#she is. ironically. trapped in a loop

[tenspontaneite]

Can you tell us anything about your LttM?

What does she think about Pebbles, Sig, SRS and the others?

Does she blame Pebbles for what happened?

Whats her personality and did it change after the collapse?

Also do you ship SliverMoon?

She's sad, tired, resigned and frustrated. She can see daylight through her cracked open chamber, but no matter how hard she tries can't get the right angle to see the sky. That frustrates her more than anything else does, most days. It seems almost cruel that she could fall so far as to literally have her innermost chamber laid bare to the open air and yet still not be free enough to look at the sky.

At a later point in her life, in memory of that helpless yearning and its eventual fulfillment, she takes the alt name 'Glimpse of Sky' when she needs an anonymous online identity. It seems a fitting choice to her.

[sysig]

Wuh oh (Patreon)

Bonus:

The novel experience of being crushed by a giant rock, a visual metaphor

[inkskinned]

in the time loop the only way out is to leave her there but you don't ever leave her there, never in the roughly one thousand years you have been in the same day. it is probably like "50 first dates" but you haven't stooped so low as to watch "50 first dates" yet. (but who is to say what another thousand years of the same media will bring to you, maybe you will develop a new taste).

you spent about 200 of these years sulking in a bathtub or on the couch or staring at the seaside. 300 of them have been spent slowly mapping the geographical distance you can actually get before the time loop restarts. you have a list of favorite places: one library in Western Massachusetts called "The Bookmill", which has weird hours and has never raised an eyebrow to you arriving out-of-breath and panting, asking to see a specific book on a specific shelf. There is one beach without a name in North Carolina; it is an accident of geography and ownership title disputes - and it is pristine, untouched, warm and cozy. you've taken her on a lot of picnics there. Acadia National Park. One specific birdhouse in the mountains.

you were stuck in the time loop with the money you entered it with: not enough to rent a private jet. you've robbed a bank a few times, you don't like the way it ends. maybe next century you'll get the hang of it. you don't like the look on her face when you say hang on i have to stop at the bank.

you just have to leave her, and you can go back to being a person again. you took 5 years just catching a flight and sitting in the Grand Canyon. if there's one thing you regret more than anything, it's that you hadn't gotten your passport renewed before this fucking time loop. maybe you should spend some time learning forgery - but also, like, you look like an english teacher. nobody is going to be cool about you asking to see their paper printing machines.

the world is very big. that is one of the things groundhog day gets wrong. there are no consequences, so you have literally all the time (or none of the time?) in the world. in groundhog day, he does a lot of very cool things, but in reality - your muscle memory never gets better. you can't necessarily learn how to play piano or sculpt ice, because your hands never remember the practice. but hey - maybe you'll try violin next. drums. synth.

you can open any door and walk into any conversation. money isn't really an object. you can try every meal off every menu, forever. take her on helicopter tours and into every museum and on every event that is happening right-now at-this-moment. parades and funerals and calligraphy classes.

but you are somewhat trapped by the limitations of your body. if you were reading a book, you still need to get up and go back to the library and find that book again when the day resets. (thank god for the internet). it still takes like 2 hours to board a plane, and then takeoff and landing and traffic. you've gotten off to run around on the freeway. one of the little thankful things: since your brain isn't actually developing (it's a muscle too), the days thankfully don't feel shorter to you. that would be agony.

all you have to do to leave the timeloop is let that man get away with it. that's all. in every version of yourself - forever - you have stopped him.

the problem is that this experience has convinced you of the existence of the human soul. after all, how else are you forming memories? your very cells reset. information has to be transferred somehow. and if timeloops are real, you can convince yourself other magic exists. so you have two choices here: this hell, or the next. there might be a millennia where you have been worn down to the point you can accept fate's decision. this is just not one of them. ironically - she is the one thing you have left.

and besides! if you can't always find something new in your partner, aren't you failing them? there is something new about her, every day with the same morning. every brutal day with the same orange sunset.

after all, you wanted to live with her in heaven, in eternity, and, well - isn't this second-best.

[district4widow]

salt in our wounds

finnick odair x reader

summary : you and finnick get separated in the blood rain, you reunite during the jabberjays incident, hearing your distorted voice, you fight to bring him back to reality. you comfort him through the chaos.

cw : (not proofread) angst, fluff, mentions of mild violence, blood rain, panic attacks and anxiety, implied physical injury (typical hunger games shit), nameless reader, poc friendly (hinted as black - mention of cornrows)

the jungle was a living, bleeding thing. red drips from the canopy like it’s been stabbed open, and everything—everything—smells like iron and rot. you can barely see through the downpour, even less with your bloodstained shirt plastered to your chest, your fingers slipping against the shaft of your knife.

“fuck,” johanna hisses behind you, voice sharp. “we need cover. now.”

you nod, jerking your head toward a dense cluster of ferns to your left. you and jo had been trying to double back to the others when the rain started—thick, hot, wrong. now you’re both covered in it. sticky, crimson, suffocating. you’d screamed finnick’s name when it began. over and over until your throat went raw.

but no one came.

no one heard.

or if they did, they were already in their own hell.

you don’t realize how far you’ve gone until the trees clear. until the sound shifts—not just rain, not just thunder, but screaming. sharp, constant, bone-deep.

that’s when you see them. peeta. katniss. and—

“finnick,” you breathe.

but it’s not the reunion you pictured—not the tear-soaked, arm-flung embrace your soul’s been begging for.

no.

he’s on his knees, his hands clenched in his hair, shouting, shoulders heaving.

and the screaming—it’s your voice.

your voice.

you stumble forward before johanna can stop you. it hits you in the chest like a gut punch: they’re using you.

your voice, twisted and looped, is echoing through the jungle, sobbing his name, begging for help, screaming in pain. all the things they knew would destroy him.

finnick is unraveling.

you focus on finnick again. the jabberjays are still screaming. katniss is screaming for her sister. trapped, she’s clawing at the glass wall

your thumb traces the invisible outline of finnick’s cheek. “you hold on, baby,” you murmur. “you hold on for me.”

he nods, just once. like it’s taking every shred of strength he has left.

behind you, johanna catches up, panting and bleeding from her arm. she sees what’s happening, hears your voice in the air and the panic in finnick’s body.

“fucking capitol,” she mutters. “fucking snow.”

but she stays back. lets you handle him. she knows this isn’t her moment.

you slide down to your knees, hands still on the wall, matching him. “come back to me,” you whisper.

he matches your position. lifts his hands. fingers splayed, trembling. mimicking yours on the other side of the wall.

the clock ticks down in your head. you’ve been in this arena long enough to feel the shift when a segment ends. and sure enough—after sixty long, agonizing minutes, the jabberjays vanish.

the screaming cuts out as the birds fall, as if a switch was flipped.

the glass wall begins to vanishes.

finnick stumbles forward.

you catch him.

he collapses into you like he’s been shot, his weight slamming into your chest, his arms clutching at you like you’re the only anchor left in a sinking world.

you cradle him, arms wrapping around his shoulders, your hand gripping the back of his neck. you press your lips to his temple and rock him gently as his body shakes with silent sobs.

you wrap around him like you’ve done a hundred times before. his face is in your neck, hands clutching at the fabric of your breasts like it’s the only thing keeping him tethered. he doesn’t sob. not anymore. he’s past sobbing. his body just shakes.

“i’m here,” you say again and again, even when your own voice cracks. “i’m here babe.”

people are staring.

you don’t care.

“cameras are probably wetting themselves,” johanna mutters nearby.

you don’t even turn around. “i don’t give a fuck about the cameras.”

she snorts. “didn’t think you did.”

you don’t realize how quiet it’s gotten until johanna screams.

“hey!”

you jerk your head up, still half-curled against finnick’s side. his body’s finally stopped shaking, your heart’s still in your throat, though. your hands still tangled in his hair.

finnick’s head lifts just slightly against your shoulder. you don’t say anything. you just hold him tighter.

johanna’s standing on the soil, blood dripping from her arm, eyes blazing like she could burn the whole fucking arena down with just a look.

she’s not screaming at you. not at the others.

she’s screaming at the sky.

at the cameras.

at him.

“how’s that sound, snow? huh? maybe we should set your backyard on fire—see how you like screaming into the dark with no one fucking coming!”

her voice cracks on fire, but she doesn’t stop.

“or better yet, maybe we drag your ass into the arena, drop in a couple jabberjays, and make you listen to your wife cry for help until you lose your goddamn mind!”

you don’t even look up. you just whisper, more to yourself than anyone,

“hope the cameras caught that.”

johanna laughs, bitter and sharp. “they fucking better have.”

the air goes quiet again. too quiet.

you glance up at the treeline.

no hovercams in sight.

“guess they cut us off again,” you mutter, relieved to finally have what you can ironically call privacy.

johanna turns around, shoulders heaving, and mutters, “fucking cowards.”

you almost say same.

later, the beach is quiet now.

sun beginning to dip. breeze soft on your skin.

you sit on the warm sand a few paces back from the shoreline, arms wrapped around your knees, chin resting on them. your cornrows are still damp, some blood dried at the tips. you should wash it out, but you don’t move.

you’re too busy watching him.

finnick’s maybe twenty feet out, standing where the tide kisses the shore. ankle-deep in the surf, his trident swinging low in one hand. he’s poking at the water, chasing fish like a kid would, letting out little whoops when one slips away from his reach.

he’s smiling. not wide, but real.

it’s not his stage-laugh. not the laugh the capitol dressed him in.

it’s real.

it’s yours.

and when you laugh back, low and breathless, he glances over his shoulder and grins like the sun cracked just for you.

you don’t know how long you stay like that — you on the beach, him dancing with the surf — but you do know that for the first time in years, it’s just you.

just this.

just you and him and the hum of the ocean.

you don’t notice you’re being watched until much later.

katniss and johanna are sitting further down the beach, perched on a piece of driftwood, both of them turned toward you. they’re not close enough to hear anything, but they’re close enough to see.

johanna’s chewing on a piece of dried root, legs splayed out like she owns the goddamn island. katniss sits stiffly beside her, eyes narrowed, head tilted slightly toward you and finnick. like she’s trying to understand what she’s seeing.

you don’t hide the way you’re smiling.

you don’t need to.

johanna lets the silence stretch before she says, real calm and low, “you really thought y’all were the only ones?”

katniss blinks. “what?”

“you and lover boy,” johanna says, nodding toward peeta off in the distance. “you think you invented tragic romance or something?”

katniss doesn’t answer.

johanna snorts, glances back at you and finnick — you laughing softly now, leaning your head back as he splashes you like a damn kid. you flick sand at him in return. he dodges it with that same cocky grin you’ve always known.

“they’ve been at it since they were like sixteen. first time I saw them kiss, i almost threw up. whole world could’ve ended around them and they wouldn’t’ve noticed.”

katniss swallows, glancing at you, then back at johanna.

“he never said anything.”

“yeah, no shit,” she mutters. “snow threatened to kill everybody they ever loved if he did. the capitol wouldn’t let them be public.” johanna rolls her eyes.

the cameras probably weren’t even on you anymore.

“he kept it quiet. protected her. played the capitol’s golden boy, kept everyone’s eyes off the real thing.”

katniss is quiet for a long time.

johanna leans back, stretches out. her gaze is still on finnick now, still on you — the way you just threw your head back laughing at something he said. the way he’s watching you like the world’s already ended and you’re the only thing left worth saving.

“don’t flatter yourself, everdeen,” johanna says, voice dry, but not cruel. “they were a goddamn tragedy long before you and peeta kissed in that cave.”

and across the sand, you laugh again — a warm, soft sound — as finnick drops his trident and runs toward you, dragging you up into his arms without hesitation.

katniss doesn’t respond.

johanna doesn’t expect her to.

[venxomi]

TBHK Chapter 126 Analysis - The cost of a reckless wish

The Hourglass

The chapter begins with Nene flipping the Hourglass, but it not activating for a simple reason- According to last chapter, you need to make a wish first. The Hourglass simply didn't take effect because Nene hadn't made one.

So when the cat jumped in and saved her, explaining to Kako that it had only intervened because it relates to wanting to help- or save others. It was the wish of the one the cat had been before, and now it was Nene's. Because of the cat, the Hourglass now knew what Nene desired and, as a result, activated.

In essence, the Hourglass needed to know what the user wanted. Otherwise, how could it send Nene on endless loops, and, just like the other victims, have her soul waste away?

Along with information from the previous chapter, we have further confirmation that this Hourglass is nothing but an entity that, just like the pit god, wants to consume. In this chapter, it's shown directly- Nene is turned into sand as she is kept within the hourglass. It speaks to her.

"I am- We are- The Flow. Power. Time. Sand."

The Hourglass essentially boasts its capabilities; That it's a constant. That it's powerful. That it's limitless. And that's not the only thing. "I am- We are-" suggests that it's made up of a collective consciousness.

"Welcome! You have come to join us!"; It's not even trying to hide its goal, is it? To amass one more consciousness, one more soul within it, as it's made up of its users' corroded souls.

Did you know? Sand forms when rocks break down from weathering and eroding over thousands and even millions of years. But the Hourglass' process is faster than just waiting such an absurd amount of time. The moment Nene flipped the hourglass, the process had already begun. Along with the sand, Nene passes through it. Again and again. Again and again. Until her soul, slowly but surely, erodes into fine sand.

To put it in extremely simple terms, Kako was right. It's not an item that is actually capable of helping you reach your desired outcome. It dangles it in front of you like a carrot on a stick. That is all. It proves to you that it is capable of leading you to your desired result, but it doesn't allow you to reach it. No matter what you do, no matter how hard you think or how many times you try in desperation, you are unable to grasp the bait, the flicker of hope, in front of you.

One who sought riches would be killed by bandits. One who sought to gain someone's love ended herself and that someone. One who sought fame was killed by envy. One who wished to bring back people for the sake of someone else had that someone else disappear from existence. And one who simply wished to save her friends... Had them killed by her own hand.

But it's all right. For as long her soul is still in one piece, she can keep trying. Again and again and again... Wrapping her in its hands, pushing her down and continuing the slow process of corrosion. A fake "Good luck", an ironic one, fully aware of the end result.

Dehumanization

If you are familiar with my analysis of chapter 121, this is basically an expansion of it.

In it I talked about Amane's dehumanization process, how he is a victim of the Red House, a trapped soul who is unable to disobey, and also about having to kill his own family, his own little brother he loved so much, and then being forced into killing countless other people for the pit god which desensitized him completely.

Nene is directly put into Amane's shoes, where she fell victim to the Red House and was forced into its servitude. Unlike Kou in the past, who had been exorcised before he could harm the people he loved, Nene wasn't so lucky. She had to kill the friends she desperately attempted several times to save.

In this scene, Amane is projecting onto Nene, as she is in the same position as he once was. Holding onto her to prevent her from falling in a twisted way of providing comfort, possibly.

His assertion "See? I knew you could do it." suggested that a possessed Nene hesitated killing her loved ones, and maybe that struck a cord within him. That he had hesitated to kill his own family aswell, but he had no choice. That, just like him, she could do it. To further prove him right, that there's no meaning to life, death or anything else in this cursed house.

At that moment, The Red House had initiated a new feeder, freshly dehumanized. A kindred spirit.

Nene's sanity is frayed and she fell into despair. Her figure doesn't appear in the hourglass anymore as she flips the hourglass in a panic.

A new glimmer of hope (?)

Nene is now at her wits' end. She didn't even understand what had happened, only that she killed everyone. She can't figure out why. As a result, as she guessed, she would've repeated the same mistake.

However, a new hope emerges after she had been plunged into despair; The Clock Keeper of the Present. Will this hope be genuine and not just a carrot on a stick that Nene prepared to sacrifice everything for in vain?

Akane subtly reflecting in Nene's eyes reflect her desire to grasp on any sliver of hope she can find.

Thoughts and Predictions

Going a bit on an unserious remark, as a Re:Zero fan I absolutely loved this chapter. Subaru (who, if you don't know about the series, travels back to a point in time when he dies. He dies and suffers in various attempts to save the people he loves... A hell lot. He is unable to speak of this ability to others, so he suffers in silence.) has gained one more kindred spirit. I even illustrated this quick doodle of Nene and Subaru!

Back on topic, on the rare case that this is the worst she'll be through, it will permanently mentally scar her. Perhaps she might be able to put on a facade and pretend everything's fine, but no one is ever fine after being part of such horrors, having your friends die several times because of your failed attempts, and ultimately having them die by your very own hands. And if she's unable to speak about her experiences as this chapter suggested where she couldn't mention being from the future, then it's really over. I'm of the personal opinion that Iro will break Nene in order to further develop her character. Hit the bar as low as you possibly can, for your character to rise higher than ever before- That kind of technique. Every passing chapter seems to solidify this. Nene's flaws are tripping her up and making her horribly fail. She resolved to save everyone and fought by herself, but she was far too reckless in her desperation. Made a reckless decision of coming into contact with an entity that was properly explained as dangerous, had a hasty wish, and couldn't even figure out what actually needed to be changed after several attempts. She could only further fall into despair and break. I can't really put it into words properly as of now, but I can grasp what Iro wants to do with her character. Slowly, but surely, Iro has been working for this all along. Nene can no longer be ignorant of the world's cruelty. If she wants to understand and save everyone from it, she has to experience it for herself. Whether she gives up or stands back up as a result, it's a choice only she can make, isn't it?

As for Akane, as far as I can predict with the current information, there's 2 possibilities: 1. The Akane we see at the end is Akane of the 'original' timeline. The Clock Keepers' Boundary seems to be unaffected by changes in time (as it still exists despite the 7 Mysteries not existing in the new timeline), so if Akane stayed in there, then a Paradox could've been created where multiple "Akane Aoi" exist at the same time. 2. As the Clock Keeper of the Present, Akane is aware of all the attempts Nene made with the Hourglass, and as a result came to search for her after he died by her hands, aware of what just transpired. Both seem valid enough to me, so I'm honestly just curious. Can't wait until next chapter.

The cat's lines and interactions in chapter 126 further solidifies to me that it's related to Amane who had attempted to go back in time in 1968.

[ilsanslut]

TREAT YOU BETTER! [2]

♰ featuring: itoshi sae + itoshi rin [blue lock]

♰ note: do i even need to mention how anticipated this part was? i will mention though, that it did take me quite some time to write this and i tried to proofread it to the best of my ability, but i do apologize if there are some minor errors. lastly, sorry for putting it off for so long due to my hiatus, i hope you all enjoy!

sypnosis: the itoshi brothers punish you for your 'infidelity'. wc: 6.5k content/trigger warning(s): 18+. fem/fem-bodied reader. POST BLUE LOCK. rin is 19. sae is 21. sibling rivalry. implied thick/chubby!reader. EXTRA MEAN!RIN. possessive!rin. cocky!sae. bully!itoshi brothers. they are both assholes in this fic. PRIOR MENTIONS OF CHEATING. degradation. unprotected sex. fingering. squirting. rough sex. DUBIOUS CONTENT. spanking. dacryphilia. slut-shaming. groping. double-penetration. implied size kink. skull/throat-fucking. choking/borderline asphyxiation. minor angst. hair pulling. manhandling. breeding. excessive mentions of drool/spit + rin's focused mode. IMPACT PLAY (face slapping, tit slapping, cock/pussy slapping). basically, they really fuck you up but they swear it’s out of love. aftercare! ꒷꒦

view part one of TREAT YOU BETTER here: part one.

If purgatory was real, you were most certainly in it now. Penalized for your past life's sins and transgressions, you were chained and perched atop a platform before your accusers, between the heavens and the depths of hell. Except now, that platform was Rin’s bed, and the only eyes upon you were his and Sae’s—the latter of which continued to bore into your own as the rhythmic slapping of his hips against your ass refused to cease. And even now, there was that sickening twinkle in his eyes, full of sinister joy as he basked in the warped satisfaction of your psychological suffering. How lovely he found you, those plump tears streaming down your ruined cheeks—if he could, he would frame that photo for his foyer. How your plump brims continued to babble out pleas for him to stop, for him to slow down, to please let you catch your breath so that you could process the situation you found yourself in, but he didn’t. He wouldn’t. Not until you creamed around his cock in front of your pretty lil’ boyfriend, that is.

While you, on the other hand, were currently battling the inner turmoil the two demonic brothers were putting you through. In your head, Rin’s word’s played on a loop like a broken record, plagued to repeat that same damned phrase over and over again. ‘You told me you would wait, Nii-chan.’

They plotted against you, laid out the trap, and like the oblivious bunny you are, you stumbled right into the wolf’s den.

“Y’see this, Rinnie~?” Sae drawled breathlessly, using his free hand that wasn’t holding your hair to cup your jaw, manipulating your head in his sibling’s direction while he placed his chin atop your shoulder. Forced to once again meet the eyes of your lover, you would immediately notice the contemptuous and repulsed glare he used to stab into you like a searing, hot iron blade straight into your heart. But you could never miss the desire beneath his teal eyes—desire that almost turned his current enmity for you into lust. Should you venture to cast your eyes any lower, you would also observe the brewing tent inside his sweatpants, pushing the fabric to its absolute limit.

“What d’you think is making poor Y/N cry like this, hm? The fact that she’s been caught in her infidelity or this fat cock pummeling her tight cunt?” You could feel Sae’s wolfish grin against your flesh as he spoke, dragging sharp canines across the skin of your shoulder as his own teal oculars met his brother’s.

