would happen. A Curse Star. A Star that grants desires in a way that they think is best instead of letting fate and the wisher’s strength decide.

He’s not going to let any stranger, regardless of who they are, good or bad, to get near him and his friends. Especially Asha. He’s not taking any more chances this time, because you’ll just never know what happens in this world anymore. It’s best to just strike anyone who gets close enough for good measure.

………….

For Asha, it’s a little more difficult to come up with something that still fits her character. Her main trait is love, which can be both her strength and weakness at the same time. Maybe I could use that?

She’s torn between choosing to protect her kingdom or Sueño. She believes he’s just scared and fed up with everything and needs help to find the light again. But then, what about Rosas?

Wouldn’t it be also an angsty alternative if she’s forced to fight him? To defeat the one she grew to love for Rosas’ sake? Just putting the thought out there :))

But what if she were to choose Sueño? To choose to side with him?

Maybe she’s doomed to be stuck in the middle of that decision. Forever. Sueño is in a state where he’s dangerous to everyone else except Asha and certain others he’s grown close with. Her friends and other people could see that but Asha refuses to listen. She begs them to leave the kingdom if they can’t stand it, but she won’t leave someone like him alone just like that. But neither does she want to force them to endure it for their own safety.

It’s a toxic kind of protection where none of her options win. If someone were to try to strike Sueño down, she’ll do whatever it takes to get them to leave Rosas and leave him alone. For Sueño and that person’s own safety. Even if it means she has to turn to dark magic to do it.

(Btw, I’m NOT encouraging this. If you’re in a toxic relationship, please don’t think that’s okay and that you should defend your partner at your own expense. You should always take good care of yourself.)

#reach for the stars au #rfts au #wish au #wish starboy #wish asha #dark au

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imaginedreamwrite · 2 years

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Water Under The Bridge: Part 2

“…we, therefore, commit this body to the ground, earth to earth, ashes to ashes, dust to dust; in sure and certain hope of the Resurrection to eternal life…” He was there at the graveside service just as he was at the ballroom turned funeral parlour, his presence lingering at the back of your mind with a warning.

You were meant to be sitting close to your mother and Cade, you were meant to be sitting upon the white chairs that were set up and lined by the six feet hole in the ground that would seal your father up below the earth where he could finally rest.

His rest wouldn’t bring peace, or maybe it would and you were bitter enough to hope it hadn’t. Your relationship with your father, your mother and brother were never what they should have been, and you knew that it had everything to do with your grandparents. And Lloyd Hansen, the man who was coming to steal you like a thief in the night because you were meant to be his.

Your father had been the only child of your grandparents and had been raised in the world your grandparents had built with every expectation to take everything over with no restrictions. As it turned out, your father had made many mistakes and many enemies that had only been cowed down because of your grandparents, and it was a few too many mistakes.

Your grandparents hadn’t liked your mother, they held even more disregard for your brother who had carried all the same tendencies of your father, with the penchants for making the same crippling mistakes.

They weren’t willing to leave their legacy to your father without stipulations, and when you were born and had been regarded as somewhat of a mistake in your father, mother and brother’s eyes, your grandparents had stepped in. It was your grandfather who knew you could have been spared from the same toxicity that your father had inflicted upon your mother and brother.

And when your soulmate mark had appeared and his name had come upon your arm, your grandfather had changed the will and the future of the business he had built. Your grandfather had stipulated that your father would only get the business and the avenues, all the accessibility to have power if he had then passed it on to you.

Your father had worked on removing your mark and deleting it from any registries to keep Hansen away, and your grandfather had arranged for Val to watch over both you and your father. Val was more like your father due to him being your guardian all your life. He had worked for your father, but his true and hidden priority had always been you.

Even now that your father was long gone and being buried, Val was watching over you.

He had kept track of you when you went off to school and when your father had promised you that you would never have to come back here. Val had kept his eyes on you even from your place across the country when you attended university to forget your past, he was watching you.

“You can’t run from Hansen.” “…from ash to ash and dust to dust…”

“The family would like to invite you back to their home for a celebration of life-“ The graveside preacher was announcing the invitation while you had raised your head and gazed at your mother and brother.

The two of them were standing side by side, your mother was shedding crocodile tears on her designer dress, mourning the loss of the man who was fuelling her shopping habits. Your bother was standing next to her holding her hand but as you looked toward him, you had seen his lips getting pulled into a smirk and his eyes darkening.

He had taken the figurative appearance of a predator who was readying himself to strike and if you had to make an astute comparison, you would have thought he was something akin to a snake in the grass waiting to strike with fangs glistening. He wasn’t as subtle as he thought he was, and Val had given you an accurate forewarning of what they were planning. Between Lloyd Hansen and your brother Cade making plans to kill you to take control, you were rightfully screwed.

“You will be coming home,” your mother called over her shoulder, the birdcage veil had been draped over the right side of her face and eye, the curve drawing attention to her red lips coloured like blood, upturned in a snide and almost gleeful smirk.

“Of course mother.” You hadn’t denied her, you couldn’t have let her know that Val told you what she and Cade were planning.

