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sukuslutx · 2 months

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Just the two of us. — R. Sukuna

— for just how long could you keep up the tough act?

Feat. true form!Sukuna, fem!reader

CW: minor death (of an npc), blood, rough sex turned soft kinda, you are also a jujutsu sorcer with a cursed technique, breeding,he has two dicks, hair pulling, Sukuna being a tease, angst if you squint – also kinda not proofread

wc ~ 4.9k

Note: My biggest red flag gotta be thinking I could personally be such a bitch to him and still get away with it.

''Sukuna-sama called for you'', you hear the maid say in a lowly tone, barely audible against the backdrop of your contemplative gaze out the window into the lush gardens below. The day held promise in its sun-kissed embrace, yet a subtle disquiet lingered in the air. You grinned at your own reflection in the mirror, pausing your makeup adjustments, acknowledging the maid with a simple nod before she retreated.

You got off the chair and made your way there, a soft melody dancing from your lips as you traversed the halls to Sukuna's chambers. Irritatation and annoyance both suddenly washing over you as you heard the loud sounds coming from inside the room. You supressed a sigh and instead giggled to yourself as you opened the door and entered.

''Sukuna-sama, feels so good'', the woman on his lap babbling, fucked out of her mind already as she was mindlessly bouncing on him. You noticed that he didnt actually give a single care about the woman in front of him when his eyes met yours. He knew you were watching, flashing you an annoying grin. The next thing he felt was blood splashing on his face. The woman's head exploding right in front of him.

''So fucking loud, such a bother'', you said as you approached him. Whatever was left of the body falling backwards and off his lap, you kick it to the side out the way as you stood in front of him.

''Why must you make me do this shit'', your tone annoyed as you pressed your hands onto his chest.

''It's quite entertaining dont you think'', he looks down at you, one pair of his hands coming to grab your hips. You leaned in closer, your lips curling into a smirk as you met Sukuna's gaze with a mixture of amusement and defiance. "Entertaining, perhaps'', your lips brushed over his but just as they were about to connect completely you move your head back, „but I tire of cleaning up after your messes," you retorted, your voice dripping with disdain.

Sukuna chuckled darkly, his grip tightening on your hips as he pulled you closer. "Oh, but my dear, you will always do anything for me, would you not?" he remarked, his tone laced with mockery.

You gritted your teeth, suppressing the urge to lash out at him. Instead, you forced a smirk and pushed against his chest, breaking free from his grasp. "I excel at many things, Sukuna," you countered, your voice ice-cold, "but indulging your whims may not be one of them anymore."

Sukuna's smirk widened, his eyes glinting with a mixture of amusement and something else, something darker and more primal. "Is that so?" he murmured, his voice low and husky as he took a step closer to you, his presence overwhelming.

You could feel the heat radiating from his body, drawing you in like a moth to a flame. Despite your best efforts to resist, a shiver of anticipation ran down your spine, igniting a fire deep within you that threatened to consume you whole. It was always like this with him. You hate that he was right, you would do anything for him, hell you would bend over backwards if he demanded without a second thought, but he was the same.

''I still don't get why you need these lowly women, when you know that no one can satisfy you like I do'', you spoke back at him, your voice laced with an icy edge as you came closer to him again pushing him back onto his chair. ''Perhaps so, but it makes the sex better overall when I get you worked up'', he chuckles.

''Stop talking'', you tell him as you move down to your knees in between his spread legs. Two of his dicks towering in front of you as you licked your lips deliciously. Amusement danced in his eyes as you brazenly mirrored his demeanor, your defiance is always such a delightful spectacle. None dared to challenge him, yet you, with your unwavering spirit still did, unafraid of the consequences that might follow. You weren't scared of death, to be honest dying by his hands would probably be the best way to go out, you thought.

You flashed him a smirk as you took one of his dicks in your mouth while lazily stroking the other. ''I'll ruin you'', was all he said as he suddenly jolted feeling your teeth grazing his dick. He quickly yanked you by the hair and up to meet his face. Yet, rather than recoil from his grasp, you met his gaze head-on, a defiant smirk playing upon your lips."Don't threaten me with a good time, big guy," you quipped, your voice laced with lust, daring to challenge the formidable force that held you in his grasp.

Sex between the two of you was never romantic, never soft nor gentle. For that you needed a pure kind of love, and that was something neither of you had. In the tumultuous dance between you and him, love in its conventional form was an elusive phantom. Instead, what bound you together was a volatile concoction of desire and obsession, a toxic essence that ignited flames of passion even as it left scars upon your soul.

''You still got that fitlhy mouth on you little minx, one day ill manage to fuck that behaviour out of you'', he dragged you by the hair and threw you onto the bed. You squirmed up to him quickly ''but you love it, do you not?''.

He just scoffed back in response. ''Thought so'', you pushed him to lay down as you crawled up his chest, tracing it with your tongue. Your hands tracing his inked skin. Gosh you knew and memorized every inch of him. You positioned yourself to sit on his face, untangling the garments you've been covered with. No underwear underneath, after all it was the most convenient. You lowered your soaking wet pussy onto his face. A barely audiable sound escaped your lips, you can't believe that what got you this wet was killing that woman right in front of Sukuna. You suddenly get pulled from your short train of thoughts as you felt Sukuna's mouth attach to your folds in an instant. He inhaled your scent, fuck he could never get tired of it, the way you taste, that was his opium. Two of his hands snaking around your thighs pulling you down onto him, while the other two moved up your body to your breast as he gave them a squeeze. He started his assault onto your aching core, just with his tongue. He knew all of your weak spots so he didn't need much more. You began grinding on his mouth, soft moans already escaping your lips. You could be loud but you didn't want to give him the satisfaction this soon. He was so good at this, after all you did it so many times, how could he not be. The sensation of his tongue inside you was just otherworldly.

His lips lapped on your folds, his tongue proding into your hole, he moved one of his hand up to your lips waiting for you to take a hint and take his fingers in your mouth. You slightly opened your mouth to let him enter, tongue already lapping onto his fingers, coating them with your spit. „Good girl“, he mummbles, almost inaudiable from the squelching noises of your pussy. He moved his hand lower snaking it behind you and to your other hole. You let out a hiss as you felt his fingers proding inside. He started to bully them inside of you, his tongue still assaulting your pussy. Stimulated from both ends you started to feel dizzy. One of the hands that was on your hips now moving down to your clit, he pressed on it and started circling his thumb over it, just enough to drive you crazy. He looked up at you, scanning your features, he took a mental note of your expression, this would truly fuel his ego more than it already has. He was a damn tease though. It could go two ways with him, he will either overstimulate you, giving you one orgasm after another to the point your fingers turn pale white from clenching on anything that you could grab or he would edge you but not giving you the release you needed or until you reached an orgasm so pathetic that only left you needing more. Unfortunately for you, today he felt more like doing the latter. So, just as you were about to reach the point of ecstasy, that faimiliar knot forming in your stomach, hands tangling and gripping his hair, eyes turning back, suddenly it all stopped as he forcefully moved you off of his face.

„I cant believe you got this wet from what? Killing that woman?, you might be sicker than me“, he chuckled, his gaze directed towards you. You were already annoyed, he edged you. Not even giving you that sweet release. Fucking prick you thought.

„Why are you pouting all of a sudden? Wanted to cum?, oh my poor baby“, he laughed, „Ya know how many times I told you if you want something take it for yourself. Now, ride me“

He moved up to the headrest leaning onto it, you crawled up to him once again.

„Just shut up and stay still“, you climbed over his lap your pussy that was just moments ago cleanching over air now is just above his dicks. You never really did foreplay much, nor did he bother. You could take the pain, you relinquished in it. He loved that about you though, you could take anything he gives you with a shit eating grin on your face.

Your hand slipped behind you, coming into contact with his dicks as you positioned them to be at each of your holes. „Fuck, are you just going to push them in like that?“, Sukuna grunted one of his hands grabbing your neck, squeezing it just enough to excite you. You hissed from the stretch and you could only feel the tips of his dicks. ''Ngh- shit.'', you bit down hard on your bottom lip.

''Ho-, does it hurt?'', he cuckled squeezing your throat just a little bit tighter. You looked directly into his eyes with a cold gaze. If he were anyone else you might've made him shiver. „Fuck you“, you spat at him as you bottomed out completely onto his dicks. Fuck, it hurt like a bitch, it was taking everything in you to surpress a loud scream that was threatening to escape your sweet lips. You still manage to amaze him, even after all of these years you still had it in you to do so.

On your end, your thoughts were all over the place, fuck, you did this so many times why was your body feeling strange. You had to agree with the bastard, you were a sick fuck just like him. Both of your holes felt like they were being torn in half, yet riding him just now didn't feel bad at all. Why were you so aroused over a fucked up situation. It's all cus of him, you thought. He brought the worst in you, but was it really that bad when you yourself enjoyed it to the last bit. „Ha- you fucking bastard“, you looked at him nothing but a grin on his face as he was analysing your features. „What the fuck are you grinning at?“, you looked down at his prominent chest your hands moving up his torso. „Wish you could see yourself right now“, his lips smirking while anger bubbles up within you.

„Why you-„ you suddenly got cut off, your breath stuck in your throat as he thrusted himself up forcefully into you, the stretch even more prominent. By reflex you tried to push him down and squirm on his lap, and he does halt his movements seemingly complying, but only to thurst up once again a bit more forcefully. This time you were falling forward onto his muscular chest. Your mouth fell open as you felt the tips of his dicks hitting so deep in both your holes, and Sukuna already reveled in the way you completely started to fall apart on his dicks. You pushed yourself back up, face contorting with pleasure.

„When will your little brain understand,..“, Sukuna spoke as he placed two of his hands on your waist gripping it harshly as he moved you up his dicks, „that you can't ever win“, he grinned so annoyingly while looking at you as he forcefully pulled you down bottoming out once again, filling both your holes just perfectly, „against me“. You screamed out, not being able to hold yourself back any longer. „Ahh- FUCK.“, your back arched deliciously in his hold, both your holes twitching as you felt almost as if you were losing control over your body for a moment there. The sweet pain turning into pleasure real quick. You had to turn this around, you couldn't just let him have his fun nor overpower you just yet. You will let him have his fun later, you thought, but for now you'll try to be equal on this battlefield. Your next action wasn't calculated, it just crossed your mind as you saw his prominent chest. His nipples were always sensitive, that was something no one knew but you. After all, you were the only one who was actually allowed to put your hands on him. Due to his strong grip on your hips and your legs already starting to get weak, you couldnt get out of his hold, so instead, you traced his chest with your hands as you reached up to one of his nipples and pinched it- hard. He instantly hissed, his movements stuttering a bit already, overwhelmed by the sudden sensation he felt. „Ho-?“, you murmered, flashing him a smirk, as you pinched it harder.

„Don't test me“, he grunted, almost completely halting now all of his movements.

„Oh- I think I just might“, you giggled as you leaned forwards onto him, latching your mouth on one his nipples in an instant, still continuing your assault on the other, rolling it between your fingers. You could hear him groan loudly but he wasn't doing anything to stop your actions. „Hah- whats wrong Sukuna-sama, getting weak on me now?“ Another hiss coming out of his lips as he felt you bite down on his nipple. He won't admit he was enjoying this, and you knew that your fun will soon be over and just then one of his arms reached up, tangled into your hair and yanked you off of him. „Did you have your fun“, his face just inches away from yours.

„Hmm-“, before you even got to answer you were already pulled off of him and thrown back onto the bed. „I suppose it's my turn then“, the look in his eyes was a wild one, anyone else in your place would be shuddering in fear from it, but not you. The endless possibilities of what he might do next excited you beyond comprehension. You didn't even have the time to react before he was already towering over you. One of his arms cupping both of yours and pinning them above your head; the third one coming into contact with your neck squeezing it just right, while the other two grabbed both of your legs pushing your knees up to your chest as he had you fully pinned down to the matress like that. You tried to squirm unsuccessfully, you hated how your aching core got even wetter from the way he could just so easily restrain you. Actually, who were you kidding, you loved a man that could challenge you, and even manage to dominate you. You were turned on by the helplessnes you felt under him. He brought his face closer to you so you decided to use up the opportunity, and with some strenght you have left pushing your head up until your lips met his. He grinned into the kiss as he instantly gave in. Your lips clashing and fighting for dominance over one another, tongues dancing with each other. As you were about to detach your lips from his you bit down on his bottom lip hard, drawing blood. You instantly licked it up, the metallic taste clouding your mind, „Fuck me, hard“ you murmered over his lips as your head fell back onto the matress again. A grin so wide decorating his face. He didn't need to say anything, his facial expression was telling you everything you needed to know. There was a spark in his eyes that was about to ignite any second now, both of his dicks aching more than they have been. In a single thurst he bottomed out, both your holes felt full again. A soft gasp and a pityful moan leaving your lips as he started pounding into you, there was no holding back any longer. The perverted sounds of skin on skin contact grew louder and louder as both your holes were drooling from the delicious stretch of his thick size and lenght. The hand around your throat squeezing it a little tighter than before, restricting your oxygen. You started to feel dizzy from the feeling, yet you still grinned, you must be out of your mind. The sensation was one that seemed eternally foreign, a sensation you believed you could never grow accustomed to.

He looked so beautiful towering over you, his visage that others might find monstrous and repulsive held an inexplicable allure for you. As your eyes met his, a spark ignited within you, a spark that seemed to dance in the depths of your soul. But why were these thoughts invading your mind? You shook your head abruptly, as if to disperse the unwelcome intruders, desperately attempting to push away any notion that threatened to breach the fragile barrier you had built around your heart. Did you truly need to remind yourself once more of the nature of the connection between the two of you? You prayed fervently that he hadn't caught wind of any of this.

„Ah, whats that look in your eyes sweetheart, if i didn't know you, I would think you are in love or something“, he chuckled, thrusting into you.

„Fucking bastard-„, you just groaned, already annoyed over such a statement.

„Now, now-„ he grinned, as he began to pick up the pace of his movements. The hands that were holding your legs, pressing your knees to your chest, tightening their grip as his hips rammed into you harder and harder. You hissed, the sensation starting to be painful. His hips strained as he kept forcing himself in and out of you. The intensity of his thrusts making you jolt in the bed. You felt his grip on your hands starting to loosen until he let them completely free. Taking the opportunity you snaked your arms around his neck and pulled him closer down. You started biting along his jawline moving down to his neck, leaving visible marks on purpose. You knew he wouldn't heal them, you wanted them to be as visible as possible. You were reaching your high again, and you can feel he was too, so you squeezed around him just perfectly, tipping both of you over the edge. With a loud groan he emptied himself inside you, coating your walls white. He could see that familiar white circle forming around his dicks from your own juices. You knew this was far from over but you took the liberty to try and calm down, both of your holes sensitive. It was short lived.

„On all fours for me“, he wasn't asking, it was a demand but fuck if you were ever the obedient one.

„No“, you responded with a scoff, you were always the one to test his limits. You felt him pull out of you as he grabbed your hips tightly. His nails leaving creasent moon patterns where they bruised your delicate skin. He pulled you towards the end of the bed and flipped you around onto your stomach, your ass up.

Sukuna pulled your folds apart with one hand and same for the other hole, as he admired the view of your arousal and his cum dripping out and down to your thighs. The thoughts of brutalizing your already sensitive holes and emptying himself over and over again inside of you clouded his mind, both of his dicks impossibly hard again.

„Well, remember you fucking asked for this“, your eyes went wide as Sukuna harshly thrusted into you once again, but this time picking up the pace instantly as his hips slammed into you. You grabbed the sheets of the bed and squeezed them as some makeshift support. As he relentlesly pummeled into your holes, you were succumbed with pleasure once again, he felt insanely bigger from this angle, the feeling beginning to turn your brain into mush. Each of his thrusts calculated, he knew how to make you go insane, and as he kept going you were slowly losing touch with reality, mumbling things as you lost control of what you were saying. The feeling so heavenly, as your approached another orgasm.

''Suku-, ah... feeels so good-„ you moaned, your soft voice was like music to his ears, as they perked up. He wanted to hear more. „Hm? What was that-, mind repeating it for me?“, you might not see him but you knew he was grinning down at you. The thought of his smug face right now made you want to turn around and smash his beautiful face in.

„Fuck you“, you bit back as you tried your best to get ahold of yourself despite the pleasure he was giving you. You don't want to give him the satisfaction of being in control any longer but the feeling was so infatuating. In an instant you jolted, as you felt a harsh smack on your ass, leaving a red handprint that will most likely bruise. You hissed from the sting, but you'd be lying if you said it didn't turn you on even more than you already were. If it were even possible the smirk on Sukuna's face got wider as he continued to fuck you; your ass just perfectly bouncing off of him, taking him so well like you always did. He wanted you at his mercy, he loved that you never gave in so quickly without a fight, it was like a tugawar between the two of you, but nevertheless he knew that he could always make you crumble. You made him too, on several occassions, but right now he wanted the satisfaction of you begging for him, for his cocks, calling his name over and over again like some prayer.

He decided to pull out suddenly, your body falling flat on the matress. You instantly turned around, letting out a whine. The feeling of emptiness and lack of stimulation bubbling up within you. „You did it again, you prick“, your voice full of irritation as you glared at him.

„If you want to cum, I'll need you to beg for it“, he retorted, grinning back at you.

„Like hell I will“, you bit back, frustrated about the situation once again.

„Well, we'll see about that“, he taunted. The next thing you know, he rested once again back leaning on the bedrest as he picked your sensitive body and positioned you onto his lap. However, he was holding you just above his aching dicks. Both your holes barely grazing the tips. Your hands were on his shoulder while he held you up with two of his. You squirmed around, wanting to just feel full again, but his tight grip on your hips never let you do so.

„Beg.“

„No.“, you responded, trying once again to squirm in his hold but failing miserably. He latched his lips onto your neck, kissing, biting and sucking, harshly as always. He wanted to leave as many marks as possible. His bites drawing blood that he licked right up. You were biting down on your lip, containing any sound that might slip but the soft moans he oh so loved still found their way out. One of his hands traced down your body until it reached your sensitive clit. His lips attaching to yours as he started teasingly circling over your bundle of nerves. He wanted to make you crumble in his hold. You moaned into the kiss, hands tangling into his hair. This feeling was different. It almost seemed like one between true lovers. You blinked the thought away as you dettached yourself from this lips, catching your breath before connecting them again. The teasing sensation of his fingers over your clit wasn't enough anymore. You needed more, you needed him. All different emotions washed over you and before you knew it you were already crumbling slowly.

„Please-„ it came out breathy.

„Please what?“, he looked into your eyes. Sukuna immersed himself in the current moment, a storm of conflicting emotions roiled within him as he heard your voice as soft as that. Were you ever before like that, he doesn't recall but it was different.

„Please, I need you-„ you spoke softly again, burrying your face into his shoulder. He just hummed, tightening the grip on your hips as he dragged you down onto his lenght completely. You let out a shrill scream from the sudden stretch again, but quickly composed yourself as it turned into breathy moans and pleads for more and more. You could feel the coil in your stomach form again as the pleasure he was givng you was everything you needed and more. You squeezed around him, wanting to make him feel good like he did for you. His hands were roaming over your body and lips tracing from your jaw to your neck so possessively. You loved the sounds that he would make when he was being satisfied.

On his part with each possessive touch and primal growl that escaped his lips, he reveled in the raw intensity of your connection at the moment. His actions that were always fueled by a hunger that bordered on obsession, yet, beneath the veneer of dominance and control, there simmered a quiet unease—a gnawing realization of the transient nature of this connection you both shared.

He picked up his pace, his hips slamming up into you from below as his lips never left yours. Drinking up every sound he got out of you. He looked at you closely, analysing your features. Your eyes were closed so you didn't notice him staring.

You were a mere mortal, he thought, a fragile wisp of mortality destined to fade into oblivion like countless others before you. And though the thought should have brought satisfaction, a perverse sense of power, instead it left him with a hollow ache. He surely wouldn't miss you though, right? Someone else will come and replace you.

His fingers traced over your sensitive bud once again, as his pace never once faltered. You were so close to your high, your moans were getting louder, as the sensation grew more and more pleasurable, he could feel you tighten even more around him.

„Cum for me“, he spoke in between the kisses he was tracing down your neck and that was all you needed to get tipped over the edge and completely crumble around him. He soon followed, painting your walls white and as he claimed you with a ferocity born of desperation, he pushed aside these fleeting moments of tenderness that threatened to break through the facade of indifference. He was not one for softness, for gentle caresses and whispered endearments. No, he was a creature of darkness and dominance.

And yet, amid the brutality of your coupling as it was from the very beginning, there still lingered a silent acknowledgment—a begrudging respect for the mortal who dared to challenge him, to stand toe-to-toe with him and demand satisfaction.

Sukuna found himself surrendering to the moment, reveling in the raw power of your connection even as he braced himself for the inevitable moment when you would slip away, leaving behind nothing but a fading memory. So after satisfying the hunger that had drawn you together, you rose from the tangled sheets, retrieving your discarded robe from the floor. Sukuna watched you with an intensity that made your skin tingle, his gaze lingering on your retreating form as you moved to leave..

"Where are you going?" his voice, low and commanding broke the silence, ''you won't sleep here?''.

You bit down on your bottom lip, torn between the desire to stay and the need to protect yourself from the inevitable heartache that would surely follow. "You know we don't do that," you murmured softly, the words heavy with unspoken longing.

''Right..'' he spoke back. Even though you held yourself good he noticed the shift within you but he decided not to bring it up.

''Goodnight Sukuna...'', you whispered.

He just hummed in response as you turned your back to him and closed the door behind you. As you slipped away into the predawn silence, you couldn't help but wonder if he could hear the words you couldn't bring yourself to say. You could keep up the tough act for a while more... couldnt you?

#jujutsu kaisen #jjk #sukuna jjk #sukuna #sukuna ryomen #sukuna smut #sukuna angst #sukuna fluff #gojo smut #jjk angst #jujutsu kaisen angst #jujustu kaisen smut #jjk smut #jjk x reader #sukuna x reader #sukuna true form

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starry-bi-sky · 3 days

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Danyal Al Ghul: Incorrect Quotes and Miscellaneous Thoughts

Incorrect quotes-style snippets specifically for my danyal al ghul au here (which i really need to come up with a unique au name for atp). Because I thought it'd be funny. And also some miscellaneous headcanons thrown into the mix. Some context for the au: - Danyal is 5 years older than Damian (so 10 and 15) - Danny faked his death when he was 10. Talia knows and helped him with it. - Jazz, Sam, and Tucker do not know he's an ex-assassin.

-------- Snippet 1

Danny, dryly tapping his temple: I have, as the Americans say, irreparable psychological damage, right here.

Jazz, an older sibling first and foremost: well, it's good that you're self-aware.

-------- Snippet 2

Danny, aged 10, in the American foster planning to just age out of the system: *emanating Bad Vibes. Pure, Little Orphan Tom Riddle Energy*

Jazz, aged 12, coming in to adopt a new sibling with her parents: Him. This is my brother now :)

Danny: ...what

--------

Lilo and Stitch is Danny's favorite Disney movie. He watched it when he was 11 with Jazz when she was attempting to connect with him, and by this point Danny was becoming receptive to her efforts. They had a movie marathon in the living room one night.

Safe to say? It resonated with his little 11 year old heart strongly, and he related very strongly with both Nani and Stitch. He got unexpectedly emotional and hid in his room for the rest of the night. Jazz felt really bad, but it had the intended (but kinda unexpected) effect of him trying to be nicer to her afterwards.

-------- Snippet 3

Dash, aged 12, causing trouble again and getting intercepted by Danny: *scaling up a desk* AHHHHH! GET YOUR LITTLE FREAK, FOLEY!

Tucker: Hey! Danny is not a freak!

Dash: GET HIM TO BACK OFF

Tucker, was the kid Dash was messing with: ....whats in it for me

-------- Snippet 4

Danny, saying some questionably immoral shit: What. Why are you looking at me like that.

Tucker: Bro. I mean this as kindly as possible; what the fuck?

Sam: yeah, I'm with Tuck on this one.

-------- Snippet 5

Danny, ranting about Vlad: if it weren't for the laws of this land, I would have slaughtered him

Sam, painting his nails black: I'm pretty sure you'd slaughter him regardless of the laws of the land -- and quit moving, you're gonna mess me up.

Tucker: we've literally seen you debate yourself about this, Dan

Danny: ...you are correct, but it is the principle of things.

-------- Snippet 6

Vlad: I have experience my child, and the money and power attained through using those powers for personal gain, you say. I could train you, teach you everything I know! And all you have to do is renounce that idiot adoptive father of yours.

Danny, was already contemplating committing a Violence: ....

Danny, internally: I'm going to stab him *turns into Phantom*

--------

Funny contrast I realized between Danyal and Vlad that iirc I haven't pointed out yet is that imo, Danyal doesn't rely on his powers nearly half as much as canon Danny does. He falls back instinctually on his League training, and thus sometimes forgets to use his powers in battle. This was prevalent especially early on when he was still getting used to the whole 'halfa' thing.

He incorporates them more often after a year, but still for the most part relies on his own physical hand-to-hand combat. He trusts those skills much more than he does his powers. I'm not sure where he is on a technical level compared to canon, but just to stay safe I'll say he's similar in power skill as canon Danny. Perhaps a little more finessed than him because his League training would probably have him trying to figure out his powers as soon as possible.

But in summary? Danny is strong in hand-to-hand combat, weak in powerset.

Meanwhile Vlad is the opposite. I can't recall if he even knows hand-to-hand in canon, but it makes total sense to me that Vlad Masters wouldn't because he's so confident in his monetary influence and ghost abilities that he sees no need for it.

And he's kinda got some merit behind it. He's very powerful and has 20 years of experience to experiment and fine tune his powers. He's got bite to follow up his bark. He's perfected long-range combat and his ability to phase through walls makes it impossible to corner him, but if you can manage it, then one good hit could probably knock him on his ass.

So in summary, Vlad is strong in powerset, weak in hand-to-hand combat.

And it casts a good contrast between the two of them in that regard. Danny, as a fellow halfa, can follow Vlad when he phases through walls and is fast enough to land a hit on him. His league training as an assassin, albeit rusty, is still deep ingrained enough in him that he can hold up as a rather veritable threat against Vlad without needing his powers.

But Vlad can force Danny to use his powers more often through use of his own. The duplication is the first thing to come to mind: Danny's fast enough to dispel them on his own without powers, and smart enough that he could figure out who the real one is if given a few minute. But that's not always efficient enough.

Good foils for each other that way. Also Vlad's Plasmius design mimics Ra's juuust enough that he looks like Ra's knockoff loser second cousin no one talks about, which only fuels Danny's hatred.