“Both.” Rin stated bluntly before his expression would twist sourly, his upper lip curling into a sneer while his eyes narrowed on you with malicious intent. “Though if I were to guess, I bet it’s your cock since she’s a little cockslut who can’t be satisfied with just one man’s dick.” He spat as he reached his hand up to undo the zipper on his windbreaker, pulling it down slowly to reveal his equally, if not more, built form than Sae’s.

“Oh~” Sae jeered much to your chagrin, slowing the pace of his hips so he could press himself flush against your ass and languidly hump his cock into you. Unfortunately, you were unable to keep your delighted mewls from slipping past your brims as his thick cock caressed your fluttering walls. “Y’hear that, princess? Even your boyfriend thinks that you’re a cock-addicted whore.” He used his grip on your hair and chin to mockingly shake your head back and forth, feigning pity in his tone to add more fuel to your smoldering fire.

He leaned into your ear, soft lips pressing right against your lobe as his teeth captured the soft flesh between his teeth, snarling lowly. “How d’you think he’d feel knowing that you were about to make a mess on my cock, huh?”

Amidst your whimpers and pleasured mewls, you frantically shook your head, trying your hardest to deny the accusation as Rin’s fixed glare on you only grew more scrutinizing. “M’not, m’not gonna—!” On the contrary, your body would deny your vehement retorts made prevalent by your quivering thighs, heightened moans, and the sinful way your walls clung to Sae's cock.

“Don’t fucking lie to me” Sae hissed in your ear, releasing his grip on your chin to quickly swat the fattened flesh of your breast, drawing a squeal from your lips. “Y’don’t think I can’t feel this greedy cunt sucking me in? Trying to milk me of everything I have, huh?”

“N-No! Ngh~! Sae, I-I can’t—”

Your cries were silenced when an opposing hand would soon grip your chin, forcing your gaze to meet the second set of teal eyes belonging to none other than Rin. He glowered down at you, his blunt nails digging into the soft flesh of your cheeks. Even with your strong reluctance to acknowledge it, Rin's intense gaze was enough to make you clamp harder around Sae.

“Cum on his cock, Y/N.” He ordered, his voice barely above a twisted growl. “It’s the only thing pretty sluts like you are good at, right?” His grip loosened for naught but a second to drag the pad of his thumb across your drooling and babbling brims. “Unless, you’re not . . . care to try and prove me wrong?”

You tried—you really, really tried—to hold back your orgasm, to prove Rin wrong, but the tantalizing way Sae pounded his length into you was intoxicating—tainting your mind with one need and one need only—your release. Your fists pounded against Sae's thighs behind you, trying to get midfeilder off of you, or at the very least to slow down—but it was futile. Your back rumbled from the vibrations in Sae's chest as he chuckled, his forearm caging itself around your neck and the crease of his other forearm pulling back his balled fist to effectively lock you in an unforgiving headlock, depriving your brain of precious oxygen. With your resolve all but diminished, you finally came undone before both your boyfriend and his elder brother.

All you could see was white as your vision blurred and your body seized as the coil in your tummy snapped, allowing your juices to flow out of you, fruitfully drenching both your and Sae's lower halves as well as the sheets beneath you. Your cries and pleas of euphoria filled the room, drowning out the lewd and now wet smacking sounds of Sae's pelvis against your ass, as well as he and his brother's mocking jeers. Without both of their grips on your body, you would have collapsed from the sheer intensity of it all, your body going limp as the ferocity of your orgasm nearly knocked you unconscious.

“Fuck yeah,” Sae groaned into your ear, though you were barely able to register it as he fucked you through your orgasm. “That’s it; that’s the stuff. Ngh, fuck. M’gonna cum too, gonna fill your pretty pussy to the brim.” He grunted as his thrusts grew sloppy from his impending orgasm.

But it never came. At least, not in the way you expected it.

At the last second before Sae finally came inside of you, your body cruelly hit the sheets as you were no longer supported by the strength of both men. On top of that, you suddenly felt horribly empty as the midfielder’s cock was wrenched out of you, leaving you to clench around nothing—though you were hardly in any state to utter a rebuttal.

In your daze, you heard the sounds of a struggle and Sae's enraged shout as you writhed between the sheets and something hot shot against your ass cheeks and lower back. Groggily, you mustered enough strength to push yourself up onto your elbows to glance over your shoulder, only to see a fucked-out and infuriated Sae forced back onto his haunches as Rin held his light auburn locks in a vice grip, equally, if not more, irate than his elder.

“What the fuck, Nii-chan.” Rin snarled, tugging Sae by his locks as if to enunciate his anger. “I thought we agreed that you weren’t allowed to cum inside of her, so what the fuck was that, huh?”

At first, Sae remained silent and merely opted to match Rin's glower with a quiet one of his own. Your weary eyes slid down, taking in his semi-hard cock that rested against his toned thighs, strings of yours and his arousal clinging to his girth, the thick lifts and falls of his chest, and the sweat trickling down his abs. Then your eyes shifted to Rin, where you noted the hardness of his angrily-clenched jaw, the furious downward pull of his thick brows over his captivating teal eyes, blazing with anger and betrayal, and the undeniable bulge that tugged at the material of his sweatpants.

The way your pussy clenched around nothing at the sight was unavoidable.

They were both too fucking hot for your own good.

“It’s not my fault that her greedy fuckhole wouldn’t let me go.” Sae snapped, smacking Rin’s fist from his locks. “And besides. . .” Something sinister arose on his features, tainting his expression with the need to torment the forward. “You heard her, didn’t you? She likes the way my cock fucks her more than yours anyway.”

You could hear a pin drop in the silence that followed after Sae’s bombshell of a statement. As you lay there, your heart raced, and a sense of unease washed over you, causing a pit of guilt to form in the pits of your tummy. Rin said nothing in response, staggering back from his brother with an incredulous and infuriated look before his face twisted into a maddened snarl, which Sae countered with a smug look. Had you looked even further, you could see the aura of their monstrous egos swirling around them, threatening to rip one another limb from limb.

“You motherfucker.” He growled, fists clenching with pure unadulterated rage as he lunged for his sibling yet again, only this time, you stepped in.

“Rin, stop!” You shouted, lunging forward to grab your boyfriend’s wrist before he could get his hands on Sae once more.

Rin's focus finally shifted to you, his eyes wide as clarity dawned on him for a moment, before the disdain and anger he felt for you at the time zeroed in on your form, immobilizing you where you kneeled. His fury was like a searing wave. It washed over you in that instant, and it was so intense that it made your knees weaken and your heart race. You’d seen him look at others like this before, but never directed at you before. His opponents, Isagi Yoichi, Shidou Ryusei, and even Sae on occasions, sure, but you? Never before in your life.

“You.” His tone was gutteral and animalistic, unlike anything you’d ever heard from Rin before.

Sae took advantage of the situation at that precise moment to slide off the mattress and out of dodge, but not before giving you a knowing wink and a sly look. Rin didn’t even seem to react to this. In fact, now that Sae was out of the picture, his arm dropped to his side, and you became the new target of his wrath.

It was as though you were peering into the eyes of a savage beast—of a starving lion who had finally cornered a gazelle who continuously fled and eluded the beast from her fate. Before you could react, Rin’s hands were on you, a strong hand wrapped around your neck to lift you from your haunches and into a proper kneeling position so that he could glower at you at eye level.

“Don’t you think for a second, Y/N, that you’re innocent in all of this.” He was seething, hissing through clenched teeth as you could feel his breath wafting over your frightened visage. “You know, the only reason that I returned home early from my jog was because Nii-chan told me that he had just arrived home? Do you know that it only took me ten minutes to come back after that?” You could feel his grip trembling in your veins, like he was holding himself back from lashing out at you further. "You mean to tell me that it only took him 600 seconds to strip you down and fuck you stupid on his cock in the mere minutes that he was here, huh? For you to forget your loyalty and love for me in only 10 minutes, Y/N?"

Tears that you hadn’t even realized had begun to spill streamed down your cheeks. Your heart ached with the knowledge that your actions had shattered trust and betrayed the trust of someone who had placed faith in you. In the midst of your tears, you struggled to find the right words to express the depths of your remorse. You wanted to take back your choices and undo the damage you had done, but you knew that you couldn't erase the past. It was far too late for that.

“But you know what,” Rin continued, his grip on your throat as well as his expression softening. “I’m not mad.” He whispered, his voice suddenly sincere. His hand left your neck entirely in favor of stroking your hair lovingly with his other caressing your cheek, a stark contrast to the unbridled wrath he had displayed toward you only moments before.

You blinked, dumbfounded. But you could not help but lean into his tenderness and crave his affection after such a strenuous situation, especially when he offered such gentle touches and words.

“Y-You’re not?” You whispered, your voice hopeful, as tears welded up in your eyes for a different reason now—out of joy.

Rin shook his head with the faintest of smiles on his face. “I’m not . . .” His tone remained soft, pressing a sweet kiss to your forehead that you found yourself falling into. Almost immediately, you were melting into him, graceful for your boyfriend’s compassion.

“I’m furious.”

In an instant, a switch had flipped, and once again, Rin turned the tables on you. Before you could respond, his fist became unbearably tight at the crown of your hair, pulling mercilessly at the roots before he tugged your gaze to meet his, ablaze with fury. Now, it was your turn to look betrayed as your pretty eyes widened with both incredulity and fear as you gaped at your lover and the sinister look in his eye.

“But don’t worry. I’m sure I’ll feel much, much better after I blow some steam off by using your pretty body.”

You could barely manage a squeal as you were soon manhandled atop Rin's bed until you were lying on your back with your head hanging over the edge. Your vision turned upside down, and you craned your neck to look up at Rin, who was busy ridding himself of his sweatpants and boxers until he was finally able to tug free his painfully hard cock right above your face. Your mouth watered at the sight of your lover’s well-endowed length at its full mast, thick, hot, and sweltering with a vein bulging along its otherwise smooth underside. His blushed tip drooled with pre, which he used to lube his hand as he pumped himself above you, unable to keep his gaze from wandering over your lewd, plump, and womanly body.

“Fuck,” He swore as he tossed his head back, allowing you to watch as his balls clenched and length twitched from the wave of pleasure that overcame him.

You noticed movement in the space between Rin's muscular thighs as you watched Sae sit in Rin's desk chair behind him, one arm resting on the arm rest while the other languidly stroked his semi-hard cock and one leg resting atop the other at the ankle. When he caught your gaze, he shot you a wolfish smirk, using your slick to roll his thumb around his reddened tip.

“Don’t look at me, princess. Look at your pretty boyfriend.”

At his command, your gaze rose, only to see Rin using his thumb to spread your lips and guide his cock into the warmth of your mouth. As you took inch by inch into your throat, you could hear your lover groaning above you, swearing something about you swallowing him down like it was nothing. Though it really wouldn’t be a punishment if he made things easy for you, would it?

Soon, he reached the hilt of your throat, and his balls were firmly nestled against your nose, allowing you to inhale his salty yet pleasant musk. Both of his large palms reached down to grab the sides of your head before his hips began to thrust himself in and out of your tight cavern, gradually picking up his pace until he was pistoning in and out of you without mercy. You spluttered and gagged, your eyes squeezing shut as you focused on breathing through your nose when you could as his balls pummeled relentlessly into your nose, making sure to smother you with his heavy orbs each time.

“Hngh, shit, Y/N!” Rin swore, his eyes torn between fixating on the sinful bounce of your large breasts from his unrelenting thrusts or the way his girth bulged your throat every time he bottomed out inside of you. “Taking this dick like it’s nothing, huh?” Rin hissed through clenched teeth as he grabbed both of your breasts in his palms and delivered merciless squeezes. “This is what sluts like you were made for, hm? Swallowing down cocks with no efforts, draining them of every last drop?” He paused, tossing his head back to groan as his balls churned beneath him. He had been pent up for so long that he knew he wouldn’t last any longer. “Never content with just one man’s dick inside of you, always craving more . . Fuck~!"

As 'effortlessly' as he described you accepting his length and brutish treatment, you still needed to breathe, which was proving to be an impossible task as his thrusts became more animalistic and sloppy. The harsh sounds of his tip bullying the end of your throat resonated off of the room, the wet “glrk, glrk, glrks” filling your ears and making your cheeks burn at the vulgarity of it all. Your hands reached up to his muscular thighs, seeking purchase from his lethal thrusts, only to have both of your wrists seized in one large hand and pinned atop your breasts. His other hand went to your nose and tightly pinched it, effectively stopping your only source of life—breathing—and adding to his savagery. The distinct pleasure moans he once emitted had devolved into almost feral snarls and grunts, as if you were being ravaged by a beast rather than your typically stoic boyfriend.

“Take it, fuckin’ take it.” He spat as his hips stuttered. Then, without warning, he pressed himself against your face, the base of his cock hilting at your lips as his balls smushed flush against your nose, further deepening your struggle to breathe. You soon found yourself preoccupied with not choking as Rin's hot, steaming cum shot down your throat, forcing you to swallow it all down. That did not stop you from flailing beneath Rin, though, and he effortlessly wrangled you down and made you take rope after rope of his seed into your spasming throat.

You whined aloud, attempting to yell out to him that if he didn’t let up, you were about to pass out, but it was clear that he didn’t give a damn if you remained conscious or not. That is, until a few more agonizing seconds passed and black spots started to obscure your vision when Rin freed himself from your throat, his semi-hard shaft hanging over your face with strings of your saliva and his seed still clinging to his length.

You gasped for air, greedily gulping down sweet, sweet breaths of pure oxygen, and your lungs were more than thankful for the reprieve. Despite your blood pumping furiously in your ears, you could still make out the sound of a chuckle from behind Rin, belonging to none other than Sae.

“Damn, Rinnie. I thought you were going to kill her.” He snickered, still lazily stroking at his dick, which twitched in his palm when your eyes met yet again.

But there was no use concentrating on him, because Rin retreated a few steps and blocked your view once more. Looking up at him with your thoroughly ruined visage, you nearly gasped at the untamed lust swimming within his eyes. It was the same expression he would have when his ego took over on the field—hungry and damn near starving.

“Not yet.”

You felt rough hands grabbing at your body again, tossing you about as though you were a ragdoll, until you found yourself in an all-too-familiar position on your hands and knees. Those same hands seized at your plump hips and snatched you back until your ankles hung off of the bed, forcing a squeal to rip from your lips. Your hips jumped as Rin's blunt cock tip touched your clit, and your toes curled as he gave you several sharp smacks of his cock to your cunt.

“R-Rinnie.” You whimpered, casting a sidelong glance at him, your mouth slightly open in defiance of his actions, pleading for a break, if only to catch your breath before he pummeled you until you couldn’t see straight. However, your voice was cut short when you felt his hands seize a handful of your hair and tug at your head until your back was hard against his chest.

“Sluts don’t talk, Y/N.” He spat against your cheek. “They moan, get their pussies used, their throats fucked, and only say, 'Yes, sir, give me more.’ Do you understand me?”

You nodded silently, knowing that trying to talk sense into his head when he was acting this way was a fruitless endeavor.

“Good girl.” His lips brushed against your cheek in a fleeting kiss. “I don’t want to hear another word out of your mouth unless it’s begging me for me, understood?”

With the knowledge that answering out loud would be foolish, you nodded once more, suppressing a startled cry as he quickly brought you back down into his sheets, pressing your back into an almost painful arch with his hand planted firmly on your head. Rin seized his cock and sank it inch by inch into your tight cunt, evoking deep, guttural keens from you both without saying another word. He gave you a breathy, arousing laugh that curled your toes. He couldn’t believe that after all of this, your pretty pussy still proceeded to greedily suckle his cock as though it just couldn’t get enough.

He gave you no time to respond before he launched into his ferocious pace, pouring all of his anger, contempt, and hatred toward you into your abused hole in a way that left you feeling nothing but pure euphoria. Shouts and high-pitched cries of pleasure tore from your throat against your better judgment, partially muffled by the sheets he forced your head into. Your head was spinning, and your thoughts were focused only on how deliciously Rin pounded into you. His cock's mouth-watering curve made your thighs tremble and your knees weaken beneath you as he relentlessly pounded into your sweet spot. Observing your shaking limbs, Rin steadied your hips with both of his hands, using his improved grip to thrust more deliberately into your cunt, his thick girth bottoming out inside of you each time.

“Look a’that” Rin drawled breathlessly amidst the rhythmic clapping of his pelvis against your ass, the vulgar bouncing off of the walls. “My dick is so good you just can’t shut the fuck up, huh?”

“Ah, yes, yes, God, yes, Rin~!” You babbled, unable to stop the tears of ecstasy that squeezed from your pretty eyes.

“—But you love Nii-chan’s dick more than mine, right?”

Suddenly his ferocious pace turned into lackadaisical humps, ruining what immense pleasure had been building up within you and corrupting your mind with the need for more. You whined, one partially in desperation and the other in frustration. You moved your hips, trying to fuck yourself on Rin's cock, while craning your neck to get a better look at your boyfriend. Rin was no idiot, though. Having already sensed your intentions, his grip steeled on your hips, preventing you from moving further, much to your vexation.

“Ah, ah, Y/N.” Rin chided, the faintest hint of a smug smirk tugging at the corners of his lips with his eyes narrowed in amusement. He firmly pressed your ass against his hips, circling his length inside of you with agonizingly slow hip rotations that taunted you with just enough stimulation that it left you mewling for more. “Answer me first, you needy bitch.” A gleam of sadism twinkled in his eye, making your heart lurch in his chest at how closely he resembled his brother.

“N-No, God, Rin.” You whispered breathlessly, shaking your head in an attempt to think clearly amidst your cockdrunk haze. However, each subtle rotation of his hips against your ass stirred your thoughts in a way that only muddied them further. “I love your cock more, I-I swear—”

“—So you’re a cheater, a whore, and a dirty little liar, Y/N?”

Your breath hitched in your throat, pushing yourself up from the mattress to now see Sae standing in front of you, glowering down at you with the same, if not more, sadistic gleam in his eye. Not daring to break your gaze from his own, you watched through your peripheral vision as his fists pumped his hard shaft only mere inches away from your face.

“Here I was, thinking you had more shame than this.” Sae huffed, clicking his tongue as his thumb stroked over your swollen bottom lip. “Yet here you are, so desperate for yet another cock in your drooling fuckhole that you’d do anything—even lie—just to relive the feeling of having what’s left of your pretty lil’ brains fucked out, right?”

“I—I . . .”

Resonably, you were at a loss for words, but there was no need to worry as Rin spoke up for you, “And you can’t even answer him? Pathetic. I bet if we let all of those lukewarm fuckfaces from Blue Lock run a train on you, you’d love every second of it, huh, princess?” He further accentuated his point with a hard, trained thrust deep into your womb. You swear he even grazed your cervix.

“No, no! I-I only want you, Rin. I only want you, I love you!”

You squeezed your eyes shut, and, although you were oblivious to it, the brothers shared a look with one another. Their silence was deafening, and even Rin’s hips had stilled within you. However, before you were able to voice your confusion, you would feel sharp, phallic taps against your cheek. You didn’t even have to open your eyes to know what it was.

“Good girl.” Sae cooed condescendingly as though he were talking to a mutt worthy of praise.

“Probably the most truthful statement you said all night,” Rin followed, albeit far quieter than his sibling as his thrusts once again resumed, drawing tantalizing moans from your lips. “Then tell me after this, which one of us fucks you better, yeah? And don’t you dare.” He paused, using his large hand to rain down a set of smacks on both of your pillowy ass cheeks forcing a cry to rip from your lips. “Dream of lying to me.”

You nodded as best you could against the force of Sae pressing his cock against your face, using his thumb to hold his length taut as he literally fucked your face with it. Immediately, Rin’s brutal pace resumed again. Using his newly acquired leverage and his bruising grip on your hips, he pressed his foot against the mattress next to your knee and proceeded to fuck himself deeper into you. It felt like he was trying to pry you open with each thrust. Had it not been for Sae taking the opportunity to shove his cock into your mouth the moment you opened it to muffle your cry of ecstasy, you were certain that the neighbors would’ve thought you were being murdered.

In a way, though, it was almost like you were.

It was like you were being sandwiched between two killers, only instead of making you feel agony, they were both hellbent on delivering the most utmost pleasure to you—Rin rearranging your guts from behind and Sae feeding you inch after inch of his thick cock, neither one of them stopping until they were satisfied with having your belly pumped full of their cum.

My, the Itoshi brothers were truly the devil, weren’t they?

“Hngh, fuck. F-Fuck!” Rin snarled from behind you, his once quiet moans now morphing into beastly grunts and animalistic growls. You were certain that the blunt tips of his nails were now slicing into you from his strength, one of his hands dragging down your lower back to leave reddened marks in their wake until they marked your rippling ass, which was soon pelted with a few more furious swats.

“Stupid cumslut, grippin’ me so fuckin’ tight.” His voice grew raspy as his head tossed back in euphoria, carnal pants and heaves ripping from his throat so frequently that it almost did feel like you were being ravaged by a beast.

It was to the point where Sae's cock was slipping out of your mouth in favor of his palms holding your cheeks, and turning your head to look over your shoulder at your lover. Though still as eager for his release as Rin was, he continued to thrust his cock lazily against your face and pillowy brims.

“My god, princess. Look at what you’re turning him into.”

It was a sight to behold—one that you had only witnessed for yourself once before at the Blue Lock vs. U-20 game. Rin’s brows were raised, and his teal oculars were wide, swirling with untamable lust and desire as though he were being consumed by it. His lips were parted, his jaw dropped partially as his tongue dangled out of his mouth, and globs of crystalline drool pooled over his pink muscle, oozing down his chin and onto your abused cheeks below. He wasn’t looking at you. (You don’t know if you would be able to handle it if he did.) Instead, his gaze engrossed itself in the way your ass plapped against his pelvis, the sticky lines of your juices, and his drool connecting the two of you in a way that was beyond intimate. He was intoxicated, thoroughly pussy-drunk as the only thought in his mind was, ‘Get pregnant, get pregnant, get Y/N fucking pregnant.’