You would happily play the part of the fool, let them have their fun and games while they could. You knew it would come back to hit them, you knew that for every scheme they had attempted to hurt behind the scenes a grieving widow and son would come full circle and knock them on their ass, just as you knew with absolute certainty that at some point Lloyd Hansen would take you.

It was a guarantee, not a matter of if but a matter of when, where and how.

“You can’t run from Hansen. No one can.”

Your childhood bedroom had remained untouched almost as if it was a time capsule to your younger years, a surprising sight since you had left the day you turned 18, moving immediately to your university of choice. You would have thought your mother and Cade would have burned everything in the room to turn it into her second closet however it was as pristine as you remembered.

But perhaps the most surprising part of your childhood bedroom was finding the man who was described as a vile and sadistic bastard, laying on your bed with his ankles crossed. He seemed amused with his hands holding one of your yearbooks, his soft and apt hums coming as he read the details of your high school life.

He was taller than you anticipated, now that you had a better look at him, and your initial observation of him was undoubtedly matched with the appearance of a man who was strong and broad-shouldered, but he had also carried a great strength in his shoulders and chest.

“You don’t know how to knock?” You had broken the silence with a comment that made him close the yearbook with a snap and drop it to the bed, your view of him now unobstructed.

“Hello sunshine,” he turned and planted his feet against the carpet, still managing to keep one leg bent against the side of the mattress, “I’ve been waiting for you.”

“Have you?” Val’s warning had echoed in your head, and you had felt some initial fear of the man whose name you had been removing from your body for years, “I should’ve kept you waiting longer.”

You stepped further into your room yet kept your distance from him, contrasting his appearance with your bare feet and dime-store dress as opposed to his sleek Italian-crafted shoes. He was well dressed as you had observed earlier, only now you could detect the weapons he had on his person and the kind of soulmate mark that bound the two of you.

Your name was clear, it was concise as it remained on his forearm while his name was removed. Through painful and irritating treatments that you had to get twice a year, if not more, his name was removed and scuffed from your flesh in an attempt to hide you from him even though it would have all been folly in the end.

“Cute bedroom sunshine,” Lloyd had reached for one of the stuffed animals your grandparents got you for your 6th birthday, the material still looked untouched despite the time that had passed between you receiving the gift and you standing here today, “very delicate-“

“I know what you’re going to do and why you’re here.” You inhaled sharply when he had set the bear back down and turned to face you, his strong shoulders becoming taut as his eyes dropped to the space on your arm, his lips curled into a deep sneer that was communicative of his emotional state.

You had wanted to hide your arm behind your back, you wanted to obscure his view of your blank flesh just to have his penetrative gaze off of you, although in the end, you remained still. You let him stare you down, you let the weight of his gaze hover on you as tension and expectations had risen with uncertainty of when he would strike.

“You’re adept, not like your brain-dead brother.” Lloyd Hansen’s lips had twitched, barely forming a smirk before he frowned again.

He took a step toward you.

His footsteps muffled on the carpet as he languidly explored your childhood bedroom with his gaze, studying the possessions you had that were indicative of your treatment from your grandparents and the lack thereof from your father and mother. Lloyd had stopped once more before he approached you, his hand hovering over a picture of a hospital bracelet from years ago that you’d forgotten to get rid of.

It was dated for a day after you had turned 16, the third appointment you’d had since your grandparents died. You had shoved the band into one of your desk drawers after the treatment was over, wanting to forget the amount of pain you’d been put through to remove his name from your arm, pain that had only gotten worse as you got older.

“Your father was a snake.” Lloyd held no love for your father, spitting on the man’s legacy after he shoved your medical bracelet into his pants pocket, huffing once and then he rolled his shoulders back and stood straighter. “Your mother is a gold-digging whore-“

“I’m not going to make it easy on you, soulmate or not-“ You stopped talking and fell quiet when he laughed, almost pleasantly, and continued walking toward you with an air of humour among him.

“I’m counting on it, sunshine.” He reached toward you, his fingers curling slightly as he grasped a chunk of your hair, running his thumb and forefinger against your strands. “I’m counting on you fighting and trying to run.”

“No one runs from, Hansen.” Val’s warning had come again, a promise that Lloyd Hansen was playing for keeps

“Are you going to draw it out or get it over with?” You pressed yourself against the wood, your chest rising and falling rapidly with every breath as you truly felt like you were a trapped animal, waiting for the predator to strike.

“Are you that eager to go home, Mrs. Hansen?” Lloyd drew himself closer and raised his hand, drawing his fingers against his moustache.

“Home or hell?” You quipped, sucking in the air and holding it as he tried to reach for you again.

You had turned and shoved your shoulder into his chest, giving you the momentum to slip from your bedroom, nearly stumbling into the wall when your foot caught on the doorframe. You corrected yourself and moved to the staircase, gripping the railing as you hurried down the stairs knowing that he was after you and there was no rush or risk to him.

You weren’t so foolish to think that he didn’t have a small army at his disposal, and at the house, however, you didn’t fancy being manhandled by him.