-------- Snippet 7

Danny, ranting about Vlad for the first time: --and it's only made worse by the fact that the little ingrate resembles a cheap knock-off of my grandfather!--

Sam, choking on her water: he what--

Tucker, doing a spittake: HE DOES?

#dpxdc #dp x dc #danny fenton is not the ghost king #dp x dc crossover #dpxdc crossover #danyal al ghul au #i have a doodle of that little scene with vlad actually. its in my notebook lmao.#danny gets *furiously* shakespearan when he's insulting someone. sam and tucker have recorded some of his rants #and they are just pure gold.#sam and tucker calling danny 'dan' as a nickname 2024.#which reminds me about how TUE would even happen. someone in my ao3 comments made a good point about how they weren't sure if my danyal #would even have a TUE occur because he's not the cheating type. i've seen clips of how he got his hands on the test answers but i'll need t #watch the episode to gauge if Dan is even feasible. and if he is what changes to make him happen. hmmm. much to think about #don't think danyal would stay with vlad even in the midst of his grief. hmhmhm #dpdc

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houserautha · 29 days

Text

These Destined Ends

Part 3

Summary: Jessica fulfilled the wishes of the Bene Gesserits to produce a daughter. You’re now burdened with the task of not only marrying the na-Baron, but also bearing his child — the Kwisatz Haderach. Will you take your fate into your own hands? Or will it always belong to those who control you?

Pairings: Feyd-Rautha x F!Reader

Word Count: 2.7k

Warnings: mentions of killing/death, naked concubines (man and woman), threats via penis manhandling

A/N: I have a vague idea of where I’d like the story to go because I love the fun in discovering different things when writing on a loose plan. This chapter ended up longer than I thought it would be but Feyd is just so damn fun to write😂

You tried not to linger on the implications of your shared quarters.

Angrily you strode after Feyd-Rautha. “What is going to become of my parents?”

“I don’t care.”

You wanted to grab his arm and spin him around, force him to face you. But you were afraid of touching him again, afraid that any little contact would result in an even trade — and you did not want to confront the flicker of attraction you felt when the Harkonnen dragged his lips across your skin. A second reaction would be indicative of something more, and you were determined not to let another scenario arise to find out.

The best you could do was stomp after him. “Well, I do.”

“Nothing will happen.”

“How can you be sure?”

“I just am.”

You mull over this response. Would he tell you differently? You sensed that Feyd-Rautha tended to be brutally honest. Probably because he never had to deal with any consequences in his life. How could he, as na-Baron?

You fail to think of anything else to say and lapse into silence, trusting that he is telling the truth and your parents will be fine. Besides, you comfort yourself, the Emperor would be furious if the Harkonnens just slaughtered one of the other Noble Houses like that. There were laws in place to discourage such atrocities.

Feyd-Rautha continues his unofficial tour, winding through a complicated series of interweaving corridors without speaking. You see several servants along the way, all who keep a cautious distance from you both. You couldn't ignore their curious looks. How strange you felt among them - pale and unblemished like stones smoothed over by a river's constant force. It didn't aid in your comfort.

"Do you not know any of them?" You ask. Feyd-Rautha is anything but a pleasant conversational partner, but at least if you're talking you don't have to listen to your rampant thoughts.

"Who?"

"The servants," you reply, brow furrowing.

He grunts in a noncommittal fashion. "Why would I?"

"Because they work for you." You were on friendly terms with the staff back on Caladan and trying to befriend the Fremen employed to you on Arrakis. The natives were untrusting of you, rightfully so. But you couldn't imagine just ignoring them.

"They're disposable," Feyd-Rautha comments with a wave of his hand. A pair of servants scurry by.

You watch them turn the corner and vanish. "They're afraid of you."

"Hm."

"Am I?"

"Are you what?"

"Disposable."

He casts you a sideways look. "Everyone is disposable once their use has expired. Thus is the way of the Harkonnen."

You contemplate this, frowning. "Even you?"

A dry, brittle laugh erupts from him.

"Are you planning on killing me already, wife? Perhaps you'll adapt just fine here."

That wasn't the compliment he thought it was.

You pointedly ignore him. "Are you telling me that there's not a moment that would make you disposable like the rest of us?"

"There is," he says, seemingly unbothered by the threat of his mortality, unlike you. "My uncle has promised the Baronship to me. If I am an unfit ruler then I would be challenged. Thus is the —"

"— way of the Harkonnen," you finish.

Feyd-Rautha flashes you a smile as sharp as the blade of a dagger. "You are quicker than you look."

"But what of the Noble Houses? The Emperor?"

Feyd-Rautha lifts a shoulder. "House Harkonnen has proved powerful for many, many generations. No one dares challenge us. Nor will they," he adds thoughtfully. He pauses. "Do you fret for our children?"

You inhale sharply, swallowing, and it sticks in your throat. You cough out an unconvincing, "I'm fine!" then set to composing yourself, confident that your sanity would be doubted by anyone who happened by. What a way to be viewed by your subjects. Feyd-Rautha just stares at you in poorly veiled amusement.

"I try not to think of our children," you say after you're sure you're done coughing. Something akin to embarrassment burns you skin.

"Pity," Feyd-Rautha says. "These are our quarters."

Feyd-Rautha's quarters are much more grand than your room on Arrakis. He leads you into an antechamber with a skylight, pouring the strange light from the black sun into the space. There's a sunken level in the floor furnished with dark colored furniture — two love seats and a sofa. A handful of glowglobes float aimlessly by.

Feyd-Rautha crosses the room, forgoing the sunken level, to the other side of the antechamber. You have no choice but to follow.

You don't know what you expected from his — your — room. Perhaps a chamber of torture. But it's not the sleek, elegant display before you, a full sized bed with plush bedding and tasteful curtains covering a bank of floor-length windows. It's impeccably neat.

And, to your abject horror, features three naked figures sprawled out on various surfaces. Two women and one man.

Feyd-Rautha ignores them, even as they slink from their positions to greet him, bodies slender and completely hairless, free of any visible blemishes. You feign an interest in the ceiling. It's not that you're naive to nudity or sexuality, but the sudden exposure to it roots you in your place.

"Do you need an invitation?" Feyd-Rautha asks.

When you force your gaze from the ceiling, you find him settled casually in a chair with a low-slung back, the two women kneeling on either side of him and the man behind. You follow their hands as they wander his body.

"No. No."

Where are you supposed to go? If he believes you will worship him like the others than he's sorely mistaken. You walk to the bed, ghosting your fingers over the bedding and confirming its softness. You hate the way that you can feel him watching you, clearly amused by your discomfort; you rally your courage to meet his stare, refusing to acknowledge the naked bodies draped across him.

"Are you quite alright, wife?"

"Fine," you grit out. "I didn't realize we would have company."

"Would you like me to tell them to leave?"

A loaded question, one that you were aware would set the tone for the rest of your life with Feyd-Rautha. A challenge. You control the slight quiver in your voice, "Leave. I wish to be alone with my...husband."

The concubines hesitate, obviously waiting to hear from Feyd-Rautha. He continues to hold your gaze. "Leave."

Uncurling themselves from around him, the women and the man are all white limbs and smooth skin, a multi-limbed creature. Whether or not they are disappointed by this development, they don't reveal, simply sauntering out of the room to wherever they go when they aren't waiting naked for Feyd-Rautha. A feeling of annoyance stirs.

"There's no need to be jealous," Feyd-Rautha says as the door closes.

You bristle. "I'm not."

“Then come here, wife.” Feyd-Rautha spreads his legs, indicating his lap and his powerful thighs. You resent yourself for noticing. “If you dismiss my concubines, then you must come to me now and offer me your warmth instead.”

Another challenge. You wonder briefly if he is playing with you, testing your boundaries, but just as you refused to show weakness in the throne room, you refuse now, crossing the carpeted floor. A surge of bravery — or maybe stupidity — prompts you to wedge your knees on either side of his waist, straddling him, the skirt of your dress hitched up to ensure mobility.

The look on his face is worth the cost of the heat reigniting in the pit of your stomach. You chase it away in pursuit of the heady high you receive from asserting your dominance. He might’ve had the upper hand but you were in control now.

“Warm enough?” You ask him innocently.

“Not quite,” he replies. He’s tipped his head back to examine you, leaving a blazing trail where his gaze goes.

Brazen beyond you imagination, you work the buckle to his pants just enough to slip your hand inside and grab his cock.

That bastard. He was already hard. Not fully erect, you observed with conflicting feelings, but clearly you had your effects on him. Feyd-Rautha showed no shame or guilt about this, however. Like it was expected — normal for women he’s just met to reach into his pants.

And it probably was.

Injured hand screaming in defiance of your actions, you grab the head of his cock and twist, slightly backwards and to the side. You apply pressure, hopefully enough to hurt him, he wouldn’t dare reveal it to you anyway.

“Do not,” you hiss, “embarrass me like that ever again. I will not tolerate looking like a fool.”

Feyd-Rautha’s throat bobs. Except instead of agony he looks totally enthralled. “Or what?” He mocks. “You’ll wrap your pretty hand around my cock?”

“You won’t have a cock for anyone to wrap their hand around.”

“Is that a promise?”

You release him and climb off his lap, figuring it would be more impactful to leave him wanting then lustful. His utter indifference, his arousal, gives you pause to just who you’ve been arranged to marry.

“You disgust me,” you spit out.

Feyd-Rautha’s mouth twitches slightly. Did he really have to find everything funny?

He says, “We’ll see.”

A month passes at Giedi Prime in a disconcerting blur. To your surprise, besides the first afternoon, you hardly ever see Feyd-Rautha. Always busy with important meetings or sparring sessions. Or whatever he did in his spare time. You didn’t ask.

Ever since that day when you’d straddled his lap, you’d been waiting for the other shoe to drop. He had said clearly that you were even after the slap but then you’d unexpectedly turned the tables — did he intend on returning the favor?

You informed him that you would sleep on the couch in the antechamber until your wedding, to which he never remarked upon. That first night you lay awake, afraid and absolutely convinced that he would try something. But he never came.

The days passed without event and your anxiety dwindled. Besides, while Feyd-Rautha was busy with na-Baron affairs, you were forced to schlep through a mountain of preparations for the wedding ceremony. You didn’t care, frankly. You chose the first sample of whatever you were offered — tablecloths, menu items, decorations — until one of the servants accompanying you threw down the sample booklet and scowled.

“This will be the most horrendous wedding in the history of the galaxy,” the servant said in exasperation. “And all of them are too afraid of your husband to say anything.”

You had raised a brow, secretly thrilled by this confrontation. At least it broke the monotony of your life here thus far.

“Do you question my taste?”

The servant glared at you. “What taste?”

A moment passed. The other servants stared in horror, undoubtedly convinced that their demise was imminent. Perhaps that was one benefit to being betrothed to the na-Baron. He wielded a certain type of power.

You busted out laughing. In fact, you laughed so hard that tears stream down your face.

“You’re right,” you said, laughter weakening into an uncontrollable giggle. “It will be a horrendous wedding, but that has nothing to do with the decorations. Will you help me?”

The servant’s name is Asha, and in her you found a companion. She chased away the other servants that day and set to work rectifying your wedding decisions, weighing in on current trends on the planet and admonishing you for your Caladan tastes. “Absolutely not,” she deadpanned when you inquired about floral bouquets.

Out of everyone on Giedi Prime — well, really just the Harkonnen fortress, as you weren’t permitted to leave — Asha became your friend. No one else bothered or cared to talk to you, and now that you had bonded over wedding preparations, you spent infinite amounts of time together strolling the halls arm-in-arm and whispering about servant gossip since you had nothing to contribute.

Asha made your miserable new life interesting.

“Are you scared?” She asks you one day, plucking at your eyebrows.

You outright refused to shave them off in order to conform to the hairless style of the Harkonnens, but regrettably agreed to a touch-up. You kept one eye on a nearby mirror just in case she got any ideas.

“Of what?”

Asha yanks at an eyebrow hair, and you cry out in surprise. “Oh, stop, you’re fine — I mean are you scared of Feyd-Rautha?”

“No. Why would I be?” You avert your eyes from her probing stare. Asha, unfortunately, is able to read your expressions better than a trained Bene Gesserit. You learned that this stemmed from the combat trainings that all young children received on this planet.

“Because,” Asha stresses. You frown when she fails to elaborate, and your friend issues a long-suffering sigh. “I’ve heard things about him, you know, in bed.”

“Oh.” You twist your hands in your lap. “What kinds of things?”

Asha grins triumphantly. “I knew you were scared!”

You laugh and shove away her hands as she playfully jabs at your sides. “I’m not scared,” you say, fending her off. “I’m just curious. Aren’t all brides?”

“Just you. We aren’t all Noble daughters with arranged marriages. We fuck —”

“I get it,” you interrupt. “Consider yourself lucky.”

You’re about to prompt her again about the things she’s heard when there’s a light rap of knuckles on the door. Asha shoots to her feet. You suppress the urge to roll your eyes — of course she’s respectful to Feyd-Rautha but not you. But you supposed it was the basis of your only friendship, so you couldn’t exactly complain.

“You’re back,” you say, standing up slowly.

Feyd-Rautha rests, hip and elbow, against the doorframe into the antechamber. He hungrily drinks you in.

“Indeed,” Feyd-Rautha replies. Last you’d heard of him he had left for an offworld obligation without saying goodbye. Something stirs in you at the sight of him after so long.

“I hope your trip was well.”

Feyd-Rautha scans the room before his gaze returns to you. “I would prefer to be here. The Baron seems determined to keep me occupied until the ceremony.”

Did you detect a trace of resentment in his words? And why would the Baron keep him from you? The heir wouldn’t exactly conceive itself; though he would have no way of knowing that you had been sleeping on the couch all this time.

“Retrieve the present I’ve brought back for my wife,” Feyd-Rautha suddenly instructs Asha. She secretly meets your eyes before dashing away.

You fold your arms over your chest. “A present? And I thought you’d forgotten I existed.”

If he picks up on your anger, he doesn’t show it. Feyd-Rautha crosses the room to you, replaces Asha in the chair across from you.

“It’s for tonight. The Baron has requested our attendance for dinner.”

You bristle slightly. “The Baron? Tonight?”

You had been exceedingly lucky to avoid the monstrous head of House since your arrival. But perhaps it was because you ran the other direction at the mention of his name, or the fact that you hadn’t strayed from your quarters.

“Yes. You needed something…acceptable to wear.”

“My clothes aren’t acceptable?”

“Yes,” he answers. “I have no doubt that my uncle has planned something magnificent for tonight. You will need to look the part.”

Your careful, fragile existence on Giedi Prime was crashing at your feet. From wiling away the hours to suddenly being thrust into the explosive political landscape that was House Harkonnen.

But no matter. Jessica had raised you for this very purpose.

“Fine,” you agreed coolly.

Both of you turn as Asha returns from her errand, a garment bag folded over her arm. She goes to deliver it to your closet but Feyd-Rautha halts her in her tracks. “I want her to open it here.”

Part 4

Tags:

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@heartarianagran

@torchbearerkyle

@unicoreads

@taleah

@mamawiggers1980

#dune #feyd rautha #feyd x reader #feyd x you #fanfic writing #writers on tumblr #writing #fanfic

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howyouloveyourdragon · 3 months

Text

𝕬𝖑𝖑'𝖘 𝕱𝖆𝖎𝖗 𝕴𝖓 𝕷𝖔𝖛𝖊 𝖆𝖓𝖉 𝕰𝖓𝖈𝖍𝖆𝖓𝖙𝖒𝖊𝖓𝖙𝖘 (part i)

🇨🇭🇦🇵🇹🇪🇷 🇴🇳🇪⦂ 🇹🇭🇪 🇼🇦🇹🇪🇷🇸 🇴🇫 🇹🇭🇪 🇼🇪🇸🇹

summary: After Jacaerys is sent crashing into the icy ocean that he had thought to have escaped once before and slowly feels himself drift away from this realm...he awakens to a charming woman ensuring his health. A witch. Inviting her home is easy but it begins to sour when he discovers this witch is not unknown to his mother and neither is her heart. pairing: slowburn jacaerys velaryon x witch!reader x (later) rhaenyra targaryen pronouns: she/her part: 1/8 dividers by: hitobaby wordcount: 4,108

A powerful wave passes over his head and forces a rough gasp to rip from Prince Jacaerys Velaryon’s throat. At two and twenty, he had not imagined that he would be escaping death a second time beneath the sea’s ferocious call…but the ache of his arms are growing and his eyelids are slackening. Even his heart shivers as the cold water washes over him. Jacaerys can feel his useless hands claw at the relentless waves to no avail but still, hope latches on as tight as a stiff padlock. As tight as a man still believing of the Gods and all to which they had promised him. Whispers hiss through his ears from the wind, false promises of safety and comfort if he would just…let…go. And yet he does not. Not at first. Not at second…and then…He cannot ignore the tempting exhaustion any longer…He cannot…He cannot…He takes one last breath and then his fluttering lashes tire as his heart begins to feel more like a brush than a beat. All’s fair in love and war, they had said, whispering it into the shell of his ear until gooseflesh had stained his shivers. The exhaustion of war was long-lasting, turning thick skin fragile and in this cursed, wretched case–a prince into a man as weak as a drained newt.

Salt rubs roughly against his scalp as his body wraps around a broken plank of dark wood. Somehow, he cannot find the strength to stay afloat however as his body begins to slowly sink away from it. The weight of his soaked fabrics clings tightly to him, suffocating. Jacaerys feels his eyes flicker but no longer with desperation to escape but instead desperation to release himself from the thoughts of his mother, of his brothers…of gentle Lucerys awaiting him in the realm he cannot yet reach. To finally escape the nobles that haunt him about the keep. The question bellows in his mind; why are you still fighting? The war has passed and yet still death entangles its cold fingers around you. Your betrothed has already wedded another, your trueborn brothers support your mother’s legacy, your mother has been named Queen–why are you still fighting thine own destiny? Thine own fate? Truly if he were fated to die, Jacaerys would consider such thoughts but surely the Gods would not punish him for mere errors of his heritage and if not for that then why else? To what does he owe his life? It is torturous that he still cannot grasp onto the wood as he slowly slips. It is infuriating how the clutches of Gods do not reach for him. Perhaps being devout is not quite enough to save him this time…Perhaps it never was. His lids turn limp, furiously pushing upward despite the pressure like a dismantled current. As the sea turns, the prince imagines his mother’s face at the news. Who would tell her? If anyone. He had not told anybody that he had planned to visit the Westerlands, he had not told anybody to expect him home at all and after so many trips north unnoticed…

He contemplates in the haze of disconnected presence whether it be best that she be informed or not. To which rumour would Mushroom continue to concoct should he pass? A faint smile twitches at his mouth. Perhaps he would continue to spout tales of the fictitious Stark girl, that he had run away with her in the throes of passion and heart-ache. He should like that tale, he thinks to himself. Jacaerys imagines it, of bards not singing of victory and accomplishment but love instead as he rots below the water. Never to be seen by the court’s scrutinising stare again. Perhaps Mushroom would envision him in a little cottage surrounded by greenery and lush forest. Making his way with pots, pans and crops of his own. It had been a long time since Vermax passed and yet Jacaerys feels his mind drift to him. To the sight of him resting curled beside that little cottage. Of this supposed ‘Sara’ outstretching her soft hand toward him and feeling the nuzzle of his rough snout. Would she want himself? Would she caress him and entangle her fingers in his hair and brush each strand away as if they were precious. As if he might be? He fools himself of the faraway dream as wind sweeps it now. He can feel it, he swears he does…If Jacaerys Velaryon should die a fool, it would still content him, he decides. His lids droop themselves gently. Content…such a simple word and yet one he had been chasing for what felt like centuries. And so he thanks the Gods for this gift as he lets go. For Mushroom’s frivolous stories, for his mother’s crown, for his brother’s timid bravery. For home. Even if it is not his own. He thanks them. And he lets go.

Which is why a jolt drops through him when he awakens with an unexpected, wet cloth on his head and a scratchy blanket cocooning him. He blinks once, twice and then thrice as a soft golden light floats like a mist beside him. A gasp jumps past his lips, his eyes just as wide as those belonging to a fearful stag. The shock freezes him. There is no candle in sight. He shifts for only but a moment before he jumps again at the sound of a creak beneath him. The bed, of course, he sighs. He must recall that these are not the luxurious quarters he is used to. Jacaerys looks around him as his breath quickens, it is certain by the wooden planks that this is not his home and nor does he expect to find a loved one nursing but then…who has been? The door squeaks its presence like a vengeful kitten before a gentle face pokes through the gap. Jacaerys feels his sights rest on…a woman. A young woman. A young woman who is…He blinks. Beautiful. The prince stiffens his posture immediately and clears his throat. And then just as quick as the door opened, she was suddenly at his side and her oddly gentle hands were now taking away a wetted cloth from his forehead. He flushes pink as he realises. She caresses his face gently. “Oh you poor thing,” She says, her words soft and cooing. Her lullaby lips soften him with the speed of clicking her fingers as they press to his temples. Jacaerys can feel his lashes flutter as the soothing strokes of her fingers gentle his mind, circling the skin below his eye. And then the sweetest words fall from her lips, foreign and yet ever so welcome to his wanton ears. A sweet song from lands of old, lands he had never been and yet they flow through him as easily as his blood through his own veins. As if they are part of him.

The woman looks commonborn by her dress and the flicker of dirt across her face but still, the prince is not certain. She handles him with the softness of a bird and the care of a devotee. He turns pink at the thought alone. At the image that flashes across his mind…The image of touching those pretty cheeks of hers and cupping them gently–of being close enough to do so...but that might be his delirium guiding those thoughts. He cannot find it in himself to care however when her lashes flutter over her eyes which shine like the reflection of an opal. When she leans forward and kisses either temple before pulling back again. The heat that radiates her flesh presses into him with homely warmth and the lingering scent of amber. It cloaks his nose and Jacaerys finds himself chastising his sights closed to intake every wave that graces him. When his eyes open again, he is greeted with an even more longing sight. There before him, this beautiful woman with her soft eyes and gentle appearance looks to him with concern and care. “How are you feeling, milord?” The title catches him off-guard but he does not let it cloud him. “Hm?” Too much… He blinks again to shake off his nerves. A smile twitches at her lips to his mild confusion, it can’t help but make him prideful. “How are you, milord?” She repeated, a twinkle in her eye. “Are you feeling any better?”

“It is not their fault that they have created such beauty before me that I am struck by her.” His words flutter through the air like a butterfly’s wings and she is taken aback. She pauses and he watches, mesmerised by her. For a moment, he wonders whether she will answer, whether his words have scared her and he is instantly grateful that she cannot hear his beating thoughts. The rush that braces against his head. He swallows them down. An invisible thread of string pulls from his centre toward her and he cannot help the way he listens to it. His gentle hand rises to cup the side of his face. “That I find myself shivering at your touch–not the cold.” A shudder runs down the woman’s spine and she melts before him. She whispers to him in one mere word. “Oh.” And like that, Jacaerys feels his most sacred organ squeeze. He feels that invisible thread multiply and wrap around his heart and clench it. “If you are to pray to the Gods for my well-being…” Het rails, seduction thick on his tongue. “Then pray for the desire of my heart to quench itself.” Her hair rustles through his fingers in curls. Odd little waves that call for his attention. He follows them as though they crave it themselves. But the woman’s breath hitches and she stands abruptly, pretending as though she is not silently pleading for breath as it heavies. She clears her throat as she walks backward toward the door. His sights remain only on her. His hand stays still, holding nothing more than cold nothing. The barest of a linger. “Then, please, make yourself at home and rest, I shall return later with…with food.” She is gone without a trace.

Without her, he had rested, but surely once she returned, the heat of embarrassment conquered his face and his body begged not to cringe away from her. Never had the case of flirtation struck his mind and yet once he is incapacitated, he does so. With false conviction. A sigh ripples past his lips and he stares down to the wooden floor while the woman hurries herself around the room with baskets of berries, fruits, herbs. Jacaerys cleared his throat and squeezed shut his eyes. “I apologise for my behaviour last eve.” He blurts before he can stop himself. Before the shame can grow any more great. He hears a distant hum, curious enough to call forth his sights. The woman looks entirely unbothered as she unloads the baskets. Her head tilts toward him, eyes catching his unsure stare. “I had not…I had not intended to cause discomfort or concern you.” He presses further, desperate to amend himself. But then her lips twitch upward and a chuckle escapes her. “You need not. It was quite amusing.” Her sweet voice echoes. He would be lying in untruth if he attempted to suede one into thinking his shoulders did not drop in relief. “I do not?” He breathes. Her smile grows and she shakes her head. Slowly his embarrassment softens. His own lips begin to quirk. “You do not even know my name–” “And you do not even know mine.” She returns, the quip light on her tongue.

Slowly, her steps track closer to him rather than into the short kitchen. The bags are dropped onto the floor with an odd gentleness. “Then what should I call you?” He queries, leaning up on his hands. At this, she hesitates, but still she sits at his side and smiles at him. Her smile is warm, he notes. It is kind. It is welcoming him to her mere presence. “Perhaps I will tell you once you are well.” An inch apart, Jacaerys chuckles. His head dips down as a low rumbling sound was pulled from him as easily as a branch from a tree. Tough at first but surely. “Why must I wait?” He inquires, biting down on his lip. As the mysterious woman looks down at him, Jacaerys’ eyes glimmer. He looks…He looks sweet…Gentle…It had been a long while since she had seen such a face, she was sure. Not that she could possibly remember such a thing…Her face felt as though its lowering was entirely of the fates. As though the Gods themselves were pushing her forth. Were curling their fingers in her hair and pressing her closer. She clears her throat and longs to remember. She snaps her head backward and lets Jacaerys’ hope fall flat. Unhomed. A now-familiar pink flush washes up his neck. She smiles back at him sympathetically. “I am afraid that some things are better kept to oneself until they are certain.” And Jacaerys sighs. He supposed that that was right but it did not ease him.

The woman then lifts herself from the bed and starts back toward the basket-cradled foods. Again, Jacaerys sighs but now tosses back his head in frustration. The last day that he had spent, before yesterday, without forcing a purpose had been far too long ago to comfort him. He tried to recall it now…Perhaps the day after teaching his brother Joffrey of The Seven. It had been dark and dreary that morn–so much so that he had taken ill. A smile pulls his lips at the memory of Lucerys tugging at his arm and pleading to finish a story from the night before. The boy had fallen asleep too early. His smile faded just as quickly. A grunt ripped from his mouth and his teeth clenched shut. Lucerys…Lucerys…Lucerys… Jacaerys’ breath hitches and his head whipped to the other side of his pillow. A wince overran his face as he fought away his brother’s face. His brother’s voice. His brother’s mere name. He tries desperately to push it out, out, out. Just as he is about to rip away his hair (fingers tight in his curls despite no memory of reaching there)–The soft murmurings that he could remember as a voice are lulling him back.