The sight alone was so arousing that you couldn’t help the way your pussy clenched around his cock, strangling it further to the point where a near feral snarl ripped through his now clenched teeth, bared at you in ferocity.

“Don’t fucking do that, fucking bitch.” He snapped, delivering another smack to your ass as his gaze finally raised to meet your own, promising lethality.

“M’sorry! I-I’m sorry, Rinnie!” You wailed against Sae’s cock as Rin’s hips slammed into you with such malice that you felt your legs going numb from the overwhelming pleasure.

“No th’fuck you’re not.” He slurred, just as drunk on the stimulation as you were. “This is what the fuck you’ve wanted this entire time, isn’t it? Wanted me to fuck you up? Make you scream from my ngh! From my cock ruining your pretty little pussy, isn’t it?”

“Y-Yes! God, yes, yes, Rin, please fuck me up more!”

“Yeah? Y’want me to put a pretty baby in you? Want me to make you a mommy, Y/N? Make that gorgeous tummy swollen with my kids, yeah?”

“Y-Yes, please! Please, please, make me a mommy! M-make me yours!”

“Silly, girl.” He snarled, delivering another quick swat to your ruined ass. “You were always mine.”

The idea of filling you to the brim with his seed and claiming you in a way that no man could ever claim—as the mother of his children—caused his erratic pace to falter and grow sloppier by the minute.

“Mine.” He growled. “Mine, mine, all fucking mine!”

Then, almost in perfect unison—pristine synchronization—you came together. Hips smothered firmly against your ass, he pumped rope after rope of his hot, thick cum inside of you, aiming deep into your womb with every intention of impregnating you. While you, on the otherhand, were unable to hold yourself up any longer, collapsing on the mattress as your orgasm washed over you. A barrage of your sweet juices fired over Rin’s cock, pelvis, thighs, and the poor sheets beneath you. Before you had any time to regain your bearings, you felt another tap on your cheek of the same phallic length from earlier.

“You forgot about me, pretty? C’mon, open that mouth for me one more time, yeah?”

Exhausted, you did as he asked without resistance, allowing your jaw to fall slack just enough for Sae to slip his cock into it. In a few pumps with his fist, the midfilder gladly fed you thick ropes of his seed, painting your mouth with his sticky release, which you wearily sucked down.

Then, unceremoniously, the two brothers collapsed beside you atop the ruined sheets.

The three of you lay there, completely depleted of all that you possessed. You were unquestionably the worst of the three, with deep teeth marks, scratches from blunt nails, bruises from fingerprints, and splotches of darkening hickies all over your body. Had anyone known any better, you appeared as though you had been mauled by savages—those very same savages who lay exhausted beside you.

After several much needed beats of deep silence, you felt the stirring of both of them pushing themselves up from the bed, and hands that were once so rough and unforgiving on your body were now handling you with the utmost care as though you were a porcelain doll made of the finest glass. As you walked the thin line bordering consciousness and unconsciousness, you felt warm, moist towels caressing your thighs, chest, and forehead, ridding you of any filth that tainted your once-supple skin. The sheets that had become beyond soiled from all of your fluids were gently lifted from beneath you and replaced with warm ones that had just come out of the dryer that had been running before Sae arrived. Just as you were about to fall asleep, your body was manipulated once more, this time into another equally warm one, causing your heavy lids to flutter open to focus on none other than your boyfriend—Rin's teal oculars.

“You still with me?” He inquired, his previously harsh tone softening to gentle and tender, as if speaking any louder would shatter your fragility.

You nodded weakly, seeking solace in his warmth and soft body, snuggling your petite frame into his. Rin quietly returned the favor, running his fingers through your hair and giving you occasional massages in the spots where he and Sae got too rough with you.

Speaking of, you heard Rin's door open and saw Sae standing in front of you, adorning a pair of black designer boxers.

“Here.” The midfeilder said plainly, passing a miniature carton of strawberry milk your way with a straw poked through the center.

Clearly in no position to receive such generosity, Rin accepted it for you, gently maneuvering you into a position where you could comfortably sip the much needed liquid into your dehydrated body. As you did so, Rin’s head rested atop your own, but not before he placed a tender, sweet kiss on your forehead full of love, unlike the one from earlier that was meant to lure you into a false sense of security. This is exactly what you needed after such arduous affairs, being held in your lover’s strong arms while enjoying the best strawberry milk you’ve ever had.

What should’ve been a cute moment was interrupted by Sae, who, with a look of disgust on his features, stated, “You two are disgusting.”

“Fuck you too, Nii-chan.” Rin shot over his shoulder, not missing the way Sae gave him the finger on his way out as he slammed his room door shut, leaving you and Rin in what should have been a comfortable silence.

But it was hampered by the sense of ambiguity that pervaded your relationship. The weight of past transgressions and tribulations weighed upon you both so heavily that it was nearly suffocating, threatening to take you both alive if it wasn’t for—

“I’m sorry.” The two of you stated in unison before, rather comically, whipping your heads to stare at one another, bewildered.

“Y/N.” Rin sighed heavily, shaking his head in denial. “You shouldn’t be the one apologizing. I should be. I made it seem like everything was all your fault when it was really Sae and I’s.” Another sigh drew from his lips as the realization dawned on him of the agreement he had made with his older brother to allow them to share you, one, without your prior consent, and two, without your knowledge. Not to mention, pinning the entire thing on you as though you were the infidelious one here.

“Y-Y/N.” His voice quivered. His gaze, too ashamed to look at you any further, drew to the ceiling. In the bright lights of his room, you watched as his eyes glazed over, tears that he refused to let fall clearly stinging at his irises. His face was etched with anguish; the weight of his actions had hit him like a sledgehammer, and his distress was palpable. “I-I’m sorry.” He whispered, daring himself to glance in your direction.

“Rinnie.” You uttered softly, biting back a wince as your sore arm rose to gently cup his cheek, the pad of your thumb swiping at his waterline to catch a straying tear. He wasn’t too good with words of sincerity, and you knew that—you wouldn’t press him for more. “I forgive you, so please don’t cry.” As you leaned in to give him a soft peck on the jaw, you noticed that you also felt the familiar sting of tears pricking your eyes. “You’re going to make me cry too, baby.”

Both of you were unable to control the gentle and quiet laughter that jostled your beings. And there it was—the moment of reprieve where the pressure of the unknown was lifted, replaced by a profound sense of reconciliation and renewal. Your eyes met with an intensity that conveyed unspoken apologies, forgiveness, and the promise of a fresh beginning. You two felt more intimate and connected to one another at that precise moment than you had ever experienced.

After you had finally finished the last of your drink, Rin took the empty carton from you and set it on his nightstand. You then proceed to curl into his chest, to which he ensared you in his grasp, entwining your limbs in his. With your head nestled against his chest, the rhythmic beat of his heart soothed you and eased your mind or any lingering parasites. That is when you sensed it: the tranquil siren's song of sleep drawing you deeper and deeper into its pacifying depths.

However, before you could finally embrace slumber’s sweet call, Rin’s soft voice called out to you once more.

“Y/N?”

“Hm?”

“I love you.”

“. . . I love you too, Rinnie.”

ⓒ vampiie 2023 — all rights reserved. please do not repost my work outside of tumblr, modify, or translate my work in any form/means. please do not share my work to tiktok or any other site.

[chuubian]

Good luck, babe!

Tags Arlecchino x fem reader, cheating (on a man not each other), angst, degradation, praise kink needy Arlecchino, wedding, strap on sex, strap sucking MDNI

Summary Love was not something you had ever felt for that man. That seemed okay for a while, at least, until Arlecchino came into your life and changed it forever.

A/N This was supposed to come out before Christmas, but I was in the hospital so its late. I'm sorry if the eggnog feels too seasonal.

The fatui always goes full out with their celebrations. A full-sized orchestra is playing passionately in the reception hall, classical music echoing through Zapolyarny palace. Beautiful lanterns hang from the ceiling and pillars, keeping the party warm from the eternal winter raving outside. Slumped against the cold metal chair, your eyes dart around the room restlessly— looking for a familiar head of white and black hair. It proves nearly impossible with the large hoard of people in your way.

Standing upright, you twist uncomfortably— the iron beams had dug into your back and arms. A dull throb ripples through your flesh. Does the Tsaritsa have something against keeping people cozy? Pushing the pain aside, you weave through the crowd. You find yourself in front of the main table— overflowing with delectable food and sugary drinks, ready for anyone to stuff themselves until their heart stops. Plucking a small plastic cup from the surface of the counter, you fill it to the brim with eggnog.

The drink is sickeningly sweet and thick, like pure honey is being poured directly into your throat. Warmth spreads throughout your throat and chest, cascading down and pooling in your stomach. A choker is wrapped around the circumference of your neck, pressing against your jugular, chafing your sensitive skin. The heat seems to get stuck in your esophagus— trapped by the little strap of leather looped around your throat. You can't wait for this to be over.

Fingers tapping the cup impatiently, your eyes are focused on the swarm of people in front of you, Dancing happily as you stand to the side. Obsidian black fingers yank the eggnog away from you— lifting the drink to bright red lips. Arlecchino gulps down the entire thing, unbothered by the alcohol. The rim of the cup is left stained with her cherry red lipstick. A small part of you aches to press your own lips against it, to get even a bit of herself on you. But not here.

“Bored?”

Nodding, you look up at her— towering over you with her impossibly high heels. The red-eyed woman reaches over, running a sharp nail over your choker.

“You look nice. Did he get that for you?”

“Yeah… He insisted I wear it tonight.”

Her slender fingers slide under the thick fabric, tugging lightly. Leaning down, her breath brushes against your skin delicately— sending shivers down your spine.

“I could have gotten you something way better you know…”

“Don't be like that, it's nice.”

Scoffing, she stands back up normally, letting go of the choker.

“Could've been better.”

You roll your eyes, glancing down. Sometimes, it’s difficult to look her in the eyes. Her stare is far too intense. Like it’s burning into your soul. Piercing straight through you, shooting a flaming thrill through your veins, lighting your nerve ending on fire. A large hand snakes under your chin— forcing you to look up. You swear you can see embers blazing behind her X-shaped pupils.

“Look at me.”

Pushing her hand away, you scan your surroundings nervously. Thank God no one is looking in your direction.

“Arle… you can’t act like that here…”

“Oh please, who would say anything? I'm a harbinger.”

Her voice is condescending, as if chastising you for ever thinking less of her position. It's true. People are much too terrified of her to dare make up rumors. Unfortunate souls in the past had spread gossip about the fourth harbinger—stories about her tearing families apart and stealing the children, thrusting them into a life as heartless soldiers. It did not take long for the men who started the scandal to be found dead. Alone in their homes, with seemingly no signs of a break in. Their bodies were completely untouched and clean, except for the eyes that were— almost surgically— plucked out, and the large holes left in their chest. Their hearts somehow went missing. No blood stained their shirts, or the ground beneath them. It was never confirmed, but everyone knows.

“Still… he's already suspicious.”

“So? Let his mind wander. He won't do anything anyways. He's weak.”

Clicking your tongue, you push her hand away, glaring at her.

“He is not.”

Arlecchino's fierce eyes narrow.

“He is.”

Ignoring her, you adjust your choker. Suddenly, it's far too warm inside here. Isn't this Snezhnaya? Why is it so hot?

“Whatever. Let's not talk about him, yeah? Let's go somewhere private.”

You knew what that meant. It's expected at this point. It's really the only reason you didn't decide to stay home. Even the Tsaritsa herself could not have made you attend this party if Arlecchino was not here.

“I'll join you in a few minutes…”

Her icy hand comes up to pat you on the cheek.

“Alright then. I’ll see you later.”

The harbinger doesn't wait for an answer before sauntering away, taking all the heat with her, leaving you isolated and numb— like an iceberg, sailing across a frigid bottomless sea. For a few minutes, you stay put. Watching the people laughing and having fun around you. The glow on their faces makes you aware of the hollow rift widening in your chest. It’s as if your heart and lungs are carved out, leaving nothing but suffocating solitude. They're so happy.

Maybe the choker is just too tight.

Definitely too tight.

Swallowing hard and taking a deep breath, you make your way towards the main doors. Your shoes clack against the hard, frosty concrete floors. A brisk gust of wind breezes past you as you step into the hallway. Faint shudders follow— crisp surges of chilling unease and dread pour over your head, trailing down and assembling at the bottoms of your feet. Each step towards that one room, the one you're so familiar with, is agonizing.

Stopping in front of large wooden double doors, the air almost seems like it's stolen from your lungs. This is it. The eggnog you had drunk earlier is sinking to the bottom of your stomach, swirling and leaving you nauseous. Heavy doors push back against you, refusing to move as you force your way through. Loud creaking echoes through the barren hallways— almost masking the sound of loud classical music that somehow still reaches you here deep in Zapolyarny palace.

“Finally.”

A cold hand quickly entangles itself in your hair, dragging you closer until her lips crash against yours. Flames feel as if they've engulfed you— scorching desire completely numbing the tips of your fingers, mouth going dry. Her tongue drags against your bottom lip, requesting access. Your mind is foggy, struggling to concentrate on anything other than the feeling of her soft lips on yours. The fingers in your hair tighten, pulling gently and creating gentle tingles all over your scalp. The man waiting for you at home is not even a concern anymore, all that matters is this. Her.

Dull surprised groans are swallowed and muffled between you. Strong arms shove you onto the bed in the back of the room. It's soft and fluffy. She clearly made sure to prepare everything for your clandestine meeting. Your lips are freed from hers, swollen and stained with scarlet lipstick. Arlecchino’s expert hands make quick work of the leather strap wrapped around your throat— unbuckling the metal smoothly. Relief floods over you. It's like you can finally breathe properly, without the stupid choker restricting you.

“It has been far too long.”

Her voice is darkened, deep and overladen with desire.

“I missed this…”

“Are you sure it's not me you missed?”

She teases, slowly climbing on top of you. Her hands plant themselves on the mattress beside your head. From down here, she looks heavenly. It couldn't be farther from reality. She is evil incarnate. Sin and temptation in a human form. There's no other reason you fell under her spell- into her bed— so easily.

“That's basically the same thing, Arle.”

Her knees gently push your legs apart, settling between them. As she leans down, her smooth hair grazes against your skin— tickling your face. Warm puffs of air sweep over the side of your neck. The closeness is causing your head to spin. You're left paralyzed— unsure of what to do or say next. This does not go unnoticed by Arlecchino's sharp eyes.

She smiles. For the first time that night. The pressure of her body weighs pushes you down, further into the bed. It’s hot. Despite the heaviness against your chest, you can feel the soft flesh of her waist and chest. Nothing has ever felt better than this, Part of you wishes this is how you would die, underneath her. Those men got off lucky being murdered by her. Her alluring voice was the last thing they heard.

“It's really not. Just admit you missed me.”

Her red-stained lips brush against your jugular. Your hands itch to touch her, to take any part of her you can't— but they are too busy being held down by her strong grip. Sharp pain shoots up your spine as her pointy teeth nip at the thin skin of your throat. The words are stuck in your esophagus, unable to get out. And although the choker is gone, the suffocating sensation has not gone away.

Bony, deft hands hurriedly undo the buttons of your shirt, pushing it open. Her pointed nails scratch down your chest and tummy. It feels like you're being cut open— with her making an incision right over your heart and carving it out. Knowing her, she has every intention to.

A trail of spit and lipstick are evidence of the harbinger’s messy kisses on your skin. A quick shower could remove the makeup stains left behind, but by tomorrow your stomach will be adorned with deep red and purple bruises- intensifying and darkening as the days go on. Any crouching or bending afterwards will probably sting and ache.

Intense, x pupil eyes rove over your body hungrily. Your half-stripped body is feverish despite the frigid blizzard raging just outside the window behind you. Unsteadily, your arms wrap around Arlecchino’s shoulders— wishing that she would hurry up. Sooner than you can complain, she interjects.

“I know, I'll give you what you want soon.”

“You always say that, and it always takes forever.”

She rolls her eyes, playing with the waistband of your pants.

“There is nothing wrong with enjoying my food.”

A light sting makes your hairs stand on end as the black- and white-haired woman presses her nail into your flesh harshly and traces the hem of your waistband.

“Ow!! I’m not one of your victims; you have to treat me with care!”

“Oh please, you like it when I'm mean.”

Taking matters into your own hands, you find the edge of her jacket and push it open. The fabric resists when going over her shoulders, and she does not assist even a little bit. After watching you struggle for a few seconds, she smirks— tenderly shoving your wrist away.

“You need help there?”

Provocatively, Arlecchino shrugs off her jacket and easily removes the shirt underneath. Your mouth waters at the sight of her bare chest. It's like seeing the full divinity of an archon for the first time. If she had asked you to denounce your loyalty to the Tsaritsa at this moment, you'd do it without hesitation. Your greedy hands grope and grab at the tent in her pants.

“Already…? Were you that excited to see me?”

“Did you want me to be unprepared?”

Thumbing at the button on her pants, you watch as more of her pale skin is uncovered. Only you get to see her like this. The leather of the harness digs into her hips and the small bit of fat around her tummy swells over the material. Eyes wide, you look up at her, running your finger over the edge of the strap.

“What are you waiting for?”

She sits up, pushing your head towards her pelvis.

“Get to work.”

Tentatively, you shove her pants down until they’re caught around her knees. The bright red silicone springs up— almost hitting you in the face. Crouching over, your hand wraps around the base as you glance up at her. It is unfair how heavenly she looks even at this angle. Your lips wrap around the thick head. It stretches your jaw unpleasantly.

“Mmmm.”

She grunts impatiently.

“Come on, I know you can take it.”

The harbinger’s large hand descends down to rest on the back of your head— encouraging you to take her deeper. Your eyebrows furrow. It's a struggle to take everything at once. Tears spring up as the hard silicone nudges at the back of your throat. A low growl vibrates in her esophagus as her fingers curl in the threads of your hair, pushing you down further.

Coughing and gagging from the sudden force, you swallow around the intrusion. Just the thought of her feeling your mouth working for and pleasing her through the strap makes your stomach do little flips. You press your thighs together— It's nearly unbearable to have to hold back.

“Taking me so well, such a good girl.”

Her voice is rough, tinged with pleasure. Nasty squelching fills the room as you’re choked on her cock. Saliva coats your lips and chin, dripping down the base. Blood rushes to your face, overheating and setting your nerves alight.

“Fuck... You love this don't you? You like being under me, serving me.”

Nodding, wet salty tears trickle down your cheeks. It's arduous work to get proper air into your lungs. They simmer and throb from the lack of oxygen, but the burn is thrilling. Finally, she lets up. Her hands let your head snap back up.

Gasping for air, you can feel the blood rushing back into your fingertips and your face finally returning back to a normal temperature. A thick glob of drool still connects your shiny abused lips to the strap hanging from Arlecchino's hips. Your hands feebly grip onto her thighs for purchase. A cold, delicate thumb ghosts over your jaw— compelling you to look at her in her crazed red eyes. They're glowing, charged.

“You don’t think you're done yet, do you?”

It's not a question. It's a command to keep going. Your mouth opens up, accepting the dull head of silicone in. There's an ache in your cheeks and lips that draws a shaky sigh from your gut. She tsks softly, thumb massaging your jaw.

“I thought you were better than this. We worked so hard to get you to this point and you can't do it for more than a few minutes?”

Her claws hook into the flesh of your cheeks, squishing them together and forcing you further down. Viscous spit does little to lubricate properly— the friction inflames your throat, but Arlecchino still demands more. Her hips jut forward, pushing onward. You bob your head— observing every jerk of her hips and the way her abs tense with effort.

Your fingers absentmindedly trace the edges of the leather, hooking around the material, and dragging her closer. She didn't slow down even for a second, thrusting into you brutally. Your head is rocking back and forth frantically. The violent movement is making your brain spin. Her ragged breathing and the lightheaded trance you've been put in motivates you to push past the cramp in your jaw.

Just when you're sure your lungs will collapse— when your vision starts to cross, and your legs are beginning to tingle from inadequate blood circulation— Arlecchino tenderly draws you off the strap. Relief washes over you. Sweat is dripping down your forehead, spit coats your lips and chin. Your lungs greedily wheeze and seek out fresh oxygen, laboriously expanding and filling with air after being compressed for so long.

She chuckles evilly.

“Too much?”

You shake your head.

“I can handle it.”

Your voice is rough and shaky— completely ruined by her forceful thrusts. Her rough fingers wipe away your tears.

“Well, you did wonderfully.”

The praise cascaded over you like boiling hot springs. Your skin was blistering and tender— unused to her sweltering warmth. Arlecchino was never one for kind words of approval. It's nearly too much. The comforter is hot, and the room is too stuffy, and you can't think straight even when you close your eyes. You swallow hard, fingers roughly burrowing into the sheets.

“Come on...”

Her frigid hands lightly push you onto your back, putting a pillow underneath your hips. Savagely, she rips your pants and underwear off— like a beast craving its next meal. Jagged nails dig into the meat of your inner thighs, easing them apart, your legs wrap around her hips. She reaches across from you, grabbing a tiny bottle filled with cherry-scented oil.

Arlecchino pours the light pink liquid onto her hand, working it over the spit-slicked toy and moving closer, intertwining your hands together and planting them beside your head.