“You little bitch!” your mother’s shriek had startled you, it had thrown you and you skidded to a stop as she came flying out of the sitting room with your bother following. “You whore! You slut!”

Her hand was raised as she came toward you, intending on striking you across the cheek in a blind rage fuelled by the vodka she had been diving into as a celebration for getting rid of your father and now you. You hadn’t been given the chance to react or negate her strike, but Lloyd had.

He had grabbed her wrist and twisted it painfully behind her back as she shrieked and cursed him out, his deadly and animalistic glare centred entirely upon your mother and brother, the latter of which was being held on his knees.

“We had a deal, Hansen! You bastard! We had a deal-“ Your mother kicked, she fought against him with some kind of resolve to keep herself prideful.

“She’s not yours to sell.” He kicked her feet out from under her while still holding onto her wrist, his blue eyes brimming and almost overcome with the drive to not just seek revenge but completely obliterate her whole world. “Take Mrs. Hansen out to the vehicle.”

Hands had grabbed your arms, fingers digging into your flesh had come loose when you shook them off and cursed in retaliation. You were made to follow them, you understand the order and had the knowledge that they would become much more physical if you didn’t give in. Still, you shook them off and followed as they moved, one before you and one behind you.

“Ungrateful whore! Everything we’ve done for you-!” Your mother was holding strong to her place as the self-appointed matriarch of this estate and business your grandfather had given to your father, her dignity hanging on by threads.

“What are you going to do with it?” You asked him, hovering by the open door, wondering what would become of everything your mother and brother had held so dear.

“Burn it.” Lloyd was looking at you but he was speaking to his men, the few that had begun pouring gasoline on the floor. “I want nothing left standing.”

“Hansen!” The door was shut behind you, your mother’s screams and protests muffled but not silenced.

The blacked-out SUV was waiting for you, the rear door opened giving you a view of the luxurious leather and hand-stitched interior that was likely reinforced and armoured. You had trounced down the steps yet hesitated to get into the vehicle even though you were outnumbered by his men, and unwilling to get a black eye or broken arm from trying to fight.

“Mrs. Hansen-“ You entered the vehicle and grasped onto the handle, slamming it shut in the brute’s face, nearly nicking his fingers in the process.

You looked out the window as smoke started to rise from the house, billowing and black, a preemptive look at the promise or order that Lloyd made, the directive that nothing was left standing.

You waited for the door to be open again, and he appeared with a single duffle bag in his hand and a sadistic, victorious smirk on his face. The right rear passenger door opened and he had thrown the bag in at your feet before he climbed in and joined you, the sour stench of gasoline and smoke clinging to his clothes.

“You have a choice, Mrs. Hansen.” He looked toward you, his hands resting on the space between you. “You choose-“

“Oh, I have options? I thought you were a totalitarian. Direct me like one of your pissants.” You snipped at him, angling your back to the door while kicking the duffle bag away from you.

“We go home,” Lloyd smirked at your attitude and licked his lips, “or we go somewhere private and sunny. Celebrate our early honeymoon-“

“Fuck you.” You grit your teeth and shoved his hand away from you, warmth bubbling in your stomach as your heart thrashed.

“Don’t be so eager, sunshine.” He tapped the roof of the vehicle, signalling the driver to had out. “Home it is.”

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syebrry · 1 year

Text

❝ CLOCK STRIKES TWELVE... ❞

╭∘ SUMMARY ... how do certain blue lock men love at midnight ?

–∘ WARNINGS ... no mentions of reader's gender/pronouns, metion of toxic relationships, ooc characters, not proofread, fluff, slight angst! lmk if I missed any

–∘ FEATURING ... isagi yoichi, chigiri hyoma, kunigami rensuke, itoshi rin, and mikage reo

╰∘ DEAR DIARY ... first work for blue lock! I might write a second part to this except it's the "angstier" songs within midnights or a different album! but we'll see. for now please enjoy🫶

TRACK ONE LAVENDER HAZE

A lavender haze was formerly used to describe being in love. It was said that if you were in a lavender haze meant that you were in that all-encompassing love glow. Maybe that’s how ISAGI YOICHI would describe your relationship, your love was so addicting that he couldn’t help but wish to keep it all to himself, you made him feel as if he was on cloud 9 because of your neverending affirmations and touches, those moments where your lips graced him or when you leave yourself vulnerable in his arms the moment he joins you in bed, every moment with you may it be small or extravagant has been etched to his memory Yet, with his reputation as blue lock's ace, there were people who wanted to bring your relationship down, be it because of jealousy or hatred. Yet he didn’t let any of that break your relationship, he loves you, and he’s willing to do anything for you. Maybe in the future, he’d find himself standing in front of the altar, exchanging vows with you, promising to spend the remainder of his life with you, the love of his life.