The voice is muffled but it was as clear to him as a siren and just as tempting. It sounds like a song…As if a sweet-voiced bard were calling for him. Still, his breath shrieks for release, still it sunk through his lungs and weighed hard but his body had calmed from its tension. Reluctantly, it pries open his eyes too. He peeks cautiously until only the mysterious woman’s face greets him. She says nothing as he softens. As he returns to the flesh of his body rather than the panic of his mind. She only smiles. She only welcomes him. A hand holds one of his own. “Would you like something to eat?” The woman asks, holding out a plate filled with bread. Jacaerys’ eyes flicker over the slices and try not to irritate his stomach at the sight of vibrant red, blue and purple spreads coating them. He licks his lips at the puffed oranges. He swallows in his dry mouth and nods. “Yes.” Jacaerys chokes out. She settles beside him once more and reaches for one of the thick-pasted breads. If she did indeed question why such a happening occurred, she did not bring it to his attention.

Silence erupted between them with ease. It was almost startling how quickly he grew to miss the warmth of her touch in only a few spared moments. The curl of her finger in his hair, the gentle circle of his neck. He swallowed down the affectionately crafted food but let the sweet taste linger on his tongue. Beside the treacle flavoured bread, she had arranged a thick broth to join their taste buds. It was warm and satisfying as it slid down to his stomach. He found it odd how well common food could please him after so long in a life of luxury. It was nothing like the food in the South nor the North but it was not quite akin to the foods in which he would devour against the cold brush of war. The meals he spent only among his harrowed comrades. He winced but not at her food. At what he had missed, what he had lost, as he stared down at the honey coloured broth. It glimmered in the light of the sun. “Was he your friend?” The woman asked suddenly. Jacaerys’ eyes snapped up to her. “What?” Ripped out of his mouth. Her face was soft and gentle, almost beckoning the words out of his mouth. “...Luke. You say his name in your sleep.” Again, Jacaerys swallowed but this time not for the crave of her food. Her hand reaches for his but Jacaerys feels himself flinch. The woman stills. “You need not tell me,” She continued, quietly. Her lashes fluttered with a slowness that if he focussed on it, it would soothe his inability to breathe. “But I have heard that speech is a human’s most comforting solace.” This time when she reaches for him, his fingers nudge between hers. They interweave like thread.

Jacaerys gives himself a breath. A crisp, cold breath and then…”My brother, actually.” He whispered just short of air. An exhale. His chest is tight, it squeezes and whimpers and wrenches. “He was my brother.” She only nods, unwrapping him of his nerves with a mere circle of her fingers along his hand. The encouragement threatens the water in his eyes but one more time he swallows it down. “I killed him.” Pressure heavies the air. It pushes down on them with the weight of a boar. Yet, she retreats not. Not even when the dam breaks and his tight throat releases a choked gasp. Tears push themselves from his eyes and the crushing wave of his own guilt grasps his tender brain with a roughness he hadn’t known possible. “I was the one who told her we should be messengers! That it was our duty to protect her! I should have been protecting him.” Shock rocks through him when a soft hand pulls his face to her chest. As she clambers onto the bed and she clutches him close. The warmth of her draws his every instinct. It cries for him, begs for a skim of his flesh. “I should have been protecting him and instead I killed him.” The lump in his throat thickens and his tears refuse to stop. No matter how hard he begs them. His hair tousles in the woman’s soothing hands as he sobs. Jacaerys almost hopes that once her breath draws to his ear, she will sing her song again and the internal harrow will soothe just as the external had before but she did not. Instead, she presses a calming kiss to his temple. She lets him wail with her arms cocooning him.

An hour wastes away in the sour afternoon but she does not leave him. She lets him lay and calm and finally when the tears stop, she strokes back his hair. Droplets of sweat pearl at his forehead like a circlet. A crown of purity and anguish. “I think you are beautiful and kind and you should understand how proud your brother would be of you for looking after your mother in his absence.” The woman whispers then presses another kiss to his face. “I will not be a moment.” She assures but a quiet whine breaks past Jacaerys’ lips and his hand paws at her like a frightened man of youth rather than a war-torn soldier. She supposes he is both as she slips away and descends back to the kitchen. The bowls and plates are scooped into her hands and sent to the thick bucket of now cold water. She glances behind herself to catch sight of Jacaerys. To her surprise, he is staring back at her softly; his face sits blank when their eyes lock but there is something gentle in his eyes. Something waiting for her call. “Can I help?” He asks quietly, akin to that of a wounded dog. Hesitation tenses her but surely, she nods. “Of course.” She answers. Her fingers dip into the cold water and flows them back and forth an invisible creek of her mind. The ridges of water rock over her hand before it finally warms. In time for Jacaerys to kneel at her the bucket’s side and take a plate from her. Their flesh brushes against one another and they still. They pause. They feel their breath hitch as one…before he rolls the plate into the water.

The woman’s eyes track down to the smooth, white bowl in her hands and she grasps a wet cloth. Cleaning had not been something she enjoyed but now with the curious man beside her, there was an odd domesticity she enjoyed. “My name is Y/n.” She finally tells him in a wisp and it is as if the air has cooled. As if clarity has finally bitten through a frost and gentled their minds. Jacaerys, himself, halts. His eyes track to her and follow the curves of her face. “My name is Jacaerys.” He returns, holding his breath. There was only one who could wield such a name without insulting all that house the heritage of Old Valyria. One who could bear such a sacred name. But if she understands his secret, she speaks not of it. She smiles. Soft and sweetening the salt of his nerves. She nods. “It is honourable to make your acquaintance.”

As Jacaerys nods and stirs lukewarm water atop porcelain (to which he does not have the curiosity to question from whence it originally came) to rid of it the jams and honeys this generously sweet woman had crafted for them to share, he lets her name sing in his mind. To rivet through the caverns and corners of his thoughts. All is still and all is gentle. All is kind. And all is their own. Two flesh familiar and yet such strangers. He decides then that he will not allow her to go unnoticed by his heart. That he will better his judgement until he can be worthy of her friend perhaps. Oh what a bittersweet title he desired as his own.

Perhaps Jacaerys would not allow them to remain strangers for long at all. In fact he is certain of it as the distant sound of waves crashing echo in his ears and hope floats in the air.

A/N: first of all, wtf my beloved @jacevelaryonswife??? this is a beautiful gif i adore it ♥♥♥ second of all thank you to all the lovely people that took the time to have a read through this and coached me through my concerning moodboard procrastination process ilysmm, @worms-on-a-single-string @pendragora @hopelesswritergall @officerbrowneyes thank you all for feeding my delusions. also, while reader's abilities are only hinted at for now, i swear they will become more relevant

General Taglist - @hopelesswritergall - @succnfuccubus - @madame-fear

HOTD Taglist; - @wrendermedone - @its-actually-minicika - @gettheetoanunneryimmediatly - @adelusionalwriter - @cookielovesbook-akie - @maximofftwinsbitch - @ughhthisbitch - @daenerysapologist - @savagemickey03

Jacaerys Taglist - @fairysluna - @jacevelaryonswife - @maximofftwinsbitch

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thedgeoftheuniverse · 5 months

Text

THE END OF ALL THINGS | gale dekarios

pairing: gale x gn!reader

word count: 2.4k

warnings: talk of insecurities with self, allusions to suicide/death (mystra when i fucking catch you), gale has no self confidence, not proof read i'm so sorry, i cannot stop slightly rewriting scenes from the companion's perspectives

Tomorrow, an inevitable fate will whisk him away from this plane of existence. But tonight? Tonight, the sky is alive and illuminated by a creation of his own making; if he is bound to sacrifice himself for a goddess that does not care for his life, then perhaps he is afforded selfishness in his final hours of existence.

It is not an unusual occurrence for Gale's words to seemingly run loose, escaping his mouth long before his brain—however knowledgeable it may be—has the chance to understand what he is saying. A small slip of the tongue, a misspoken sentence, an accidental admission of a thought that should have perhaps been voiced in a more private setting. He has always seemed to hold a special reverence for the sound of his voice; he knows how to string together a collection of sounds and syllables in his everyday speech that is akin to poetry, and his cadence cannot be ignored, not even intentionally. Even still, he falls victim to his prose far more than he would wish.

Especially around you.

He cannot seem to pinpoint the cause past you. There is no mistaking that his worst slip-ups—the kind that make heat spread across his cheeks and embarrassment sit on his chest—happen around you. He is unsure if it is the way the sunlight illuminates your eyes, transforming your already perfectly colored irises into an expanse of stars so vast that he could never hope to conjure a replica. He has contemplated the possibility of your laugh being the culprit; it is infectious, it is contagious, and it is a sound so melodious and rapturing that it could put a Harpy's song to shame. But no—he's sure that cannot be it. Nor could it be the gentleness of your voice during your conversations when it is late at night, when the camp—save for him and you—is asleep. It could not be the relentless selflessness and kindness that you have shown to strangers again and again and again.

It well and truly could not be the way you accepted him—his condition—and all of the impracticalities of his companionship without even a moment of question. It could not be that the relentless love you have shown to strangers, you shared with him tenfold; that despite the wretched monster, the menace he knows himself to be, you were kind—kind in a way that he fears he will never again find. It surely cannot be for any reason that could be mistaken for him being hopelessly in love with you; there is nothing that may be interpreted as his soul being eternally devoted to yours because his soul does not have an eternity—nor even a single lifetime—left. Perhaps it will only have tonight and the stars in the sky.

He knows he is selfish for entertaining these thoughts; however, he is unable to keep them from the front of his mind. He cannot keep you from the front of his mind. He knows that he is no good. He’s known it for longer than he can remember; he knows he is undeserving of your kindness, and it would be pure evil to ask for more from you.

But it would only be for tonight.

This is what he tells himself as he awaits your company with sweating palms and a racing heart. Perhaps the conjuration of himself was not the most romantic way to request your company for the evening, but he needed time—the stars were not going to hang themselves after all, and this had to be perfect. He has swallowed down his devotion to you for so long that he fears that one more moment will begin to choke him. Words will no longer do justice for you. It has to be perfect. He has to be perfect. He stands on the cusp of oblivion, moments away from taking his final steps, and he is desperate. Desperate to have you—the object of his desire and subject of his yearning—in his arms for the rest of his hours; desperate to live past tomorrow; desperate for a way out of his cruel fate; desperate to touch you, to hold you; desperate to be someone worth remembering; desperate for death; desperate for life; desperate to unwrap every layer of himself—to show you what little he has to offer; desperate for you to choose to stay in spite of that, even if only through tomorrow.

He is not sure hanging stars will provide him with much clarity on his conflicting desperations, but he does know that you will love them, and this is all that matters.

“Am I talking to the real Gale or mirror Gale now?” You question with a playfulness hidden behind your voice. Your eyes are glued to the sky. His are glued to your face, the way the moonlight dances across your cheekbones and illuminates your eyes. They cannot help but betray the depth of his affections.

He ignores your question, “Come—sit with me.” He lacks the mental clarity to reciprocate your lightheartedness. His heart seems to be the owner of his voice tonight (she is heavy, and he is running out of time). You join him on the grass, trying to ignore the anxiety balling up in your gut. He begins: “I love this time of night.” His heart hammers in his chest, and he is gripped with the fear that he has misread your previous interactions—that perhaps you were merely treating him with the same kindness you had shown every unfortunate soul that had thus crossed your path. Perhaps that moment of magic shared between you and the wish of a kiss, the lingering touches, stolen glances, and evenings shared while the camp rested were misread attempts at friendship rather than intimacy. Perhaps what he thought to be a deeply intimate connection shared through not only your souls but the Weave itself was simply nothing—a fairytale conjured by the emotionally starved recesses of his brain, which echoed through the hollowness of his ribcage, a desperate piece of him holding onto the illusion that he was enough.

Nevertheless, he has to do this—if he is to die tomorrow, it cannot be without you knowing how special you truly are.

He meets your gaze once more, though you are still enraptured by the picturesque scene before your eyes: “There’s an almost reverent silence that accompanies the peak of darkness, when you’d believe the dawn will never break.” He hopes you cannot see the slight tremble in his hands as he speaks, “The cradle of eternity… the timelessness of lovers.” Your gaze finally meets his, and Gale can only pray that he would be shown the mercy of a believable facade of confidence. He is terrified, more so than he has ever been, but he does not want you to know this. He wants to be seen as a man who is hopelessly devoted to you, not because of desperation in the face of an imminent demise, but rather because this is how it has been since the moment he laid eyes on you, how it was always destined to be, and he dreads the thought of his fear leading you to believe anything less than that he would renounce every one of the Gods and Goddesses and declare them as false idols in favor of merely worshiping the ground beneath your feet.

The softness in your eyes allows him to relax, and the slight raise of your eyebrows invites him to push this conversation further: “The most beautiful of fantasies.” His eyes part from you to look upon his creation.

“Did you do all of this?” Tears begin to well up in your eyes. Has anyone ever performed such a gesture for you?

A small wave of confidence surges through his veins. “I did.” He dares another glance into your eyes, and he believes them to be far more intricate than his conjuration in the sky. “The curse still lingers, of course—just veiled and at an arm’s length for now. Not a trick I can repeat often, but tonight is… different.” Your face crumples, and Gale’s fear returns tenfold. He knows you are no fool—that you know exactly why he chose tonight for such a spectacle; that you are no less aware than him of what tomorrow will bring. Perhaps even more than him. The sadness that radiates from your body is palpable, nearly creating an almost physical barrier between your two bodies and leaving a rotten smell in the air. “Tonight may be my las—”

Your voice, normally so sweet, is laced with a combination of rage and despair, and something else that Gale was simply unable to identify: “Don’t say that. We’ve discussed this time and time again, Gale. There has to be another way.” Your words come out rushed—panicked as though he would disappear before you could finish speaking.

“You know there isn't.”

“There has to be. I do not want to lose you. I cannot lose you, Gale; I do not want to leave you.” The sincerity in your eyes feels akin to his chest being ripped open, his heart exposed to the coolness of the night, and torn from him. “Have you no sympathy for those left to stand in your ashes?”

But this has to be done. (Doesn't it? Doesn't he burn with the desire for forgiveness? for a purpose greater than himself? Is this not the only way he will find it?)

“Do not be so foolish. I have no desire to leave you—you must know how special you are to me.” He does not miss how your body flinches at the words that he cannot prevent from leaving his mouth. Instead, he turns his head far enough to shield his eyes from the hurt he has inflicted. "But this is the only option. I cannot idly stand by and watch you or anyone else die, knowing I possess the ability to put an end to this. You must understand: I am doing this because I love you. I cannot bear the risk of living knowing it came at the expense of your life.”

He did not entirely realize the magnitude of his verbal slip, perhaps his most damnable yet, until he met your eyes once again. "You—you what?” In an instant, your gaze softens. The rage once dividing your bodies fades into an entirely new sensation, one that Gale still remains unable to identify. Gale, however, feels nearly sick to his stomach. This was not how he intended this evening to go.

“I…” And for the first time since you met his acquaintance, Gale is at a loss for words.

“Please don't go. I would risk death a thousand times over if it always meant one more night with you.” Tears are freely falling from your eyes. You are desperate. You can feel him slipping away from you. “Don't go. We can find another way.”

“I don't know what else there is to do.”

“Nor do I, but I know this is not the answer.”

“If you knew the end was near, would you not want to ensure it had meaning? I am… terrified. I will not claim otherwise. My face could scarcely conceal it, even if my words sought to deny it.” He pauses for a moment and inhales a shaking breath before continuing: “There is no point in running from the inevitable. Better to meet it—on my own terms.”

“And what of me?” The shock on his face is evident, and his confusion is even more so. “You say you love me. Show me. Stay and show me."

In an instant, something lifts; clarity falls upon Gale’s shoulders as he watches tears streaming down your cheeks. Mystra’s forgiveness is not guaranteed, but he is almost able to believe that your love is a far greater purpose than absolution from a Goddess who forsook him in his most dire time of need. Perhaps you—a living, breathing deity made of nothing more than flesh and blood and infinite flaws but pure perfection nonetheless—are a far greater purpose than anything he ever believed he could be afforded.

It takes a moment for his words to return to him: “One moment with you could sate me for a lifetime and prise the fear from my heart.” He appears almost solemn in his confession. “I know this is all unreal, but I created it for you. You must know that you're… You're very special to me.”

“Surely you know—”

“If things were different..." He almost seems to be unaware of you speaking, completely drowning in his mind. “If we were home, I’d have taken the time to do this properly. To say it all better, but time is short… I’m in love with you.” Fireflies dance around your bodies as you dry the tears from your cheeks. You cannot help but notice the fabricated sky illuminating his skin, doing nothing to conceal the signs of his age, nor does it hide the fear behind his eyes. He is wholly imperfect; wrinkles line his forehead, small patches of gray streak through messy strands of brown hair, his eyes are wet with tears that he forbids to escape, and his hubris, which will damn him to the Hells one day, has left his body brittle, but he is Gale, and he is nothing short of remarkable in your eyes. He is wearing his heart on his sleeve; he is unzipping his chest, showing you what rattles inside of his ribcage, and silently begging you to stitch him back together when the dust settles and…

And he is looking to you for an answer, despite having never asked a question.

“You surely must know my affections are the same.” His eyebrows unfurl and relax at your words, a visible weight taken from his shoulders. “Stay. Stay here, by my side, and show me how special I am. Show me what it is you deem worthy of loving.” For what seems like the one thousandth time, your eyes lock. All traces of doubt, anger, and fear have given way to purely ardent love.

While Gale believes he will spend the rest of his life at war with himself if he chooses to defy Mystra, he knows it will be a life well lived if it is to be spent at your side. Damn Mystra, damn the Gods and Goddesses, damn the entire world; his calling will be found nowhere that is not beside you.

Words, once again, fall from his lips before he knows what they will be: “May I kiss you?”

“As long as it is not a parting kiss.”

“Never.”

a/n: part 2 will prob take me 2025982 yrs but it will have smut :3

#baldur's gate #baldur's gate 3 #bg3 #gale bg3 #gale dekarios #gale of waterdeep #gale x reader #gale fanfic #bg3 spoilers #gale dekarios x reader #gale of waterdeep x reader #baldur's gate gale

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livelaughlovekny · 10 months

Text

Taking care of Muichirou when he is sick

Summary: Muichirou caught a cold after not listening to you and you had to take care of him (+Bonus)

His form and movements were precise and perfect as always. To anyone else, nothing about his seemingly stoic appearance seemed off. You knew though. You weren’t anyone else; you were the “stubborn Tsukugo who enjoys being tormented”. His lips had paled ever so slightly. His eyes weren’t their usual mint green. His skin was less glossy. This has been going on for more than a week and you saw that signs were starting to get worse. Muichirou was sick.

After your usual training session, you observed him silently. Muichirou continued on with his habit of wiping his sword, sheathing it before proceeding to his own physical training. You contemplated telling him your “findings” and suggesting he visit the Butterfly Estate. Were you overreacting though? Perhaps he was just affected by the heat and not his health. Well, it wouldn’t hurt too much if you asked him just in case right? You stared at him, a minute had barely passed, he was already completing 146 push-ups and continuing without any obvious signs of discomfort or pain. “Hey, are you, like, sick or unwell?”

Not pausing his training, he replied, “No.” Ah, well, if he said so. You still didn’t quite believe him since this was the same person who was said to have nearly trained himself to death but decided not to push it any further.

After completing your break, you started on your own workouts too. 2147 sit-ups later, you heard the sound of thunder cracking and saw lightning flash. Picking up your pace, you tried to at least reach 2200 sit-ups before seeking shelter in the Mist Estate. Moments later, rain poured down. Groaning, you hurriedly got up and rushed into the estate. Your training had been disturbed but at least you could continue in the estate.

Finding a suitable spot, you were about to continue when you notice Muichirou still outside practising his stances and swinging his sword repeatedly. A thunderstorm is currently taking place and yet he still continues training outside. “You’ll get sick. Come in and find another way to train.” You were ignored.

The day continued on as usual. You continued with your usual workout in the estate while Muichirou continued with his training outside the estate and under the rain. You went to bed and so did he. You woke up the next day fine. He didn’t.

You knew immediately because your room was facing his. Upon opening your bedroom door, you noticed two very wrong things. One, his bedroom door was closed. Muichirou always wakes up before you and only closes his door when he’s inside. Two, you heard loud coughing coming from his room. You knocked twice on his door before sliding it open, not waiting for any response.

Muichirou was lying on his mattress, curled up in a foetal position and coughing heavily. God, why don’t people listen to you when you bring up good points? Makes you wonder who the stubborn ones really are. Pushing his fringe away, you lay the back of your hand against his forehead. He was burning. “Stop touching me, I can handle myself.” Muichirou pushed your hand away. You snorted.

“Don’t bother, hold on, I’ll be back soon.” Despite his previous protest, he made no effort to stop you from whatever you were going to do. Leaving his room, you mutter to yourself about how you had no idea how to care for sick people, much less stubborn and idiotic ones. Drenching a towel in a bowl of cold water, you brought the bowl to his room. Setting the bowl down, you sat down and squeezed the towel before folding it neatly and placing it on Muichirou's forehead. “What are you doing?” Swatting his hand that was reaching for the towel away, you glared at him. “Stop it, you’re clearly sick and dying. Don’t you dare refuse my efforts to care for you.”

“I’m not dying.” You replied instantly, “To be fair, everyone is dying.” Silence. Triumphantly, you smiled. You knew he would say that and prepared a response beforehand. “Now, lie still and quietly while I write a letter to the Butterfly Estate for advice on how to care for sick, stubborn dummies.” No response, you’ll take that as a win too. Laughing internally, you left his room and went to yours.

A few minutes later, your crow was flying off to the Butterfly Estate. Returning to Muichirou’s room, you note that he was lying still and silently. Muichirou stared at the ceiling with a blank expression. Unsure what else you were supposed to do, you leaned forward and looked down at him. His eyes refocus on your face. You grin. “I’ve sent a letter, I’ll be training in my room. If you need me, just call for me. I’ll check up on you and adjust the towel every once in a while.” Pausing, you remembered that the both of you had yet to eat. “Oops, I forgot about breakfast. Hold on, let me see what I can do.”

“I’m not hungry.” So insistent on ruining his health. “Nonsense, your body is fighting for its life, it needs food and that’s final.” Sticking your tongue out at him, you walk to the kitchen. Hands on each side of your waist, you looked at the food supply. “Wonderful, I have no idea what to make that wouldn’t make him sicker.” For the briefest of brief moments, you think about just knocking Muichirou out.

No, you don’t trust yourself enough to not accidentally somehow kill him by hitting the wrong spot. And if you did somehow manage to not kill or induce a coma, you knew he would immediately cut your head off. You liked where your head is and would like it to remain that way. If only he listened to you! None of this would have happened and you wouldn’t have to figure out a way to not give your master food poisoning while he was sick. “Porridge. Sick people can consume porridge right? That’s just watery rice and some other stuff right?” You bit your bottom lip, considering the risks of carrying out a freestyle recipe.

You were sure an eternity had passed when you finally entered Muichirou’s room with a steaming bowl of porridge and a glass of water. The glass of water was probably unnecessary but he didn’t need to know that. Muichirou turned his head and looked at you as you carefully set the tray containing his breakfast on the floor. “I thought you left the estate.” You definitely took a while to prepare his breakfast then.

“I considered it for a while but that would be too cruel.” You scooped a small portion of the porridge and blew on it lightly. “Say ‘ahh’.” Muichirou opened up his mouth and swallowed. You were fist pumping in your mind, he did not resist! Repeating your actions, you smiled at him. He swallowed the food again but decided to object to your help again, “I can feed myself.” Ignoring his protest, you continued feeding him. “Perhaps, but you were also the one who insisted on training under the rain.” Muichirou looked away.

Once you were done feeding him, you grinned, proud that he didn’t get poisoned and willingly accepted your help. Drenching and twisting his towel, you folded it neatly and placed it on his forehead like before. Picking up the tray, you smiled at him and got up. “Alright so like I said before, just let me know if you need anything, otherwise I’ll check up on you every once in a while.” Inhaling a deep breath, you cheered yourself on. Taking care of sick patients scares you. It always feels as if their future depended on your every move and decision. Sliding his door open, you left and slid it shut.

Now alone in his room, Muichirou turned to look at the closed door. He really shouldn’t remain idle and get up and start training. He really shouldn’t let this fever of his deter him from his duty. He really shouldn’t enjoy you caring for him as much as he does. And yet he remained as he was. Muichirou tried reasoning with himself. He couldn’t quite remember when he started feeling unwell, perhaps he had been pushing himself for more than a week and yesterday was his last straw. Thinking back to when you had asked if he was sick, he remembered feeling a little shock. Used to ignoring his symptoms, he had forgotten that he was sick. How did you know though? He was sure after numerous times of pushing himself to his limit even when sick, his body had started to give up in showing signs of sickness.

Perhaps the Butterfly Hashira would have been able to tell since she was an expert in the field of medicine and doubled as a doctor. But you clearly had trouble caring for the sick so how was it that you were able to notice? He couldn’t recall much but he was sure that you were already aware of his illness when it started and chose to not comment on it. He recalled feeling your questioning stares and observing looks, your concern written clearly in your expressions. Your absence left his room so silent, allowing him to lose himself in drifting from thought to thought.

His door slid open. Muichirou turned to look at and saw you standing there, holding a letter. “Helloo, how are you feeling? I just received Kochou-sama’s response, she said that it might just be a bad cold and resting for the rest of the day and drinking warm water would help! Look, she even wrote a short and quick recipe since I said I sucked at cooking for stubborn patients!” You grin at him. Muichirou stared at you silently, not sure why you were so cheery all the time. “She said that I did good in caring for you and drew a smiley-face!” Pointing at the corner of the letter, you waited for a reaction from him. Receiving none, you whined exaggeratedly, “Not that I agree, but I can see why people call me a stubborn idiot who enjoys torture. Your silent treatments are killing me. One day, I’ll tell Oyakata-sama that you keep bullying me and ask to be Kanroji-san’s Tsukugo.” You stuck your tongue out and blew a raspberry at him.

“Who called you a stubborn idiot?” That was not the response you were expecting. Tilting your head to the side, you looked up as you tried to recall the mean comments you constantly overheard. “I’m not sure. It’s mostly just overheard gossip but there’s always this weird girl with like, blue pigtails and red eyes that keeps giving me dirty looks. I think she’s just jealous because she’s always saying how if she was my rank she would apply to be your Tsukugo and kick me out.” Snorting at the ridiculousness of it all, you laughed. “You would like that wouldn’t you? I think she has a crush on you and would totally do whatever you wanted and not laugh at you.”