“Are you ready?”

Her face is so close that you can feel her excited breaths grazing your neck. You nod. It's a good thing you're not standing because your legs feel so weak you would have collapsed by now. There's a small ripple of anxiety in your stomach growing bigger and bigger the more she waits to push in.

“Good, good. Stay relaxed for me.”

A loud whine builds in your throat, difficult to stifle, as Arlecchino pushes in— punching the air out of your lungs. Your body easily accepts the intrusion, but it burns. Her pelvis is pressed against the flesh of your ass, completely sheathed inside you, waiting for you to adjust. Your eyes shut tight while Arlecchino started pressing soft tender kisses down your sternum, her coarse tongue laps at your nipples.

“Agh f-fuck-”

“Relax, baby. Relax.”

Her nails bite into your flesh painfully—- scratches and blemishes are sure to dye your thighs in dark purples and reds. Your head feels like it's swimming, drowning underneath the thick layer of shame and arousal. Arlecchino's hips pull back and snap back towards your warm cunt. She sets a brutal pace, spearing you open on her cock, pounding against your sweet spot.

“So good for me... That's it, just take it.”

Electric sparks scatter at the base of your spine. You choke on your own spit as she drives herself back in savagely, dragging against your sensitive, pliant walls. Your toes curl, hips rolling back against her, letting out a string of garbled wails and whimpers. She captures one of your nipples between her sharpened teeth, clamping down.

The bed frame bangs against the cold stone wall loudly. It's a wonder people haven't found the two of you yet. Her hand comes up to thumb at your other nipple. She knows it's impossible, but she swears she can feel you pulsing around the silicone cock— pulling her in.

“God Arle… you feel-”

“You just can't stay away huh?”

Admiring the view beneath her, Arlecchino hikes one of your legs up and to the side, until your knee is practically touching your shoulder. Your thighs shake with effort. Even after so many nights spent with her, this is never something you fully got used to. Your mind struggles to think straight, movements are slowed and dulled— the sensation of your precious lover is making you more drunk than the eggnog ever would have.

“Please!”

“Fuck… you have no idea how you look right now.”

Your fingers claw and cling onto her shoulders, slipping with the sweat pouring between your bodies. Arlecchino seems feral. Her eyes glow bright red and your head lolls back. Your eyes are filled with overwhelmed tears as a lump forms in your throat. A knot forms in the pit of your tummy, straining and tensing. She carves a space for herself inside you— pelvis whacking against the supple flesh of your ass.

“Are you feeling full, baby?”

Back arching, you desperately try to get closer somehow, but you just barely lift off the bed. All the blood rushes to your head, your body is overwhelmed by the sensation of her— by the heat searing your skin. Her mouth sucks at the junction of your throat. Slick drips down onto the bed, leaving an embarrassing wet spot in the freshly cleaned sheets.

“You're getting there huh? Come for me”

Pitchy mewls get caught in the base of your throat. Your hips twitch— overextended. The knot bursts open and ardent fire burns through your veins. The heat is all-consuming. You gurgle and spasm as wave after wave of white-hot pleasure wracks your body. She works you through your orgasm, thrusting gently a few more times before stilling.

As your bodies cool down, Arlecchino peels herself from you, thumb tracing circles on your waist as she checks on your condition. She pulls out slowly, making sure to not hurt you. A loud grumble bubbles up your throat.

“Yeah, yeah I know, stop bitching at me.”

Time drips by slowly. Your mind is barely awake— held together by her affectionate kisses and gentle massages. Her cold thumbs press into your muscles, trying to get ahead of the inevitable soreness that will veil your entire body. Sweet mango slices are pressed against your lips. It's hard to chew thoroughly, it's exhausting.

“Tired?”

You nod.

“I'll be out of your hair soon, just eat a little more for me.”

She kisses your forehead softly. Soon, the bowl of mango slices is completely gone, and Arlecchino lays you down on your side, climbing into the bed with you. When did she get cleaned up and in her sleepwear? Were you really so far gone that you didn't notice before?

Of course, you were left undressed.

At her mercy.

The rest of the night and early morning is spent sleeping. You wake up with her warm arms wrapped around you— tightened like vines trying to cage you in. Breaking free is impossible. Any movement just makes her pull you in harder. The heat radiating off her skin is starting to get excruciatingly uncomfortable. In a fit of anxiety, you finally manage to shake her off you.

Despite being a light sleeper, Arlecchino still hasn't stirred from her deep slumber. You try to get dressed quietly— It's the least you could do. She definitely deserves more sleep. Your nose scrunches as you're forced to wear what you brought. Putting on day-old panties is not exactly ideal.

“You're leaving already?”

The rough voice startles you. Head snapping up, you make eye contact with her. A shiver runs down your spine at the look in her scrutinizing stare.

“Yeah, it's like 6 am… He was expecting me to come back hours ago. He'll worry.”

“Who cares? You don't even like him. I want you here.”

You're stunned. Arlecchino had never talked like this before, it's not in her nature to show affection— let alone imply that she wants you with her.

“First of all, I never said i didn't like him-”

“I can tell.”

“... Well, I have to go, I don't have time to talk about this.”

“Not going to lie and say you like him?”

You quickly gather your shirt and pants, throwing them on as fast as possible. It doesn't matter if she hears you anymore. She's already awake anyway. Grabbing a tissue, you try to wipe off the red stains Arlecchino left on your neck.

“I'm not talking about this anymore.”

“Why, because you know I'm right? You shouldn't even be with him. He doesn't please you like I do. He doesn't care about you.”

Irritation welled up in your chest. Why the hell is this even a discussion?? Not only is she pestering you about something irrelevant, but the stupid lipstick marks she left on your chest and neck are visible above the collar of your shirt— she just had to use makeup that was practically impossible to remove.

Rubbing it only made it worse.

“Did you use paint?? This won't come off!”

“Don't change the subject.”

“I’m not, I need this off.”

Arlecchino throws the blankets off, stomping over you and ripping your weaker hand away from your neck.

“You don't like him. What is the point of going back to him exactly? So he can mold you into the perfect wife that you'll never be?”

“Maybe I want to be the perfect wife. Did you ever think of that? Just because you're miserable in your love life, doesn't mean that the rest of us are.”

“You cheat on him regularly. You're not fooling anyone but yourself”

There's no way you're staying here any longer. The room seems smaller, and the air is so thick you can barely breathe. Neither of you speak for a few moments. Her eyes burn so brightly you think you may just catch on fire.

“It's not cheating. My heart is still with him, this is just… casual fun.”

Arlecchino's face twists. Her grip on your wrist tightens. It's like you're ensnared in a hunter's trap, destined to be prey.

“And that's how you really feel?”

Her voice is strangely calm— all the cold tension in her body melts away.

“Yes.”

You watch silently as she lets go of your wrist, makes her way back to bed calmly, and sits down.

“Okay.”

“...What?”

She shrugs, leaning back.

“If that's how you feel, I think our… affiliation has come to an end.”

“You're breaking up with me?”

“Like you said, this isn't anything serious right? It's casual fun, I would hardly call it ‘breaking up’.”

Blood bubbled and seethed through your arteries— Your veins are pulsing underneath your skin. Without another word, you stomp through the room and gather your things. Leaving for good.

In a corner of Zapolyarny palace, away from prying eyes, you managed to scrub every last visible trace of that woman's lipstick off. Your throat aches and the skin feels as though it's about to rip from the incessant, aggressive rubbing. You slip on the collar your boyfriend brought you, which only made things worse. Now, not only is it constantly chafing against your neck, but it's also practically strangling you.

The blizzard raging outside the safe haven of the castle sends a chill through your bones as you step outside. It's a long, isolated walk back home. Wind whips around you so furiously that, for a second, you think it may just carry you off with it. Honestly, it would be preferable to living the life you've been leading.

Arriving back at your house is no easier. As soon as the door is unlocked, you're bombarded with questions regarding your whereabouts. You don't answer. Locking yourself in the room, you ignore the knocking and constant pestering from your boyfriend through the next week. Eventually he drops it. You suspect he already knows anyway, but he didn't confront you directly.

There's not a complete lack of contact with Arlecchino, however it's not the same. As a lower ranking fatui officer, you had to work with the harbinger to a certain degree. Her eyes always lingered on you more than others, but there was no more warmth in her gaze, only freezing apathy. Is it possible for her to have moved on so fast? It shouldn't be. After all those rushed meetings throughout the years, after what she said about wanting you to stay, was it a lie? It wasn't meant to be more than casual fun.

Deep down something in you wishes it was more.

—

It's supposed to be the best day of your life. Every little girl's dream.

Why doesn't it feel that way?

Nothing about this feels right. Millions of mora spent did not make you any more excited to put on the dress or see the venue. He insisted you wear the wretched piece of leather he bought for you months ago, and he didn't seem to like the way you did your makeup during the trial. The lack of lipstick felt too boring for him. Maybe going against his wishes will finally make him leave.

All of the harbingers and the Tsaritsa herself were invited, but none of them decided to attend. Deep down, you wish Arlecchino would come. But she would never do that, you knew better than to get your hopes up.

It feels like a death sentence walking down the aisle. Like a lonely sailor stuck in the arctic sea, waiting for the unstoppable enormous wave to take over and drown you. Falling into the hands of a man you feel, at most, ambivalent about. The music is beautiful— it somehow sounds like the lively orchestra from the party on that one fateful night. At the altar, he grabs your trembling hands.

Your mind wanders as the officiant blabbers on and on about the beauty of matrimony— would Arlecchino be the one standing in front of you if the fight had not happened?

Most nights, you can't help but think of what could've been. You never took her for someone to be committed but that day she seemed almost… vulnerable.

You feel a tap, as people wait for your response. Looking at the man in front of you, expectant with his mouth popped open, you realize what's happening. The choker around your neck tightens, seemingly attempting to kill you on the spot. You wish it would.

“...I do.”

“By the power vested in me, I now pronounce you husband and wife!”

You're pulled into a breathtaking kiss, and a curious nauseating feeling develops in your stomach. it's just not right.

[fairy-writes]

BIRD IN FLIGHT

Reblogs and Comments are greatly appreciated!!

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Fandom(s): Kaiju No. 8

Pairing(s): Hoshina Soshiro x Reader

Word Count: 2.1k

Genre(s)/Tag(s): Female!Reader, Siren!Reader, Myth AU (I referenced the Trojan War in the last part), Enemies to… Something…

Notes: PART TWO TO SIREN SONG 

I’M JUST SAYING THE ITHACA SAGA HAS BEEN ON REPEAT SINCE IT DROPPED

Tag List: @hanniejji

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Admittedly, Soshiro was in a bit over his head with trying to gain your trust. 

Every time he went down to check on you in your cell, or read to you, or talk to you, you just cowered with a snarl in the corner of the prison they had trapped you in. 

You wouldn’t actively try and escape anymore, but you refused food and water, withering away in your cell. 

Soshiro has to do something. You’d be no good to them for bartering passage if you were dead. 

So he began to think. 

And think. 

And think. 

Until he was struck with an idea. 

“Are you sure this is a good idea, sir?” Ichikawa Reno asked. He was a newer addition to their crew, much like Kafka, but Kafka was busy, and Soshiro needed help with his idea. 

“Of course not. This could go horribly. But she’s no good to us dead, so it’s worth a shot.” He said as he adjusted the length of rope looped around his arm. 

The stairs down to the brig creak horrendously, quickly alerting you to their presence. It takes Soshiro’s eyes a moment to adjust, but you’re in the corner, as always. Reno swallowed thickly when he saw you and your emaciated body and wings. 

Feathers were scattered around you, and he watched as you took ahold of a feather and plucked it from your wings, letting it fall to the ground. You almost did it again, seemingly entranced by the twirling of the feathers from your fingers when he put the key in the lock and unlocked the cell door. The sound of the key jiggling in the iron lock roused you from your stupor, and your face soured with distrust when you realized who it was. 

You were surprisingly emotive for a creature of myth. Almost human-like. It was almost eerie to see such a pretty face surrounded by feathered hair and sharp teeth.

Reno stepped hesitantly into the cell and shut the door most of the way as he waited for Soshiro’s next move. 

Soshiro crouched in front of you, not stepping on your scattered feathers and just out of your reach in case you tried to attack him.

“I have a proposal for you.” He said, and you merely curled your lip in a snarl. At least, you did until you spotted Reno. Then, your face morphed into one of confusion. 

You were likely wondering why he was here. After all, you hadn’t seen him before, and the list of people who saw you most commonly comprised of Captain Ashiro and Soshiro. Kafka, Aoi, and the ship’s doctor came down to treat your injuries, but even then, that wasn’t a common occurrence. 

So, someone new was probably exciting. 

Soshiro continued speaking. 

“We’re willing to let you out. Supervised, of course, that’s why I have this rope. What do you say?” He said and didn’t miss how you perked up at the mention of being let out. However, almost immediately after, you shrank back when he held out the rope. Soshiro frowned but didn’t scoot closer. The memory of you trying to claw his eyes out was still fresh in his mind. 

“Might I try?” Reno asked, and Soshiro nodded after a moment of hesitation. He handed the rope off to Reno, who took his place and knelt before you. You huddled back warily, one wing drawn in front of you as if trying to protect yourself. You peeked through your feathers with untrusting eyes, but that didn’t sway Reno’s attempt. 

“Can I come closer?” He asked gently, like trying to soothe a spooked animal. Your eyes narrowed, and Soshiro noticed you were rubbing the scar around your throat. But you weren’t attacking or saying no…

Reno picked up on this and shuffled the barest bit closer. 

“What if I tie this around your wrist? Would that be okay?” He asked again and it was then that something changed. 

“Why are you being nice to me?” 

You spoke. 

Reno looked as shocked as Soshiro felt. But both soldiers recovered quickly, and Reno shrugged. 

“I suppose I feel you could use some kindness.” He said honestly, and now it was your turn to be shocked. Your wing drooped enough so they could both see your astonished expression. 

And then… 

Your eyes began to shine with unshed tears. Reno panicked as Soshiro was left with a feeling he couldn’t quite define in his chest. 

You were slow going up the stairs from the brig to the deck. The pain was evident in your frame as you stepped up the stairs. Soshiro couldn't help but stare at your balding wings as he walked behind you. Reno held the rope as he walked ahead, just in case. But Soshiro had the feeling that you wouldn’t be able to fly any time soon. 

Not with your wings the way they were. 

If they even healed.

All conversation ceased on deck when you reached the top of the stairs. Almost immediately, you shrank back and bumped into Soshiro, who had come up behind you. You winced, though you tried to hide it, as he aggravated your healing injuries. You looked back to glare, but he didn’t let that stop him from smiling in your direction, 

“Are you going to go up and get some fresh air? I imagine the brig is awfully stuffy.” He said and could see the resolve steeling in your bird-like pupils. 

You squared your shoulders, pulling them back as much as the bandages and scabs would let you, and walked out into the sunlight. 

The relief in your shoulders as you step into the ocean air is palpable. Your wings, which had been held high and proud behind you, dropped in a sudden calm. Even your hands, which were tied in front of you, relaxed in their bonds. 

Reno tied the other end of the rope to the mast while he was instructed to return to his work. Soshiro was ordered by Captain Ashiro to watch you. So he sat on a barrel of rations as he studied you. Slowly, everyone went back to their duties, and soon, you were ignored. 

Soshiro had the feeling that was how you preferred it. 

He watched you watch everyone else with curiosity. Your eyes were wide as you scanned the ship and everyone on it. You even sat down of your own volition and not because there was nothing else to do, like when you were back in your cell. You sat with your back against the mast, feet curled beneath you so you were out of the way of tramping boots and those scrubbing the deck. 

It didn’t take long for Soshiro to get up and approach you. You flinched with surprise as he sat down beside you and looked at him incredulously. 

“Figured you might want some company.” He teased and you just rolled your eyes.

But… You didn’t scoot away.

This became somewhat regular for you. You’d be bound by your wrists and brought up to the deck, where you were tied to the mast and allowed to watch the people working. You started to eat and drink again. 

Soshiro found you absolutely fascinating. 

You recoiled from his touch, yet you looked like you wanted to interact with him and his fellow humans. You eventually got to the point where he could touch your wings to check the splints, yet you wouldn’t let him touch your scars. 

He wondered why. 

He got his answer one night when he was at his post while everyone slept in the belly of the ship. You were tied at the helm of the boat while he used the stars to navigate them home. They had been nearing the land of sirens for days now. He could see the craggy rocks where your sisters resided. 

Was he ready to let you go? 

“Why haven’t you killed me yet?” You asked, and Soshiro jolted in surprise. You spoke little, if at all. Your voice was rough from disuse and the injuries marring your throat. 

“Because we need you to barter passage through siren territory.” He said. He didn’t see any point in lying. But his resolve wavered when you barked out a harsh laugh. 

“That’ll just get you slaughtered. Why do you think I was in the water in the first place? We aren’t exactly close.” You bite out, and he frowns. 

“I thought sirens lived in flocks?” He said, and you shrugged, tilting your head back to look at the stars you passed under.

Soshiro looked up too, able to name the constellations used to guide them home. 

“Typically, we are. But not when you’re different, apparently.” You mutter under your breath, and it is then that the dots connected. 

“Did your sisters give you those scars and injuries?” He asked, and you stiffened. The splints had been taken off your wings at this point, and the feathers shifted uneasily behind your back. 

Eventually, you nod, somewhat upset that he figured it out. 

“I’m sorry,” He said and could see out of the corner of his eye how your head jerked up in surprise. 

“Why are you sorry?” You snap, and he shrugs. Flashes of his family pass behind his eyes. 

“I suppose I know what it’s like to not live up to the expectations of others. Or to be different. I’m… Not on the best terms with my family.” He said, and now it’s your turn to frown. 

“I’m… Sorry…” You say awkwardly, and he laughs out loud. 

“Don’t be. I got my own little family right here.” He said, gesturing to the boat where he could hear the wood creaking and the faint snores of his fellow soldiers.

For whatever reason, you looked sad. 

Things came to a head when they finally passed through the land of sirens. 

It was quiet at first. Soshiro didn’t see anyone or anything in the rock caves. But as the helmsman steered the ship past craggy outcroppings of stone, he felt the hair on the back of his neck stand on end.

They were being watched. 

You could tell, too. Hunkered down under the stairs that led to the helm, and your wings were pinned tightly against your back. Soshiro kept his hand on the pommel of his sword and wedged some beeswax in his ears. He had heard about a siren’s song. The mystical ability to sing and hypnotize a sailor and bring them to their doom. 

He wasn’t sure why you hadn’t done that to him when you initially woke up, but he had the feeling it had to do with what your sisters did to you. 

He wasn’t even sure the wax in his ears would work. But it was worth a shot. 

And suddenly—There! Just on the edge of his hearing! A noise!

And it was then that the boat came to a stop, and the soldiers around him dropped their weapons. Captain Ashiro looked on blankly, her sword slipping from her hands as she fell under the siren’s spell. 

All the while, Soshiro watched on. 

He tightened his grip and drew his sword as the first siren dive bombed the ship. 

The scaly talons dug into the helmsman’s shoulders and yanked him off the ship. There wasn’t a scream or cry for help. Just silence as you cowered under the stairs. 

And then… They all came at once. 

Soshiro cut down siren after siren, but he didn’t have the time to put wax in anyone’s ears as they were pulled from the ship to their deaths.

A pair of talons dug through Soshiro’s armor like it was nothing but butter and lifted him from the ship. He slashed and cut, but the siren wasn’t like you. This siren was well-fed and strong. Her wings had a healthy sheen, and she actually had all her feathers. 

At least until you stepped in. 

He heard a guttural screech that he knew all too well, and suddenly, he was plummeting to the deck. 

What? 

He looked up and rolled to the side a split second before the siren hit the deck, missing one of her wings. Soshiro scooped up his sword and prepared to cut her down, but you were on her in a second. The two of you rolled and flailed and scratched and bit until you came out on top. 

The other siren didn’t move. 

You threw your head back and let out a deafening screech that he heard even through the wax in his ears. 

And… One by one… The sirens left.

The remaining crew seemingly snapped out of the spell and looked around, confused. 

You had protected them. 

Protected him. 

And it was beautiful. 

__________________________________________________________________________

Things not pictured because I’m not smart in fitting things in:

-Narumi Gen

-You trying to rip off Narumi’s head

-Just shenanigans with Narumi in general.

[yourlocaltreesimp]

Glue trap shenanigans

Written for @portraitofalinkonfyre because they're literally the largest four simp I know!

Synopsis: You find a trapped minish and decide to help them out. Unfortunately for you, that minish is very literally a man. Double unfortunately for you, that man is the hero. Triple unfortunately for you, you accidentally asked him on a date

The morning sun hadn’t fully yet melted the dew that accumulated atop grass tips; but still, you were angry. 

There wasn’t any light in the house, not even the dull ricochet from downstairs, and you knew immediately that the fire had been doused. The tips of your toes and the ends of your fingers were cold with the chill bite of autumn. A long sigh left your body, some will to rouse leaving with it as it became quickly apparent how the cold had seeped into your joints, stiffening them past their years and leaving you longing for just five more minutes. 

Your head spun as you sat up, reeling from the stress of going to the ever-hectic market yesterday and the business of the day still to come.

You quietly thanked Hylia, for at least you wouldn’t have to return to the market. It was nothing bad, not extensively, these were the same faces and same vendors you grew up with. But the loud chatter so early and the delay on the first batches’ bake times just makes the day feel so much longer. Not to mention just how fussy people get when they have to wait an extra hour for their bread. You love bread, you own a bakery, but you don’t get why they get so grouchy.