TRACK FOUR SNOW ON THE BEACH

It all started as a friendship, which grew to you both harboring feelings for one another the more you hung out together, it was so obvious to others, but not to you. It was so painful to watch you both stare at each other longingly, with so much love and admiration swirling in your eyes. The moment you finally confessed after pinning on him for so long, that snowy night by the beach. CHIGIRI HYOMA at first did not understand, but when it finally dawned on him, he looked at you, eyes glazed with confusion, but his face was beet red, he couldn’t help it, all this time you were in love with him? Like how he was with you? He looked around, mind still not processing the words you just said “Wait, is this real? Is this a dream? Is this for real? Is it really happening?” were the only thoughts he had. He was excited to venture more into this relationship, fall deeper in love and experience things with you. He watched as the snow fell on the surface of the sand, it was such a weird but beautiful phenomenon.

TRACK TEN LABYRINTH

You dreamed of falling in love when you were younger, yet love hurt you, it tore you up into pieces, and it broke you. KUNIGAMI RENSUKE is a dear friend of yours, someone who never left your side before your former toxic relationship came to be. He was the one who helped you whenever you found yourself breaking down when it all became too much to handle, and when you finally left that relationship. He was there, like always. You thought that you would never find love anymore, not after all that pain. How wrong you were. When you find yourself seeking more of his presence and comfort, finding yourself looking for him in a crowd, it becomes clear to you, you are falling in love again. You were in a state of denial, maybe it was fear that kept you away from accepting your feelings, fear that he would turn out like your former relationship, the fear that he would hurt you and leave you hanging. Yet he didn’t, he never did leave or hurt you. He helped you heal, emotionally and physically. As time passed, those feelings you had for him that you tried to push back, resurfaced once more, much more intense and ardent. You didn’t push them back anymore, instead, you welcomed the feeling, allowing yourself to be vulnerable to love once more, you gave your heart to him, knowing he’d never break it.

TRACK TWELVE SWEET NOTHING

Home, that was what he felt like whenever he was with you. ITOSHI RIN found comfort and solace by being with you. He is not a man of many words, yet he always finds himself in an endless rant on how much he loves you, cares for you, and you who gave him another chance at experiencing genuine love. At the end of every day, after a game or an exhausting day at practice. He finds himself craving, and running home to your sweet nothings. All those hushed promises, declarations of love, and lingering kisses, while he held you tightly in his arms, were the best moments of his day. that cold facade and the walls he spent years building up crumble upon your every touch and your every word.

TRACK SIXTEEN PARIS

You were someone MIKAGE REO loved in private, yet never in secret. The fans were aware that a certain someone captured the heir's heart. Yet they don’t know just how much love he had to give, the way his eyes softened and his body physically relaxing the moment he sees you, the way those captivating eyes never miss your figure in a crowded room, a mountain of love letters he sent you under the alias “your only love”, and those subtle yet obvious telltale signs that he needs you with him. Yet all of that is only for you both to see, not for the public. You’re both in your own little world when alone, a world where there’s only you, him, and your love for each other. Call him lovesick, he’s willing to get called such names if it means having his claim on you. He loves you, and he is yours, just as you are his.

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bitchsister · 5 months

Note

“I’m sorry.” Curt whispered, leaning over the middle console and pressing kisses to Bucky’s bicep and shoulder. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean what I said — I — I was havin’ an outburst.”

Those happened often.

Curt was simply a hothead, too used to acting out on his first instinct, which was always anger.

Gale was helping him work through this, but wasn’t always around to be the mediator.

Hi!!! I was wondering if you’d ever elaborate on this in a fic, sort of like how Bucky and Gale deal with Curt’s anger outbursts. This section of this fic has stuck with me since it was posted <3

Curtis was a sugary sweet little gumdrop, by the looks of him — although he’d caused Ruthie and his father Carmen all kinds of worry, it was always muddled over with the sweet batting of his thick black lashes and a promise not to bust up any more neighborhood kids.

🚩: general kinda toxic domestic fuckery.

“They called me runt!” He’d protest, Ruthie bending to press kisses to her son’s forehead as she sighed. “I ain’t allowed to stand up or myself?”

Well, he had a point.

And he always won.

Eventually, he was left alone but it had done nothing for the anger he felt deep in his chest; the anger he’d let out unabashedly — the anger he never learned to manage.

Gale would never admit aloud that he liked sitting in the backseat because watching the two of them was like the clinical case studies he did back at school full of hypotheticals and imaginary clients whereas Curt and Bucky were so readily tangible, but so hard to understand at times.

“This is why I told you to check it, John.” Curt hardly ever used Bucky’s legal name when addressing him — if he did, though, Gale had always taken it as his cue to open the notes app on his phone where he kept diligent catalogs of each outburst he’d witnessed and if he thought the severity of them could be justified, and if valid points were ever made with true intentions of finding a solution to the predicament, which was hardly ever the case.

“Honey, I checked it.” Bucky was staring at his phone, baffled. He’d made their dinner reservation for the wrong date. An entire month from then. “It’s gotta be a glitch, or something.”

“It don’t work like that.” Curt huffed, turning his head to stare out at the dreary rain that sprinkled over the sidewalk, New Yorkers hurrying faster than usual to escape the impending downpour. “I’ve been excited about this for three months.” Gale made note of Curt’s posture, ridged and stiff. In defense mode.