“No. She sounds like someone who wouldn’t work hard. You’re annoying but you’re hardworking.” Ignoring the insult, you focused on his compliment. His first ever compliment to you. “Aww, I didn’t know you could be so sweet. You should get sick more often and maybe you would be more charming!” Muichirou looked at you plainly, unimpressed. “I’m a Hashira. My job is to kill demons and train you, not be charming.” Waving your hand, you rolled your eyes and smiled. “I know, I know. I was just kidding. Don’t worry, I respect your determination. It’s honestly impressive.” Not responding, Muichirou turned away.

Assuming that meant that your one-sided conservation was over, you got ready to leave his room again. Hearing you getting up, Muichirou turned back and looked at you. “Wait. Don’t go yet.” You turned back and looked at him confused. He wasn’t sure what to say, he didn’t mean to call for you. “... You haven't changed my towel yet.” An unimpressed look crossed your face as you wet his towel and placed it on his forehead.

Relishing the way your cool palm would brush his fringe away and place the cool, folded towel on his forehead, Muichirou blurted again, “Thank you, I like the way you care for me.” Your hand froze and you stared at him. Pinching his cheeks, you looked at him seriously. “Who is this and what have you done to my master?” Pushing your hands away, Muichirou glared at you. “Stop it, I didn’t mean to say that.” You raised your eyebrows but decided not to say anything else.

The moment you closed the door, Muichirou allowed himself to cringe at his earlier behaviour. It wasn’t like him to be so… sentimental. This illness and your concern was really getting to him. And yet despite everything he told himself, he couldn’t wait for you to come back to check up on him again.

Bonus: A few weeks after his recovery, Muichirou was walking back to the Mist Estate when he heard someone calling his name. It was a stranger. She waved her hands wildly and ran up to him. “Oh my gosh! Are you Tokito Muichirou, the Mist Hashira? I’m Yua and it’s a pleasure to finally meet you!” The girl’s blue pigtails bounced and her red eyes shone as she reached excitedly to grasp Muichirou’s hands. With a look of disgust, Muichirou took a stride back and extracted his sword, pointing it at Yua. “Don’t touch me, you low rank. Just by looking at you, I can tell that you don’t even deserve to gossip about others.” He paused. “Much less ones who deserve the titles they earned with their own hard work.” Not willing to spend anymore time with Yua, Muichirou turned away and walked off. Gossiping about others? How did he know that that girl, who’s name he has already forgotten, had gossiped about his Tsukugo? He heard a faint voice in his head and a blurry image appeared in his mind – You were gently dabbing his face with a cool cloth as your hand caressed his face. You were quietly whispering to yourself, “Sometimes I wonder if I deserve to be your Tsukugo. Maybe others are right and I’m just wasting your time. But looking at how angelic you look, how can I bear to leave you?” He wasn’t quite sure if that was a fever dream or how he even remembered but he felt his cheeks heating up.

a/n: sobbing, i tried my best but it wasnt as cute as i wanted it to be!! i tried my best to not make mui ooc but at the same time making the scenes cute but i think i just spent too much time on their banter and unnecessary stuff and not enough on you caring for a sick muichirou :'( + i think many stuff are probably incorrect and i want to yeet myself now im so sorry oml

#kny #demonslayer #kny fanfic #kny x reader #muichiro x reader #muichiro x y/n #demon slayer #fluff #kny muichiro #one shot #oneshot

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bakugoushotwife · 10 months

Text

Inextricable P2 (Sasuke x Fem!Reader)

a/n: okay plz don't hurt me im so sorry...this one is brutal, and we'll definitely need a part three to wrap this all up and I will need your help with a decision so look for the poll i'll link!!

summary: Sasuke has left the village and training has yielded amazing results. Kakashi grows anxious about your future, Sasuke finds a way to communicate, and you've unlocked your Mangekyo sharingan...but how?

warnings: a shit ton of angst you guys, spoilers for Shippuden, major character death, decently long once more

pairings: sasuke x uchiha!fem!reader, slight naruto x uchiha!fem!reader

wc: 6230

part one // part three

“No.’ Comes from Kakashi sternly, his hand closing around your wrist quickly. “It’s even more dangerous for you now.” He says, hoping you would understand.

You try to, tilting your head to the side to contemplate the risks. “I’m strong enough to handle them.” You reply after a while, giving Kakashi a crazed look of your own. He knew you harbored the same hate and desire for revenge in your heart, so what had stopped you from joining Sasuke when he had asked?

Naruto cleared his throat. “Kakashi-Sensei! We have to go after him right now! You know I’ll keep Y/N-chan safe!” He protested alongside you to no avail.

“We need to alert the Hokage, she’ll decide how to proceed, you two. I’m sorry, but if you went after him you would be doing the same thing he is.” He said meekly, he was fighting himself. Your arrival had changed everything about him, made him a more careful and thoughtful person. He cared for you deeply, this was known. The danger you faced now put a lump in his throat. Sasuke was unpredictable, and as much as Kakashi had changed, he started out in a very similar place. Kakashi didn’t have anyone dear to him at that time, but he knows if he had known Rin then he would have done anything to keep her safe. Kakashi could only hope Sasuke considered you dear to him. He couldn’t rest his hope on that alone, knowing the risks involved.

Naruto grumbled at Kakashi’s ruling. Kakashi knew what he would have to do. He would have to tell Tsunade and Naruto your true persona when you all briefed her on Sasuke’s desertion. Knowing the truth, Naruto would be motivated to keep you and Sasuke apart for the time being and Tsunade would prevent you from being put in harm's way.

Boy was Kakashi disappointed by the results. He had miscalculated. Naruto was surprised, mouth hanging open at Kakashi’s every word, even if he didn’t quite know who Shisui Uchiha was. It hurt him to think that his friend, a boy he views like his family, would hurt you. He had known you for a short time, but he valued you. You were kind to him, you were very strong, and you always shared your snacks with him while you waited on Kakashi to start training.

But Tsunade heard the implied part of the story, and her thoughts were focused elsewhere. She, unlike Naruto, knew exactly who Shisui Uchiha was, and the way she studied you like a bug under a microscope made you nervous. “Younger sister of Shisui…a secret Uchiha. Kakashi, your daughter is already a top chunin, correct?” She asked, still staring at you.

Kakashi’s heart rate quickened. “Uh, you could say that, sure.”

“And she’s not using her doujutsu or any abilities associated with the sharignan?”

He shifted his weight uncomfortably. He knew what she was really asking. “I’ve helped her harness her abilities in private, but as that would expose her identity, no, she doesn’t use them for her missions and classes.”

Tsunade smirked, very interested in the power you truly held. If Sasuke was led astray, perhaps Naruto could persuade him back on track. Or maybe you could force him. “So she’s already hailed as a Hatake prodigy, thanks to you. Yet if what you tell me is true, she’s only using a percentage of her abilities.”

Kakashi doesn’t know how to respond. He’s not exactly sure what Itachi’s motivations behind all this were, but he does know it wasn’t his choice and that certain people would send assassins after the female Uchiha if she was discovered to be alive. He didn’t like the hungry glint to the Hokage’s eye, he had made the wrong decision. Tsunade would use you and Naruto as weapons.

“She’s supposed to be dead. It would be a great danger–”

“Danger? Is she not stronger than Sasuke?”

“I am.” You declare, knowing that in your heart Kakashi was worried about you, but your worries lay elsewhere.

“She is–Lady Hokage, I’m not concerned about Sasuke, if I’m truthful. There are leaders, people from other nations that fear the Uchiha name, people of our own village.” Kakashi points out, folding his arms over his chest gruffly. He looks at you sadly before he continues. “If word were to get around of a female Uchiha, a second survivor. That leaves the younger brother of Itachi Uchiha alive and the younger sister of Shisui. There is potential for Sasuke and Y/N to rebuild a pureblood powerful line of their clan, and they won’t allow this. She would be under attack.”

Tsunade sighs. She organizes her words in her brain before she says them. “That’s why she’ll need more training. Naruto will leave for training with Jiraiya soon.”

“Are you suggesting I send her to train alongside Naruto?”

“It’s something to consider, but I would also be interested in students. I’ll take both your girls.” She smirked, knowing medical nin is something Kakashi has introduced and taught the basics of, but there was no better teacher than the Tsunade Senju. Plus her chakra seal would increase your power by a large margin.

You look to Kakashi expectantly, hoping he accepts this proposition for you and Sakura.

He sighs, knowing he couldn’t get out of this. “I think that would be wonderful for the two of them. On one condition.”

Tsunade shakes her head, knowing what Kakashi was about to propose. “No can do, Kakashi. She needs to train and go on missions using her true talents. If assassins come, we will deal with them. You can keep her safe, you have this far.” The fifth Hokage stands and folds her arms, leaning against the front of her desk. “Besides, if she never fights with her all, we’ll never know what she can do.” She reaches her hand out and pats your head.

Later that day, Lady Tsunade sends Shikamaru to round up a team to go after Sasuke. He doesn’t ask you to go, probably because the way your fight against him went back during the chunin exams. It still upsets you when Naruto comes to say goodbye, promising Sakura and yourself that he would do whatever it took to bring Sasuke back, and not to worry.

The years pass seemingly slowly. Naruto left the village to train with Master Jiraiya, a lively and funny man. You knew Naruto would have fun, and hopefully develop rapidly.

This left you and Sakura to train with Tsunade. Admittedly, Sakura was better than you, naturally drawn to the art. Don’t misunderstand, you were very talented, but you would much rather spend your time learning more jutsu from Kakashi.

You can’t deny how helpful the chakra control has been, though. You earned your seal, able to use it for your jutsu and not consume any power. This impresses Kakashi every time he sees you do it, mentally proud that he has taught you to be more powerful than him. You were brilliant, he thought. You already exerted amazing chakra control before, but Tsunade’s training has made you a well rounded threat.

He loves you, he realized this when Sasuke left the village. You see, he had known for a while that he cared for you, he thought it was similar to the way he cared for the members of his team. He would do anything to get Sasuke back, to protect Sakura, or to make Naruto feel encouraged. Anything that wouldn’t require him to leave you too long, of course. For you, there was truly nothing he wouldn’t do, and he wonders how he could feel so powerfully for a child that isn’t his own.

“Check this out!” You call out, dissipating yourself. Kakashi can’t see you anywhere, a puff of smoke clouding the air. He pushes his headband up and scans the area, no sign of your chakra. He becomes worried instantly, the issues since your reveal as an Uchiha seemingly endless. Had another assassin come, jumping you at the perfect time?

His troublesome thoughts are interrupted by a swarm of leaves swirling around in the wind and pooling at his feet. He realizes a second later, as you start reanimating in front of him. You smile, a girl three years older, a girl proud of what she’s learned seeking his approval.

You make it easy to give it, the jutsu powerful and sneaky. Most times, you would be too quick and unsuspecting that it would be hard to catch that it was a leaf substitution jutsu at all. “Nice work Y/N. Keep practicing and you’ll get faster.” He nods, a smile of relief cloaked beneath his mask. “It’s a nice ode to Shisui’s flicker.”

You nod, still beaming. “It worked on Shikamaru!” You share animatedly. Shikamaru was always your test subject before you showed Kakashi a new move, his wits being top of the line. Your rule of thumb was if he figured it out, it wasn’t ready. “I have another, if you want to see!”

He leaned against a nearby tree, arms lazily folded across his chest. “Let's see.”

You smirk. Instantly, your sharingan sings to life, all three tomoes swimming to their rightful positions before your eyes even open again. “Plant style: lifeless limb!” You call, weaving the corresponding sign. The tree Kakashi leaned against started to move, the branches growing to wrap his body in their clutches. Kakashi jumps out of the way, looking at you to read your next move. You lock eyes for a moment and continue weaving signs, incorporating some fire and some wind style into your barrage, but only the minor stuff. You wouldn’t want to hurt him too badly after all, he hadn’t realized he was in a genjutsu just yet.

This was the one you were most proud of. This delayed sense genjutsu makes the opponent see your movements 20 seconds later, giving you plenty of time to get in the finishing blow. For the purpose of showing Kakashi, you just used your extra time to get up in his face and make a silly pose.

When he realizes what’s happened, you’re standing in front of him, making a goofy face with the assistance of some of your fingers to give you a pig nose. He chuckles, it’s genuine and warm. He’s overwhelmed with pride, that genjutsu enough to make your name feared, if it wasn’t already. He gives you a fond smile, resting his hand on your head. Yes you had grown in power, but not much in height. “That’s amazing! You sure have made me proud.”

You didn’t realize how hearing those words would make you feel. You begin to tear up. If it wasn’t for Kakashi, you didn’t know where you would be. Would you even be a fraction of this talented? Loved? Supported? You crush him in a hug. You two had an amazing bond, but were both horribly awkward. Neither of you ever knew the proper protocol for interaction or physical affection. He wasn’t your father, but he absolutely was your Dad. Life was short, you would know. Losing everyone you care about will put things in perspective in that regard. Kakashi has been the only constant in a life full of variables, and for that, you love him. “Thanks, Dad.”

His eyes widened, surprised by the force of your hug and then the words that followed. He only places his hand on the back of your head, the other returning your hug.He looked down at you, your hair pushed back by the same purple headband he gave you at six. He was moved by that, for it was no accident. You had let it slip before, but always turned red and apologized profusely after. This time, it was carefully chosen, and it almost meant more now that you were nearly grown. You recognized everything he had done and continues to do, and you wanted to thank him for all of it, not just today’s training. The other jounin often asked if he felt like he lost the ability to have his own real family, or if he felt like he didn’t get to live a full life. He always answered honestly. ‘No, she is my own family, I just didn’t have to deal with a crying baby.’ and ‘I wouldn’t trade this experience for anything.’

He takes the time to carefully craft his own reply. After all he realized the answer to his earlier question: it was him, his influence is how you tame your rage and why you stayed in the village. “Always, my girl.”

You hum, relinquishing him from your hug. “I’m going to meditate, then I’ll be home.” You say, neither of you keen to sit in emotion.

He nods, taking a deep breath. “Alright, I’ll leave you to it then. I’ve got to meet with Tsuande later, so I may not be back for dinner. Don’t wait up.”

It’s your turn to nod, letting him walk away entirely before you turn to address the other wave of chakra you detected while your sharingan was still active.

“You made it.” You say with a deadpan tone. “You’re lucky he didn’t see you.” You add, wondering when the bird got there.

The black bird’s head twitches, talons gripping the lowest branch of the tree closest to you. “I’m not worried about him.” The deep voice said calmly, it had lost its lilt of arrogance.

You sigh and move to sit down, leaning your back against the base of the tree. “I am, and you claim to worry about me. So by association…”

“I worry about you because you could be stronger, he’s holding you back.” The voice says from the mouth of the crow.

You chuckle. “Any stronger and you wouldn’t stand a chance at beating me.” You declare, shaking your head from his earlier comments. “Kakashi means a lot to me, so be nice. He was your sensei.” You add, trying to imbue some respect.

He scoffs. “That’s why I would win. I didn’t have anyone to cuddle me through my nightmares.” He spits, and you know he doesn’t mean it the way it sounds.

“I know, I wish you had.” You say sadly, staring into Sasuke’s sharingan. His crow cocks it head toward you. “I mean something to you, that’s why you send this crow, is it not?”

Silence reigns for some time. “You’re my only competition. I like to keep close tabs on you.” The bird hops down from the branch, landing conveniently on your thigh. Now you have to look slightly down at the creature of chakra.

This causes you to smile, you try to hide it behind your hand, but from the way the crow’s eyes narrow you can tell he’s already seen it. Sasuke quickly cleared up any concern about being a threat to you, sending this crow for the first time just two weeks after he left. “Yeah, you like to spend your days chatting with the enemy?”

He groans. “It’s not exactly that.”

“I know. It’s you worrying about me.” You correct, lovingly stroking the bird above the beak. “Or is it a coincidence that you started visiting me again when the first assassin came?”

Again, the crow just tilts its head side to side for a few seconds. “Idiot Kakashi for telling that moron of a woman!”

You bite your lip, knowing when to pick your battles. “I’m glad I get to be myself now, in any event.” You say cheerfully, adjusting your headband carefully, before reaching down for your shinobi headband tied around your thigh. “It means I get to go on missions and fight with my full power. It feels good.”

“Imagine how free you would feel with me.” He hummed, the crow spreading its wings but unmoving. “Your training is finished, Y/N. Face it. I’m almost finished myself. My offer stands, my dear, I can still come get you when it’s time for revenge.”

You bite your lip. You would be lying if you said you hadn’t thought about it. You missed him horribly, despite how things went the last time you spoke in person. You had been communicating like this for three years, and it only brought you closer and reminded you both of a simpler time. You still want revenge on Itachi. Of course you do. He killed your brother and entire clan, forcing you into a life consumed with fear and guilt. As grateful as you are for Kakashi, you would have much preferred your brother and true parents.

Kakashi. That’s the reason you hadn’t left already, along with your other friends. You see the way Sasuke’s departure has tortured them, and you don’t know if you’re capable of doing the same. Maybe he was right, the day he left. In most ways, you’re so powerful. In this way, you are weak.

“I’ll think about it.”

“Don’t tell me you’re worried about leaving Kakashi?”

“He’s the only family I know!” You defend, irritated by the complexity of the emotions squeezing down on your heart. “Of course I don’t wanna hurt him by leaving! I miss you, it feels horrible to miss someone this bad. But Sasuke..your path, I’m worried about what you may become. It’s only natural to feel the way you do–”

“Shut up.”

You furrow your brows, prepared to keep going.

“You either miss me, or you don’t.” Sasuke states plainly.

“Sasuke…”You pause, gathering your thoughts. You feel the way his eye scans over you, like he was worried you would lie. “You are all I have left. I’ll join you…for a time, and if you promise me something.”

His bird leaned in, anxious to hear your conditions.

“It’s just you and me. We don’t work with anyone evil. We can work to be pardoned that way.” You reasoned. Part of you knew he wouldn’t agree to it, part of you hoped he would. Despite the disappointment that Kakashi would still face, you ached to see him again. You knew Kakashi would eventually understand, he would forgive you.

More silence followed. “I’ll think about it.” He finally said, parroting your earlier words through his crow. You hum in response, absentmindedly reaching for your hair to play with. “If Tsunade revealed your true identity, why are you still coloring your hair?” He asks, hoping to change the subject to something more palatable. However frustrated you made him, he does care for you. He struggled to admit this for a time. He would see the color green in the oak trees around him and the quaint ponds he passed on his journey, and he would think of your tricycle and the way your childhood giggle sounded. He remembered the emotional whirlpool from the night of the massacre: the relief of seeing you alive, the fear that you would still be killed, the sadness as Itachi confirmed that he was to blame for everything wrong with your life, the agony as his brother suggested he earn a Mangekyo from killing you, the grief as he watched Itachi cart you away. He remembers the relief he felt, seeing your face again during chunin exams. He remembers letting Naruto and Sakura close to him in hopes they would earn him Mangekyo someday. He loves you, in his own warped way. He doesn’t know exactly what that entails, just that he could never harm you or allow anyone else to.

“I like the way it looks, the colors make me feel part of both clans.” You reply with the truth as always. You were ever honest, and he valued that part of you too. “Plus, it still throws off the occasional assassin.” You chuckle softly.

He groans again. He also likes the way it looks, you are impossibly beautiful. Sasuke was no slouch with women, as you remember from adolescence. Yet no girl compared, they didn’t glow like you did. No one could possibly understand him the way you did either, he didn’t have to watch his words around you. He didn’t have to wonder who you were loyal to, despite his annoyance with your fondness for your adoptive father. He can’t exactly compliment your appearance, so he decides on, “That was so stupid. She put a target on your back.”

“She wanted me to fight with my full ability.” You argue, trying to put it in perspective.

“By declaring to the world that the Last Uchiha Princess is in the Leaf? Moronic.” He huffs, very dissatisfied with the attempts on your life. “You would be safer with me too.”

You arch your brow, a small blush creeping its way up your neck. “Last Uchiha Princess huh? I kinda like the sound of that.”

Your neck catches a sudden chill and you power up your eyes, scanning for the reason. Sasuke’s crow flies back to his original position on a tree branch, wondering what came next. It always made him nervous to visit you like this for this reason. If this was an assassin, he wouldn’t have time to get to you. The leaves rustle,, it gets closer before a tall figure emerges from the treeline.

“Y/N-chan! Sakura told me you were here!” His raspy voice calls as you get to your feet. Your mouth drops open, Naruto’s appearance a total surprise.

“Naruto-kun? I didn’t know you were coming back today!” You giggle, closing the short distance to give him a hug. He holds his arms open for you with a blush on his features. Sasuke wants to throw up.

“Yeah I kinda wanted to surprise everyone! Your hair looks great by the way, you look pretty great.” He says smoothly, pinching a few strands of your hair in his fingers.

“Oh–well, thank you…” You tuck your cheek to your shoulder, embarrassed that Sasuke was listening to all this. “You’ve gotten so tall! I trust Jiraiya-sama taught you a lot?”

The blond nods eagerly. “Oh yeah, koibito! I’m back to keep you safe and get Sasuke back!” He says, features coming together determinedly, an arm slung around your shoulders. The crow caws in protest, making you chuckle.

Koibito? Why would Naruto call her that after so many years apart? Surely he didn’t feel like she was that close to him, Sasuke wonders angrily to himself. Maybe Naruto had noticed how beautiful you were the whole time and wasn’t afraid to make it known.

“Who says I need anyone to protect me?” You ask, arching a brow at him, but it applied to Sasuke as well. “I’ve been training this whole time too, I’m a powerful kunoichi!”

Naruto smirks, looking at you with a renewed sense of determination.”Wanna bet? I’ll take you right now!”

You tilt your head to the side, sorry Sasuke. You can’t turn this one down, you wanted to see how much he had grown and if you were strong enough to keep up.

Sasuke watched as his two closest comrades sparred, every action being countered accurately. Sasuke was impressed with your speed and tenacity, the way you used your talents was much different than him. You were aggressive, but it was fun. Naruto was on the defensive for quite some time, not able to fool your sharingan with shadow clones. Sasuke didn’t care for it much when the fight went to the ground, his rival hovering over your body. He would peck his eyes out if he could.

But it was just the opening you needed, activating your delayed sense and leaf substitution consecutively. Naruto fell abruptly when your body turned to leaves beneath him. He springs back to his feet, searching for where you would reappear. But you rematerialize right behind him as if you had been there the entire time. You turn and smirk at Sasuke, pointing a kunai to Naruto’s back.

When Naruto feels the kunai, he gasps. He hold his hands up, “You got me! But what the hell was that?”

You giggle. If you giggle at Naruto one more time, he may just go ahead and attack the leaf before he kills Itachi. “You just haven’t faced my sharingan abilities! It was genjutsu.”

“And you punch harder than Sakura! You’re amazing, Y/N-chan.”

“Thank you Naruto, your fighting has certainly come along. I’m sure Kakashi will be excited to see your progress.” You smile softly.

As if you had reminded him, he jumps slightly. “Oh yeah, I gotta go see Granny Tsunade! Maybe Kakashi-Sensei will be there! See you later Y/N-chan!”

You wave goodbye to the boy, turning back to Sasuke’s dissatisfied crow. “Oh don’t look at me like that, mister. I’m the Last Uchiha Princess after all!”

You’re not sure if crows can roll their eyes, but maybe Sasuke’s chakra beast can. It certainly looks like it anyway. “You two basically made out in front of me.”

“It’s nowhere near like that, don’t be jealous.” You pout, fixing the purple headband once more. It strikes Sasuke then that you wear it as a reminder of him. It almost made him forget your taunts.

“I don’t even know what it feels like to be jealous, and I certainly wouldn’t get jealous over you.” He asserts, his voice corrupted with annoyance. You can tell he’s lying.

“Oh good, so I guess now's a good time to tell you I can’t make tomorrow’s session.”

“What? Why?”

“My date with Shikamaru.” You tease, throwing out the first name you can think of.

“You would choose that bag of slime over me?” He growls, disgusted by the idea of you in the hands of anyone else. No one could ever understand you like he does.

“You’ve never asked me on a date.” You giggle, knowing just how to press his buttons.

“I’ll take you on a date when I see you again.” He huffs, shutting down your giggling fit. He was satisfied with the blush on your cheeks and the way your lips parted with surprise. He knew just how to shut you up.

A few months later, you walk into the forests to ‘train’ as per usual. You expect his crow to be there waiting for you, but it isn’t. You search for it with your sharingan, refusing to believe Sasuke would stand you up. You hoped he was alright, nerves getting the better of you as you slid your back down the trunk of your meeting tree. The ground stops your momentum when you sit. You resign yourself to wait, just hoping he would show up to ease your fear if nothing else.

Within the next hour, his crow materializes on your knee. “You’re late.” You smile softly, reaching out your finger to pet the bird. You wonder if Sasuke can feel the touches, and what it feels like for him.

The air is different, you realize. He’s not clinging to his only happy emotion right now, he’s consumed with grief and darkness. “What happened?”

“Itachi is dead.” He announces, but it clearly brought him no relief. You can tell there’s more to this story, so you arch your brow and wait for him to continue. “It was all a lie. All of it. He showed me the truth.” He said with a tragic fondness in his voice.

“Wait, a lie? He killed them all, I saw the blood on him.”

“That part is true. The 3rd Hokage and some other pigs I’m going to kill arranged it. Our clan was about to revolt against the Hokage, they had been treating us like an infection. My dad was leading it…they made Itachi kill them all. He told them he would spare me, but he couldn’t expect them to spare you as well.”

“I don’t get it, we were kids, why wouldn’t they allow it?”

Sasuke’s answer reminds you of what Kakashi delicately explained to Tsunade that day your identity was revealed.

“Because the two of us can revive our clan and keep our kekkei genkai strong by not diluting it with other clan blood. Given Itachi and Shisui’s relationship, it’s natural that they expected us to be close and maybe marry later in life and rebuild.”

You open your mouth to express your feelings, but close it quickly when you realize you don’t know exactly how you feel. You suppose the logic makes sense, and if the entire village was at stake you understand why Itachi made the decision he did, to prevent the 4th Great Ninja War. Yet still, is that what Itachi designed? “Well that’s a silly thing to be worried about.”

“Is it? You feel the affinity we have for one another. I think they are right. Itachi placed you with Kakashi for safekeeping, he felt he owed that to Shisui. He never killed him, Shisui also tried to stop this but it didn’t work, Danzo Shimura attacked him and stole his right eye..he gave the other to Itachi and then..”Sasuke pauses, taking a shaky breath through his already shaky tone. He wanted to pick his words carefully, to best comfort you when he could not physically be there. “He threw himself into the river, activating Itachi’s Mangekyo. Itachi loved Shisui, and it hurt him to take the blame for his death. He felt horrible, letting you believe that.”