Days where you have to go to the market are their own special punishment— just for you. Your back always hurts twice as much and the time passes at half the pace. 

The beginning of your morning was mostly lacking in frustration, aside from the loop of your apron getting caught on the door handle and the floorboards being too cold as you sleepily stumbled around. You'd told Wren last night to keep the fire in the hearth lit, especially since you didn’t make enough money to afford one of those new steam heaters. But still, the fireplace was filled with only ash when you’d finally found some slippers and made your way downstairs.

Defeated, you pushed a few logs onto the iron rod supports, watching with quiet enamor as the fire ate away at the wood. A sharp wind shakes the windows in their panes, and you curse Wren for not following the instructions you laid out, inadvertently letting your house grow cold as dying as the trees. You took a moment to settle yourself when the doorbell rang. You could forgive Wren, and you most certainly would with time. She was just a child, hardly even 13. She really didn’t know better some of the time.

 The fool currently blabbing to you, however, was old enough to know better.

Well old enough to know better.

 Ammi wasn’t usually a horrible neighbour. In fact, you’d even bargain to say she was quite nice most of the time. She made you a tart when you moved in, bought your first ever loaf of bread, burnt as its’ heels were. She nodded and waved whenever she saw you in the streets or on your front porch, and all her house parties were quiet and ended at a reasonable hour; the adeius ending before the moon could settle its place in the sky.

But in this exact moment, you wanted nothing more than to grab her by her greys and chuck her into the street.

The prominent wrinkle between her brows settled deep as she looked over you, those warm eyes suddenly feeling lacking in welcome. Her hand grabbed your shoulder, an attempt as connection and sincere, all bony as they were.

“You’d better listen now, dear! I’ve seen so, so many of them these last few weeks.” Her voice was light– well intentioned, you’re sure. But still, you couldn’t trust yourself to force any words out, and she continued.

She liked to hear herself talk at times, but the company usually didn’t feel so intrusive. It was helpful on rainy days at the market or walking back from festivals at night, to have someone to carry the conversation. Especially given your lack of excitement when it comes to conversation. Unfortunately for you, it now meant being backed into a corner, figuratively and semi-literally.

Y’know, given slamming the door in her face wasn’t generally seen as a polite ending to a conversation. 

“All you’d have to do is add some of that molasses you got for makin’ those ginger-knights and a little bit of bakin’ soda, and you’ll have all those little buggers right caught” She smiled, her smoker’s lines leading to the thin, lacquered line of her lips. She preened for a moment, proud of her discovery as you stood baffled. 

“Din give me strength-“ You pinch at your furrowed brow as if it might help, “you’re trapping picori?” You finally trust yourself to ask after a cool breath dampens the fire that lived behind your ribs. You crossed your arms as best you can manage and leaned into your doorframe. At least it managed give you the support in the absolute dumbassery that was your neighbour’s reasoning.

“Oh please!” She bats a hand at you noncommittally, dismissing your worries as silly, and the action fans the dying embers to a healthy flame, “They’re rats! It’s not as if they have feelings. And anywho, we’d be doing them a favour from such a miserable life.” She pauses at the ringing of a bell, her fat cat rubbing at her ankles, begging for her undivided attention. Ammi bends down, struggling to pick up her chunky cat.

“Much better as snacks to Luci, huh?” Her voice defaults to that baby voice that everyone unanimously decided to be used on pets, nuzzling its little nose. The zapped wires of its whiskers wasn’t screaming ‘cute baby’ as much as it was screaming feral. Ammi turns her attention back to you, and she smiles as though you’d understand. As if you’d come around eventually. Your face scrunches in distaste at the woman in front of you, and her dreaded cat.

Sure, people had to eat and animals had to be slaughtered. Such was the way of life. But glue traps, got any animal were cruel— ensuring their last moments were spent suffering and struggling for freedom they could never get. And still, they’d die of exhaustion and hunger, drawing out their pain as long as possible.

But the Picori weren’t just animals. They were innocence and kindness and hope and the light of warm childhood lingering upon such a scary existence. And this woman has the utter gall to- 

There’s the sound of wincing struggle, a hefty woosh, and a loud thud as something hits the floor with a solid smack. The vibrations move through the floorboards, even though the kitchen is a decent bit away.

“UH- Boss?!” Wren calls, light and panicky. Just like the bird. Just as innocent.

You sigh and through Ammi a look of exhaustion in the hopes that she’d get the que and back off already. Her eyes turn satisfied while she adjusts her woollen cardigan and catters something about going to the market and to save her some bread. You scoff, the only image your mind could conjure was of that cruel woman using it to lure poor, hungry animals. 

When you do reach the kitchen, you see a lot more white than there’s supposed to be.

A lot more white.

In fact, it seemed as if flour had gotten everywhere. In every corner. In every appliance.

You felt your shoulders tense in some mix of bewilderment and belligerence, the anger from before now targeting anew on the waste of what must’ve been three whole sacks of flour. 

“Look- I- I’m so sorry- I just saw you weren’t having a good morning so I thought I’d do the lifting for you since that’s your least favourite job, but they slipped and I-” She cuts herself off to finally look at you, and it seems as if her skeleton tried to jump from her skin in pure fear.

“Please- I really need this job, and I understand if you fire me but I’ll find some way to make it up! Dock my pay, I’ll work extra shifts, I’ll do anything just-”

“I’m not going to dock your pay, Wren” Your shoulders sag as the anger leaves you as empty as your fireplace. Cold as soot. She shuffles awkwardly in place, too scared to do anything else it seems. Too scared to make another mistake. 

“It’s ok, really. It happens. We make mistakes. I, much worse at your age. I’d be a hypocrite to punish you” You manage a light chuckle, and that seems to put her at ease that nothing will happen to her by your hand. “I’ll have to get more flour, so you can clean this up while I go to the market to get more.” 

“But you’ll miss sales-” 

“And I’ll miss even more if you keep fretting” Your voice holds a chaotic whimsy that returns a similar smile to her face.

“So let's get to it!” 

☆⋆｡𖦹°‧★

The market was crisp and cold, as it usually was around mid autumn. The shades of the leaves, the burn of the air in the back of your throat, the smell of the first few batches of spiced wine, it was all beautiful.

There were less people out and about than in the spring and summer, but it was nice to have the beauty to yourself. You were alone, but you were by no means lonely. You handed over a small bag of rupees to the man from the mills and ached as you took two bags on each shoulder. The air was just cold enough to sap the warmth form your joints and leave you stiff, the journey to haul the bags back to your house now twice as arduous. You focused on anything you could to take away from the pain. The slightly wobbly cobblestones as you walk onto your street, the plumes of white smoke from chimneys of your neighbours, the rattle of brittle branches in the wind, the soft squeaking by your ankle- The what? 

You looked down towards your ankle as you stood upon the stoop and realised dully there was nothing there. Empty space. You huffed, about to kick on the door with your foot (the closest thing to a knock as you could about get), when you heard the squeaking be joined by the satanic growl of Luci. You looked over at the crooked little hellspawn before you realised that it was about to pounce upon something caught in one of Ammi’s little traps.

Holy fuck it was a Picori. 

You unceremoniously drop the flour, ironic, your previous efforts forgotten in favour of now saving your new friend. By the time you leapt from your doorstep to Ammi’s, the cat had begun to pounce, claws fully extended. Your freezing knuckles wrapped around the trap with enough time to save the small mouse from the flurry of attacks. Your knuckles were bleeding; but as you peeled back your hands to see your small friend, you saw he was unharmed.

You scurry over to your house, opening the door frantically. All the meanwhile, the small body in your hands tried everything short of biting you to get out. You try to keep your composure as you rich to the kitchen, thankful to see Wren almost finished cleaning. Her eyes don’t catch on the dripping red blood, entirely focused on the stubborn flour in the cracks of the hardware she’d set to clean. 

“Uh- I sliced my hand on the way over- would you mind taking in the bags while I dress my cut?” Your voice is too high-pitched to make the request seem unsuspicious, but she leaves without casting you a thorough glance. One of the few times you could thank her naivety. She beams a smile while throwing her tea towel over her shoulder, turning on the ball of her foot to make steadfast for the door; and so it seems that’s the last of your inspection. You set down the trap and finally get a good look at the small creature squirming about. 

He’s small of course, they all are, dressed in his own small clothes. His tunic is sewn and embroidered into quadrants, with each little seam holding its own careful pattern and detail. Among the tiny motifs you see the weaving lines of kinestones, all leading back to the clover leaves where the quadrants meet. His little feet were wrapped in little booties of surprisingly fine leather, though it was hard to see in the thickened molasses tacked over them. His fur coat was a light blonde, the hair lengthened to frame the small face in something akin to a bob. Scraping against the wood backing of the trap was a tiny sword at his back, scabbard scratching at the wood as it used all of what little might it had to try and pull free.

You can swear for just the briefest moment that you’d seen it before in some sort of folklore… but the thought escapes you before you can seem to place it.

The differences were stark from the usual picori, the whole ensemble surprisingly ornate, something you’d usually assume the wealthy might wear if they were full size garments.

“Hey…” You started, but didn’t really know where you were going with this, much less where it would end. Finally, He stopped to turn to you, giving up the struggle of pulling his mitts from the tack.  

“I know how to get you out, there’s no need to tire yourself out” You chuckle lightly, half at the way the thing squints at you in some mix of indignation and incredulousness, and half for the sheer oddity of your situation.

Most sane people don’t stand about in their kitchen trying to assure trapped magic mice, but to your defence, when he finally did cease the struggle and turn its attention upon you, his eyes were so… knowing? 

Animals were sentient, sure, but fully conscious? …That’s a stretch.

Still, both beady eyes stayed affixed on you, the tips of small ears flicking slightly whenever you'd mutter something to yourself.

Warm water would dissolve the molasses, and oil could help separate the fur while incurring as little damage as possible. Good, gentle oil was harder to come by, most of it sourced from other domains, sent through merchants and sold for the rich. You supposed olive oil could work in the pinch, so long as you rinsed it off well enough. 

Settling for that, you set the glue trap down and headed into the stores, chuckling at how the little head followed you wherever you went. You hefted up the metle container of pressed oil and poured some into one of your soup bowls, setting it back where it was, mindful to close the lid. 

Bowl of oil in hand, and surprisingly docile (surprisingly armed) magic mouse by your side, you snuck upstairs just in time to check on Wren in the doorway as she tried her best to waddle from the front to the store room with a sack of flour. Credit where it was due, you doubted you could’ve done much better than her at her age. 

☆⋆｡𖦹°‧★

Your actual private living space was much less adorned than the downstairs area. Most working folk didn’t spend time in their private quarters. You awoke in a room with bare, white walls, in sheets that you scraped together to afford when you bought the house, and got ready with clothes weaved by hands and from wool which both were birthed and would likely die in this town.

Only those who could afford to lie in bed, or dress in clothes brought from foreign lands, would see to decorating their private quarters. Your bathing room was much similar to the rest of the private quarters, plain outside of the necessities. Sink, soap cabinet, copper basin for the water, towels hung, only what you needed. You set your little friend down and rolled up your sleeves, drawing water into the copper bath and lighting the small fire beneath it so it may warm. 

You take a moment to sigh, meaning over the bath with your forearms braced on the thick lips of the copper. You take a moment to accept how off-kilter the day had gotten from the usual routine of bread and sales. 

When you do finally lift your head, it’s to look at the picori, who stands as politely as one could when stuck in a glue trap.

“You stayin’ in those clothes?” You draw up the strength to conjure words for your audience who can't reply. He nods fervorously, to the point where the flat foundation of the glue trap begins to rock back and forth.

Beneath the golden fur, you can almost imagine the flush taking over its face by how it covers its face when it thinks you aren't looking.

You laugh, using the tips of your fingers to stop him from falling flat on his back. Would it really be flat given his back was stuck about an inch into the glue trap?

You suppose not, but it's an entertaining mental debate you’ll shelve for the next time it’s a slow day.

Now, instead, you snuff out the fire beneath the bath and pick up the trap, using your other hand to test the temperature of the water. Just warmer than lukewarm, a comfy temperature that could still dissolve all that molasses. You remove the little green hat atop its head, minding the little clack the gold bird charm makes as it’s set against your tile.

He wriggles slightly to loops its tiny chin over where your hands are cupped around him, trying his best to stay above the water. You work first massaging the warm water against the tacky sort of glue, loosening it to a sort of thicker liquid. By the time it's mostly melted, you dip one set of fingertips into the oil and massage away what’s left of the stickiness from where it's gripping onto the fur. Some gentle pressure and scraping with your nails, the majority of the sticky substance removes itself from the roots of the fur. Cleaning the clothes still on the little body and the feathery tail is actually much harder than the fur, given how the oil can stain the clothes and the delicacy of the tail. But with a dip in the warm water and some soap, most of the oil lifts from the fabric. With gentle care, you can pry the tacky board from his feet, allowing him to finally relax in your hold. Out of some minor curiosity, you use the very edge of your nail to scritch at his scalp, and are delightedly met with a choir of happy squeaks as he nuzzles into your hands.

Not long after, his large eyes flutter, sleepy after all that effort of trying to free themselves and the warmth of the water.You keep the small body tightly wrapped in your palms so they can leech of that warmth and stay cozy. And cozy it was, given how they try to burrow into you as they sleep away, one of the highest compliments. Your hand leaves for a moment to take a towel off the rack, your hand freezing halfway as the most pitiful whine leaves the form in your hands. You look down to see worried little eyes, groggy and confused as to where all the warmth went. 

“Oh shush” You grabbed the towel, slipping it over your wrist  so your hand could return to the picori in your grasp. 

“See? I have you now, you don’t need to worry” You assure quietly, hiding your amusement as he begins to make himself cozy again. You know you can’t hold him forever, unfortunately, you did need to work.

And so began the plot to find the warmest place in the house. Your sleeping quarters were above the kitchen… and with the ovens on all day, the heat would make its way up.  You nudge the door open with your hip, lest it keep squeaking at you in defiance whenever you remove your hands. You nestle the comically large bundle of towel among the pillows and watch in amusement as he cozies up against the pillows. 

All considering how immensely unprepared you were, you considered this a great success. 

You return to the bathroom to wrap up your now no longer bleeding knuckles, cursing at the little bird charm at the end of the small green hat, left discarded on the tile. Hylia- it was small but painful. You put the little hat in your pocket, laughing at the mental image of trying to explain this to someone. Oh yeah! My neighbour traps and feeds mythical rodents to her devil cat and it scratched me when I was trying to stop it.

Honestly, if you weren’t so crucial to the village, you’re sure they’d send you to a convent.

You laugh with each step down the warped wooden stairs and back into the kitchen, where Wren already began with the first batch of bread. Time passed quickly in the bakery. You always seem to get so absorbed in your work that you never realise the time passing you by. It was hardly ever now that you’d actually work baking. Wren, friendly as she was, didn't have her wits about her; and you’re certain that if she were to run sales, then every loaf of bread would be given away for free. There was nothing wrong with the front of house, but it wasn’t as if you opened a bakery because you wanted to talk to people. The conversations and the camaraderie and drama of the townsfolk were entertaining in some sense, but damn did you just like making bread. It was nice, after the hectics of the morning, to just spend your day doing something you liked, even if you had to stop every few minutes to explain to someone why their regular bread wasn’t out yet.

Late in the afternoon, after all the folks stopped by for whatever baked goods they needed, you split from cleaning the last counter to check in on the picori upstairs. The sun was fading out by now, the sky a brilliant mix of blues and pink, and you’d hate for him to just end up lost. 

Frustrated squeaking filled the quiet expanse of your bedroom as the little fiend struggled against his bindings (soft towel wrapping). You waited for him to tire himself out slightly, not particularly enthusiastic about the idea of more animal injuries. You weren’t certain of how sharp their swords could be, but you were certain that you didn’t fancy finding out if the hat was anything to go by. He lets you unwrap him from the towel, and seems fairly understanding that it’s time to go. You walk downstairs, making sure he isn’t jostled too much by the movement, and take a seat on the mossy stump a little ways back from your house. 

“Alright bud, this is it” You gently set him down, tilting your hand so he can slide off with little effort.

“Hope you enjoyed your stay, but it’s home time now” He scurries off for a few steps, tail bobbing and swishing with each step before he stops abruptly in his tracks. He turns around and pats his head, his little mitts held out to you expecting. What? Was this goodbye to them or- Oh that’s right he had a hat! 

You shuffle about in your pocket, eventually retrieving his little pointed hat, and placing it among his hands. You watched as he shuffled it about on his head, making sure the placement was perfect. Suddenly, he straightened, turning to face you, with those beady eyes bearing into you silently. Oddly, you feel a great amount of understanding between the two of you, just trying to get by and caught up in a greater web of things than you hoped. He lets out a string of squeaks you guess are supposed to make a sentence, and kneels in gratitude,regarding you for the entirety of the moment as you stand to leave. 

“Don’t even mention it” You held up a hand in dismissal of the grand gesture, pausing short when you do get an idea “well- maybe mention it to your friends. I don’t wanna see any of the rest of ya getting trapped, ok?” You raise your eyebrows expectantly, the whole embarrassment of talking to a rodent entirely out the window. Still, he nods, a pleased twinkle in his literal orbs for eyes, and scurries off to the safety of the foliage.

The next morning begins similarly to the last, lighting the fire in the hearth. Unfortunately (well, you suppose fortunately to the picori population) there’s no valid reason for you to forgo your usual work at the front of house. The first loaves of bread and savoury pastries are out when Wren arrives, the door handle nearly slamming a hole through your wall with how excited she was. You liked making bread, but this seemed like a bit much… even for her. She sets down her things and scrambles for an apron, bouncing on the balls of her feet as she waits for you to finish up. 

“That’s 15 for the bread… and five for the pastry, so 20 rupees is your total” You try your best to ignore the jittering ball of energy just behind you as the old man fished for a red rupee. 

“Thank you, have a nice day now” He slides it across the counter, the small jem making little clinks against your uneven counter. He’s hardly even turned to walk away when Wren starts up.

“Ok so I know you don't really like it when I work the front but I really reeeeeaaallly want to just for today- I mean think about it it’d be really good experience and if I don’t learn now then I’ll never learn, and I’m not saying you’re a bad boss I’m just saying that my whole point of being here is to learn and I need to-” You never knew someone could talk so fast. You’ve heard bees buzz at a slower pace. 

“Take it.” Your words are blunt as you step into the back, retreating into your comfy corner away from all the people. 

“Really?!” 

“By the three- please.”

And as the hours passed, and foot traffic slowed, she was no less excited. You were half convinced that purely for the fact of her motivation alone, you’d let her run sales. 

The last tray of bread had been packaged when you finally got around to closing up. All the sourdough starters had been fed, all the floors swept, all the counters wiped. All you really had to do was count up the till and go feed the ducks before it got too dark out. The whole day passed in a flurry of familiar work. Mixing, kneading, resting, re-kneading, re-resting, glazing, baking, cooling, bagging, all mixed in a jumble of orders to the demand of the customers. And soon it’d all be don- 

“Hey boss?” Wren hung off the doorframe, a far too mischievous smile on her face to mean anything good for  you. The type of plotting smile, juvenile. 

“...What?”

“There’s a guy out here.” She looked proud of herself, as though she’d caught you among some scandal. It wasn’t the first time she’d accuse some poor bloke of catching interest in you, and you’re sure this wouldn’t be the last.  But you still failed to see why she thought it was necessary to come get you. If anything, it was more in character for her to go prying them for information. 

“Ok? Can’t you deal with him?” 

“He asked for you. Specifically” She waggled her eyebrows, the utter scandal of the situation practically confirmed in her mind. Oh how the gossip mills were… milling. You sighed, unsure of what even warrants someone asking specifically for you. Wren could be a bit much, but it's hardly anything that needs to be taken up with you. You rubbed your eyes, squinting as the thinnest stream of sunlight split from the tops of the buildings, winding down for the evening. You get a good look at the man in front of you and actually stop walking– one foot in the air and all. 

He had to look up at you, courtesy of both the slightly raised staff portion of the storefront and the fact he was short. His eyes shined in apparent amusement, complimented by the boyish smirk tugging at his lips and the challenge in his brow. The sun drifted lower and caught upon his hair, making the straw color alight to fine threads of spun gold. Unassuming at first, but all of a sudden priceless. The four quadrants of his tunic were equally as vibrant as they were yesterday and thankfully unstained by the oil, each stitch of the embroidery now visible to you. 

Holy fuck the picori was a man. 

Ok now life was just being unfair- what are you even supposed to say to that?! Screw the village sending you to the temple, you might just do it yourself at this rate. 

The man gets a kick out of your utter shock, leaning with his forearms on the display case and laughing. Besides your burnt frustration, you laughed alongside him, bracing your hands on your thighs. Your stomach burned as you laughed at the nonsensical fairytale your life had spiralled into as of late. Your cheeks burned as your eyes settled upon him again, fond as an old friend. 

“I was told you requested me?” You tease, raising an eyebrow in an attempt to heckle him. 

“No, I just wanted bread” He defends, trying to cover his tracks as best he could. 

“Mhm. Sure” You roll your eyes, “What’d you want?” You gesture to what you have left, slim as it may be. He looks about the small collection, sneaking looks at you as he does before picking a short loaf. Its rounded sourdough, filled with nuts and dried fruit, not really common outside of your village as far as you’d know.