“You think we haven’t?” Bucky motioned at Gale who quickly turned his gaze back down to his phone, the notes he was taking disguised as an important email, or perhaps a text to his mother. “I wouldn’t have done this on purpose, Curt.”

“I’d rather ya did!” Curt turned to him in his seat, his brows furrowed. “You done this three times now. Three!” He held three fingers in his face, nostrils flared with annoyance. “And one of ‘em was my birthday!”

Gale thankfully hadn’t been in town for that one, somewhere on a beach in Honolulu for his sister’s wedding; if he tried hard enough, though, he probably could have heard Curt’s cursing from across the globe.

“And I’m fucking sorry!” Bucky had resorted to shouting back, his sulked posture ridged like Curt’s was in that moment. “Next time you can make the fucking reservations — you’re being a fucking bitch.”

Curt bucked at him, ironically enough, lip snarled and Gale flinched. He moved like a cobra, striking fast and deadly. “You don’t know the bitch I can fuckin’ be,” his voice was low and taunting. “Say the word. Say the fuckin’ word, John. I’ll fuck you up ju—“

“Alright, alright.” Gale drew on.

Alright, alriiiight.

He pressed his hand into Curt’s chest, and then Bucky’s to gently pry them apart. “That’s enough.”

Usually, Gale would let this play out but he’d noticed one very peculiar detail once all the dust settled.

Curt was always in hysterics. Ten minutes, sometimes even an hour would go by and realization would hit. Embarrassment, shame, crippling guilt for the things he said or what he’d thrown at Bucky in a fit of rage; he’d never hit him, never really wanted to.

He’d spent his entire life feeling small and inadequate, which had caused him to feel so much anger that had subsequently manifested physically once he was old enough to throw a decent left hook.

Curt never wanted to hurt Bucky, but Bucky had made Curt feel small in ways that brought him back into sudden defense mode.

Gale knew he needed to check this before Curt let himself get any farther, leading to more regret later. “Take a breath, both of you.”

He’s being-

This ain’t-

They began to rattle over each other and Gale shoved their chests further apart. “Absolutely not.” His tone became firm. “I don’t want to hear another word.”

Bucky shook his head with a huff and Curt tried brushing Gale’s hand away from his chest, his own arms eventually tightly crossed over his sternum.

“Breathe in.”

He did it before them, holding his breath until both Curt and Bucky gave in and filled their lungs with a steadying breath of oxygen.

“Out.”

Gale kept going, brows risen to encourage them both whilst his hands slowly pulled away from their chests and down to their forearms instead, a thumb rubbing over Curt’s skin to soothe him and the opposite hands index finger hooking onto Bucky’s cuffed sleeve.

“Do you want to count, Curt?”

“No.”

“Okay.” Gale nodded slowly, the city going on, business as usual around them. The sound of rolling thunder, blaring sirens, horns honking in traffic. “Let’s talk about this, then.” His fingers grazed over Bucky’s knuckles. “Let’s start with I feel, like last time —“ Gales gaze turned to Curt, and then Bucky. “You start, Johnny.”

Rain pitter patting over the windows was the only sound for about a minute or two.

“I feel that I’m being yelled at over something that was an accident. That makes me feel shitty.” Bucky looked at Gale, and then to Curt. “I feel maybe I shouldn’t be responsible anymore for making the reservations, since my track record is given proof.”

Curt huffed an annoyed laugh out of his nose, shaking his head.

“Am I supposed to make my own fuckin’ birthday dinner plans, then?”

Gale didn’t pay attention.

Curt’s type of bickering fed off of attention paid to it, eating away at patience until there was none left.

“That’s good.” Gale whispered in John’s ear, pressing a chaste kiss below his earlobe. “Very nice, Johnny.” He felt Bucky lean into him, some semblance of comfort in such a tense moment. “What about you, Curt? Tell us how you feel.”

Curt straightened his back, arms tighter against his chest as he ground his jaw. “I feel frustrated.” He nodded, blinking slowly. “I feel I ain’t listened to.” This, Gale realized had stemmed even farther back to the very beginning of everything.

The poor bunny caught in the bear trap, little enough to wiggle around inside of it but caught indefinitely nonetheless.

“A little more.” Gale encouraged, reaching up to push Curt’s hair away from his eyes. “What in this moment makes you feel those things?”

Curt took another deep breath without being asked.

And then another.

That question itself was almost enough to set him off again, but he reigned in. Settled his heart, his breath, the way his cheeks turned red as he bit back another rebuttal.

“The fact —“ another breath. A readjustment. “I feel the fact that this is the third time it’s happened means I ain’t been listened to,” he stared directly ahead at a stoplight. Green, yellow, red. Green, yellow, red. “That my frustrations don’t matter.”

Gale nodded slowly, a hum in the back of his throat. “That’s right, hm?” A kiss to his cheek and one to his jaw. “Thank you for being open with us.” He positioned himself in the middle again, looking to both of them. “So, seems like inconsistency on both parts is wearing everybody thin. Does that sound right?”