He watched you take it all in, your eyebrows furrowed together as you analyzed everything that you heard. Finally, you make a choking sob sound, making Sasuke frown. “B-but he wanted you to kill me! For your Mangekyo!”

Sasuke flashes his new eye for you. “Hearing all this, seeing it from his brain…it was enough to awaken.” He explains quickly, watching as tears fall from your eyes. “He needed us to hate him, it made it easier that way..he needed me to grow up alone so that I could pursue this journey of truth. But now, now that I’ve learned the truth I’ll make sure anyone involved in this is dead, and then I’m coming for the leaf!”

You blink several times, soaking in the reality he just presented. Your tears are quiet but ever flowing, and Sasuke wishes more than anything to be there, to hold you when he told you this, to take you with him on his journey. But he couldn’t, you would probably seek Naruto or your teammate Kiba’s comfort, and the picture of that made his stomach feel like he swallowed fire.

“Attack the leaf? Sasuke! If what you said is true, then Itachi did all of this for the leaf!” You say once the latter half of his declaration soaks in. “I’m in the leaf, what, you’re gonna let your emotions take over you again and kill me anyway?”

He grimaces, he shouldn’t have mentioned that part of his plan to you yet. “I could never hurt you, Y/N-chan. You are my koibito.” He asserts, yearning to reach out a hand and wipe away your tears. He always hated to see you cry, and his childhood self would wipe your tears every time.

“Killing my friends would still hurt.” You state, blinking away any trace of emotion.

“I’ll think about it. Y/N-chan, please don’t treat me like this.” He asks quietly, noticing your guarded apprehension that was caused by his promise to destroy your home.

“If this is who you are, then I’m going to treat you like it. Kill those involved and no one else, this village as it stands now didn’t do anything to us.”

“Alright.” He relents, and you know you’ve made some distance with him. He called you koibito earlier, a sign of his true affection for you, a thought that makes you smile.

“Koibito, eh? Sakura-chan will be heartbroken.” You hum innocently, dying to see him again. He can see you, but you had no idea how he had grown since he left.

He chuckles softly. He honestly could not care what Sakura thought, but you’ve always been more thoughtful. “She’ll move on.”

Tsunade tried. She tried to make sure Naruto was ready, she tried to send out her most powerful teams to stop the damage. That’s what you tell yourself as you jump tree-top to tree-top on your way back to Konoha. You had a sinking feeling in your gut when you left for the Sand a week prior, but you didn’t know it would lead to this. You could see the destruction for miles, and all you could hope for is Naruto to make it back soon. You were definitely powerful, but no match for this Akatsuki member alone.

When you make it to the scene, all you can see is injured shinobi and confused, fearful faces. Ahead, you see a massive light, Kakashi’s chidori blade, you thought to yourself as you bounded that way, tuning out the protests of your classmates and higher ranked shinobi.

When you get to him, there’s two bodies. One you can identify as Pain himself, the other looking just as mutilated and powerful. Kakashi fights, by himself, against these two powerful villains. You couldn’t have that. You were smart enough not to call him dad here in the battle scene, knowing it would only make both of you easier targets. You jump into the fight, capitalizing on the element of surprise. You weave signs to grow your plants, but they’re easily crushed by Pain’s pushing jutsu.

“All their eyes are connected, Y/N!” Kakashi calls out, and you return a nod.

A look of recognition flashes across Pain’s face. “Y/N Uchiha…what an honor.” As Pain throws an attack your way, Choji and his father appear to help.

The fight continued, your jutsu being rendered useless, if you could just get one under a genjutsu…but no, they were expecting that, younger sister of Shisui, prodigy of Kakashi.

You find yourself throwing fireballs and wishing Naruto would just show up already. Pain’s Almighty Push traps you and Kakashi under a pile of destroyed building rubble. Kakashi breathlessly begs Choji to get back to Tsunade and report Pain’s abilities, staring at the man with his Sharingan. Pain holds a nail between his fingers, the metal tool gleaming in the sun.

Kakashi tries, kamuing the first nail away. “Y/N..you have to get out of here..I don’t care what you see. Get out of this village. I love you very much, you have given me something I didn’t know I needed, child.” He says, your eyes immediately pooling up with tears. This sounded an awful lot like a goodbye, and there was no part of you that could leave him to die.

“Kakash–” You blink rapidly, the tears dropping in fat pools in the dirt. You could only move one arm, the rest of your body swallowed by dirt and debris, but you reached for him. If this was the last time, you could risk it now. “I love you too, Dad, that’s why you gotta keep going! I know you’re tired, but please!”

“Kakashi of the Sharingan,..Y/N Uchiha. Green Goddess of the Leaf, both of you shall know Pain.”

The nail was flung from his fingers like Kakashi was a magnet. The sound it made when it killed him was the same sound your heart made as it shattered. Kakashi’s head flopped forward, and with the change in chakra evident immediately–you knew he was gone. You scream out, kicking and screaming against the rock caging you in. The sound you make is horrible, even the other group of shinobi hears you wailing. You feel a new wave of chakra, using it to turn on your eyes, you know what you’ve done. Your Mangekyo Sharingan.

Shisui’s Kotoamatsukami was so powerful, you hoped your own ability was somewhat close. In fact, you gamble your life on it. You should be able to enter Pain’s thoughts, and from there, control them so subtly he never knew he was being controlled. You point a finger at him, feeling your control seeping into his mind. You smile, knowing you would avenge Kakashi.

“You will know complete devastation.” You challenge, resigning control of your own body in favor of controlling his. You realize you can’t influence his thoughts, but you can control his movements. You use this ability to dig yourself out, looking through this murderer's eyes, you see your eyes staring back. The rage that you see almost makes you fear yourself. You slide back into your own consciousness as more shinobi show up on the scene, Pain choosing to engage them first.

Naruto will be here soon, you think to yourself, staring at the forest ahead of you. Kakashi was once the only reason you stayed in the village, and he was the very thing begging you to leave. You have officially lost everything. People have schemed against you your entire life, giving you nothing but heartache and an immense appetite to square away your depression. Your feet move themselves into the treeline, numbly trusting that Naruto would save the day.

Or not, you can’t find yourself caring anymore. The Leaf was home because that’s where your people were, but now that they were all dead, friends and teachers alike, you didn’t care what happened to that place.

Your only thoughts were Kakashi, and what he meant to you, his last words. He wants me to go find him, you say to yourself. And then your mind shifted to your newfound ability, this baby kotoamatsukami that could be harnessed, and the only person who could help you do that.

“I’ll be there soon, Sasuke.”

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tags: @cococola-cocaine @hinari27

#naruto x reader #sasuke uchiha #sasuke x reader #dad kakashi #naruto shippuden

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imagine-knowing-a-name · 2 months

Text

i miss who i used to be

Summary: In the aftermath of Ultron, two Sokovians find themselves contemplating their pasts and their loneliness in the present. When their paths cross again, they might just find comfort in one another's company.

Word Count: 1379 Pairing: Wanda Maximoff x Reader Warnings: grief/loneliness/a lot of reflection on topics of that nature A/N: First part of a short series of sorts? Childhood friends to lovers kinda vibe which maybe could have been a one shot but I wanted to try something different! I have the next part written but after that, let me know what you'd like to see happen between Wanda and R (any interactions/conversations to be had/etc.) and it might influence where this story goes 👀

Part 1 of 'half of my hometown' series masterlist next part ->

»»————-　★　————-««

If there’s one thing she knows, it’s grief.

Wanda Maximoff was born and raised in a war-torn country; she’s borne witness to a lifetime of destruction, endured suffering, and experienced the slow death of dreams. It seemed like there could be no worse feeling since she’d already experienced it all, but life seemed determined to prove her wrong.

After all that, it took her brother.

If her life were to be likened to the myth of Pandora’s Box, then Pietro Maximoff would have been her hope – the one bright light in her life that she believed could never fade, that would never leave her. From the second she was born, and for 26 years thereafter, Pietro had always been by her side; no matter what happened, they went through it together, reacted together, and emerged alive on the other side together. For all their disagreements, Wanda couldn’t think of a single experience she hadn’t shared with Pietro. Which makes this new feeling – the painful, unenviable knot of loneliness in her heart – all the more terrifying.

Pietro will never share it.

Months continue to pass, with Wanda taking notice of nothing but herself becoming more withdrawn, avoiding Stark's parties and spending more time in her room, where she can let the loneliness consume her. She really did try when the Avengers first brought her to America, but Pietro had always been the social twin, and the conversations only made his absence more pronounced.

Wanda's mood worsens as her loneliness grows, but only she can see the change in herself. The team hardly noticed the difference -- they hadn't even known her before her grief, so how could they see what it had caused in her?

Lingering on the thought, Wanda realises there is no one left who remembers the girl she used to be before the pain and grief and suffering. She used to believe that her childhood friendships would last forever, but those friends are likely gone, she thinks, lost to the rubble just as her family were. Wanda Maximoff is the last person alive who could ever remember her true personality, but now, even she isn’t so sure.

»»————-　★　————-««

On that same night, in that same building, you suffer from the same line of thought. Brought from Sokovia to America in your early teens, joining SHIELD was your way of doing good in a world you knew firsthand needed help. You hadn’t expected it to be your own teammates and colleagues who had been causing the troubles in the first place; some went under with HYDRA’s exposition, but many remained, passing test after test because, despite the presence of their names on documents approving the bombing of your birth city, they truly had no allegiance to HYDRA. They are SHIELD agents throughout, but that doesn’t make them ‘good’.

Your sense of hope is naive, really. It’s a remnant of the lingering childhood sentiment that you would make the most of your escape to America, to make real change and bring peace to the friends you left behind. By now, you’ve seen the worst of SHIELD, endured mockery for your opinions, watched the organisation fall and then rise again only somewhat cleansed to assist the Avengers, yet you still work for them. Perhaps it’s fear that keeps you here, perhaps it’s delusion, but either way, you find your workarounds and do your best to progress.

That’s the situation that leads you to now, patrolling the halls of the Avengers Compound at 2am, pondering what you are even working for now that the only evidence left of your country’s capital city is a crater full of rubble.

Loneliness takes centre stage when you work night shifts – an unfortunate coincidence considering loneliness is what caused you to take the time slot in the first place. You don’t want to work with your colleagues, always feeling like you’re on the sidelines of the group, never quite as close to them as they are to each other – now exacerbated by the seed of doubt that any one of them may have seen your country as a necessary sacrifice, an inevitable fatality in a world of war.

It’s easier to work alone, you tell yourself again, but you begin to doubt it.

With no country to return to, no relatives, and no friends at work, you wonder how else you can change yourself before you finally fit in. Maybe then you wouldn’t have to be alone.

»»————-　★　————-««

Those thoughts are interrupted by whirring machinery, and you suddenly snap to attention and creep towards the Avengers’ gym. An intruder wouldn’t settle down for a quick training session, you imagine, and lower your guard marginally, but still ready yourself for a confrontation – there shouldn’t be anyone around at 2 am.

You walk in, only to stall immediately when you see a familiar brunette on the treadmill. She’s not one of the Avengers you’ve met before, nor one of the ones you’ve only seen on TV despite living in the same building – she’s new then, you conclude, or an intruder, but that doesn’t explain why you feel like you’ve seen her face before.

She looks up and her eyes widen when she sees you, before she shuts the treadmill off and quickly ducks her head. You don’t know what to say.

“I’m sorry,” she mutters while she hurriedly gathers her things, “I didn’t think anyone would come in here.”

You know why you recognise her now, the accent giving it all away.

“You’re Sokovian.” The woman clearly wants to leave; her belongings are bundled in her arm and she’s taken several quick paces aiming to pass you to get to the door, but she pauses at your statement and finally raises her head to meet your gaze.

“You’re not.”

“I am,” you reply, somewhat indignantly.

“You don’t sound it.”

Your natural accent had slipped over the years, it was true, a mix of natural evolution and forced acclimatisation on your behalf as an attempt to better fit in had led to the accent you now had. Not good enough to fool your American-born colleagues, but enough, it seems, to fool your fellow Sokovian. You think carefully, the new accent is so well practised that you struggle to separate what comes naturally and which parts you condition yourself to speak with. Eventually though, you speak and let the traces of your Sokovian past shine through.

“It’s been a while,” you tell her, “13 years since I last saw Novi Grad. I thought I’d return one day but… I guess not.”

Her eyes narrow as she tilts her head ever so slightly, the action once again striking you with a sense of familiarity. She seems to shake herself out of it eventually. She tightens her grip on her belongings and finally inches past you, not speaking again until her hand is on the door handle.

“I suppose neither of us can ever return home… your accent is rusty, Y/N, but it’s nice to see someone else survived.”

You jolt suddenly at her use of your name, but she’s gone before you can even turn around and acknowledge that she recognises you too; all that remains of her is the door slamming shut in her wake.

Memories crash back to you of the first half of your life, it's enough that you need to take a seat before allowing yourself to reminisce. It's been thirteen years since you last saw Wanda, but you'd never forgotten the shy brunette you used to run to and from school with; the girl whose apartment you would visit whenever the power went out, to huddle together and make up stories to entertain yourselves.

You wonder briefly why she left the gym so suddenly, rather than staying and catching up, but you realise that even you need a moment to process the fact that one of your friends, a memory from your past, is not only still alive, but also living in the same building as you. It seems likely that you'll see her again, and you hope it's something that she wants too.

You're already planning to give her time, but no matter how the night started, the encounter plants a seed of hope in you that the future might just be a little less lonely.

next part ->

»»————-　★　————-««

General Taglist: @canvascoloredin @fxckmiup @wizardofstories

(Might do a series taglist for this too - let me know if you'd like to be added! @family-house-of-m you have no choice but to be tagged)

#wanda maximoff x you #wanda maximoff x reader #wanda maximoff x y/n #wanda maximoff #wanda maximoff imagine #mcu #marvel #ikan writes #wanda maximoff & reader #ikan homh

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xwritingdixonx · 6 months

Text

To Rot With You | Daryl Dixon |

––––––––––

Masterlist

Summary: The reader and Daryl take a stroll through the forests, contemplating what it truly means to die. And to do it together. (Purely written based on the Hozier song, In A Week.)

Warnings: mention of death, no use of y/n (yay)

Word Count: aprox. 1.5k

Era: hinted at Alexandria, established relationship

Song Recommendations: In a Week - Hozier

A/n: This is pretty simple and short but hopefully still enjoyable!

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The morning air was fresh, chilly, and slightly damp from the rain that fell throughout the night.

The morning was early. It is too early for any creature to crawl from its sleep and begin withering its way around the forest. Or perhaps it was too wet for any creature to begin their everyday lives, still hiding in the safety and warmth of their enclosures. Or perhaps they were bathing in the fuller ponds and slurping from puddles. Or maybe, they were like you. Drudging through the forest in search of their first meal, the pads of their feet slick with mud.

The moist soil squelched beneath your steps. Wet bits of green grass stuck themselves to the textures of your boots. A layer of mud painted itself to the sole of your shoe, lodging itself into whatever print had been carved there.

Though you didn't own a calendar and probably would never again, you could feel it in the air that Winter was ending and Spring was blossoming. The mornings were still chilly but always sunny, the warmth coming in the later hours of the day. And the rain was frequent but it did not bother you. It softened the frozen ground and plumped the trees and flowers so they could grow full of life and beauty. It provided drinking water and filled the natural water resources with even more water.

Daryl, however, was always bothered. He complained about not having seen a rabbit or a deer on your morning hunt. You poked at him and told him they were still resting like you should be. He complained when he slipped in the mud. And he complained even more when he saw a fox saying, that's the reason we ain't finding no rabbits not because they're gettin' some extra shut-eye.

But he never complained about you. Not a word slipped his lips when you distracted him by holding his hand or standing too close. What was wrong about enjoying the presence of your partner? He had woken you up so early to drag you along, he might as well enjoy you.

When it came time to rest, you set up just on the treeline of a wide field. Wild with uncut grass, weeds, and flowers. The both of you sat on a fallen tree, attempting to avoid the wet ground that would surely ruin your clothes. Daryl had particularly picked this spot to keep an eye on anything wandering into the field for a nibble at the grass.

The sounds of the woods fell upon your ears as silence settled. A slight wind disturbed the greenery. Bending the tall grass, making it dance with the wildflowers. It moved the freshly grown leaves on the branches of the trees, flowing around like hair in the wind. The birds chirped their morning songs and the squirrels scattered from one tree to the next. You liked to joke and say they were hiding from Daryl. And truthfully, you couldn't blame them. You also had no desire to be shot with an arrow, skinned, and then thrown on a grill or tossed into a soup.

"Ya alright?" Daryl broke you from your daydreams, his voice gentle and smooth. You turned to catch his gaze, replying with a gentle, “Yeah.” Followed by a reassuring smile. His hand reached for yours, pulling it to rest in his own. You were already at peace in the sounds and scenes of nature but his touch calmed you in places you didn't even know were tense. Every moment you were able to bask in the love you felt for him, you cherished.

Waking up beside him, falling asleep beside him, showering with him. There was nothing you wanted to do without him by your side. And that included death. You had thought about it...many times. How could you not in a world like this? Death was always right around the corner; peeking, creeping, and waiting. You and Daryl had had your fair share of scares over the years and those thoughts haunted your mind every time. How could you go on without him? How could you fight every day if the thing you're fighting to go home to, is no longer there?

Daryl had the same gloomy thoughts. Losing you was, as clique as it sounds, his worst nightmare. He ran from the thoughts as much as his legs would let him but eventually his legs wore out and it caught up to him in the worst of times. When you got hurt, even the smallest scratch sent him tumbling down. He’d grasp onto you, repeating the same words again and again; Are ya okay? Can I do anythin’? M’sorry. But the gloomiest time came at night after you'd fallen asleep, leaving him alone to succumb to the dreading feeling that was always chasing him. He’d lay beside you, watching your gentle features finally be at ease and always making sure your chest rose and fell with gentle breaths.

“We should just stay here.” You didn’t turn to look at Daryl when you spoke but he looked at you, admiring your silhouette as you looked off. “What do ya mean?” Daryl answered. He wasn’t entirely sure if you were actually talking to him or if the thoughts in your mind were just slipping from your lips. “We come to sit here all the time and no matter the weather, it’s always just…” Your words trailed off as your mind searched for the word to describe the scene before you.

“Perfect?”

An airy laugh came from your chest at Daryl’s word choice. You turned to him then. With your hand still in his, you brought it to your lips and planted a kiss. Almost as a way to say, thank you for the effort. “Comforting. But yes, also perfect.” In your mind it was warmth when it was cold, it was a breath of fresh air in a world of rotting corpses, it was the hope of a future in a world of early death. But he was right…in simple words it was perfect.

“We can build a little house-”

“We?”

With only one word his tone was thick with sarcastic disbelief. You playfully rolled your eyes and gave his hand a squeeze. With your free hand, you pointed to a random spot in the clearing as you rephrased your previous sentence. “You could build me a little house right there.” Daryl liked the sound of that better. A house he was to build, with his hands, just for you to live in. “We’ll fill it with all our things, steal some furniture from home, and scavenge the rest…We can build a fence around so we’re safe.” Your words were a daydreamy gleam and you were far from finished. “We’ll light fires in the Winter to stay warm and open the windows in Spring…” This was obviously a daydream you had put quite a bit of thought into, one you’d laid up at night pondering about, and Daryl would not rob himself of the indulgence of your words.

"I'll start a garden and you’ll hunt. We’ll always have full tummies,” You looked away from the sky to meet his equally blue eyes, “And even fuller hearts.” Your gentle smile rested upon your face and your eyes were filled with the longing of a home that only existed in your whimsical daydreams. Though it did not exist and there was a possibility it never would, Daryl felt himself melting into this world of what-ifs. Daryl had never associated the words home and love together before. But…what if it could exist? What if he could build a home. A home just for him. A home of comfort…a home where he could just simply love and not be afraid.

“W’bout everyone back home?” He questioned, “They’ll never find us.” You responded quickly. Daryl shook his head and scoffed, “Nah, they’d find us in less than a week.” Daryl’s ears perked up at the sound of your soft laughter. “Yeah, yeah they would.” Daryl’s eyes never left you, even when you turned your head to look around the wooded area. He could practically see the way you were editing your story. “Fine, we’ll uh-” Motioning behind you, you continued, “We’ll clear a path through the woods all the way to the road. So they can always come visit.”

Then, as you looked at him, the dread crept upon you. Wrapping its clawed mangled hands around your perfect bubble. “And when we go…we’ll go together.” This caught Daryl by surprise. The fate he so deeply feared was no longer chasing him. It was sitting on that tree with him…and in the form of the words that came from your tongue. “C’mom..don’t talk ‘bout that.” He tried to defer but you would not let him. Whether you went from a bite, from a bullet, from a freak accident, or if you were lucky enough to go naturally, it was and always will be the inevitable truth of fate. “Once we’ve lived in our home long enough and full of love, we can lay in the grass and go.”

Everyone went back to the earth anyway, right? You had no desire to be thrown in a hole and covered in damp cold dirt. If you had to decay, you wanted to be on the soft grass, under the sun, even under the rain. You wanted the wildflowers to eventually grow through the cracks of your skeleton, just as you had seen done with other animal carcasses. You’d let the bugs find shelter in your bones and you’d let the foxes nibble at you. Maybe it would stop them from eating all of Daryl’s rabbits.

“I mean it…I don’t wanna go alone. Never mind how it takes me, I just wanna go with you.” The hope that your eyes once shined was now overshadowed by the tears that formed in your waterline. Daryl swallowed the lump that formed in the back of his throat. “C’mere.” He opened his arms to you, providing you the comfort you desperately needed.

Now with your rambling seemingly done and your body against his, Daryl thought.

“Alright.” Was all he said. Though it wasn’t a typical alright, it was serious. You pulled yourself up from his chest and looked to him with a cocked eyebrow, “Alright?” You questioned. “Yeah.” His demeanor confused you, seconds ago you were spewing words of fantasy, words of love and death, but now he seemed a little too serious on the matter. “What do you mean?”

“Means I wanna do it.” He spoke with his face close to yours, eyes locking into your own, so so close. “Imma build ya a home. Might take a little bit but I promise I will.” With his promise, you closed the sliver of space between you. You had kissed him many times before but there was a new feeling to the gentle urgency his lips met yours with. You could feel the fear of fate melting away in the softness of his kisses and you felt the desire for a peaceful future replace it. And that peaceful future tugged at your lips and ran its fingers through Daryl’s hair.

But most of all there was now a promise. A promise that you’d build together, love together, be full together, and eventually…you’d rot together.

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ddarker-dreams · 2 years

Text

He Who Hides Behind a Mask.

Scaramouche x F!Reader.

Warnings: Scaramouche is a mess, Reader is honestly a mess too, implied not SFW. Word count: 6k.

Note: originally, this story was going to be lot darker (haha), but after the 3.1 cutscene... i decided mr. mouche can have a break just this once. as a treat. please handle him with care. he really needs all of it he can get. anyway here’s my love letter to my fav genshin character.

You are, without a doubt, the worst human in the world.

If Scaramouche was labeled an eccentric by his peers throughout the centuries, he wonders what that would make you. Whatever conventions you abide by are a complete mystery to him. Perhaps you damaged your head at some point in your life and are now living with the consequences. Or, your head has made it out mostly unscathed, and you really are just this foolish for no good reason. That miserable doctor might say there’s an explanation behind every phenomenon, but the charlatan surely would change his tune if he met you.

What else could possibly explain why you have the audacity to waltz into his office, entirely unannounced, scuttling about like you owned the place?

… And if that isn’t worse enough, why does he let you?

“I brought some reports from Yaroslav and Stepan,” you slap said reports on his desk, then stretch your arms over your head. Scaramouche purses his lips as he contemplates how wide open you’ve left yourself to attack. He considers chastising you but decides against it this time, feeling otherwise preoccupied with your words. He’ll save that lecture for another day. Lord knows he has plenty building up already.

“Did they offer any explanation as to why they sent you in their stead?” Scaramouche scoffs, straightening the papers out and giving them a once over. If memory serves, this time-sensitive information was supposed to be here hours ago. He would’ve hunted the two aforementioned slackers down himself had he not been so inundated with other matters. Really, he shouldn’t be dilly-dallying with you at all, he should just wave you off so he can focus again.

Emphasis on the word should. He knows he most definitely won’t. Not when he had to bite his lower lip to stop a smile from spreading upon you barging in.

You unclasp your standard-issued Fatui mask from your face and toss it aside. “Well, if you want my opinion—”

“I can’t say I ever do, really.”

“—Okay, I’ll be ignoring that comment. Anyway, back to my opinion. I believe they find your lordship unpleasant. Horrifying. The worst company anyone could ask for. Had it not been for the fact they were wearing gloves, those papers would’ve been soaked from how much they were sweating.”

Gross mental image aside, he laser focuses on the insults you so freely flung in his direction. “If my company is ‘the worst anyone could ask for’, why is it you seek me out like a pest so often?”

You help yourself to the chair in front of his desk. Scaramouche had never seen anyone aside from you use it, since the few trembling Fatui agents that managed to survive their encounters here never risked staying long enough to test the furniture. It might as well belong to you at this point. As does the windowsill you somehow manage to balance yourself on when the sun is beaming in, the couch, his bed in the attached room…

“What kind of pest are we talking about here? Bugs or rodents?”

He rolls his eyes. You’re so purposefully obtuse that it’s a wonder your back isn’t bent a hundred degrees. “A mutation between them that maximizes both of their worst qualities.”

“One, that’s too cool to be an insult,” you put a gloved finger up, “And two, I’m convinced that if I didn’t keep you company, you’d go crazy from loneliness and zap everyone to death. I consider this a community service.”

Oddly enough, you might be spot on. What was that phrase again? A broken clock is right twice a day? He mentally rephrases it so that the ‘twice’ becomes ‘once’. He can’t be giving you more credit than is absolutely necessary. While he doesn’t have definitive proof you’re a telepath, it’s too much of a risk to presume otherwise. Your ability to read him is just… uncanny. He has his suspicions.

“You’ve been slacking in your supposed community service then, seeing as you’ve been gone the past week.”

Oh no, that came out way more bitter than he intended. And oh no, now you’re smiling, not the kind he’d begrudgingly call cute should his enemies ever waterboard the information out of him, either. This variation is the worst. Malignance hidden behind a veil of purity. The stuff of nightmares. It’s the ohh-you’re-so-taken-with-me-aren’t-you smile that puts his reputation of being cool and composed on the line. He can’t have that, not with you. It does away with the telepath theory that he desperately clings to.