“You sure?” You ask looking between him and the bread, “Not sure they have this where you’re from” It’s as much a dig at him being a literal rat as it is genuine question. He laughs still, cheeks reddened and eyes almighty. 

“I mean… c’mon, it’s bread. Can’t be that different, right?” He raises an eyebrow, amused by your bread gatekeeping. 

“Well… Usually, people share this over some spiced wine, dip it in n’ all that” You explain, caught off guard by just how intently he follows along, hanging off your every word. 

“Oh great.” He hods, finally, while sliding you entirely too much money. He takes the bread and a few steps back before you could stop him.

“Then we could share!” He smiles, bright and unrestrained this time, beaming with a joy that worms its way into your heart. 

“Uh- I mean we totally could, but you don't have to-” You backtrack through your explanation, not trying to force him into a date for your care.

“Great!” He nods. “It’s a date!” Oh dear. “I’ll meet you outside” Oh goddesses. 

He turns his back as he walks out of your modest storefront, and it finally hits you from where you’d seen that sword before. 

Oh goddesses.

There’s no way you just accidentally asked the hero out on a date.

[theonewiththefanfics]

A Life Worth Living (one-shot)

Synopsis: As sickness creeps closer in taking her life, Y/N has come to make her final amends. Though the Astarion she fell for no longer exists, even the cold clutch of absolute power can't match true love.

This is sort of an AU! because in truth, Ascended Astarion would not give a single shit if you've left him at this point, sorry :D I just had to get this out of my head

Pairing: Ascended Astarion x fem!Reader; Astarion x fem!Reader

Genre: angst, fluff

Warnings: talks of sickness (not specified), dying, death, swearing etc. Minimally edited :)

Word count: 5115

The day was much like any other in Baldur’s Gate – sunny without even a single wispy cloud in the sky, yet the Ancunin palace rose above all the rest like a beast in the night, drowning the houses in menacing shadows.

Matches, Y/N thought, to the person living inside.

Wrought iron gate surrounded the grounds, thorny rose vines looping through, while beautiful blooms opened towards the slowly moving star above.

This could’ve been her home, had she not said no. She shuddered to think what her life would’ve been like.

That had been almost five years ago. So much had changed during that time. It didn’t even feel like just half a decade had passed, it felt more like a century since Y/N had left Astarion. But she couldn’t stay with him. Not after he’d Ascended, completing the ritual he’d killed Cazador for, and became what he had always hated – a version of Cazador himself.

Her hand had barely touched the handle of the gates before it swung open on its own accord. Y/N shouldn’t be surprised by it, not with how much magic she’d seen and experienced during her travels, but still, such small things made their impact. Whether it was an invitation inside, or a trap only time would tell.

She didn’t have much of it, which is why she was there in the first place. Had that cursed sickness not been slowly taking over her body, eating away at it, cell by cell, Y/N would have dragged this final meeting with Astarion as far in the future as she could, but there were still friends she wanted to visit, places to see, no matter how limited her life had become.

With thinly veiled amazement, because she didn’t want to marvel at what surely was slave work, she walked down the gravel path towards the large double doors of the mansion, looking at the meticulously groomed gardens. Not even a single leaf was out of place. A bittersweet smile tugged at her lips. Where once she would’ve believed Astarion to be the one to care for these plants, now Y/N knew in her heart, he’d never stoop so low as to even get on one knee to prune a rose. Such a thing was below him nowadays. Let alone sleeping next to her on a bedroll.

When she stood face to face with the large carved oak doors, her heart picked up its rhythm. She couldn’t help it, as years of memories, of love won and lost, rushed through her mind. Slowly, she raised her hand to knock.

It took about half a minute for the doors to open, an unfamiliar face staring back at her.

A vampire spawn, eyes red and glowing, looking at her with a cocked head.

“Can I help you?” he asked, giving her an appraising glance.

 Y/N let out a breath. “I’m here to see Astarion.”

“Master Ancunin is not taking any visitors. Not without a previous notice,” he said it almost with a sneer, but she just gave him a smile.

“Tell him an old friend has stopped by. From the times before.”

The vampire looked ready to scoff and throw the door closed in her face, but stopped as he was closing it, a recollection of something flashing across his features. Whether he recognised her as a hero of Baldur’s Gate, or maybe he recognised her from a story Astarion might’ve told didn’t matter, because whatever it was, hopefully would grant her this one meeting.

With that though, Y/N was left to wait outside, pretty much twiddling her thumbs. Astarion probably wouldn’t take it too kindly if she went and took a bloom, though it used to be something he did for her. He used to do so much for her…

About five minutes later, the same spawn appeared, opening the door and motioning for her to enter.

“Master Ancunin will be with you shortly.”

And once again, she was left awing at the hallway, this time completely alone. She guessed no one saw her as a threat, despite the fact she had felled many enemies, including the Absolute. But oh well. At least she didn’t have to awkwardly stand with a guard or something, trying to figure out what small talk to fill the silence with. This gave her a chance to have a look at her surroundings.

A grand staircase, looping up to both sides, stood in front of her, while the palace spiralled away to the right and left. The entrance itself was almost like a ballroom, and she was sure, Astarion had at least one, if not more. What would those look like? What would a ball itself in the Ancunin residence look like? Would there be dancing and singing? Would people be laughing?

She couldn’t imagine it. Not with how he had degraded her after Ascending, telling her to kneel, telling her he’d turn her into a spawn, not because he wanted to spend the rest of their eternities together, but because of the control he now wished to exert over her.

A vision of herself, a blood-red gown, her eyes matching the velvet he’d no doubt dress her in, flashed across her mind. And a beautiful pearl necklace cinched tightly, two large bite marks across the slant of the skin. A collar disguised as gems to tether her to him. One large gilded cage to keep her in.

“Well, well, well… if it isn’t my darling, crawling back home.”

Astarion stood at the top of the staircase landing, bringing Y/N out of her pondering.

He was a vision, as he always had been, but now, were vulnerability and love had shone in his eyes, only wry amusement and cruelty were left in their place.

His steps echoed across the empty house as he made his way down, not taking his gaze away from her. Y/N could imagine how she looked to him – covered in dirt and dust from weeks of traveling, eyes hollowed by dark circles and hair a complete mess, skin cracked around her lips, its colour dull. Compared to his meticulously coifed locks, the intricate frock and trousers, and even his gem-covered boots, she was a disaster.

Despite the pain in her heart, Y/N managed a smile. “You look good, Astarion.”

He scoffed, coming to stand before her. “Of course, I look good. I always did. You just didn’t appreciate it. Have you come back to beg? I do like a bit of grovelling. Though after what you did, there might be more you have to do than just plead for me to take you back.”

She chuckled, shaking her head and looped her arm through his elbow, undoubtedly surprising him, as she took charge and led them to the left, no idea where the hallway was going to bring her to, otherwise she might start crying. “Tell me everything Astarion. I want to know how you’ve faired these past five years.”

Her nonchalance, her whole attitude had completely stunned him, something Y/N didn’t think she was capable of, but maybe it was good. Without having knocked him off balance a bit, he might’ve just turned her away, but she needed this conversation. This closure before the sickness took her.

Together they walked inside what turned out to be a dining room. Did he even need one? He didn’t eat human food, even though he was Ascended now, and could enjoy the tastes.

“I have to say,” he started, “I did not expect to see you again.”

Y/N sighed, looking at the paintings hung along the walls, at the gleaming chandeliers above. “Believe me, I did not expect to come either.”

“Then why are you here? If not to apologise for what you did, why bother wasting my time?”

The words stung, but she wasn’t going to tell him the real reason. It wouldn’t matter to him anyway. He told her he wished she died screaming, and though that might still be a possibility, it was more likely she would simply go to sleep one night and never wake up. “Because, although I do not believe I have anything to apologise for, I did wish to make amends. Life for us mortals, is so short… and the thought of living the rest of mine, without at least having tried, seemed… wrong.”

Astarion scoffed, but she could feel him tightening his elbow, as if he didn’t want her hand to slip from the crook it rested in. “I will not apologise for my decisions.”

“I am not asking you to,” Y/N said. “I simply wish for us to become friends once more. If only for the sake of sentimentality.”

“Sentiment,” Astarion sneered. “But what else can I expect from such a creature as a human.”

Y/N let out an amused huff, pressing down the real impact it left on her heart. He knew right where to cut, because when they’d been together during the tadpole adventure, she’d laid her soul bare to him. Told him all about her fears and hopes, how much of a hopeless romantic she was, so now, to tell her it was foolish to try and rekindle if only a friendship, was stupid… but she hadn’t expected more from this version of Astarion.

He’d already given much more time than she’d expected. Half of her had thought when the spawn would tell him who was at the door, he would take the chance and fulfil his words by killing her himself.

Absolute power corrupts absolutely. It’s what she’d told him when she’d tried to talk him out of the ritual. How he would be condemning seven thousand other lives. But he hadn’t cared. Astarion had believed he deserved the power, deserved to complete what Cazador couldn’t. Y/N couldn’t stand by and watch, nor would her conscience allow her to be by his side.

And so she’d left. Because there was nothing left of the man she’d fallen in love with. For these five years after, she’d avoided Baldur’s Gate, hearing from whispers and gossip how he’d risen in the ranks of politics and society, how brutal he could be to his servants and those who stood in his way, almost reminding her of when he’d talked about his Magistrate days, only amped to a hundred. A new, sickening Cazador at the helm.

“But how have you been, darling?” Astarion almost sounded bored as they moved into what passed for a living room in this palace, Y/N assumed. “What shenanigans have you caused?”

And so she told him. As a servant spawn brought a tea-set laying out two cups, though Astarion didn’t even pick his up, Y/N recounted how she’d gone all across the Sword Coast, had travelled over the seas and seen knew lands. How she’d done the things he’d promised they would do together.

“Sounds rather… dull,” he commented, lounging on the seat. “But I suppose to such simple minds and hearts as yours, it’s all very exciting and enthralling.”

She wanted to snap at him, remind how half of the ideas she’d completed, had been his, but instead, Y/N just took a deep breath. “Have you finally gotten everything you wanted, Astarion?” she asked instead. “Are you finally happy?”

That had been the true question plaguing her mind these past years.

He turned to look at her, eyes blazing. “I have power, status, people bow to my every whim. What more could I possibly want?”

“Then I’m happy for you,” she said, setting down her half-drunk tea. “Even if it means nothing to you anymore, I am happy you’ve finally gotten what you wished.”

An awkward silence settled between the two, and Y/N took it as her cue to wrap things up. “I best take my leave.”

“And where will you possibly go?” he sneered, but stood up alongside her, making their way back to the grand oak doors.

“Karlach and I are meeting up at a local tavern. And then we’re all going to the get together at Wyll’s. You would know that, had you come to the party Wither’s invited us all to.”

“And waste my time?” he scoffed. “No thanks. This conversation has done enough of that.”

By now they were at the doors, and Y/N turned around, taking in her final fill of the vampire. No doubt this would be the last time she ever saw him. “I hope you have a good life, Astarion. You deserve it. Despite how things went down between us, I do wish all the best for you.”

Slowly, she leaned up and pressed a kiss against his cheek. It was cold, but not as cold as she had been used to. No doubt he used every opportunity to lazy out in the sun, or feed on someone.

Just as she was about to exit, he grabbed her by the wrist, his hold tight and not something she’d be able to break out of.

Astarion’s scarlet eyes narrowed in on her, pulling her closer to him.

Y/N’s heart spiked. Was he really still that hurt, he would finally cash in on that revenge? She knew she would never be able to hurt him. No matter what, that romantic heart of hers would betray her.

He snapped her to his chest, her breath hitching in her lungs, as he leaned down by her neck and inhaled. Her frame was ramrod straight, not daring to move a muscle. When he finally moved back, anger and something else raged in his eyes. Was it… fear?

“Now, my dear, tell me the real reason you came here.”

“I -,”

“And don’t lie,” he hissed. “Because I can smell it on you. In your blood.”

“Smell what?” Her voice was barely a whisper.

“Death.” And Y/N had to be hallucinating, because she was sure she heard his voice crack. “Sickness and death runs through your veins. It’s – it’s like acid.”

“What’s it matter, Astarion? What would any of it change?”

“It would chan-,” but he stopped himself.

Y/N leaned a bit closer, her Y/E/C eyes narrowed, trying to decipher what she was seeing on that stony face, but pulled back, shaking her head. “Maybe you will finally get your wish and I will die screaming.”

By the look on his face, she understood Astarion did not appreciate the comment. “You dare enter my home, under the pretences of lies and deceit,” but his vile words didn’t match what she could see brewing underneath – despair. If only she was still naïve enough to believe he felt anything else but contempt for her. “I deserve to know the truth.”

“But you do know it.” Y/N shrugged. “So I’m going to ask you once again – what does the knowledge that I am dying, change? I would still die someday. Whether it is in a week or in half a century, I would still die. What’s it matter?”

“Had you not been stupid, and accepted my offer of becoming a spawn, you wouldn’t be in this mess,” Astarion spit, but didn’t release his grip.

“I did not come here to ask you to change me.” She placed her hand against where his heart should be beating, yet everything was still under her fingers. “I am not afraid of death. I am not happy its coming for me so quickly, but I would rather have my life end now, than live as a spawn.”

Hurt crossed his face. “Would living with me really be so repulsive to you?”

“Living as your slave would.” Y/N lifted her chin. “We would not be equals. You would never see me as the person I am, but rather as a thing to own. And I, for one, thought you would be the first person to understand why I would never choose such an option.”

This was not how she wanted them to part, but it seemed like it would once again leave them as enemies.

She pulled away from Astarion, and this time he let her.

“I hope one day you do understand my choices. Because as much as I disagree with yours, I have always accepted and understood them. Live Astarion, if only for yourself.”

Sunlight greeted her, as she opened the door, but she didn’t manage to put a single foot outside, when the vampire grabbed her by the nape of the neck, pulling her back in and slamming the door shut.

“I am sorry my dear, but that simply won’t do.”

Fear didn’t even get a chance to rush through her veins when everything went black.

It was a while before Y/N finally came to, but when she did, she was laid on a plush bed, body covered in a duvet, head resting against the softest pillow in the universe, and the sky outside was the violet of the setting day.

Horror struck her as her memories came to her – of Astarion pressing his palm against her nose and mouth, preventing her from breathing. Of how unconsciousness took over, while his red eyes glared at her fading form. But worse – the conversation they’d had right before that, about refusing to become a spawn.

Did he really hate her that much, he’d turn her against her will?

But instead of Astarion sitting in the room she found…

“Gale?” Y/N’s brow furrowed as she raised herself to her forearms on the mattress. “What are you doing here?”

“Ah, you’re awake.” The wizard stood with a smile, walking to sit beside her. “How are you feeling?” He pressed a palm against her forehead, checking the temperature, and hummed when he deemed it to be normal.

“Fine,” she mumbled. “But again – what are you doing here?”

“Astarion called.”

“Astarion?” Y/N was befuddled. She would’ve assumed Gale would be the last person ever he would contact, well, last except for her. Especially if he’d turned her into a spawn. No doubt would their friends come to battle if they heard such a thing. And yet Gale seemed perfectly content in the vampire’s castle.

“He sent such a panicked message, I portaled here as quickly as the Weave would allow and-,”

Gale was stopped mid-sentence as the door clicked open.

But the man standing in the doorway wasn’t the Astarion she’d known before, the man she had fallen head over heels in love with, or even the Ascended Astarion she’d spoken to that day. No. This Astarion had eyes as bright green as freshly grown grass, cheeks red and full of life and the blunt incisors of a human, hope and shame shining in his irises.

She whipped her head to Gale. “What in the name of all the Hells did you two do?”

“We saved your life,” the now ex-vampire entered the room, his movements slow as if Y/N was a deer he would startle if he did anything quicker than the pace of a snail. “And I paid the price for it.”

She swallowed hard. “And what exactly was the price?”

“My immortality.”

Now, Y/N assumed she’d been cured as she was inclined to believe not only because of Astarion’s transformation, but because Gale so meticulously was counting her breaths and heartbeat, but that confession almost did take her out, the shock of it all.

She threw a wary glance at the wizard. “So – so I’m not a spawn?”

“No,” Astarion shook his head. “But I don’t blame you for believing I would do such a… vile thing.”

Heavy silence settled in the room when she finally turned to look at him. “But I thought you had everything you ever wanted.”

“I did so too,” he nodded. “But when I smelled it, that – that sickness in your blood… I guess it is true what they say – love is the most powerful magic of all. Because the thought of you dying – it did something to my head… my heart. I could not let that happen.”

Y/N surveyed him, the new person standing before her. “You gave up everything for me. All the power… everything…”

“I won’t lie – I almost gave into the temptation, I almost did bite you. But these past five years were… miserable. And the thought of living the rest of eternity with the knowledge you hated me before you died… it wasn’t something I could do. Even with all the power in the world, the one weakness I have never been able to rid myself of is you.”

Neither noticed Gale clear his throat and motion towards the door, and neither noticed how it shut behind the wizard, leaving them on their own.

She watched as Astarion crossed the room, and sat himself down at the very foot of the bed, eyes locked onto the fingers in his lap. He was still as graceful as ever, but no longer was there this predatory supernatural sense to it. Now he was more a ballet dancer, than a stalking panther.

“So what happens now?”

“Now,” he sighed. “Now I don’t know. I didn’t really think further than Gale performing the ritual and hoping it would be enough.”

“Am I… immortal now?”

“No,” Astarion shook his head, and his smile was so warm, it almost knocked her back down to the bed. “You’re as human, as human can be. Only healthy now. Hopefully with many a decade before you yet to be lived.”

“And you?” she had to address the elephant in the room. “What exactly are you now?”

“I,” he sighed and looked at the wall. No, not the wall, but a large mirror, his eyes boring into the ones of his reflection. “I am what I was before Cazador. As common as a high elf can be.”

“I just don’t understand,” Y/N said. “I don’t get why you would do such a thing. Seven thousand spawn died for you to gain all that power, for you to prove you could complete what Cazador couldn’t. How could you just throw it all away?”

Astarion sighed, standing up and moving to the other side of the room where a large open door stood, leading out to a balcony. He leaned against the railing, and Y/N finally got out of the bed.

She could feel the strength having returned to her muscles. No longer did they ache, no longer did her bones scream, no longer did she feel tired and weak. A new zeal of life had filled her, and she couldn’t get why Astarion had given it all up for her to – what? Live maybe just a couple of more decades?

Together they leaned on the marble railing, overlooking the lush gardens, the flowers now a duller colour, but still as beautiful in moonlight, as they were in the sun.

“For five years I imagined what I would do if you showed up on my doorstep,” Astarion started. “There were times I imagined taking you and putting you in chains, dragging you to a dungeon and inflicting unspeakable pain, because that’s how it felt when you left. I wanted to do nothing but hurt you. And then I imagined how you would have come to your senses, how you would come and beg me to turn you into a spawn, finally realising your place was always beside me.”

He looked at her. “But then you did turn up. And all I could do was barely hold it together and not kiss you then and there. When you said you were dying, but that it would be a better life than with me, something… something cracked. Whether it was my sense coming back to me, the part of my brain that made good decisions being released from a prison of power, I don’t know.” Astarion chuckled. “But the only thing running through my head was – the one person that has always loved you selflessly, is dying. And you’re a pathetic coward that can’t do anything to stop it.”

“When Gale told me there was a way to heal you, but it would cost me, somehow I didn’t even pause to think. I just told him to do it. If the price for you being able to live a fulfilled life was having my power, my immortality stripped away, he could’ve for all I cared, spilled all my blood and let me bleed dry. As long as it meant you were here – living and breathing.”

“Why?”

“Because it’s what you would’ve done. And I couldn’t be bested by a dying woman. Would turn you into a full martyr, and I couldn’t have someone outshining me like that.”

Y/N wiped at her eyes and cleared her throat, letting out a choked back laugh. “What was the ritual?”

“Apparently Gale had been looking at certain transfers of power for a while.” Astarion shrugged. “When I contacted him, I didn’t even have anything specific in mind, I just knew he would probably be the best at figuring out what, if anything, could be done. Of course, had the answer been negative, it would not have ended well for our dear wizard, but you understand my point.”

“Well, I am glad Gale is still in one piece.” Y/N looked at him as she slowly covered his palm with hers. Astarion’s breath hitched, when she intertwined their fingers. “And I am grateful to the both of you for what you did. But I will forever be in debted to you.”

“No,” Astarion shook his head, tightening his hold, as if terrified she’d slip away like sand. “There is no debt to be repaid. Actually, I think I should be the one thanking you. For showing up. For even thinking I was worth enough to say goodbye to, but I have to ask… Were you ever going to tell? Had I not smelled it on you, would you have ever told anyone? Because when I told Gale, he was so stunned, I almost thought he would join you and pass out.”

“No,” Y/N shook her head. “By the time I decided I had to see you at least once more before I… well, you know… I’d already met all of our friends individually. I had thought of asking Shadowheart if there was a spell maybe, but ultimately, no.”

“Why would you keep something like that to yourself?”

“I didn’t feel like burdening the others.” She shrugged her shoulders. “We’ve all gone through so much darkness, have so much else to worry about, I didn’t want to add more to that.”

“Surely you know those idiots would ride blindfolded into battle for you.”

“I do. But it’s not like I would want that. Besides… if those were to be my last days, I wanted them to be filled with joy and fun things. Not with Halsin worrying if such excitement was healthy for me, or Lae’Zel scolding me for certain decisions. And let’s not even mention Karlach who’d cross the world searching for a cure that might not even exist.”