Curt nodded quickly, Bucky taking his time with a bob of his head.

“And so, what if maybe we come to an agreement to make appointments or reservations together? The two of you. Or, if I’m around, me too.” The easiest fix and yet both Curt and Bucky hadn’t thought of it yet. “Sometimes, Curt, Bucky is forgetful.” He’d learned this over many, many years. “It’s why for as long as we’ve known each other I’ve told him he can’t have a pet.”

Curt had laughed at that.

Barely, but still.

“It doesn’t mean he doesn’t care about you, or that he isn’t listening.” It means he has crippling undiagnosed, unmedicated ADHD and OCD, but Gale vowed to keep that to himself unless Bucky asked. “Sometimes there’s just a lot of noise up there. Got lots of dates to remember, don’t you?”

Bucky nodded slowly.

Hearings, meetings, lunches with old professors or new clients. Visitations with clients in prisons, documents signed by this date or that one, finalized dockets by sundown — sometimes all of this in one day.

“Yeah,” Gales voice was soft, gentle. “That’s okay, isn’t it?” He held their jaws in either of his hands. “We’ll make new plans for next month, won’t we?”

In tandem they nodded.

“Okay.” Gale kissed Curt, so sweet and soft before he turned to Bucky and paid him the same attention, pulled further into him once they found a rhythm, soft and warm tongues slotting together, slow and unhurried.

Reluctantly he pulled away, hooking his fingers around their jaws once more to draw Bucky and Curt together. “Kiss it better.” He whispered, not a tactic he’d use for any of his other clients of course. “I’m fucking starving.”

#💌#thank u for asking this anon I had fun picking their brains a little #Curtbuckygale #clegan

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arachnixe · 2 months

Text

The Hangover

(Part 11 of Night’s Longing - Previous: Homecoming)

The castle should be darker than it is. Without so much as torchlight illuminating the passageways, we would ordinarily need to rely on our lamps as we make our way to the beating heart of Dracula’s lair.

Yet somehow, there is enough to see. An eerie, violet light shines in place of mortar between the stones, as though the whole structure were held together by occult force rather than by the arts of man. A lesser hunter might quake with doubt, but I am resolved to see this through.

“Careful, Boltman. Set too hasty a pace and we might fall to ambush before achieving our goal.”

The voice of wisdom to my left comes from Alucard—among my most valuable allies, one without whom we could never have penetrated so far into the enemy’s domain.

With long, tied-back hair the color of sacred silver, bearing a frame and voice that balances on the razor’s edge between masculine and feminine, I had on first meeting dismissed the fop as weak and useless, some delicate, effete molly masquerading at mastery of the martial arts. I have since learned better, having witnessed firsthand how well the other hunter weaponizes the presuppositions of men against them.

It would be a similar mistake to underestimate the young woman behind me, the array of amulets around her neck rattling as she jogs to catch up. Hernández may look frail, but the witch from Spain invokes powers beyond my ken, far exceeding the limits of my meager theurgy. With pockets full of strange trinkets, talismans sewn into her clothes, and arcane symbols etched across her skin, she wields her mystic knowledge to prepare our party for every obstacle.

Neither of them would be with me now if I weren’t willing to trust them with my life.

I grit my teeth and slow my steps to match the pace of the others. We cannot afford to take unnecessary risks, and right now it is my impatience that puts our party in needless jeopardy.

“Good timing.” The witch pitches her voice low, for our ears alone, speaking in hurried, clipped statements. “The snake tail quivers. Threats approach. Not men. Not beasts. Unholy. Undead.”

I draw my silver blade and whisper a prayer. With a nod toward the others, I affirm my readiness as we round the corner together and spring the enemy’s trap.

To get here, we have had to cut through vampires, yes, but also living vines, wolf-men, puppets of stone and spiderweb, and toxic fiends beyond description. Still I am unprepared to witness what faces us in the next room.

Our assailants are more than just undead. Looking like the bones of men picked clean by vultures and bleached white on some ancient battlefield, bones that rise again, lacking muscle or sinew yet standing upright all the same and gripping the weapons they clutched in death, these skeletons charge at us as if still fighting their ancient, forgotten war.

Where to stab? Where to slice? Professor Van Helsing’s unimpeachable research on the undead has proven tragically lacking on tips against this particular variety. Even the garlic I insisted the three of us wear seems hardly to slow them down at all—perhaps because they lack the necessary olfactory organs?

I narrowly avoid the thrust of a spear, catching it and lashing out with a kick that snaps the thing’s femur in two, but broken bones seem to hurt the skeletons no more than the fact that those same bones are missing ligaments to join them together.

“Well done, friend!” Alucard’s heavy glaive shatters the skull of another, though it rises once again to stand, pieces of its skull drifting back into alignment again. “Break as many bones as you can!” The glaive caves in the same skeleton’s chest. “The puissance animating each one is limited. The more pieces it must hold together, the thinner it stretches, the weaker it becomes, until—“

Another strike, cleaving the pelvis just as the skeleton starts drifting upright again, and the monster collapses, bereft of sufficient strength to reassemble itself.