If you’re somehow not a mind reader, then the only other explanation is that he’s made himself vulnerable enough for you to understand him. He doesn't like the thought of that. Not at all. The possibility pricks at him like a thousand needles, jamming in from all directions. Sharp and digging so deep past the surface, that removing them would cause him to bleed out.

With far more confidence in your gait than he would’ve preferred, you stride over, slinging an arm around his shoulder. The touch fills him with warmth, and still, he shivers.

“Did you miss me?”

There it is — a final blow worthy of taking him out. He wouldn’t succumb to flesh wounds, time’s passage, or elemental attacks that could level nations. It was only the sweet words that left your lips that held the high honor of potentially doing him in. Scaramouche is left stupefied. He doesn’t think about the two bumbling idiots that used you to avoid his wrath, the workload piling up as each second passes, or how grating his fellow Harbingers are.

Absolutely nothing else in this existence registers aside from you.

How close you are, how right it feels when your bodies connect, the scent of pine trees and brown sugar that make up the shampoo he knows you favor. The very shampoo he uses in your absence to try and placate himself until you return.

Emotions brew within him like the tempest above Seirai Island in his homeland. He hides it by biting down on his bottom lip, somehow managing to keep the cracks of his porcelain façade from spreading further. Once the damage is done, he hasn’t the slightest clue on how to go about fixing it. All he knows is that you are the one inflicting the damage. Far more than you could ever know. Far more than any veneer could ever polish.

With a strained tone, he manages to free the words that were lodged in his throat.

“You’re so full of yourself. Of course I didn’t.”

ii.

Scaramouche never thought he’d be able to desire a human body as much as he does yours.

It wasn’t until he made your acquaintance that he could understand how scholars went mad in pursuit of knowledge they’d never obtain. They knew it was a fruitless endeavor too, as did he, and still, what other choice did they have but to continue their studies at the expense of themselves? He was a creation — you were created. A line separates you both that he would always pass if it meant he could get the slightest taste. The blame all lies with you. Had you not tempted him, he’s certain he would’ve had the wherewithal to resist.

Or maybe that was just another pretty lie he wove, for he’s more comfortable claiming you’ve trapped him when he’s every bit the willing prisoner.

He once found the human body to be a miracle, something to envy in his earlier days. An unobtainable treasure for a tossed aside husk like himself.

He’s since rectified that naive line of thinking. What was so good about blood that couldn’t clot itself fast enough to heal mortal wounds in an instant? Skin that inevitably withers and sags from brittle bones? A heart that could kill its host should it beat too slow or too fast? The design was subpar. His being triumphed over it in every conceivable category. In the same way a swan would never pause to consider the appearance of a worm in light of its own beauty, Scaramouche thought he lacked the capacity to admire anyone other than himself. He figured that if he’d gone five centuries without finding anyone worthwhile, such a mythological figure must never exist. His modus operandi remained firm. Distrust miserable humanity, mock the foolish gods who are far less omnipotent than they’d like to admit.

Then you stumbled into the picture. No grace, no poise, only offering whatever it is you offer that he apparently just can’t get enough of. Addiction would be putting it lightly.

He runs his fingers over the hand-shaped bruises forming on your hips, then the blotches he greedily left behind on your neck. He considers the faded bites he had left around your collarbone upon receiving news you were to be away for a week on a job. He shifts himself, allowing the light from the full moon to illuminate where you returned the favor in kind, only to find the skin had healed completely. He frowns and tugs at his yukata to hide the perfection.

Indeed, you were subpar in comparison to his own divine design, but he couldn’t help but take a liking toward what your body was capable of. Far from revulsion yet not quite envy. This new emotion that bloomed in his chest went unidentified on purpose, for he never wished to give it a name.

Your body told stories, whereas his scrubbed the words clean from the pages, lest anyone ever read them.

A soft exhale from your sleeping figure draws his attention. You help yourself to snuggling deeper into his pillows, a content little smile on your lips that were raw from his various ministrations. He fights back a laugh at the state of your hair, sticking in enough directions to rival a compass. Absent-mindedly, he smooths out what he can. He’s probably not in a much better state himself. You were such a hair grabber. Perhaps all his spoiling made you impatient.

After running out of good excuses to stare at and touch you, he lays back down. His bed is far more inviting now that you’re back in it. Even if you have an unseemly habit of hogging the blankets.

“I did miss you… a bit.”

He whispers it as if it were a confession he’d clung to his entire life, only letting go moments before eternal slumber so that he may know peace. Scaramouche isn’t sure why he’s so adamant about denying you the truth. Is it pride? The thrill of being chased and sought after? Or, more realistically, and far uglier, could it be cowardice? He thought he had removed the filth that is emotion from his being. He declared it to be so, reveled in it, found solace that stretched centuries because of it.

You’ve reawoken that which lays dormant within him. If there’s anything the discarded puppet understands, it’s the danger that comes from rousing things from their sleep.

Much to his alarm, you stir, and he freezes like a thief caught in the diabolical act. You mutter some words that he can’t quite make out. Then, seemingly content with your change in position, you’re out like a light once more. His tense shoulders relax and he almost sighs from relief. He decides it’s too early to entirely let his guard down, not until he can confirm you aren’t faking slumber for some insidious machinations. He wouldn’t put it past you.

“You irritate me,” he murmurs, using the same volume that he did before.

Nothing.

“Your plant died because I forgot to water it like you asked me to.”

Still nothing.

“... Personality aside, you have some attractive qualities.”

Nada.

Huh. So he was being paranoid for nothing. He huffs in frustration, whether it can be attributed mostly to you or himself, he cannot say for certain. What he does know is that the sun will be rising in a few short hours and he hasn’t gotten a wink of sleep. The fault lies with you, he decides. If you weren’t so pleasant to look at, he’d have been well on his way to dozing off. Every anomaly in his life can be traced back to you like an elaborate tapestry. He’s thought about ripping it off from the hinges, igniting each thread until it frays, warming himself with the fire that he’d start and maintain.

While it might be difficult at first, in the long run, it should make everything easier. Get his focus back onto his lifelong grudges and goals.

But when he feels how your palm locks perfectly into place against his, he decides the warmth he gets from you as you are now is superior. Even if it means that he might possibly be the one to go down in flames instead.

iii.

“Hey, [First].”

“Hm?”

“If I said that I hated you, would you believe me?”

You take a pause from sipping on the tea he prepared. Your fingers trace the outer ring of the yunomi, eyeing the steam rising from the murky green liquid inside. Unfortunately for Scaramouche, you’d witnessed him preparing matcha tea in the classic Inazuman style, and often bugged him to make you some. He always complained about how high maintenance you were yet never refused the request. The one time you pointed this out, he hastily made the excuse that you talk less and are generally more bearable when your mouth is preoccupied. This earned him a wink that set his face ablaze.

“I think it’d depend on your reason for hating me,” you decide.

He raises an eyebrow at this. “Do I have to have a reason?”

“Well, yeah. Otherwise, you’re not putting your heart into it. It’s too tepid. Go big or go home, as they say.”

Who exactly says that…?

“And what if I don’t have a heart?” Scaramouche proposes. You’re giving him a weird look. He knows he’s being overly cryptic and searching for answers you could never give, but he can’t stop himself. There’s a certain satisfaction to be found in getting all passionate over a perceived wrong. Searching for offenses hidden beneath the reeds that simply aren’t there, yet settling on labeling the rough shape of it just that. He likes it when others make mistakes in his presence. When he has an excuse to belittle and berate them.

What that says about himself, he could care less. Very few have the power and or courage to call him out on it.

He’s scrutinizing your every movement. From the fluttering of your eyelashes against your cheeks to how you readjust your posture, searching and searching for the perfect opening for him to lunge at. He needs it from you, he realizes, in the same way lost humans in the desert need water.

Scaramouche starts drumming his fingers on the ground. Why are you taking so long to respond? Normally, you would’ve rattled off on some nonsensical tangent by now that he’d claim to only be half paying attention to when he actually soaked up every word. Could it be that you sense the underlying severity that he tried so hard to mask? Or is his telepath theory gaining newfound credence again?

He has to sever this connection with you. If he doesn’t, every time he tries to pull away, he’ll snap right back in your direction.

“The way I see it,” you start, five words that make him internally cringe yet lean in nonetheless, “Your heart is a work-in-progress. An ongoing project.”

“What?” He deadpans. Whatever he was expecting, it certainly wasn’t this.

“Hold on, I’m not finished yet. You can’t judge me until I’m done.”

He has reason to disagree but keeps that sentiment to himself.

You set the near-empty yunomi onto the ground and look him straight in the eye. “A heart is what guides you. It takes you in all sorts of directions, good and bad. You’ll think to yourself, ‘why did I do something so stupid, when I knew it was stupid’, and well, that’s because of your heart. So as far as I see it, anyone capable of messing up has a heart.”

You tap your head with your knuckles and he’s semi-amazed it’s not a hollow sound that comes forth. “See, if we only used this and abided purely by logic, we’d all be super boring and perfect. That’s where our heart comes in. It sends us spiraling all over the place and makes things interesting.”

“So you’re saying because I’m stupid and have the capacity to ‘mess up’, I have a heart?”

“Well, I would’ve gone for an artsier flare in trying to sum up what I said, but I guess that’s the gist of it.”

“I’ll be generous and overlook the incredibly foolish nature of your words that defy all sensibility—”

“Wow, thanks.”

“—And entertain your assertion with one final question before I drop the subject. You still haven’t elaborated on the work-in-progress part. Explain.”

“Oh, this one’s simple,” you nod with confidence that makes zero sense to him. “It’s only a work-in-progress because you haven’t realized you already have a heart. Once you figure that part out, you’ll be all set.”

You have the audacity to conclude this world-shattering statement with a thumbs up. Scaramouche gawks at you, vacillating between incredulity and sheer awe over your apparent nerves of steel. Grown men cower in his presence. Villages and settlements are razed on his command. He could very well ascend to godhood one day so that he might tear the false stars from the sky. And here you sit, speaking candidly with him, as if it was the most normal thing.

You interrupt his thoughts by holding the empty yunomi in his direction. “Would it be okay if I had some more of this stuff? It’s delicious.”

He yanks the yunomi with far more force than necessary, turns his back to you, and starts assembling the necessary tools while muttering obscenities under his breath. The matcha powder is all but flung into the bowl. Stupid woman with a stupid pretty face making him do stupid things—

Scaramouche freezes.

You make him do stupid things?

Oh no, this is really, really bad. Wait. There’s still hope. A light at the end of the tunnel that he must run towards. If he doesn’t believe your mad ravings, because that’s definitely what they were, no doubt about it, then he’s safe. In the clear. All good. Above reproach. The implications that would arise otherwise are too damning, possibly enough to rewrite his entire existence—

You wrap your arms around him from behind and rest your head atop his. “Are you okay, Scara? I’ve seen statues move more than you have in the past few minutes.”

He swallows thickly.

“... Kunikuzushi.”

“Huh?”

“My name isn’t Scaramouche, you dullard,” he can barely ladle the hot liquid into the bowl from how much he shakes. “It’s Kunikuzushi. Remember that.”

He feels you hum, the sound low and remarkably pleasant. “Ku-ni-ku-zu-shi. Kunikuzushi. Okay, got it. What a relief. That’s way better than what I thought your actual name was.”

“What did you think my name was?” He questions, momentarily forgetting that giving into his curiosity around you often spelled trouble for him.

“Balladeer,” is your instantaneous response.

He lets out a sound he didn’t think he was capable of making anymore. You must believe this as well, for you release your hold on him, swiveling around in front with wide eyes. Scaramouche covers his traitorous face to the best of his abilities, but it’s too late. You caught a glimpse and now he will have to live with the consequences. He swats you away as you try to pry the hand covering his smile.

“Oh wow, I made you laugh!”

“You did no such thing.”

“It wasn’t a derisive laugh or anything either! I thought you could only do evil little chuckles. This is a discovery worth celebrating.”

“You’re insufferable.”

“Look who’s talking.”

For once, he doesn’t have a good response ready to fire back.

iv.

Fate is an unfunny joke, as far as Scaramouche is concerned.

He was destined for more than the hand he was dealt. A creation torn away from the higher purpose it was handmade for. Godhood, divinity, a seat amidst seven holy thrones. Fate had spat in his face and turned its back on him. Some — a certain pink-haired kitsune comes to mind — might label his various schemes a tantrum. That could be exactly what he was doing. What the fruits of hundreds of years' worth of labor ultimately amounts to. He doesn’t care if that’s the case. People could look down on petty revenge all they want, but at the end of the day, what matters is that it feels good. Vindicating, exhilarating. There is unrefined beauty in disaster when he is the orchestrator of it.

Yet for some reason or another, he doesn’t want disaster to rip its claws into you.

Your touch is different tonight and so is his. There’s a raw urgency behind it that he doesn’t care to conceal, whereas yours is sluggish, almost apathetic. It’s the antithesis of everything you are and he can’t help but find his mood soured because of it.

Scaramouche is doing everything he knows you like. Touching you in the places that normally produce such lovely noises, devouring you with his lips and body. He’s giving you everything — more than that, even — while you give him nothing. You don’t goad him on or push him away. This impossible to decipher situation has his head reeling. He wants you, he needs to have you, but not like this. Not when you aren’t yourself. For that is what he desires the most.

When he pulls back from his heated kiss, saliva connects your lips in a thin line. He grimaces at your blank expression. Why isn’t this working? In the past, when words failed him, he compensated with his actions. He’d encourage you to sing, make you throw your head back and abandon all sense of propriety, freely handing the worthless notion over to him without a second thought. You never refused to give when he went to take. So this drastic change is both abnormal and unwelcome.

“... What?” He demands, breathless. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

Why does it bother him so much?

Scaramouche knows he could get up and leave. Perhaps that’s what he should do, and what he would’ve done years ago, but he’s paralyzed. You’ve injected your venom so deep inside him and he didn’t realize until it was too late. Death’s tolls are ringing in his ear to come claim him, with you standing as his executioner.

“You’re going to Inazuma,” the words come out slowly and in a tone that hardly fits you.

“Yeah? And?”

“You’re going to Inazuma without me.”

“I’m failing to see the issue here,” he grits his teeth. “Spit it out already. You’re testing my patience.”

You both glare at each other in silence for some time. A little voice in his head that he repeatedly tries to silence tells him he already knows where you’re going with this; you’re trying to give him the dignity of fessing up before he’s pressed further. You were an unrivaled master when it came to navigating the complex maze that is his existence. In any other instance, he might cave and give in. He can’t with this, it’s too imperative, the driving force that’s erred him on for countless years.

Scaramouche scoffs and moves himself off of you, settling on hanging his legs from the side of his bed. You don’t try to stop him or chase after him. You just lay there, your eyes burning on his back, ensuring that the atmosphere remains thick.

He pinches the bridge of his nose and sighs. There has got to be nothing worse than when one realizes they’re in the wrong. He can count the times he’s felt this way on a single hand, most of the experiences connecting back to you in some way. Conviction eludes him otherwise. He could shock sobbing and pleading individuals to ashes without batting an eyelash, but no, the moment you’re upset, it’s all too much and he can’t handle the pressure.

Fine. You want him to come out and say it? He’ll do just that.

“I’m going to leave and betray the Fatui,” he says as if he’s discussing the weather. “I want that deplorable Electro Archon’s gnosis. I’ve waited centuries for an opportunity like this to present itself. So, if you have half a working brain, you can see why I don’t plan on having you tag along. You’ll likely be labeled a traitor too for fraternizing with me.”

He’s grateful you can’t see his face, for he doesn’t have his hat to conceal it.

If he has little reason to stick around, you have infinitely less after a cold confession like that. He’s admitted to endangering you despite knowing his plan to one day betray the organization you both are members of. He selfishly embedded himself in you regardless, soaking up your warmth and everything good you had to offer. A parasite, he thinks. That’s what I am. A parasite that grew addicted to you and took more than it could ever hope to give back. He’s discarding you in the same way his mother did to him, once his existence was deemed unfit for its desired purpose. If he considered humans untrustworthy, what does that make him?

“... Is that all you want, Kunikuzushi?”

He’s never heard your voice so soft and delicate. What a shame that out of all the times he’s felt he deserved it, it had to come now, when he knows he doesn’t.

“It is,” comes his curt response. “You’re a fool if you think otherwise.”

He has no better defense other than to say you knowingly got entangled with a Harbinger. You could argue the point, call him on his bluff, hurl every insult under the sun at him. He’d let you too — it might as well be your right. You do no such thing. You don’t even storm out of the room in a huff. Instead, you pull the sheets up to cover your bare chest, fluff out your favorite pillows, and smooth out the wrinkled blankets. Scaramouche has to glance over his shoulders to confirm what it is you’re actually doing. Sure enough, you’ve closed your eyes, and are well on your way to falling asleep.

He shakes his head in complete and utter disbelief.

It would seem that he could never understand you, not even in your last night shared together.

You don’t come to see him off on his voyage.

His ego might be larger than any numerical measurement could hope to quantify, but not even that could make him believe you’d have any kind words left for him. That was the point of him pushing you away, wasn’t it? To enjoy you up until the very last second then make a clean break? Still, he can’t help but feel troubled by the dejection looming over him like storm clouds in your absence. What a pain. It appears you’re destined to annoy him no matter the circumstances.

Standing atop the upper deck, he overlooks the desolate landscape of Schenzaya that seemingly stretches on forever. Muted grays and blues blend together in a dreary canvas befitting of his current mood. Fatui soldiers rush around from all directions, though they do their best to avoid the space Scaramouche occupies, leaving him to brood in silence. The dark aura emanating off of him does well to warn others off.

Scaramouche doesn’t understand why this debacle is troubling him so when he knew it was coming. His ultimate goal has always been obtaining a gnosis or any other path to divinity, that didn’t change when you came stumbling along. He needs to get over this inconvenience promptly. For him to fulfill his lifelong dream, he must ensure his chest is a blank slate. He even abandoned his childlike longing for a heart upon recognizing this. Everything must be stripped clean for what is to come next. This mire plaguing him is no different — he’ll wash and drown it out.

Suddenly unable to stomach the view any longer, he pivots and makes for his private cabin. The mere thought that you’re somewhere out there, far beyond his grasp, where others take kindly to you… he could almost get sick. If you were likable enough for him to ease up in your presence, who else would succumb to your charms? He balls his hands into fists by his side. You could do so well for yourself and he loathes the thought. There’d be some admittedly petty satisfaction if he was confident you’d be alone forever after him, but it just isn’t realistic. Irksome woman. Damn you for being enjoyable company and easy on the eyes. Damn you for making him care in the slightest.

Those he strides past either scramble to occupy themselves with busy work or fixate on the floor. He pays them no mind, viewing them as insignificant as the chipped wooden planks beneath his feet. By the time he gets to his cabin’s doors, fatigue falls upon him, though his long journey is just beginning. He shoves the doors open with enough force that the hinges shriek in protest. His kasa is pushed slightly askew from the doors slamming shut, yet he cannot think to fix it or anything else. Not when he sees what awaits him inside.

Not when he sees you. Lounging on his bed as if it’s the most regular thing ever, a framed picture of yourself in your hands that he brought along against his better judgment.

“I’ve got to say, this shot looks pretty good,” you hum. “Although I have no memory of it being taken, so that’s creepy. Do I even want to know how you got this?”

… You probably don’t, but that’s beside the point.

Scaramouche all but stomps over to where you sit. He is a bundle of unsteady energy that is ready to explode at the slightest trigger. You smile at him as he leers down at you, his eyes twitching from how nonchalant you are about this intrusion. Yes, that’s exactly what this is, an intrusion, you’re entangling yourself into something beyond your scope. Beyond your comprehension.

“How,” He narrows his eyes, jamming an accusatory finger in your direction, “The hell did you get in here?”

His personal security might completely pale in comparison to him, but they should be competent enough to keep the likes of you at bay.

“The same way you did, I imagine. The door.”

Scaramouche growls and you put your hands up in defense. “Okay, bad timing, sorry. I told the guards that if they didn’t let me in, I’d tell you about the time they came back from town drunk and tried flirting with me.”

The lightbulb overhead flickers from the electricity Scaramouche exudes.

“They what?”

“Ah, sorry Grigoriy and Igor…”

He shakes his head, deciding to return to that egregious revelation later.

“Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t throw you overboard.”

You part your lips and then close them, eyebrows furrowing together. Whatever it is you’re mulling over, he doesn’t know why he gives you the time, or why he waits with bated breath. He longs to chalk it up to you being dense. How much simpler that would be, if he could insult your intelligence and call it a day. Deep down, he knows the truth is far more complex than that. You have your reasons for doing what you do. There’s intentionality interwoven into your being, no matter how casual you act. It’s what lures him in and keeps him trapped.

He never knows what you’ll do or say next — and he always wants to stick around just a while longer to see.

“Last night, you told me you only wanted the gnosis,” you set the frame down and fold your hands onto your lap. “I thought about that for a while. Not because it surprised me, but because you chose to stop at that. I couldn’t understand why. I know you’re greedy. I know you want more… you want me.”

You tilt your head, your eyes crinkling and full of mirth. It’s enchanting. “So be greedy. Want me as much as I want you. If your kindness is pushing me away, then I don’t care for it, because I’m greedy too. I only want kindness from you if we can both enjoy it. Talking for hours about the silliest things… arguing about topics neither of us really care about… you making me matcha tea in the middle of the night ‘because I whisk it like I’m trying to break your bowl’. That’s the weird, twisted kindness that I’ll accept.”

Scaramouche has never felt so light and heavy at the same time.

“You’re serious about this?”

“One hundred and ten percent.”

“I’m worse than you think I am.”

“That isn’t too surprising.”

“Way worse,” he’s breathless, his face is on fire, and he wants to kiss you senseless until you are too. “If you think I was greedy before, you haven’t seen anything yet. You can’t promise yourself to me without knowing that. I won’t stop at anything to keep you all to myself. If you betray me like my m…”

His voice threatens to crack, but he manages to smooth it over, “If you betray me, I might just destroy this world and everyone in it.”

Including himself.

Your hands are cradling his face. He sees his reflection in your eyes and it's a vulnerable sight that hasn’t stared back at him for centuries. It disgusts him, taunts him, and unearths memories that he thought he buried six feet under. He’s at his ugliest and you look at him as if he were beautiful. Despite himself, he leans into your touch. You were a priceless find. Some treasures were meant to be displayed for the entire world to envy; he decides that method isn’t for him. Your logic-defying ways were to be reserved for his viewing and no one else's.

“And if I never betray you?” You inquire, the pad of your thumb rubbing circles into his cheek. “What then, Kuni?”

His eyes are lidded when he responds. “I don’t know.”

He doesn’t understand trust or the concept of depending on another. In his earliest days, when these imperative truths were beginning to take root, the world burned it to the ground. He always thought the soil was poisoned beyond repair and left it at that. For if tried only to fail again, he’s certain he’d doomed himself to a cycle of disappointment in others.

“Well, I guess that means we’ll have to find out, won’t we?”

You make it sound so easy.

“... Fine. Suit yourself,” Scaramouche fights back a smile at the way you cheer in victory. “Something tells me if I threw you overboard, you’d just cling to the boat, anyway.”

You shoot him a wink. “I’ve been told I’m relentless at getting what I want.”

The imbeciles you surround yourself with might have a point.

Scaramouche knows the words were spoken in jest, yet he fixates on them. You want him. You want him. You want him. For better or for worse (he’s leaning toward worse), you’re still willing to put up with his endless list of negative qualities. He can’t remember the last time anyone offered him that, probably because no one ever has.

You start to move away and he holds you in place, stealing the kiss that’s been on his mind since you had the audacity to show up uninvited. His mouth slants against yours, his appetite voracious and demanding everything you could possibly offer. You reciprocate in kind, your lips curving upward, and your hands guiding his to settle on your hips.

You are the worst human, he thinks, pushing you back onto the bed and eliciting a gasp from you in response.

So it’s his job to see that you’re dealt with accordingly.

By him and him alone.

#scaramouche x reader #kunikuzushi x reader #genshin impact x reader #genshin impact #reader insert #genshn impact reader insert #fatui x reader #harbinger x reader #not sfw #my stuff

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kiiwiigii · 8 months

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The Red-Eyed Boy pt. i

Pt. Two | Three | Outtake

Alec x Swan!Fem!Reader

Summary: When Edward goes to the Volturi seeking death he accidentally exposes Bella's sister. Not taking any chances Alec is sent to finish you.

Warnings:

I haven't written ff in forever soooo...

Also I have trouble with the whole Y/N thing.

Language

Kinda, sorta NSFW I guess? Lot's of kissing.

Word Count: 1,938

A/N: Alec is aged up.

Aro let his mouth twist into a cruel smirk. Apparently, the Swan girl was dead, a sad waste of possible talent he lamented silently, but what was done was done. Edward had had no intention of turning her anyway, so what did it matter?

However, there had been another problem that Edward hadn't meant to expose.

Her sister.

"NO!" Edward shouted. "No! No, she's not aware. She doesn't know-"

"Now, now Edward. We cannot take chances, you know this. The girl already has her suspicions."

Edward's face crumpled into a half snarl. Going to the Volturi for your own death was one thing, but not only had he been denied this sweet relief, he had sentenced another to death. Surely he could get them to understand that Y/N was completely in the dark. Sure she had suspicions but that was just it. Suspicions. And aside from a few shopping trips with Alice (in which Alice had to practically drag Y/N out of the house in an attempt to get to know her better) she had stayed relatively far away. What Bella should have done, he thought with a cringe.

"Alec." Aro called over his shoulder.

Alec was at his master's side in less than a second, staring blankly ahead and awaiting orders.

"You are to head the Swan household in Forks. Take care of Bella's sister."

"Of course Master."

Alec gave a bow before sharing a look with his own sister and heading out of the throne room; Edward's renewed attempt at talking Aro into sparing the other Swan girl's life fading away ever so slightly. He couldn't help but smirk. Fresh blood that didn't have to be delivered. A chance to hunt. Maybe he would play with his food before he finished her off. Make her run. Make her beg. Or perhaps... a different kind of begging. A begging brought on with kisses and meaningless words whispered in her ear. His smirk twisted into a smile. There were always different ways to play, right?

Dad,

I'm with Alice. Edward's in trouble. You can ground me when I get back. I know it's a bad time. So sorry. Love you so much.

Bella

"You gotta be fucking kidding me."

With a groan I let the letter slip from my fingers and back to its original place on the kitchen counter. I knew Bella was still healing, but never in my wildest dreams did I picture her dropping everything and just taking off for the boy who dumped her.