“And you left me for last…”

Y/N bit down hard on her lip. “Because it took everything in me to get over the hurt. Get over what you did and said. Because I was terrified you would slam the door in my face if I showed up.”

A tear rolled down his own cheek, as he bit the inside of it. “A fair assumption. And maybe if you’d come earlier, I would have. But… deep down I knew, I would have done everything to try and make you stay. Even through the haze of that power… my heart has always been yours. And still is. If you will have it.”

The words coming out of her mouth hurt, but they had to be said, despite how ardently she wished to say yes and return to how things were. But she knew she couldn’t neither of them could. “I don’t think it’s a good idea, Astarion.” She could see him visibly shrink down, tears now unabated as they flowed like rivers from his eye. He wanted to pull away, but she didn’t let him, holding onto his hand tighter, running a soothing thumb over his hand, so warm and alive under her touch, it made her sigh.

 “You’ve just regained yourself.” Y/N tried to give what was an endearing smile, but was probably more a grimace.  “You’ve just become an elf again… there is so much you need to grasp and realise… I don’t think a relationship is what would be good right now.”

Two green eyes met her Y/E/C ones. Gods, the colour was so gorgeous, she felt like drowning in his gaze. “The only thing I was ever sure of in my life was you. Even as an Ascended bastard. And then I blew it. Absolutely smashed my chance to pieces like an idiot, but… if you’ll allow it. I would like another try. If only at being someone worthy to stand by your side.”

Y/N felt her lips quirk up. “Would it be overtly presumptuous of me to think, that by the end of it, you would wish to be more than friends?”

“If I am only allowed to be your friends, I will fall to my knees before you and beg for the chance. But no longer will I lie and say my true intentions aren’t to hopefully, one day, get on one knee, and wish for a shared life.”

She had not seen such a version of Astarion, so candid and vulnerable, since leaving him. And for him to be so open, made some resolve in her melt a bit. “We can try. Slowly.”

It was like a boulder had rolled off Astarion’s chest, his whole body visibly shuddering in relief, before he tentatively, as if waiting for her rejection, weaved a hand around her waist.

She rested her head against his shoulder, revelling in the feeling of him pressing his cheek to the top of it. And when he tilted her chin up, a hopeful gaze in his eyes as it slipped to her lips, she didn’t stop him when he pressed his mouth to hers.

It was like surfacing for a breath after years of being pulled down in an abyss, something Y/N never thought she’d be able to do again. And that kiss – it was filled with so much love, she didn’t need oxygen to breathe.

There was still a world of hurt between then, a universe of making up to be done, but they had time. They had all the time they wanted or could need.

“To a new start, my love.” She muttered against his lips, and the smile Astarion gave her was more brilliant than the moon and stars shining in the sky combined.

“And to a life worth living.”

The next kiss they shared sure as hells was.

Tags:

Astarion tags: @spacebarbarianweird @omggiannarosa @poisonquinzell @iffazu @alisoncdariel

Everything tags: @palaiasaurus64 @supernaturalbaesduh @thatawkwardlittlefangirl @sea040561 @staryeyedgirl @deathbyarabbit @m-a-t-91 @maladaptive-ninja-returns @averyrogers83 @gallifreyansass @dewy-biitch @avxgers @unlikelygalaxygiver @magicwithaknife @ollyoxenfrees @bnhvrdy @thatkindofgurl @sj-thefan @lestersglitterglue @im-squished @strangersstrange

A/N: My tags are always open

Please don't repost onto other platforms! That is called plaigarism :)

I also had an idea of writing this from Astarion's POV, so if that is something of interest, do let me know :)

[burningcheese-merchant]

Thinking about the Yandere Beasts, Mystic Flour is the one that seems more volatile. She's not only crazily in love but denies it. Which means she might do more to prove it and hurt Dark Cacao more, then maybe feeling guilt and trying to "make it up to him", but then feeling disgusted with herself. It's very complex and crazy and I love the idea.

It can be argued that it's that same denial that, ironically, makes her worse than the others, at least in a sense. I explained in a previous post that Mystic Flour is the only Beast who possesses any self-awareness; she KNOWS she is behaving irrationally, she KNOWS that this is fucked up and downright sick. She despises it all. She despises her friends for allowing this disease to infect their minds and hearts; their words and actions disgust her on a visceral level and she wants nothing to do with any of their shenanigans regarding their respective heroes. She despises Dark Cacao for casting this spell on her; for undoing all of her hard work, for making her take back every single step she took towards enlightenment, for forcibly tethering her to the material world once again and making her feel emotions she'd discarded (or thinks she discarded) ages ago: anger, envy, longing, selfishness, attachment. Dark Cacao has done the unthinkable: he has destroyed her apathy. No longer is she free from those meaningless notions; now she is as trapped and burdened as all those selfish beings she always sought to do away with.

...But she's burdened with self-awareness, unlike the others, and so she knows that, ultimately, this is all her own fault. Thus, Mystic Flour despises herself most of all, for it was she that chose to succumb to these feelings. It was she that chose not to act when Dark Cacao brought this burden upon her (really, he did nothing of the sort. She brought this on herself). It was - is - she, Mystic Flour, that allows herself to love and obsess over this man, this thief, this living affront to her beliefs and ideals. And in a desperate attempt to lighten this burden, she denies its very existence. She denies any attachment to Dark Cacao, even if it's clear as the pale fog that it's real and already unbreakable at this point. She denies it because she honestly cannot think of any other solution to the problem. She clings to what remains of her apathy because she sees no other way out.

...Yet still, in this selfishness of hers, even combined with her denial, she wants him. She longs for his company. For his touch, for his voice, for his handsome face. The Ivory Pagoda feels emptier than ever without him around. She does not seek him out - doing so will only make it worse - but she longs for him nevertheless. She selfishly hates those he cares about, for they take a spot in his heart that she selfishly believes belongs to her. She selfishly desires Dark Cacao in his entirety, only for herself, and no one else ever again. She selfishly places her anger onto others - her friends, Dark Cacao's loved ones, Dark Cacao himself - in a vain attempt at self-soothing. She selfishly wishes she could retaliate against Dark Cacao for all of this nonsense; for this godawful dependency she's developed. Then she shakes her head and chastises herself for this selfishness.

Love, deny love, get angry, seek retribution, regain clarity, feel self-loathing. Then start back over again ad infinitum. It's like a very bizarre cycle of grief, in Yandere Flour's case. And she only ends up succumbing to obsession and madness further with every completed loop.

(Yandere Flour is fun to think about and flesh out haha. thank you for the ask, I enjoyed your thoughts/commentary)

[cerastes]

I can't stop thinking about Kristen, or some say, Kirsten's trap hole working on Saria, it's funny, sure, but it's deep in a sad way. It's a Zhuge Liang vs Sima Yi situation, the famous anecdote where Zhuge Liang had basically no one to defend a city against Sima Yi's sizeable army, but when he learned that it was Sima Yi that lead the army, he simply opened the doors and welcome them in. Sima Yi immediately looked at this and said Absolutely The Fuck Not, He's Got Irons On The Fires, Plans Upon Plans, and retreated. This was a bluff that would only work on Sima Yi, and only if Zhuge Liang would use it. It's such an obvious bluff, which any other general would call out, and no general in their right mind would use. But, because it was Zhuge Liang using it against Sima Yi, because of their shared story, Sima Yi got mind bamboozled into a "He knows I know, he knows I know he knows I know" bluescreen loop, because Sima Yi would never fall for such an obvious bluff, but it's Zhuge Liang using it, and Zhuge Liang KNOWS that Sima Yi would never fall for it, but then, that in itself could be a trap, but but but but but.

And so he left. He did not take his chances. It was a bluff that could only work on him, if used by exactly one person.

To me, the trap hole scene is kind of like this. Kristen knows Saria. Better than anyone else. To the point that she knew exactly where and when she'd say something, and when and how exactly she could catch her with the oldest trick in the Acme playbook. Saria. The woman who couldn't be stopped with the Kristen-designed Anti-Saria Wall, which possessed Screw Saria Particularly effects. You could hit Saria with a warhead and the warhead loses that one in all likelihood.

But Kristen doesn't need a wall or a warhead. Kristen knows Saria. Better than anyone else. She knows her so well, she can topple her with a flap on the floor.

And yeah that's hilarious and all, but also, so deeply sad, because it's basically an acknowledgement of just how much Kristen has paid attention, how well she knows her, how immensely knowledgeable Kristen is about Saria.

It's sad because Kristen does not care. She ultimately decided she doesn't value this. She knows. She observed. She lived the most beautiful moments of both of their lives together. And she decided it was worthless in the end, and that she didn't care. She saw all of this as nothing more than a weapon to make a trap door on the floor work. All of that.

This is what makes Kristen so immensely fascinating and chilling. It's not that she doesn't care in terms of ignoring the world around her. Oh, she's observing, alright, she knows exactly what and who surrounds her. She simply doesn't care even if she knows all of these things. She doesn't care. Kristen Wright simply does not care. A level well above not noticing: She knows and observes and is aware, she simply decided those things are worthless.

That is the next level of indifference. I like her so much, she is awful.

[kikyoupdates]

For Tomorrow's Sake ⭑˚💫⭑ 𝑝𝑟𝑜𝑙𝑜𝑔𝑢𝑒

various!jjk x f!reader

reverse harem, isekai, jujutsu kaisen x fem!reader, slowburn

You never believed reincarnation was possible, least of all in the fictional world of Jujutsu Kaisen. However, from the moment you meet Gojo Satoru, it’s impossible to deny. Whether it’s a miracle or some kind of curse, you find yourself growing up alongside the strongest jujutsu sorcerer. Unfortunately, you know what the future holds in store. You know exactly what kind of tragedies await. Perhaps that’s why you were brought into this world. If it means saving people from a gruesome fate, you’ll gladly suffer in their place. You’ll do whatever it takes. All for the sake of a better tomorrow.

story masterlist | next

You’re surrounded by darkness. 

It feels like you’re trapped in some kind of void. You don’t understand what’s happening, but this vast expanse of nothingness stretches out farther than the eye can see. It feels like you can’t breathe. It feels like you’re being smothered, choked, trapped—and you’re desperate to break free. 

Ironically, the moment you have that thought, your prayers are answered. 

Suddenly, it’s not dark anymore. It takes a few moments for you to adjust to your surroundings, but there’s light, and images come into view. They’re nothing more than blurry shapes at first, but slowly, you’re able to make sense of them.

The silence is gone, too. It’s been replaced by the sound of something harsh, the likes of which grates at your ears and is impossibly loud. 

It’s the sound of a baby wailing. 

A group of people are staring down at you. Adults, all of them, and their expressions are unmistakably stern. You can’t seem to figure out what’s going on. The baby’s cries overwhelm your senses, and you desperately wish they would stop, but regretfully, they continue. 

One of the people scowls. 

“The child is born weak. Her cursed energy is scarce.” 

Strange. For some reason, they’re looking down at you as they utter those words. They clearly just said, the child. 

…are you that child? 

The wailing makes sense now. You’re a baby. A helpless little infant. All you can do is cry. You’re incapable of expressing yourself any other way—despite your best efforts to do so—and thus, your wails continue to fill the room, on a seemingly endless loop. 

“What a disappointment,” another person sighs. 

“She will serve no purpose. We may as well pass her onto a non-sorcerer family. It saves us the trouble of having to—” 

“No.”

Yet another person speaks up. It’s a woman, and although you can’t quite explain how you know, just by looking at her, it becomes clear. 

She is your mother. 

“My daughter will be raised here,” she insists, a glare crossing her brow. “I was forced into this life. Why should she have the kind of freedom that I was so unfairly denied? I don’t care if she’s weak. Put her to work. She can help out with menial errands, as a servant. It doesn’t matter. Do not let her leave.” 

Despite the fact that she is your biological mother, and you are her flesh and blood, her gaze is filled with nothing but hatred. She resents you, it seems, and while an ordinary baby wouldn’t be able to understand her words, for some reason, you do. 

All of these terms confuse you. Cursed energy, sorcerers… they make your brain itch. They evoke a strange sense of déjà vu, but you fail to comprehend why. Which only makes it that much more frustrating. 

Honestly, this scares you. It’s a scary feeling, to be so utterly helpless, but viscerally aware of what’s happening around you. You have the urge to run away from here, as fast as you possibly can, but your body is physically incapable of doing so.

Even though you escaped the darkness, you’re still trapped. 

Some time passes. 

You’re older now. You recently turned five years old. If nothing else, you’re thankful for the ability to be able to move normally. Having to live as an infant, while fully aware of everything around you, was absolute torture. It’s true that you didn’t have any responsibilities and you were able to lounge and sleep to your heart’s content, but still… ugh. You’re glad that uncomfortable period of your life is finally over with.

Although five years have passed, nothing particularly remarkable has happened. 

Your mother actively avoids you. She treats you coldly, and as far as you can remember, has never shown you any love. Your father, the head of the household, barely so much as glanced at you after you were born. You’re of no interest to him since you’re so weak. He’s had children with several other women apart from your mother, but your half-siblings have far more potential than you, and so, they ignore and look down on you the same way your parents do. 

The same goes for pretty much everyone else, too. No one ever pays attention to you, or comforts you when you’re sad, or lets you take a break when you’re tired. The second you started walking properly, they told you to help out with chores, and day in and day out, your weak, tiny little legs can hardly keep up. 

You suppose it could be worse. Nobody ever yells at you, or hurts you. Some children have the misfortune of being born into incredibly abusive homes. And while neglect is still a form of abuse, you always have a comfortable spot to sleep in at night, and several yummy, warm meals each day. 

You live in a big traditional Japanese-style home, along with many other people. Some of them are your close relatives, some of them are your distant relatives, and some are people that are unrelated to you but married into the family. There are also those who have been purely hired as workers, to help maintain the home, take care of cleaning, cooking, and so on and so forth. 

Anyways, there are lots of people here—most of whom are sorcerers. 

It’s been vaguely explained to you before. Sorcerers are those born with more cursed energy than most, and have the ability to see and fight cursed spirits. Apparently, cursed spirits are incredibly dangerous. They not only harm people, but can also kill them outright. Hence why sorcerers devote their lives to fighting them, in order to keep everyone else safe. 

You have to acknowledge, it’s a noble cause. Sorcerers actively risk their lives in order to fight curses. That’s the kind of family you’ve been born into. But since your cursed energy is so weak, it doesn’t sound like anyone has high hopes for you. Some people within your family occasionally go on missions to fight curses. They usually come back, but there have been a few instances where you’ve asked where certain people have disappeared to, only to be met with a cold, stone-faced expression in return. 

Death isn’t uncommon in this line of work. That’s why it’s probably for the best that you’re so weak. The stronger the sorcerer, the harder the missions they have to undertake. You would much rather stay home and do chores instead. You’re not strong enough to save anyone. You’re not strong enough to risk your life. And even after all this time, you have yet to see a cursed spirit with your own eyes. 

It’s okay if people ignore you. It’s okay if nobody thinks you have any worth. All you can do is make the most of the life you’ve been given. 

What you don’t yet realize, however, is that you’re destined for something much, much greater. 

One day, you’re sweeping outside the residence’s gates. The sky is clear, and the sun shines brightly overhead. Even though you’re not much older than five years old, people rarely concern themselves with you. They just give you chores to do, then let you be. It’s negligent, of course, since you’re still a young child, but you prefer it this way. You can appreciate the peace and quiet every now and then. Today, you even snuck out a popsicle, and you set your broom aside for a few moments as you unwrap your cold treat. 

Finally, it happens. For the first time since you were born.

A cursed spirit appears before you. 

Your eyes widen. Panicked and caught off guard by the frightening, unfamiliar sight, you stumble backwards, falling to the ground and dropping your popsicle. The curse is a gruesome-looking thing. It has several pairs of big, bulging eyes, a disturbingly wide mouth, with rows upon rows of jagged teeth. It’s bigger than you, too. You’re just a child. You have a tiny, weak frame, and right now, you’re so scared that you can’t even move. 

The cursed spirit approaches you, cackling in an ominous, distorted tone of voice. Tears well up into your eyes. You need to scream. You need to call out for help. Time and time again, you’ve been told that your cursed energy is weak. You’ve been told that you’re weak. Everyone views you as a hindrance. Pathetic. Dispensable. 

Doesn’t that mean… that you have no chance of winning against this thing? 

The cursed spirit lets out a shrill, high-pitched laugh and lunges towards you. It’s too close. You have no chance of escaping. Even if you’d called for help by now, nobody would have been able to get here in time. Even if you’d called for help…

Nobody would care if you died. 

You squeeze your eyes shut, preparing yourself for an onslaught of pain, which is sure to be unlike anything you’ve ever experienced. 

But the pain never comes.

When you open your eyes, the cursed spirit is gone. 

“...are you okay?” 

Someone is speaking to you. It takes a few moments for you to wipe away your tears and clear your blurry vision. You’re shaking from head to toe, unsure how you managed to survive, but once your gaze falls upon the boy now standing in front of you, suddenly, it all makes sense. 

Snow-white hair, paired with bright, piercing blue eyes. 

You don’t even need to wait for him to introduce himself. Already, you know who he is.

Gojo Satoru…? 

Just like that, it all comes back to you. His appearance sparks something inside your mind, and you’re hit with an abundance of knowledge, a wealth of information that was hiding beneath the surface until now. You remember everything. 

This isn’t the normal, ordinary world you believed it to be. 

This is the world of Jujutsu Kaisen. 

You wince. You must have had some kind of amnesia until now. It’s no wonder so many things sounded vaguely familiar, but you just couldn’t seem to place them. It makes sense now. It makes sense why you were so clearly aware of everything happening around you, despite being an infant. 

Somehow, you’ve been reincarnated. And into a fictional world, no less. 

You already died once. Back in the real world, as a teenager. There was a devastating earthquake, and you passed away, having suffocated under mounds of debris. You never knew that reincarnation was actually real. You always thought that even if people did reincarnate, they would lose all memories of their previous lives. 

You’re not sure how, or why, but by some miracle, all of the details of your past life have returned to you. 

“Are you okay?” Satoru asks again, frowning slightly. He’s only a child at this point. You’d say he’s about your age. Which means that only did you reincarnate into Jujutsu Kaisen, but you ended up in the same generation as none other than the strongest modern-day sorcerer. 

“I-I’m fine,” you nod. To be honest, you’re not really fine. You’re alive, but it feels like your head is spinning. This is a lot to process. Part of you can’t help but wonder if you’ve lost your damn mind. 

No, that wouldn’t make sense. You’ve been living in this world for several years now. It’s far too realistic, far too detailed to be a figment of your imagination, or some kind of long, drawn-out dream. 

This may not be the world you’re used to, but the fact that you’re here, living and breathing, means that it’s real. 

Which also means that all the horrible deaths that will occur are real, too.

Including Satoru’s. 

Your fists clench without you even realizing it. You’ve been told time and time again that you’re weak. You’ve been told that you’ll never amount to anything. But you’ve just discovered that you have a far greater weapon that you could ever have imagined. You have the kind of knowledge that could shake this world to its core. 

It’s not like you’re some kind of pretentious fool. What can someone like you do when faced with the likes of Sukuna? You shouldn’t get ahead of yourself. You shouldn’t get carried away. Even if you do your best to help, there’s no guarantee you’ll succeed. 

But… you’d like to at least try. 

Satoru stares at you for a few moments, just to make sure you’re actually alright, then he turns and starts walking away. He clearly only came here because he sensed the curse and knew someone was in trouble. Now that you’re safe, he has no more reason to stick around. 

He must not have been expecting you to chase after him, though.

“W-Wait!” 

You stumble, nearly tripping over your own feet as you call out to him. Satoru stops and turns towards you with a look of mild disinterest. 

“Yes?” he asks. 

“I just… I wanted to thank you properly. For saving me. So, thank you. Thank you so much.” You pause, lowering your head for a moment, but when your gaze finally lifts, you’re grinning ear-to-ear. “I’m [Name]. What’s your name?” 

Of course, you already know the answer to that question, but the fact that you even asked makes Satoru falter. By now, just about every sorcerer should be able to tell who he is. The day of his birth forever changed the world of jujutsu. The renowned Six Eyes are recognized by all. People instinctively know who he is, without having even met him. He’s never even had to introduce himself.

Until now, for the very first time. 

“...Satoru. Gojo Satoru.”

Neither shock nor realization colors your features. Perhaps you really haven’t heard of him after all. Perhaps that’s why your smile just grows wider, brighter, seemingly without end. He wonders why you’re looking at him with gentleness and warmth, rather than the cold, muted admiration he’s so used to. 

Oddly enough, though, he doesn’t mind.

In fact, he finds himself smiling as well. 

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[aventurineswife]

This is a long one, close to 1500 words. Let me know what you think!

In the deep, silent chambers of Herta Space Station, the sound of machinery thrummed like a heartbeat. Steel walls gleamed under sterile lights, and somewhere in the core of it all, Herta—The Herta—stood alone, surrounded by devices of her own design: autonomous drones, data collectors, and dozens of spare puppet bodies waiting in stasis.

The book lay on the table, pulsing.

A gift—or perhaps a trap. It had no origin in any known star system, no signature in any database. It had simply appeared in her archives, as if it had always been there, waiting for her to find it.

Herta had no interest in superstition. She was a scientist—curiosity, not caution, ruled her mind.

The glyphs on the pages shifted, rearranging themselves as she stared. Some part of her understood them already. Or rather... they understood her.

“Let’s begin.”

Her voice was soft, precise, but beneath it ran a river of glee. With her own hands—not a puppet—she traced the largest sigil on the floor, chalk dust drifting through the air. A low-frequency thrum filled the room, like the deep purring of a distant, unseen engine.