How fortunate to have the company of two fine experts on the dark arts!

The spear makes for a useful quarterstaff with which to bludgeon and crack bones at range, but we are quite outnumbered, and destroying even a single skeleton is exhausting work. Alucard, with that massive glaive, clears enough space for Hernández to do her work, plunging her staff into the ribcage of a skeleton and rending its animating force to shreds in a flash of light, but even our witch is limited to the slow work of dismantling them one at a time.

They’re closing in, surrounding and forcing us slowly backward, toward the entrance to the hallway that led here. That is a real danger. The bottleneck would serve our enemies and their spears better than us; we need the space more than they do.

I cast my eyes around the room, searching for an approach. A heavy oak table sits near a wall, further along which is an alcove bearing an oversized stone statue of a woman I do not recognize. The arched opening leading from the hallway provides a small lip, and above us looms a grand, albeit tarnished, chandelier.

“Keep them off me!” Taking a step back, I sheathe my sword and drop the spear.

Alucard steps forward, not hesitating to fill the double-duty of clearing space for both Hernández and me. The glaive spins in a furious, two-handed whirl. Someday I’ll have to ask where such a fighting style comes from, but for now I simply whisper a prayer of gratitude that my allies are as formidable as they are.

Hup! I leap to catch the lip of the archway above me with one hand, the vantage high enough to offer an unobstructed view of the far side of the room. With a practiced motion, I pop the clasp at my belt and uncoil my long whip. As a part of the hunter’s arsenal—despite my storied ancestor’s efforts to prove otherwise—it makes for a poor general-purpose weapon no matter how much theurgy one invests in its construction, but as a tool it has its utility.

I find my grip on the stone—firm enough—while my other hand lashes forward, casting the whip in an unerring line across the room to wrap around the neck of the statue. I heave with all my strength and pull the thing off its plinth, sending it crashing down atop a line of skeletons.

“Ha!” Alucard barks a triumphant laugh, taking advantage of the sudden chaos to finish two skeletons in rapid succession.

That’s a few more down. Enough to momentarily clear a path through the crowd.

“Coming through!” Tossing the whip to the ground for the moment, I release my grip on the stone and bound ahead, across the fallen statue. I sprint, vault onto the friendly table, transfer my momentum vertically with a leap that kicks off the wall and sends me soaring overhead to catch the chandelier.

I heave myself atop the ancient fixture, even bigger up close than it looked from below. Perfect. With two hands on the chain, I flex my arms and lever my legs to start the chandelier slowly swinging. Need to build momentum first. I’ll only get one shot at this.

My hand grips the sword again. I whisper an invocation to awaken its true power, conjuring forth a brilliant glow of theurgy, the power that makes this heirloom more than mere metal. Gripping the chain, gauging the timing, I slash downward. More-than-silver cleaves through tarnished bronze, severing the chandelier from its support, sending it tumbling into the crowd of skeletons below.

My aim is true. Most of the fiends are crushed with one fell blow. Letting go of the chain, I land on the table below with an artful flip. Made of heavy oak, these wooden legs make for adequate clubs after I chop them off.

With their advantage in numbers greatly diminished and their remaining strength divided between my allies and my dual-club assault on their rear, the tides turn decisively in our favor. We work as a team to crush and dismantle the skeletons until, panting with exhaustion, we emerge victorious.

“Clever work, Boltman.” Alucard claps me on the shoulder. “And not a scratch on you. Each day I’m given new reason to marvel at how well-earned your reputation is.”

Hernández runs a hand through her dark hair, clearing wild strands from her face. “A wonder, truly. I have never before seen anyone—ah, anyone human, that is—move like that. You fly through the air, a hawk among the bats that haunt this castle.”

“I am human,” I respond with more defensiveness than is warranted. “My clan possesses great lore to enhance our human potential, and God Himself blesses my family name, but I am human still, nothing like the devils we hunt.”

“Of course not.” Alucard offers a placating smile. “After all, the garlic you’ve forced us to wear should offer adequate proof of that point!”

Hernández scoffs. “That doctor you so respect plagiarizes local superstitions and calls it science. Smelly plants ward away my distrust no more than they ward away vampires. Morris, my friend, your actions speak with deeper truth; none who fight the undead with such awesome ferocity could count among their number. Let my words never cast doubt on that understanding.”

Her contempt for Professor Van Helsing no longer raises my hackles. To disagree on how one should hunt the minions of night concerns me less than the truth of her own ability to fight them. At least she humors me by wearing the garlic despite her disbelief.

I nod in acknowledgment, then turn my attention to my other companion. “Alucard, what on Earth were those things? I have not seen undead of their like before. Not vampires at all, but something frightfully new.”

“Beyond ‘skeletons?’” A shrug, as if this were a trivial point of academic curiosity. “The Count was a powerful sorcerer long before he became archvampire. We must prepare ourselves for many powers and defenses that exceed the capabilities of ordinary vampire-kind.”