I paused, leaning against the counter with my head in my hands, wondering if I should just go ahead and call dad or wait to break the news to him when he got home. On the one hand if I called him now, it would distract him from his job... however if I didn't tell him now and he finds out I knew before he got home, I could possibly land myself in hot water and get grounded myself. And oh boy was Bella going to get grounded. Probably for the rest of the year if not her life.

She probably figured I'd find the letter first and would butter dad up anyways. Soften the blow that his eldest daughter went missing with a barely half-assed explanation. Well, she would be wrong about the latter at least. She'd be dealing with dad by herself on that one. As much as I loved her, I didn't want to be mixed up in her shenanigans.

Mind made up, I picked up my cell to make the dreaded call, and as expected dad picked up on the first ring.

"Uh, hey dad..."

I'm dreaming of him again. The boy with the red eyes.

He was standing in front of a familiar house, just watching. Waiting. I could see it in his eyes as they flicked back and forth. He was contemplating something, his head tilting just slightly as he took in the sloping roof and the off-white siding that was in severe need of cleaning. A truck and police car rested in its driveway, silent and empty.

My heart leapt. Why was he in front of my house? I'd dreamt of this boy plenty of times before, but never had he been in my own yard. Or anywhere I was even familiar with.

Instead, he was usually shrouded by a fine black mist. Sometimes, if I was lucky enough, he would simply be doing something rather mundane, like reading a book or walking in a garden. Other times my dreams would be rather violent, and I could hear the screaming of his victims as he ripped them to shreds. Then there was the girl that usually stood by his side. If the boy was violent, she was easily a hundred times worse. It was like watching a horror movie come to life and I couldn't close my eyes. I found that I didn't want to close my eyes. He was fascinating to me.

Or maybe it's because I'm a weird and sick individual.

He circled around to the back of the house now, his eyes trailing upwards until they landed on the second-floor window, a smirk beginning to curl on his lips.

My window.

I woke up with a gasp, clutching at my sheets.

What the fuck?

My imagination was finally getting away from me.

I couldn't help but look towards my window, still tightly shut and locked, only the soft glow of fairy lights winking back at me. Untangling myself from my sheets, I slipped from my bed and plodded over to the window. Nothing's out there, I thought. It's a stupid dream. They've all been stupid dreams. The red-eyed boy doesn't exist, Y/N. I unlocked the window and pushed it upwards before sticking my head out and looking around. Of course, I couldn't see worth shit but I squinted my eyes anyway, you know, just in case it would help me see better.

The yard was dark and empty. No handsome, red-eyed boys anywhere to be found.

I almost breathed a sigh of relief before a loud jingle broke through the silence, causing me to jump and slam my head into the window.

"Fuck." I hissed, cradling the spot that I could now feel a nice bruise forming.

It took me a moment to realize that the jingle was coming from my phone. Scrambling towards my dresser I managed to trip on the sheets I'd thrown off just minutes ago and go crashing to the floor. Tonight was just not my night. Despite my new entanglement, I reached up and managed to grab my phone, flipping it open without looking at the caller ID.

"Y/N? Y/N?" The voice on the other end was frantic.

Bella. I finally let out a breath I didn't realize I had been holding, the tension easing from my shoulders for the first time in days.

"Who else would it be?"

Despite my irritation and anger from her stunt I couldn't help but crack a grin as relief flooded through me. She was safe. I could already feel the hysterical laughter bubbling up. But that was quickly quashed as a new voice spoke from behind me.

"You're just as clumsy as your dear sister."

I whirled around and promptly dropped the phone as my eyes took in the dark figure standing at my feet. He was beautiful. Sinfully so. Dressed in all black, his pale skin stood out all the more. Agonizingly perfect and flawless, with dark hair sweeping across his forehead. And his eyes. Oh those eyes. My dreams didn't do them justice. Didn't do any piece of him justice.

"You." I breathed; eyes wide.

He suddenly tensed as our eyes met.

"You." He repeated.

Before I could blink, he was right before me, a gloved hand cradling my face. My mind was going haywire, trying to comprehend just what was happening. What was this pull I was feeling? What is this warmth? Did he feel it too?

"Your eyes." I whispered.

He arched a brow in amusement. "What of them?"

"They're beautiful. Like- like rubies." I stuttered quietly, feeling myself flush. "Am- am I dreaming again?"

Now both brows shot up. He probably thought I was crazy. And at this point he would be right. The boy that I had literally been dreaming about since I was a child was right in front of me.

"Y/N!"

The faraway crackle of my phone pulled me back to reality and I slowly picked it up, watching the boy in front of me. He made no move to stop me, only brushing a cool thumb across my cheek.

Wait, when had he lost the glove?

"I- I'm here."

"Did you hear anything I said?"

It was Alice Cullen

"Er- no."

"Listen," Alice began hurriedly. "I know this a lot to take in, but Alec isn't going to hurt you. It's- mates are a complicated thing in the vampire world."

"I'm sorry, what now?" I blinked rapidly as I tried to process what she was saying.

There was a low growl before I felt the phone being taken from my hands gently. I would be lying if that growl hadn't sent butterflies fluttering in my stomach.

"Cullen. Given your talent I think you would know that Y/N is perfectly safe with me." He leaned in as he tilted my head back, his nose running along my neck. "She is my mate after all."

My breath hitched at not only his words but the little nips and licks he began to trail along my neck, cool against my flushed skin. Oh gods, this could not be legal.

"Please inform Aro that Bella's sister will be coming to stay with us soon."

With a click he snapped the phone shut and molded his lips mine. I was pretty sure that my heart was about to beat out of my chest. Finally, he let me come back up for air with a small nibble on my bottom lip and burying his face back into my neck, his hands running down my sides in a slow caress.

"So- so you're Alec?"

He let out an actual purr at the sound of his name. "Say it again."

"You know people usually introduce themselves before making out right?"

There was a growl in response, and I almost let out a moan. Oh fuck, please stop doing that. It was doing weird things to my body.

"Alec."

He lifted himself up to look at me again, eyes no longer that beautiful ruby red but nearly pitch black. He kissed me again and again, swiping his tongue along my lower lip before delving into my mouth with a hunger that shot heat straight between my legs. This time I moaned. He chuckled as he pulled away, placing light kisses along my jaw until he reached my ear and nibbling yet again. Lord did this boy like to nibble.

"I will be back, mio cara."

Suddenly he disappeared just as my door opened and my dad stood there looking rather alarmed. I just blinked at him in a daze.

"I heard voices." He grumbled, looking for all the world like he had just rolled out of bed... which he had.

I felt my face heat back up, trying to figure out exactly what he had heard and trying to come up with an excuse.

"Uhm. I heard from Bella!"

For once my sister saved the day.

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aphrodisiac-siren · 1 month

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Home~ Neteyam x Metkayina!reader

Summary: Leaving behind everything he knew was hard for Neteyam and then adapting to the ways of the new clan was even harder. He'd push himself, overwork and exhaust himself even, to live upto his family's expectations; never really giving his own wants a second thought. That's why Y/N was the prefect companion for him, someone who kept things in his life balanced, who made sure to let him know that what he wanted was just as important, perhaps even more so, than what everyone else wanted of him.

//slow burn, angst, Lo'ak growing a braincell? And did I mention angst??// tìyawn-Love

masterlist

Part 7

🫧

[Flashback]

Pacing.

That was one thing he could remember distinctly from that day.

Pacing.

That's all he did outside the tent in which Y/N was, still very much injured and on the cusp of life and death.

While Norm and a few others were doing whatever they could to keep her from dying, all Neteyam seemed capable of doing in that moment was worrying.

His fists clenched and unclenched at his sides, his heart pounding louder than the sound of an ikran's screech. He knew he was absolutely of no help but he refused to leave, not wanting to be anywhere but near her.

He had yet to tell her about what he felt, even if he himself hadn’t fully understood it himself. His constant need to see her every day, his desperation for her attention, how he craved fleeting touches. How an endearment as simple as 'pretty boy' started this whole whirlwind of foreign emotions.

He couldn’t bare the possibility of all of that coming to an abrupt halt, all if it being ripped away from him.

Y/N being ripped away from him.

He'd grown so accustomed to living alongside her that he could barely imagine a future without her in it.

It wasn’t fair.

Someone who was nothing less than kind, a little feisty and a whole lot of emphatic being given death after everything she’d done for his family, was just cruel.

Neteyam always trusted Ewya's judgement but in that moment, for the very first time, he abhorred her.

For Y/N to be snatched away like this was just. not. fair.

Amidst his loathing, he even pleaded to take him instead of her. Because according to him, the world would still be the same regardless if he was in it or not but take Y/N away and everything loses its light.

And while he awaited impatiently and helplessly, all he could irritatingly,

Was more pacing.

[End of flashback]

This was probably the first time Lo'ak witnessed Y/N in a rush to just get her lesson over with. In all his time knowing her, not once did the star pupil, soon-to-be Metkayina warrior, Neteyam's-personality-clone ever seem to end her training as soon as possible. Maybe his influence was finally rubbing off on her.

"Are you sick?" he smirked at the girl, looking at her amusingly as she impatiently tapped her foot.

"I'm already great at archery" she groaned, ditching her bow as she sat down upon the warm sand "way better than you in fact, I think that’s reason enough to call it quits for today"

"Okay, first of all" Lo'ak joined her, ditching hiw own bow and arrow. He wasn’t going to complain about ending a lesson early, if anything he was tempted to give her a hug for it "ouch. Second, did I ever tell you you’re my favourite person in the whole world? We should partner up for lessons more"

"Yes, you absolutely adore me. What’s new?" Y/N replied promptly with a smirk earning an eye roll and a playful shove from the boy next to her.

She fiddled with her fingers a bit, chewing on her lip as she contemplated whether or not she should just ask him about something that was gnawing her mind for days now. Her attention span had become almost nonexistent with that one particular instance chewing away at her sanity.

"Can I ask you something?" She looked up at him and he immediately nodded a 'yes' before he lied down on his back, arms behind his head "Neteyam and I had another argume-"

"Jeez Y/N" Lo'ak let out an exaggerated groan, looking at her like he was about to drop dead from boredom "for a minute I expected you to tell me something interesting and, I dunno, new?"

"Don’t be an asshole" She shot him a glare, contemplating throwing sand at him but out of the good of her heart, refrained from doing so "we fought and he said something but I don’t know what it meant"

"Ah so you need me to be your trustee translator" He wiggled his eyebrows at her, an undertone of mischief lacing his words. He pretended to be in deep thought while tapping his finger against his lips "what am I getting for all of these years' worth of english dialect translation, hm?"

"I don’t throw a spear at your butt anytime you say something stupid"

"I am thy humble servant" Lo'ak blew a kiss at her that had her roll her eyes at his antics. She'd grown accustomed to it over time but still, it never failed to amuse her "ask away my princess"

"Drop the theatrics" she said in a monotonous voice that had him chuckling at her reaction "so like I said, Neteyam swore at me in your stupid sky people language and then refused to tell me what it meant. Something m..ma.. lovh? I guess. Now I know it’s gotta be real mean if he..."

Despite her heavy accent and poor pronunciation, Lo'ak understood what she meant to say perfectly. He shot up instantly with a crazed look, like a fish being yanked out of water.

"He- what" His eyes widened and a grin etched its way to his face.

"I knew that it!" Y/N immediately shot back, pointing toward him as if her doubts had been confirmed at last "it was a really bad word"

"That bitch" Lo'ak ignored her, too thrilled at this newfound piece of information that seemed to make him very happy for some reason "he's flirting now huh? I knew that the idiot had some stupid reason for avoiding you, that blue lizard can’t talk to girls! Ohh wait till I-"

"Whoa, okay let’s back up" Y/N snapped him out of his deluded trance and brought him back to pandora "can you elaborate how you connected him swearing at me to flirting?"

"He didn’t swear, ma Y/N" he changed his tone, now talking to her like how his dad spoke to him when he tried to sound intelligent "he called you 'love', his love, to be more precise. Which is something you say to a person you are absolutely fond of. Ya know, like his tìyawn"

"You are seeing things that aren’t there" Y/N was tempted to throw a fistful of sand at him. Maybe even a small rock, just a tiny one "that's just some cute shit friends say to each other"

The idea that Neteyam could be infatuated with her seemed absolutely absurd. She could imagine an ilu speaking fluent Na'vi but Neteyam having a crush on her? Impossible. Not after he distanced himself from her more and more after each year.

"Look, I know my brother. He has never been a guy to do anything remotely close to cute.. like, okay forget that stupid endearment, but the never ending bickering? The whole looking-away-after-eye-contact on loop? You both constantly rambling about how annoying the other one is?" Lo'ak was tired of it and he was going to let it out. He tried with Neteyam and now he was going to rant about it to her as well "you both want to be around each other but don’t know how to do it anymore so you settle for getting into senseless fights. And when you’re not around each other all you both can do is talk about the other person"

All Y/N did in response was scoff.

There was no way she was going to let Lo'ak convince her that her animosity toward his brother came from a place of love and longing. No, it came from pure hatred and annoyance.

She was his close friend all along and then after the battle, she was nothing more than a pest. It was almost as if her presence was repulsive to Neteyam.

It confused her. Why did he all of a sudden, not want her.

Perhaps the whole incident of her getting shot was what pushed him away. While the rest of his family showered her with attention whilst she was healing and pampered her until they were sure she was sick of it, Neteyam made it almost a rule to never come in contact with her. Did the idea of having to tend to and look after her drive him away? Was that sort of responsibility too much for him?

If he'd decided that she wasn’t worth going through the trouble of looking after her, after she quite literally took a bullet for him then there was no use in trying to be friends again.

While Y/N was in deep thought, thinking of all the ways she could lure Neteyam into the mouth of an akula, Lo'ak was busy mumbling to himself about how he was going to tease and harass Neteyam about his unofficial crush on Y/N.

Maybe I should feed them both to an akula, Y/N made a mental note, Yea, both sounds good.

"You’ve finally lost it"

Neteyam was convinced he'd died and reached one of those seven somethings of hell his father once told them about. An odd story, purely fictional he thought; up until now.

His younger brother had been dancing around him in their pod, going on and on about how he knew about his crush on Y/N. Lo'ak at one point began to enact a make-believe scenario for him, using his hands as puppets.

"yo bro, check it out" he said in between his boyish giggling, ignoring his brother groaning in annoyance. He deepened his voice, trying his best to mimic his older brother, putting on a horrible accent.

"Hey bebe~ I don’t know how to act around you Y/N because I'm so in love with you so now I'll just start irritating you just so you engage in conversation with me" he then looked at his other hand-puppet which was supposed to represent Y/N, making his voice high pitched to mimic her's "ugh, I'm in love with you too Neteyam and I will also irritate you for your attention because all my sensibility leaves when I'm around you"

Lo'ak then proceeded to make some weird smooching noises while making his hand puppets kiss.

"Ay, stop that" Neteyam whacked the back of his neck, his other hand slapping Lo'ak's wrists when he refused to cease his dramatics "were you dropped as a baby? I do not have a crush on her"

"Liar" Lo'ak grinned "you have never, in your entire life called a girl anything besides her name. It would take a miracle for you to even address her by her nickname, much less call her something like my love"

"It just slipped out, jeez let it go" he sighed, too tired to offer any more of an explanation.

"Why won’t you just admit it?" Lo'ak was stubborn and wouldn’t drop this topic until he got a satisfactory answer "Why are you acting like liking her is the worst thing in the world? Why are you trying so hard to cover it up? Why is-"

"For fucks sake Lo'ak-" Neteyam was losing both his patience and his temper. His brother had no right to prod and question him about any of this.

"No, tell me-"

"Because I hated the way she made me feel"

Lo'ak went silent. He did not expect for his older brother to yell at him, much less give him the most vague and unhelpful response to his question but he decided not to poke for answer in that moment; he did not want to trigger any more outbursts.

Still hot headed, Neteyam left their pod. He needed to get away from Lo'ak and his prying inquisition. He owed him no explanation whatsoever for how he handled his relation with Y/N. Lo'ak had no idea about how he felt and what drove him to push her away but Neteyam knew that he did it for everyone's good.

He needed to cool off, he needed air.

Lo'ak and his teasing made his house suffocating and all he wanted was to be alone for a while lest he explode and let his anger out on another family member.

Calm down Neteyam, he scolded himself, if you can’t keep yourself together, you cant keep this family together.

It was like he wasn’t allowed the basic right to feeling. Be it anger or sadness, he denied himself to feel anything. He needed to be calm, composed and always smiling. If he allowed himself to succumb to such emotions it only went to show that he was weak.

His heart was already hammering in his chest from all that frustration but when his eyes met her's, it felt as though his heart would jump right through his ribcage.

Y/N stood a few feet away from him, momentarily freezing in her tracks and Neteyam did what he always did when he ran into her by himself:

Turn and go the other way.

This time though, plagued with indignation, he proceeded to scoff before he turned his back on her, a gesture that didn’t go unnoticed by Y/N.

Y/N's jaw was agape. He had some nerve to run into her, proceed to very obviously turn away from her and then scoff at her, unprovoked.

"Okay, I've had enough of you" she snapped, walking faster to catch up with the older boy who had no intention of stopping until he was far away from her "what exactly is your problem?"

Neteyam ignored her, picking up pace in a desperate attempt to be rid of her.

Y/N, as he knew, wasn’t one to back down and much to his dismay she followed him all the way to the beach. Despite his silence, she continued to babble, taunting him with ever passing second until he lost it with her too.

"Fuck! What is wrong with everyone today?" he snapped, finally turning to look at her. Just as he suspected, she was taken aback by his tone.

"You don’t get to act like an ass and then talk to me like that" her voice despite showing no lack of rage, failed to fully mask the pain she was feeling. Overcome with a wave of emotions that she'd suppressed for all these years, she allowed herself to just blurt all of it out "you one day wake up and decide you’re too good for me? Running away from me like some immature child.. why'd you initially act like you cared if you didn’t to begin with-"

"Oh great mother, I've had it! With Lo'ak and now you" Neteyam never allowed himself to act whilst hot-headed but he had reached his limit of tolerance for the day "how dare you say that I never cared about you. You have no idea-"

"Cut the bullshit Neteyam. If anything, I was the only one who cared between us" Y/N was merely annoyed at him but now she was outright furious. This boy really had the guts to argue that he cared about her despite his contradicting behaviour that he'd been exhibiting for the past six years "is this how you show people you care? By walking out of their lives?

"Do you know what I went through during those two days when you were recovering? When you were unconscious and Norm had the fucking balls to tell me to say my goodbyes because there was a high chance you wouldn’t make it, instead of going back in there and doing something to prevent that from happening?" Neteyam's chest rose and fell rapidly as he continued, his breaths slowly coming out in pants from all that yelling but he needed her to hear it once and for all. He could endure the name-calling and the verbal altercations but an accusation that stated he never cared about her? That was where he drew the line.

"For a moment I felt like I couldn’t breathe, and then I actually stopped for a few seconds, driving myself into a full blown panic attack. I wasn’t ready to say goodbye, not then and not ever" He appreciated her silence as he continued, her expression slowly softening "I-I grew so attached to you that I needed you more than air. And as scary as that was, the heightened dependency on you and how strongly I felt for you, there was something else that was even scarier"

Neteyam dared to look into her eyes, something he avoided for years now. They glowed in the light of eclipse, those flecks of lilac even more prominent during this hour.

"I didn’t really know it at the time, how deep my feelings were but I knew that I had fallen for you. While I waited outside that tent in which you were, machines and wires all around you, I couldn’t eat or sleep or even think about anything that didn’t lead back to you and it terrified me, caring for something so much it..it.." He tore his gaze away from her, now feeling very small in her presence after being so vulnerable with her "but what terrified me even more was, you being in there because of me. You cared about me to a point where you took a bullet for me, to a point where you put your own life on the line. And so I..I.."

"What are you saying?" Y/N softly asked, eyes looking up at Neteyam who shied away under her gaze.

"I protect, that’s all I know and when I couldn’t protect you, someone I loved so so much it just felt like a stab to the heart" he could practically feel her gaze burning into him but he still couldn’t look at her, not just yet "you sacrificing yourself.. I didn’t know what I would do if lost you. When Tuk ran out, screaming that you'd woken up I felt like I could at last breath but then there was a thought looming over my head: What if something like this happened again? I didn’t want you putting yourself in harms way because of me. I needed you not to care about me, so that you wouldn’t put yourself in the same situation. That’s why I did what I did; I cut myself off, It’s my way of protecting you"

Y/N blinked, not a single word leaving her lips.

A few seconds of silence passed by but to Neteyam it felt like hours and the silence was getting unbearable.

"Say something" he pleaded, finally turning to look at he. He was half expecting her to be teary-eyed, maybe a smile or something on her face after he said all of that but to his surprise she stood there with her brows scrunched in confusion.

"You don’t get to decide that all of that shit you did was out of protectiveness" she snapped, finger jabbing at Neteyam's chest.

"Huh?" The boy shook his head and blinked twice to make sure he wasn’t hallucinating. Was this really her reaction? "Did you hear anything of what I just said?"

"You don't get to decide what’s right for me and just shun me away." she continued to jab, her piercing gaze never wavering "You took everything we had and just threw it away because you thought that that would protect me? That your sudden closed off nature would keep me from ever running to your aid if you found yourself in trouble? Do you hear how stupid you sound?"

"I did it for you!" Neteyam grabbed her wrist, the jabbing getting a little too annoying for him to tolerate.

"I didn’t ask for it.. I didn’t want it!" Y/N tried to shove him with her other hand but Neteyam easily caught it, now holding on to both her wrists to keep her from anymore attacks "If I run in between you and a gunman that is my choice, I did it then and I'd do it again if i have to. I didn’t need you to do any of this"

"But-"

"I liked what we had, I liked you but you ruined everything" Y/N's voice faltered for the first time in the presence of someone other than her own family. She knew she was about to cry, that was something she couldn’t hold back any more. She'd done so for six years but still, she didn’t want him seeing her crumble like this. She rested her forehead against his chest to keep her face out of his view, sniffling as she tried her best to keep her voice steady "for once Neteyam, stop thinking so much about what might be good for someone else and start doing what is good for you"

He placed her hands on his torso before he let go of her wrists. Suddenly he was a boy again, the same one who yearned for those innocent touches from Y/N. He hesitantly wrapped his arms around her, holding her awkwardly since he wasn’t sure how she'd react to being hugged.

"Did you want all of this?" She backed up slightly to look at him which caused his hands to drop around her waist. Her eyes were brimmed with tears that streamed down her cheeks when she blinked. Neteyam brought one hand up to wipe away the tears, heart shattering at the fact that he was the reason behind them. She didn’t resist his touch but she did repeat herself, emphasising on a particular word "did you want all of this?"

Of course he didn’t. Neteyam dreaded the idea of seeing her but not being able to touch her. Hearing her laugh and knowing he was no longer the cause of it. Accidentally looking into her eyes and then forcing himself to look away to avoid his feelings from growing. To then someday watch her slip away from completely, to watch her mate with someone who wasn’t him.

Did you want all of this?

"No"

#avatar #avatarimagine #avatar way of water #neteyam x reader #writing #fanfiction #neteyam imagine #avatar imagine #avatar fanfiction #lo'ak imagine #lo'ak x reader #lo'ak fanfiction #neteyam fanfiction #jamie flatters

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robininthelabyrinth · 6 months

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The Other Mountain - ao3 - Chapter 27

Pairing: Lan Qiren/Wen Ruohan

Warning Tags on Ao3

———————————————————————-

Cangse Sanren and Wei Changze led Wen Ruohan and Lan Qiren into the passageways and made their way deep into the secret parts of Jinlin Tower, heading towards what they claimed was some sort of laboratory that would provide them with the answers they required. They were being unduly mysterious, which was both highly annoying and so in character that it was not worth arguing over.

Behind them, the Wen sect disciples had been left to guard the hole in the wall and keep the Jin sect disciples from either following or leaving – to the extent there were any unfortunate revelations to be had here, the four of them had all agreed that it was better to keep them first to themselves.

The Jin sect would learn in time what they deserved to learn, which probably wasn’t much.

For his part, Lan Qiren spent much of the journey in silent contemplation.

He thought first of Wang Liu, who had – well, if Lan Qiren was being completely honest with himself, probably deserved his fate. His ghost had been honest in the manner of the dead, beyond the use of lies. He’d explained succinctly how he had worked loyally for Jin Guangshan until he had realized that the man planned to betray him in exchange for holding off Wen Ruohan’s rage; he had accordingly shifted his loyalties over to Lan Qiren’s brother, reaching an agreement with him that he believed would allow him to preserve his life. He had then later realized that the man was insane, a realization that had likely though not explicitly occurred upon learning that he’d murdered Jin Guangshan, at which point he had rather unwisely tried to double-cross Lan Qiren’s brother and go back to the Jin sect. Floundering and clueless as the Jin sect appeared to be regarding his death, it was likely that last betrayal which had led to it. Though the ghost hadn’t known how he had been killed, the event having come upon him as a complete surprise, the details made it clear who must have been the perpetrator.

Wen Ruohan hadn’t asked, which meant that he already knew.

Lan Qiren…

Lan Qiren genuinely did not understand what his brother was doing.

He never had, that was true, but this seemed beyond even the furthest reaches of his imagination. Truly his brother must have gone mad, genuinely mad. Why would he ally with Jin Guangshan, only to later kill him? Why kill Wang Liu so recklessly, practically in front of their eyes? What was his goal? What did he even have left to live for, knowing that He Kexin was dead at his own hands and that Lan Qiren would never tolerate letting him escape justice for what he’d done? Did he really want to kill everyone in the world, as Wen Ruohan had suggested?

Lan Qiren wanted to say Surely not and he would never and some of those people are his friends, but he didn’t think his brother had any friends, not anymore. Lao Nie had been his friend once, perhaps, and several others besides, but his brother had ruthlessly accounted for them all in his original plan. He had used his friendship with them in the most awful of ways, using what he knew about them to manipulate them, plotting a course that could and would have led to their deaths or at least their shame and grief and guilt. Still worse, he had done so without any shred of remorse, and even now there seemed to be no sign of regret – or of changing course.

He had to be stopped.

He had – and Lan Qiren really and truly hated to admit it – to be killed.

The fact that only he and a few others knew the truth of what he’d done did not change this fact.

Justice had to be meted out. That was Lan Qiren’s bottom line, the point of no return past which he would not go, the point past which he could not go without losing everything worthwhile about himself. It was a fundamental part of who he was. Lan Qiren knew himself to be a rigid man, someone who would break but not bend, and this was something he could not give in on. Hadn’t he just nearly had a qi deviation just thinking about how those in his sect had perjured morality and closed their eyes to injustice? As Cangse Sanren had pointed out, if all their principles of justice and righteousness were abandoned, then what was the point?