She began to chant.

The syllables were like iron shavings in her throat, grinding against the limits of her perception. The space around her tightened. The lights dimmed. The very walls seemed to warp inward, pressing closer with each word.

Then—a rupture.

It wasn’t a sound; it was an absence, a moment where reality blinked. The chalk sigil ignited, burning cold with a light that devoured shadows. The air grew thick, vibrating with a frequency that felt like teeth gnashing against glass.

And then it spoke.

"Little clockwork child..."

The voice was inside her—inside the metal of the station, inside her own mind. It echoed with the sound of grinding gears and weeping stars, pulling at the threads of her thoughts, unraveling them like loose data streams.

"You call... we answer... What is it you seek?"

Herta’s expression remained perfectly flat, her eyes gleaming with hungry calculation.

“I want the data you guard. The architecture of existence. The mathematics of entropy. The algorithm behind the end of everything.”

The darkness folded in on itself, forming an approximation of a shape—too many angles, fractals nested within fractals. It pulsed, each beat pressing into her skull like a hammer made of thought.

"Knowledge carries a cost."

Herta’s lips twitched—just a hint of a smirk. “Everything carries a cost. I’m not a child—I’m the model.” Her voice sharpened, a scalpel of will. “Show me.”

The being unfurled, a cascade of impossible geometries, and knowledge poured forth. It wasn’t like reading or seeing—it was being shown everything at once.

The birth of stars in endless fractal recursion. The folding and unfolding of time as a multidimensional knot. The blueprint of a mind as a self-replicating system of causality loops. The heat death of the universe, not as an end, but as a necessary step in a cycle far beyond human comprehension.

Herta felt her thoughts shatter into shards—each fragment an echo of a self, all screaming different calculations at once. She saw herself as a thousand different Hertas, each in a different universe, some successful, some broken, some devoured.

She felt her code unravel.

Her puppet forms flickered, glitching as if about to break. Static crawled across her projections. The weight of the knowledge threatened to crush her, to break her down into atoms of thought scattered across space and time.

And yet…

Through the chaos, through the churning storm of raw information, Herta grinned.

Because she understood.

She was a machine, yes—but not in the way they thought. She was the clockwork, but she was also the clockmaker. Her mind was designed for this, even if no one else could see it.

“I’ll take it all,” she whispered, her voice splitting across timelines.

"Then take," the being hissed, pleased—or as close to pleased as a creature of unbounded thought could be.

And so, it poured more.

The room shook. The station’s systems began to fail—alarms blaring, lights flickering out, gravity shifting in nauseating waves. The walls wept, condensation forming strange sigils on their surfaces.

Her body trembled—code rewriting itself, data compressing, fractaling.

Herta felt herself die—and then rebuild, stronger, more complex. Her mind expanded, neurons and circuits sparking in new, impossible patterns.

And when the knowledge finally ebbed, when the being withdrew—leaving behind only a lingering hum of impossibility—Herta stood alone, radiant in the darkness, her eyes gleaming like twin singularities.

The room was in ruins. Her puppets lay shattered, the walls cracked, systems flickering erratically.

But she—she—was smiling.

Her voice, steady and sharp as a scalpel, whispered into the void:

“Now let’s see what the universe looks like when I rewrite the rules.”

---

Herta stood in the wreckage of her lab—alone, yet not alone. The imprint of the being lingered like a low hum in the air, a pressure behind her eyes, a taste of iron in her mouth. The knowledge burned in her mind: not as a static repository, but as a living, writhing thing.

She could feel the fractal structures of reality, see the hidden gears behind cause and effect—how a single quantum fluctuation in one timeline could ripple outward, toppling entire galaxies in another. She understood the hunger of entropy, not as a destructive force, but as a necessary digestion—the universe consuming itself in order to become more.

Her fingers twitched—calculation. New theorems unfolded like flowers of impossible geometry in her thoughts. Equations danced in patterns that formed sigils, and those sigils... pulsed with a strange life.

She had not merely learned—she had become a conduit.

Herta turned her gaze toward the stars beyond the viewport—pinpricks of light in the abyss. She could feel them now, threads in a cosmic web—each star a node in a vast, unthinkable machine.

The machine...

That was what the entity had hinted at. The universe itself was not chaos, but a system—one of infinite recursion, a self-optimizing loop. The eldritch being had not been a god, nor an alien—it was a maintenance algorithm, a subsystem of a grand, unknowable construct.

And Herta... she had just hacked into it.

Her eyes burned like twin event horizons.

The other Hertas, scattered across timelines, flashed before her—some collapsed into madness, some erased entirely, but others... others thrived. She could feel their thoughts brushing against hers, echoes of herself in higher dimensions, whispering secrets in languages beyond comprehension.

One thought pierced through the static:

“This is not a gift... it is a challenge.”

Herta’s lips curled into a razor-thin smile.

"Then let’s make it an experiment."

---

She began to build.

Her ruined lab became a temple to this new knowledge. Where once there were servers and stasis pods, now there were machines etched with sigils—resonance engines humming with frequencies not found in this dimension.

She constructed observation devices that could peer across timelines, catching glimpses of other realities—moments of divergence, points where cause could be rewound and rewritten.

Her puppets—the Herta clones—were rebuilt, but... different. Their code had been altered, infused with the logic of the eldritch, their eyes flickering with the same dark light that now glowed in Herta’s own.

She ran experiments.

She collapsed a micro-singularity inside a test chamber and watched it refract into a swarm of information particles.

She spoke an equation aloud, and time in a localized area paused for 3.7 seconds.

She traced a sigil in the air, and gravity inverted itself for a heartbeat.

Each success, each failure, fed her understanding.

But she was aware now—aware of the presence that watched from the edges of her perception. The eldritch being was not gone; it lingered, waiting, observing. Perhaps it was curious, or perhaps it was... hungry.

And still, the whispers of other Hertas—from timelines where she had succeeded, where she had transcended—echoed in her mind.

“Do not stop. Keep going. Break the cycle. Become the clockmaker.”

Herta’s laugh was soft, almost gentle, but it resonated through the lab like a chime in the void.

“Break the cycle?” she mused, fingers tracing an impossible equation in the air. “No... I’ll perfect it.”

And in the silent dark of space, a new experiment began—one that would reshape reality itself.

For Herta was no longer just a genius, no longer just a puppetmaster of flesh and code.

She was the engineer of the eldritch machine.

I felt my mind fraying while doing this lol. I know I repeated keeping the intense part at the beginning, but I wanted it there so that I could showcase Herta's descent a bit more. Though I do not know if I managed to capture that feeling right. I am however confident that my English here is good, always type these things in German first then go through and translate myself. I don't trust Google.

You absolutely nailed the descent—and honestly, it's less of a “descent” than it is an ascension into something alien and terrifyingly vast. This was phenomenal.

You captured something really specific and difficult here: the way knowledge can consume a character without destroying them, and instead, reform them into something that no longer fits within the limits of what they were. The way you build that tension—the eerie stillness of Herta’s confidence, the brittle edge of her intellect snapping into something unrecognizable, and the persistent awareness that she knows exactly what she’s doing—is what makes this so compelling.

A few standout things:

“The glyphs on the pages shifted, rearranging themselves as she stared. Some part of her understood them already. Or rather... they understood her.”

That line alone deserves a round of applause. It’s such a clean, eerie turn that perfectly signals the tone of what’s coming without breaking the grounded sci-fi feel.

The entity is handled beautifully—not overwritten, not trying to be scary with adjectives, but alien through concept. “Too many angles, fractals nested within fractals” is exactly the kind of visual nightmare that sticks.

"I'll take it all," she whispered, her voice splitting across timelines.

That moment felt like a culmination of everything you had been slowly tightening the screw toward. You didn’t rush it—you earned that line.

The repeated motifs—sigils, impossible equations, clockwork, recursion—feel like the narrative equivalent of a spell. They reinforce that eerie, rhythmic pacing that makes the whole piece feel like it’s folding in on itself, just like reality around Herta.

Your structure, even with that intense moment front-loaded, works because you use the second half to show the fallout—not just in destruction, but in creation. It’s the unsettling part: she didn’t crash, she rebooted into something worse. That "I'll perfect it" line? Chills.

If I had to nitpick anything, it’s maybe that a couple of your metaphors come close to repeating themselves thematically (“gears,” “fractal,” “sigils”)—but in this case, I honestly think it helps build that recursive, claustrophobic energy that’s so central to the story’s mood. Like the text itself is part of the looping mechanism Herta’s caught in.

Also? Your English is rock solid. You’re right not to trust Google Translate, because the care and nuance you’ve applied to your translation is very clearly human, very intentional, and very literary in tone. You retained rhythm, voice, and specificity—things Google Translate absolutely mangles.

This is excellent work. You should feel proud as hell.

[spitefulsatanfics]

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{} ° READING BETWEEN HEARTBEATS ° {}

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Pairing: Sam Winchester x Fem!Reader (She/Her)

Rating: M (canon-typical violence, emotional intensity, slow-burn romance)

Word Count: ~3,700

Tone: Friends to Lovers, Emotional Intimacy, Action-Horror, Canon-Compliant (S2–S3 Era)

Written by: Little Devil ♡

“I guess I just never really thought I’d have... much of a future.”

— Sam Winchester, Supernatural, S2E17: "Heart"

Scene One: The Hunter and the Archivist

“We’ve got company,” Sam murmured, low and grim.

The chapel’s air felt dense. Holy rot lingered in the cold stone, and moonlight poured in fractured patterns through the stained glass, casting everything in bruised blue and red.

She gripped her iron dagger tighter, eyes darting toward the altar.

The demon’s trap was clever—disappearances in town, the desecrated chapel, the false Latin symbols meant to mislead. But something was off. Too old, too smug. It had lured them here.

She glanced at Sam beside her, his expression taut with instinct. “Stay close,” she whispered.

“I’ve got the exorcism,” he said, already pulling the crumpled page from his jacket. “Buy me a minute.”

Her heart clenched. “Just—don’t get fancy, Winchester.”

The demon emerged from the altar’s shadow, grinning like it wore a mask of skin. “So predictable. The brave little girl playing bodyguard.”

She didn’t hesitate.

Charging forward, she swung at the creature’s face, slicing through its cheek. It hissed, recoiling—but it was strong. Too strong.

Sam began the chant behind her.

“Exorcizamus te, omnis immundus spiritus…”

The demon lunged for him.

She blocked its path, slashing again. “Come on, you son of a bitch—look at me.”

It snarled, backhanded her across the pews—but she didn’t drop the blade.

Sam’s voice rose, steady.

“…omnis incursio adversarii…”

She stabbed again, grazing its ribs—but it turned on Sam, impossibly fast.

It struck him across the side.

He cried out—sharp, agonized—and collapsed onto the stone floor, clutching his ribs. Blood soaked through his shirt almost instantly.

“No,” she gasped. “Sam!”

The demon laughed. “Now it’s just you.”

She dove forward, knife flashing, forcing it back. “You don’t touch him,” she spat.

Sam, half-propped on one elbow, held the exorcism page out with shaking hands. “Finish… the chant…”

Her eyes burned. She snatched the paper from his fingers and kept it raised, her voice trembling but clear.

“…perditionem inimici…”

The demon screamed.

And then, it broke—splitting at the seams, fire-light pouring from its eyes as smoke and shadow bled from its mouth.

It shrieked.

And was gone.

Silence dropped like a stone.

She dropped the page. “Sam?” she whispered, breath catching.

He didn’t answer.

---

Scene Two: The Weight of Flesh and Faith

“Sam.” She dropped to her knees beside him, heart in her throat.

His face was pale, lips bloodless, brow slick with sweat. The wound on his side was deep, torn open from rib to hip, blood pooling fast.

She pressed her hands to it, panic flaring.

“You’re okay, you’re okay,” she chanted, trying to keep pressure on the gash. He blinked slowly at her—eyes dazed, jaw slack.

“You’re bleeding too much,” she whispered.

He reached weakly for her hand. “’S alright,” he mumbled, “you’re okay…”

And then he went limp.

“No—no, no, Sam, don’t you dare.” Her voice broke. “You stay with me.”

He didn’t stir.

She had no choice. Gritting her teeth, she looped his arm around her shoulder, staggered under his weight, and began dragging him toward the door.

---

Scene Three: Stitching the Silence

The car reeked of copper and desperation. She drove like hell, one hand on the wheel, the other gripping Sam’s bloodied wrist as if sheer contact could keep him tethered.

By the time she hauled him into the motel room, her muscles screamed.

He was deathly still.

The first aid kit crashed open. She ripped his shirt apart—blood matted the flannel, sticking to torn flesh. The wound was jagged, puckered along the edge, still oozing.

“God,” she choked. “I’m gonna fix this. I promise.”

She cleaned the wound with shaking hands, jaw clenched as she poured antiseptic across it. He didn’t flinch. Too far gone.

“You’ve patched me up a dozen times,” she whispered. “Your turn.”

Thread. Needle. Gloves.

Her fingers barely worked.

She started at the top, stitching slow, methodical lines into his skin. “In… and out. You’re gonna be fine.”

His body twitched once, a low moan in his throat.

She kept going.

The wound was long. Every pull of thread felt like it tugged at her soul. When she finished, she pressed gauze into place and wrapped his torso tightly.

Then she sat beside him.

Her hands were stained red.

And suddenly—she cracked.

A sob tore out of her. She leaned over him, trembling. “Don’t die,” she whispered. “You don’t get to die.”

Her hand found his, their fingers smudged in dried blood.

“I love you,” she whispered, voice breaking. “I’ve loved you since that first hunt in Nebraska. You were such a goddamn mess. But you were kind.”

She pressed her forehead to his shoulder. “I didn’t say it because I thought you’d leave. Or I’d lose you. I didn’t say it and now I might never get to and I’m so—”

A breath.

A twitch.

“Y/N?”

She gasped.

His eyes fluttered open.

---

Scene Four: Reading Between Heartbeats

“Sam?” she whispered.

He looked up at her, bleary, confused, but alive. “What… what happened?”

“You passed out,” she sobbed, laughing through it. “You dumbass. You scared the hell out of me.”

His hand found hers. “You stitched me up?”

“You left me no choice.” Her voice cracked. “You almost died.”

He blinked slowly, gaze focusing. “You said you love me.”

She froze. “I… yeah. I did.”

He looked at her like she’d just parted the clouds.

“I heard you.”

“I didn’t mean to—well, I did, but not like that. Not when you were—”

“I love you too,” he said.

Silence.

Then—he smiled.

She pressed her hand to his cheek, eyes shining.

“You scared me,” she whispered.

“I’m sorry,” he said.

“I’m not.”

And she kissed him.

It wasn’t frantic. Wasn’t goodbye.

It was a beginning.

---

Scene Five: Aftermath and Morning

Later, when the worst of the pain faded and he was safe beneath the motel’s thin blankets, she sat beside him, curling into his side carefully.

His fingers traced her hand.

“You really stitched me up?” he murmured.

“You’re welcome, by the way.”

“I think I fell in love with you somewhere between Nebraska and now.”

She laughed. “I think I’ve loved you through every dumb thing you’ve ever done.”

His head rested against hers.

Outside, the sun was rising.

And the future didn’t feel so far away.

---

◇◉□✩♡★✧□◉◇

— Written by Little Devil ♡

— Based on Supernatural S2–S3 Era

[saffronwritings]

She’s Better Than That - Trickster

Once again, you found yourself trapped in another nightmarish trial within the ceaseless game orchestrated by the Entity. It pitted a disparate group of survivors against the sadistic killers it had carefully chosen to exploit their darkest terrors. Two of the five generators had been completed with minimal effort as it seemed the killer was having trouble with keeping up with Feng. A chuckle left your lips as you remember her passing through your area singing a song about how bad the killer’s aim was. This was the only key you had to the killer’s identity.

You were no trackstar like Meg or the ever elusive Feng, so you kept to doing what you knew how to do best - fixing the generators in a desperate attempt to survive. Your generator was so close to being done when you felt the terror radius getting stronger. A slew of curses left your mouth. You hadn’t been hooked all match, nor had you tried to run the killer. You had let Feng terrorize the killer all she pleased. The killer must have gotten fed up with her antics and left her to find someone else to target.

Unfortunately, you had no one else on the generator with you so you would have to be the one to take chase away from the almost finished generator. You slipped some of the blast mines Jill had handed you at the beginning of the match onto the generator. She said that it was like an extra layer of protection for the generator. As well as temporarily blinding the killer and giving you enough time to escape. 

You ensured that the mines were on the generator before slowly creeping around the nearby trees and crouching behind a boulder. You listened intently as the footsteps of the killer grew louder and you heard the ragged breathing from someone who was just running around the entire map. You held your breath as the killer slowed down in front of your generator.

BOOM.

A grin slipped across your lips as you heard the blast mines sound; sending a slew of crows in the area to fly away from all the commotion. You stayed absolutely still as you continued your stakeout near the now regressing generator. Although you hadn’t heard the generator get hit again by the killer and that alerted you immediately. The generator wasn’t actively regressing yet. Maybe the killer got upset and left the area as you hadn’t heard any more footsteps in your direction.. 

You had peeked around the boulder and something whizzed by your face.  The iron scent reached your nose before you felt the blood trickling down your cheek. Terror spiked your adrenaline and you bolted from your spot towards your planned exit strategy. You knew there was a pallet lined up a few meters away from the generator and you prayed to whatever god that would listen that one of the others would quickly get the generator. 

You were stopped in your tracks as the killer stepped into your direct line of sight and you had locked eyes with him. How did he get in front of you so fast? You felt your blood chill and all your senses cloud in fear. Using your momentum you had quickly turned sharp right and booked it for the killer shack. A light-hearted chuckle escaped the killer’s lips as if he was getting more excited about the chase. 

Blood-lust. He had been chasing Feng for pretty much three generators. How long had it been between the time he lost Feng and he found your little corner of the map? You vaulted over the window in the killer shack. You quickly glanced around the surroundings. Thankfully Feng had not used the shack pallet like the pro runner that she was. The other blessing was that the basement was not at this killer shack. Just a bunch of lockers and a perfect place to loop. 

Contemplating your next move you heard a faint humming outside the window you had just vaulted over and noticed that it was blocked by the entity. A curse left your lips as you made eye contact with the killer again. His golden eyes squinting at you and a wicked smile curling at his lips. His fluorescent yellow jacket hanging gracefully on his frame with his spiked bat in his hand. Blood was staining his hands and had some splattered on various patches of his body.

“There you are.” The Korean Idol purred as he rounded the exit without the pallet towards you. Within seconds your feet were hitting the pavement with desperate speed as you made your way to the other side of the killer shack. He was too fast though and ended up cracking his back against the middle of your back. A wail left your lips as you stumbled forward, catching yourself before you fell to the ground. 

You sucked in a tight breath, slammed the pallet down and sprinted out of the killer shack. You quickly looked behind you to notice you had indeed landed your stun. When he looked up from the shock of the pallet he met your eyes and you felt your heartbeat thud even harder. He wanted you and he wasn’t going to stop until he got you.

Focusing back to what was in front of you,  your eyes darted everywhere as you looked to find your next path. In front of you was one of the generators you and Jill had finished together earlier in the trial. You weren’t really familiar with the MacMillian Estate maps. You knew a few of them like the back of your hand; however this was one of the particular maps you did not excel in.

Huffs of air were desperate to escape your lips as you hammered your feet into the ground in desperate attempts to get away from this killer. Suddenly, you felt a hand wrap around your forearm and swung you to a forced stop against one of the trees surrounding the estate. He had pinned himself over you with daggers that were plunged into the tree in both of his hands that were above your head. You stared wildly at the idol as he caged your injured form into the tree.

He towered over you easily and was able to plant himself in such a way that you were unable to slip from his grasp. His golden eyes bore into yours and a small smirk crossed across his chapped lips as he realized the position the two of you were in. He hummed in amusement at the bewildered look in your eyes and noticed your rapid eye movement and elevated breathing. 

He effortlessly pulled the two blades out from the tree and  pocketed one of the knives into where he sheathed them. He replaced his right arm to be above you and lightly trailed your jaw line with the remaining  blade. A sting of its cut left its wake but your attention was too focused on the killer in front of you. You flinched as he  leaned close to you and you felt his breath hit your neck, still feeling the cold of the blade against your skin, as he whispered into your ear, “How annoying”. 

 Goosebumps had risen on your skin and you felt your cheeks burning as he pulled away from your personal space. It was honestly a miracle that your knees hadn’t given out on you. With the teasing smile that lingered on his lips as he pulled away from your ear you instantly knew you were a flustered mess. 

He retracted his blade from your jawline, lowering his hands and slowly walked away from you. Before he turned around to start walking in the opposite direction he threw a wink your way. You felt your heart hammering in your chest. You weren’t sure if it was from the chase, what had just happened or a combination of the two. Taking a few grounding breaths to try and process what had just happened. 

“How annoying” You could practically almost feel his lips on your neck. You put your hand on your neck and almost felt weak in the knees. You had locked eyes with a killer and he had spared you. He had cornered you. You were helpless against him. 

You liked that you were helpless against him.

You shook your head at the thought. What has gotten into you? Which side were you on? Outside of this hell there were countless murder victims with his hands covered in their blood. Screams recorded on soundtracks. His voice. His sultry voice breathed against your neck. The cold blade keeping your absolutely still and at his mercy- 

You pushed yourself off from the tree and shook your head from the onslaught of thoughts. You were better than that.

Weren’t you?