“But how?” I shake my head in frustration. “Are there others capable of similar feats? Could he train apprentices to become a threat on a similar scale?” I gesture at the bones littering the ground. “If all vampires were capable of commanding an army like this, our job would become far more difficult.”

“They say,” Hernández speaks slowly, picking her words with care, “that he was tutored in his youth by a witch who sold her soul to the devil, groomed from childhood to become the ultimate manifestation of evil on Earth, the product of a dreadful ritual that can never be repeated.”

“All the more reason to end him now, while he is yet vulnerable.” Alucard nods decisively. “With that said,” the hunter casts a scrutinizing look toward our party’s witch, “I wonder where you learned such secrets about our enemy. To describe that as ‘rare lore’ would be a fantastic understatement.”

“Perhaps when our job is done, I will lay bare what secrets I still keep. To do so now, well, the walls in Dracula’s lair have ears.”

“Nevertheless—“

“We all have our secrets,” I interrupt, putting a hand on Alucard’s shoulder. “You not least among us, friend. Let us not distract ourselves with talk of the past. It satisfies me to know that we’ll not suffer from an epidemic of Draculas after we finish our job here. Have we not just spoken of our mutual trust? Hold fast to our faith in one another, and we cannot fail.”

The two of them nod in agreement, duly reminded of the bonds between us. They have both become dear friends to me, and I trust them with my life.

But… Why is it that the light casts such strange shadows across their faces? I can hardly make out their features. Their smiles, simultaneously familiar and strange to me, suddenly lose their reassuring quality.

Do I know these people? I rub my eyes as though I can wipe my vision clean, clear this confusion, this nagging feeling that I am not myself.

Names and faces flit through my mind, superimposing themselves on my companions. Elizabeth and Victoria, dignified and dear, catch me as I slump to the floor.

“Boltman, are you well?”

Now it’s Ylio and Carmen, the hands on my body a silent threat, concern painted on masks hiding their true agenda.

“Dracula’s resurrection is at hand.”

When did we decide to assault a castle? Where is this castle?

“I am not yet through with you, Hanna. You must play your role in this story.”

Now it’s Daniel and Carlo, towering above me, swinging whips of blood. In unison, each man’s whip coils around a wrist. They haul me upright, a weightless marionette puppeted by my relatives. Daniel hands me a stake of pure white oak which my fingers mindlessly close around.

“Did you think you could give up on your duty? There are none left to take up the mantle. You saw to that when you made yourself the last of our bloodline.”

My head is weak, flopping to the side, but I do my best to shake it in denial. My voice fails me, but I mouth one word: lies.

“Did you think there were still others? Did you think the Boltmans haven’t been hunted? Did you believe an archvampire drew close to you on accident? By your own hand, you have made yourself the last Boltman, and in so doing you have doomed yourself to become the vessel of prophecy’s fulfillment.”

I refuse. You’re dead and buried and gone! You have no right to rule my life! Go to hell!

“The Cult of Dracula is your responsibility. The death of Dracula is your responsibility. Ending the reign of the vampire is your responsibility. You have no choice.”

No!

---

I bolt upright. A scream dies in my throat before it escapes to the waking world. My sweat soaks the bed, sheets a tangled mess kicked to the floor.

What was that dream? Not the usual one at all, showing me the moment of Morris Boltman’s death. This one was something altogether new. Is it real, another vision of the past, or merely a nightmare reflecting my fears?

Also, I can’t help but notice, I’m alive. Why am I alive?

Carmen is sound asleep at my side, meaning that I, for once, woke up before her. It must be midday still. In sleep, her back to me, there remains in her no trace of the violence with which she assaulted me last night. I still ache from it, but by now I’m sure the injuries have closed up already.

My eyes fall to admiring the curves of her body, tracing the ornate lines of her tattoos down until I notice a familiar symbol on her lower back.

Huh. I hadn’t caught it before because her version of the design is almost medieval in style, rather than the more modern interpretation I’ve seen, but that is unmistakably the same winged ouroboros worn by Ylio and their allies.

What does that mean? It feels like I’ve been handed the pieces to an important puzzle, but there’s something critical I’m missing. I shake my head to clear my thoughts. Whatever it is, my skull is pounding, and I still ache all over. I’m not exactly in the right shape to play detective about this mystery.

More immediate a concern is the way Carmen revealed some of her true self to me last night. I doubt I’ll ever feel quite as safe around her as I once did, but… she didn’t kill me. She even tucked me into bed afterward and fell asleep beside me just like always.

I could leave now, before she wakes, with the protection of the midday sun, making my way back to my sisters’ place. That would be the smart thing to do, wouldn’t it? The safe decision?

Let me admit the truth to myself, though. I don’t want safety. I’ve never honestly known what it is to be truly safe, and I’m not sure I even trust the concept. All I want, all I ever wanted, is love at any cost.

Wrapping an arm around Carmen, I lie back down, pressing my body into hers. I prefer the familiar caress of a beautiful knife at my throat over the stranger that is “safety.”

#my writing #empty spaces #Night's Longing #vampires #romance

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