Lan Qiren did not see his efforts at concealing the truth of his brother’s actions from the world as contrary to that steadfast belief. Justice was paramount, morality the priority, learning first – but harmony was also the truest value, and the Lan sect rules had always counseled against excess, whether in joy or grief or self-sacrifice. The rules imposed Do not tell lies instead of Tell the truth, and that, too, was the wisdom of Lan Qiren’s ancestors. Truth was an instrument, to be played when it would help achieve the loftier goals of justice, of harmony, of kindness, of righteousness, and kept silent where it would not.

If the cultivation world found out what Lan Qiren’s brother had done, it would disgrace not only his brother, who thoroughly deserved it, and his sect, which could probably stand to be at least a little disgraced, but also very specifically his nephews. Lan Xichen and Lan Wangji would grow up the sons of an acknowledged murderer, a madman, in a world that did not absolve children of their parents’ sins. They would be shunned by their peers, disdained by women (or men, if their preferences ran that way), blacklisted by all the respectable matchmakers and mocked in their efforts no matter how much they accomplished, no matter how perfect they were in their own conduct. No matter what they did, everyone would always be waiting for them to go mad as well.

Lan Qiren did not want that.

His brother needed to be punished and justice restored; that much was unquestionable. But he was a member of one of the Great Sects, and according to long-standing tradition and written treaties both, that meant the Lan sect had the first say in meting out his punishment. Lan Qiren might have married out, but he had the right surname and the closest blood connection, and he could therefore claim that right of punishment in his sect’s name if they would not – and claim it he would, because having first right only meant the right to be first. If the Lan sect failed to punish one of their own, if they tried to let his brother go free in contravention to all justice and morality, then they gave up that right, and the right and obligation to seek punishment would flow to the next-most victims.

And the Jin sect, having lost both their sect leader and all their face, would pursue that punishment to its utmost bitter end with not one bit of care about what life would be like for Lan Xichen and Lan Wangji in the aftermath.

That was why Wen Ruohan was helping Lan Qiren now, helping him buy the time he needed. Time for them to find his brother and to stop him by whatever means necessary, time for them to keep the punishment inside the confines of the Lan sect where the collateral damage could be minimized. Time enough to convince the Lan sect of the necessity of that punishment – a trial and sentence, if they could take him into custody, and death, if they could not. Time for Lan Qiren to take that first right and try his hardest to make a terrible situation with no good results end better than it might have otherwise.

It was perhaps a little insane to feel warm about the fact that his wife was helping him manipulate a murder investigation.

Lan Qiren thought once more about that painting, obsession, and decided it was fine.

(Or, well, at least that it was mutual.)

Of course, he immediately then began contemplating – worrying, really, if he were being honest with himself, a virtue he often strove for and just as often failed in – whether he was being hypocritical, as his brother had several times accused him of being. To claim that the madness of love he felt was righteous, and that that of another was not, would seem to be the first and easiest fallacy to fall into; “acceptable for me but not for you” was the first step of any hypocrisy. It was necessary to seek to evaluate everything he did from an objective standpoint, without clouding the eyes with undue passion or excuses borne out of love instead of reason.

Still, after some considerable consideration, Lan Qiren genuinely did not think that was the case.

His brother’s madness was not love, as Lan Qiren felt it. He had turned against He Kexin not for any just cause, not for any rational reason that made him feel as if he had no choice in acting against her, but only because she did not love him as he loved her, a fact he had already known when he’d married her. He’d murdered her for disagreeing with him, murdered her out of jealousy, and he hadn’t sought to punish himself for what he’d done, only others. He had blamed others for what he had done – first Lan Qiren, and then the world…never himself.

Their madness, insofar as it had been based on love, was not the same.

Similarly, Lan Qiren’s efforts to cover up his brother’s actions in order to have the chance to bring him to justice with as few negative side-effects as possible were in no way comparable to his sect elders’ complicity in covering up the crimes of the mine, choosing to use He Kexin as a scapegoat and never seeking justice at all. Lan Qiren had been willing to hide He Kexin’s murder from public knowledge for his nephew’s sakes, when he had believed that to be her crime, because he had known that she was being punished for it; he would only be willing to hide his brother’s crimes, if he could, for the same reason.

It was not the same.

Despite what his brother might think, Lan Qiren was not a hypocrite.

She thought you were a hypocrite. Stupid woman.

Lan Qiren paused: that was Wen Ruohan speaking, but it was an unfamiliar memory. From last night, perhaps? Wen Ruohan had asked him to alert him if –

Ah.

There were the rest of yesterday’s memories.

Including the ones where he –

Ah.

Grateful for the relative dimness of the tunnels, which hid how red his face was turning, Lan Qiren retracted the hand he had reached out to Wen Ruohan, intending on alerting him to his recovered memories as he’d requested, and delivered a sharp kick to his shin instead.

Predictably, Wen Ruohan did not stumble, but instead turned and smirked at him, clearly realizing exactly what it was that had motivated his action.

The heat in Lan Qiren’s face got worse. He couldn’t believe that he’d actually – in a public room – and in such a bestial fashion, no less! Even if Wen Ruohan had been egging him on, and he had been, thoroughly, his own behavior really had gone beyond the pale. Particularly the bits that weren’t strictly sex-related, though Wen Ruohan had certainly reacted as if they were, vocally appreciative to great extent. It wasn’t that Lan Qiren didn’t agree with his drunken self that Wen Ruohan desperately needed to be turned over his knee and given a good thrashing, but still, to actually do it…

Though he supposed if Wen Ruohan really had enjoyed it as much as he’d appeared to, perhaps the restrictions he had placed on his behavior were a little more arbitrary than he had hitherto considered. Something to think about.

…not the bit about being in public, though. They were another sect’s guests, bound by etiquette and the rules of hospitality! To behave in such a manner was utterly disgraceful!

“Here we are!” Cangse Sanren announced.

Lan Qiren shook his head to clear it, as now was most eminently not the time and place for such thoughts, and stepped out of the passageway into a broader room. It was a frightful place, by any token: dark and gloomy, with chains and cages and sinister contraptions on the wall, some of which Lan Qiren recognized from Wen Ruohan’s Fire Palace…though the quality was not quite as good.

He couldn’t believe that he knew enough about torture implements to make that judgment.

He kicked Wen Ruohan again for good measure.

(When Wen Ruohan gave him a puzzled look in response, Lan Qiren pointedly looked at a few of the pieces, then mouthed the word inferior at him, which caused Wen Ruohan to let out a bark of laughter that made Cangse Sanren and Wei Changze look at the two of them oddly.

Lan Qiren refused to explain.)

That room, however, turned out to only be the entrance, with the main attraction being centered in the next room they entered: a much larger but more vacant room, with only a few forges and other such things pushed out to the sides, and in the center, a vast and ominous-looking array, glowing with a dull light, already activated and ready to go to work.

It was massive, even as arrays went, and extraordinarily complicated: more circles than Lan Qiren had ever seen, with dizzying geometric designs, all sorts of runes and other complex equations built in. It was filled with spiritual energy, emitting a low-pitched hum that shook the bones. It was exceptionally menacing.

Wen Ruohan went over to examine it at once.

“We figured Sect Leader Wen would be able to handle it,” Wei Changze said with satisfaction and not a little bit of relief. “It took us some doing to even get this far and find it – apparently, the door lock to this particular room only opens for someone with Jin blood. Luckily not limited to the main line, at least!”

“We got it voluntarily,” Cangse Sanren said. “Don’t look so worried, Qiren-gege.”

Lan Qiren, pained, decided not to ask about the details.

“What else have you managed to learn?” he asked. “How did you even find this place?”

“Let’s answer that first question, since you don’t want to hear the answer to the second – ”

Lan Qiren narrowed his eyes.

“– purely because it was very boring and involved a lot of following people around using papermen in a reckless and inadvisable fashion, plus at least one attempted sexcapade – ”

“We started kissing so that someone wouldn’t pay attention to us,” Wei Changze said proudly. He was just as bad as his wife, actually. Lan Qiren was starting in retrospect to worry about what bad lessons his nephews might have picked up while in their care. “It was great.”

“It was,” Cangse Sanren said, nodding. “Very sexy of us.”

Lan Qiren did not throw anything at either of them, but only because there was nothing to hand.

“You said that you could help us in identifying the nature of the curse that killed Wang Liu and Jin Guangshan,” he said patiently. “I assume that’s the array? How did you determine it was related to their deaths rather than being for some other purpose, such as a protective array or something like that?”

“No one would keep their protective array in a creepy laboratory of death,” Wei Changze said.

Lan Qiren thought about the Fire Palace’s record-keeping function and grimaced in disagreement.

“We captured and interrogated one of the Jin sect disciples that were here when we got here,” Cangse Sanren said, more helpfully. “He confirmed all sorts of interesting things, including that this array had only been set up after the events of the mountain at Xixiang, that it was something very secret that only the sect leader and a very select few knew about…and most importantly, after a little encouragement, he told us what it does.”

“Tell me you did not torture him for information,” Lan Qiren said, pinching his brow.

“What, your lover gets to torture people and we don’t? That’s just blatant favoritism, Qiren-gege…”

“We scared him and then knocked him out,” Wei Changze assured him earnestly. “Don’t worry.”

Lan Qiren inclined his head in thanks. Very begrudging thanks. “I am not worried. I am impatient. Will you proceed to the part where you tell me what the array does?”

“That’s the interesting part!”

Lan Qiren assumed that meant he wasn’t going to like it.

“As far as we can figure,” Cangse Sanren said, “the whole thing is actually meant to drain spiritual energy.”

Lan Qiren frowned and reached up to stroke his beard. He’d been right: he didn’t like it.

“Drain spiritual energy?” he asked. “What does that even mean? I have heard of arrays meant to improve the ability of a given area to contain spiritual energy, and inversions to make a place more unlucky or less auspicious, and naturally there are spells to use up what spiritual energy is available, however unwise those may be. But what does it mean to ‘drain’ spiritual energy?”

“I think Qingheng-jun told Sect Leader Jin that he could pull off something like what Sect Leader Wen did at Xixang if only he had enough power,” Wei Changze said. His mirth had faded away, and he looked unusually solemn. “The only difficulty was in gathering that power, which had taken Sect Leader Wen a century or more to accumulate – time they didn’t have. So they decided to go with a shortcut by obtaining it from cultivators directly.”

“What?”

Orthodox cultivation taught that each cultivator had to train themselves in order to generate and use their own spiritual energy: to absorb qi from the world around them, to form a golden core, to further refine and strengthen their golden core through hard work and effort. Draining the spiritual energy of another person, using their efforts as substitute for your own, building cultivation on each other’s corpses rather than their own strength – that was demonic cultivation, surely!

“Technically yes, though demonic cultivation is a larger category of which this sort of ‘drainage’ technique would just be one subgroup,” Wei Changze said when Lan Qiren said as much. “Orthodox cultivation has always categorized almost all usage of resentful energy, particularly when involving resentful energy generated by human beings, as demonic cultivation, regardless of the type, methodology, or purpose involved. This is likely because the side effects of utilizing – or rather, mishandling – resentful energy is similar throughout, with corrosive effects to the temperament and often judgment and morality. While traveling, we’ve actually encountered any number of different legends about – ”

Cangse Sanren tapped him on the shoulder. “Not the time for academia, husband mine. Qiren will be happy to hear about it later.”

“I would be delighted,” Lan Qiren assured him. As someone with his own set of special interests which consumed his mind whenever mentioned, he was always willing to listen to others who were willing to listen to him…even if it was on as unsavory a subject as demonic cultivation. Wei Changze had strange interests. “But I agree with Cangse Sanren, perhaps later.”

“Right, right, of course. Later is fine.” Wei Changze coughed. “Forgive me, I didn’t mean to get distracted. Where were we?”

On second thought, perhaps discussing demonic cultivation was the lesser of the two evils here.

Sadly, they didn’t have much choice in the matter.

“Jin Guangshan’s plans to use cultivators to provide my brother – and himself, presumably – with additional power.” Lan Qiren grimaced in disgust. “What a vile plan. I cannot believe Jin Guangshan would do such a thing to his own people…!”

“Oh, he didn’t,” Cangse Sanren said, and pointed to one of the forges that had been pushed to the side – or at least, which Lan Qiren had previously assumed had merely been pushed to the side. “He planned to use everyone else’s.”

Lan Qiren walked over to the forge, which was not a forge, exactly. He didn’t quite know the word for what it was: a place where one could pour molten metal into molds, casting some figure or item…

He blanched.

“Surely not,” he said, recognizing the symbol on the mold. “Those terrible coins he was handing out?!”

“Cursed coins are a classic,” Cangse Sanren said with a shrug.

“From what you and Sect Leader Wen told us, Sect Leader Jin was handing them out to everyone who participated in the events at Xixiang, claiming that they were a means of commemorating the grand night-hunt that had unified the cultivation world,” Wei Changze said. “Which meant that even if people knew that it was just his attempt to buy good will, they would still accept the coins, whether from pride, not wanting to be left out, or even, like Cangse and me, just because they were made of gold and therefore able to be resold.”

It made a sick sort of sense.

The Jin sect excelled at applying spells to gold and silver – they produced the finest spiritual ornaments in the cultivation world, ranging from jeweled hair pins to elaborate necklaces to belt adornments to ornate golden fans. There was a reason that Jin Guangshan was able to stand shoulder-to-shoulder with the other leaders of the Great Sects, beyond merely his wealth and heritage and despite his own mediocre level of cultivation; he was usually dripping with enchanted wealth, spelled for protection and sometimes offense. It was unwise to discount the Jin sect’s ability in this field, just like no one would doubt Qinghe Nie’s skill in producing sabers.

It wouldn’t be hard for Jin Guangshan to find someone to pour the metal and cast the coins, nor for him to arrange one casting of the coins to be with the curse and one without. And then he’d only need to hand the cursed ones to the rest of the cultivation world, reserving the rest for his own sect, and that would mean that they would remain safe when Lan Qiren’s brother eventually activated the array and drained the spiritual energy from everyone for his own selfish use…

“That is truly terrible,” Lan Qiren said vehemently. “Is there really an array that can do such a thing?”

“No,” Wen Ruohan said.

They all turned to look at him.

“Well, I cannot discount the possibility of such a thing existing, people have always been both clever and lazy,” he said. “But that’s certainly not what this array does.”

“Are you sure? The researcher seemed quite sure, and it tallied up with everything else we discovered,” Cangse Sanren said, pouting a little at having her deductions overturned, but then shrugged it off a moment later. “All right then, I guess we were wrong. What does it do?”

“Nothing.”

They all paused, waiting for an explanation.

None appeared forthcoming.

“What do you mean?” Lan Qiren finally asked. “What does ‘nothing’ entail?”

“No, I mean it does nothing.” Wen Ruohan shrugged when they looked at him. “The spiritual energy pathways all tie into each other until they’re knotted. There’s no exit point: you can feed the array qi and it will light up and look impressive, but functionally, that’s it. It’s a dud.”

“…are you joking right now?” Cangse Sanren asked blankly.

“Not in the slightest,” Wen Ruohan said.

“It’s a dud?!”

“A very fancy dud, yes. If it makes you feel better, I’m sure the rest of your deductions were correct, or at least that they matched up to the false bill of goods being sold to Jin Guangshan as a miracle pathway to power,” he said dryly. “Only Qingheng-jun decided not to bother with all the effort involved in finding or inventing an array that could drain spiritual energy from living cultivators, which may or may not be impossible. He just cursed the coins directly.”

“He fooled Jin Guangshan,” Lan Qiren realized. “That was the purpose behind the array: it was to trick Jin Guangshan into helping him create and then spread the cursed coins!”

And if the array for draining energy was fake, then the true purpose of the cursed coins was likely to be the traditional one – namely, the death of anyone who possessed one.

Wen Ruohan had been right. His brother really did want to kill everyone.

Lan Qiren felt sick to his stomach.

“Well, I mean, cursed coins,” Cangse Sanren said. “Like I said, they’re a classic. There’s a reason for that.”

“Indeed there is,” Wen Ruohan said. “When it comes to finding a way to kill a great number of people to whom you do not have immediate access, there is scarcely any better – although removing the array from the equation does mean that this attempt at murder is far less creative than Qingheng-jun’s previous efforts. I suppose he must have put all his energy into devising his first plan, leaving nothing behind for this shoddily crafted fallback.”

“Isn’t that a good thing for us?” Wei Changze asked. “That it’s not creative, I mean?”

“Not necessarily. Creativity often means innovation, and innovation leaves loopholes that can be exploited, whereas using a tried-and-true method has the advantage of reliability. For instance, a curse on coins has a less obvious focal point – moreover, I’m not familiar with an array that generates a curse quite like the one we have observed, or for that matter a curse like that at all, excluding arrays from consideration. Even if the method is crude, the curse itself is quite clever. I like to think that I would have thought of something similar myself, in time…cultivators do so love their swords.” He snorted. “Or their sabers, I suppose. Such a thing would be tremendously effective on someone like Lao Nie, who treats his saber better than his sons.”

Better than his lovers, you mean, Lan Qiren thought, a little spitefully, then felt bad: When others lose to you, do not look down on them.

“I can’t even imagine the look on his face if something like that was used on him,” Wen Ruohan continued, shaking his head. “His expression – to see his precious Jiwei cracking in two right before his eyes – ”

Something about the way Wen Ruohan had phrased it suddenly caused something to flit across Lan Qiren’s mind. It was a memory, very faint, of something he’d read once but not especially cared to remember. Something obscure, given that the subject was curses. But definitely some text, the memory accompanied by the familiar feeling of pages unde his fingertips, the smell of ink, the pleasant exercise of learning something…

Perhaps it was a reading he had come across while searching for ideas for one of his classes? No, that didn’t seem right.

It didn’t seem like something he’d read for sect business, either, and neither did it fall into the memories of the times he had helped others in his sect do the research necessary to solve a tricky issue that had arisen in one of their night-hunts – it felt like something he had read alone.

But why would he have read a treatise on curses? That was hardly something he would read for pleasure…

Lan Qiren abruptly recalled where he’d encountered it.

It wasn’t reading for pleasure, necessarily, or at least not how he’d term it, even though it had not been motivated by any actual requirement.

It had been his brother.

Lan Qiren had once used to read every book his brother had ever requested, cherishing the rare notes that his brother had left behind for the servants that only came to his seclusion in order to clean and leave food and items. At the start, he’d hoped that it would give them something to discuss through his brother’s closed door, though that had never come to pass; his brother had ignored Lan Qiren so completely that his visits had swiftly turned more into recitations than anything else, reading out a report without any expectation of commentary. Even after he realized that he would never find common ground with his brother, he’d never really stopped skimming the books that were sent in for his brother’s reading pleasure. He’d gotten into the habit by then, and since it had served as a good way to find new books to recommend (or not) to He Kexin, he’d carried on in the same fashion he’d started.

This memory had come from one of those books.

“Ah,” he said.

“It appears that I’ve been underestimating the Gusu Lan library,” Wen Ruohan said archly.

“No, it makes sense,” Cangse Sanren said, though she was suppressing a smile. “We all agree that it was Qingheng-jun who was the one planning this, wasn’t he? He knows what his sect knows, so it only stands to reason that Qiren would have a better chance of figuring out what curse he used.”

“How did they both manage to read up on the same obscure curse, though?” Wei Changze said. “Assuming the library in the Cloud Recesses is even bigger than the one in the Lotus Pier, that seems like rather a coincidence. Fengmian and I almost never read the same books, except when we had overlapping interests – oof! What did I say?”

“Nothing of value, husband mine. Consider the value of silence instead.”

“But –”

“Qiren,” Wen Ruohan interrupted. “What can you tell us about this curse?”

“Not much that is relevant,” Lan Qiren said, too busy mentally sorting through his memories to figure out what exactly what they were trying to distract him from – he didn’t have enough mental energy to spare to also figure out social situations. The majority of what he recalled about that particular reading pertained to the way the underlying part of the curse functioned, utilizing certain musical elements to achieve its aims, specifically, the crack of shattering steel rebounding through the body with an echo effect. Hardly the most effective means of accomplishing the goal, though an unusual one…however, he suspected no one would very much care about the technical details at present. “Other than the means of attack, I believe it was fairly standard.”

“Is there a standard for curses?” Wei Changze asked. He looked interested and appreciative of Lan Qiren’s knowledge, which Lan Qiren could appreciate. “Do you know a great deal about curses, Lan Qiren?”

“Leash your dog, Cangse Sanren, or I will do it for you,” Wen Ruohan informed her.

She rolled her eyes back at him, but did in fact reach out and tug her husband’s collar.

“I didn’t mean it in a bad way,” Wei Changze protested to her. “I really do want to know more about it.”

“Later. You can wrap it into the discussion about demonic cultivation.”

Lan Qiren decided to ignore them.

“I do not know more about curses than I know about most things,” he explained, although for whatever reason that made Wen Ruohan smirk as if proud of something, Wei Changze smile, and Cangse Sanren snort in amusement. “I only mean that it is not dissimilar to other curses: it is meant to cause death. There is nothing special about how it operates, other than that it takes a longer route to accomplish the same goal as a regular curse – in fact, I would say that the only thing that makes it different from other curses is its obscurity, and perhaps the dissipation of spiritual energy afterwards.”

“I suspect that that latter one is sufficient reason for its use here,” Wen Ruohan said. “Jin Guangshan would have demanded a demonstration of the curse’s ability to ‘drain’ cultivators of power, and seeing the energy dissipate would have been sufficient for him.”

“That is reasonable. In terms of how the curse is done, that is also typical: it can be cast directly on another individual or, as in this case, indirectly on an object, with the goal of it triggering later. I think what is most interesting here is the use of coins, as curses used on cursed coins are typically monomorphic in nature – ”

“I really need to visit Gusu Lan’s library,” Wei Changze mused.

“I’m going to stop you there, Qiren-gege,” Cangse Sanren interrupted, although she was grinning. “For the same reason that I stopped Changze: now is not the time for academia. Let’s be practical – the array’s a dud, and you know what curse he’s using. How do we stop it? Is there another triggering array hidden somewhere?”

Lan Qiren must have been going too deeply into theory despite himself.

He cleared his throat, a little embarrassed, and tugged at his beard.

“I do not believe there is any array that controls the form of the curse,” he said. “On the contrary, I think that the coins were created and then cursed, just the one time, which would mean that there is only a single predetermined action that is set to function as the trigger, the mechanism that causes the curse to take effect.”

“So what you’re saying is that the curse on the coins is going to lie dormant until someone does the specific thing that sets it off,” Wei Changze observed. “That makes sense and is certainly more traditional, especially for cursed coins, but it makes things trickier for us. Both Jin Guangshan and what’s-his-name Wang must have done the same thing, but since we don’t have eyewitnesses to either death, we have no basis to figure out what the trigger action is.”

“I don’t suppose anyone would be amenable to testing it out with some of the coins we have in stock…?” Wen Ruohan held up his hands when they all glared at him. “So noted. A better question, then: do we care?”

“What do you mean?” Lan Qiren asked, puzzled. Wen Ruohan had been joking the first time, possibly, but his second question appeared to be wholly sincere – yet he could not understand why they would not care. Curses were pernicious, and they did not know how many of the gold coins had been taken by Wen sect disciples. Even putting aside morality, or what morality he was willing to assume for Lan Qiren’s sake, Wen Ruohan would not risk his Wen disciples so callously. So what did he mean?

“He’s right,” Cangse Sanren said, surprising Lan Qiren. “We don’t care. The curse is in the coins. That makes it easy! We don’t actually need to undo the curse. We just need everyone to get rid of the coins before they trigger them.”

That…made sense.

“The coins have all been scattered by now, all the way throughout the cultivation world,” Lan Qiren said. “Yet we have not been hearing about mysterious deaths occurring anywhere but here. The trigger must not be that straightforward an action, nothing that would activate too soon – which makes sense, assuming my brother did not want people to immediately suspect the coins, and therefore the Jin sect, of what he was doing.”

“That gives us some time, at least,” Cangse Sanren said. “Which is good: I desperately need a bath. Do you know that crawling through dusty corners is awful, actually?”

“How are we going to convince people to give the coins up?” Wei Changze asked, even though he was just as dusty as she was. Lan Qiren even thought he saw a spiderweb in the other man’s crown. “I mean…the coins are made of gold. If someone came up to me and asked me to give them up to them, I’d be suspicious that they were out to cheat me.”

“Or rob you of your valor, given that it was meant to act as a prize for participants,” Wen Ruohan said. “Which means that even if we offer them a gold coin of equal value in exchange, they may not wish to accept. Naturally this is not a problem for my sect – no one is going to countermand my order, and if they do, they’d be getting what they deserve.”

“Perhaps that is the answer,” Lan Qiren said, ignoring Cangse Sanren’s snort of help someone else for once. “The leaders of the Great Sects have more authority than most. If each one gives the order to collect the coins, especially paired with remuneration in equal value, they would be able to obtain the majority of the coins from not only their own sects, but their subsidiary sects as well.”

“And the minor sects would catch wind of there being something wrong with the coins and be in a hurry to get rid of them, especially if there’s an equal or better exchange being offered,” Cangse Sanren agreed. “I know your sect doesn’t like gossip, Qiren, but you must admit there’s some value in it.”

“When it has value, it is news, not gossip,” Lan Qiren informed her, making her laugh. “Do we need to worry about the Jin sect itself? If my brother was planning on tricking Jin Guangshan, he might not have refrained from cursing the coins that were meant to go to the Jin sect’s own disciples, or to its own subsidiary sects. They are currently lacking a sect leader, and Madam Jin might not want to issue such an order without adequate explanation…”

She almost certainly wouldn’t, in fact. And even if she did, it was uncertain if the Jin sect would believe that any orders she gave were free of coercion…

“I wasn’t planning on letting her give the order,” Wen Ruohan said mildly. “I do have that army sitting outside. They’re probably getting rather bored with nothing to do – a search for a needle in a haystack, or a bunch of cursed gold coins in the hotbed of gold items that is Jinlin Tower, sounds just right.”

It sounded like the Jin sect was going to be in for a fairly miserable time.

“That sounds reasonable,” Lan Qiren said, conceding the point. It wasn’t the Jin sect’s disciples’ fault that they had as terrible a sect leader as Jin Guangshan, but boats rose and fell with the tide; they were ants on the same branch as him whether they liked it or not. “Provided you ensure that your army does not do anything outrageous in the process.”

“I’ll give orders that strict military discipline will apply,” Wen Ruohan promised, which was good.

(Somewhat less good was the suggestion that military discipline wouldn’t normally apply, but it was the Wen sect, after all. There were limits to the sorts of ethics Lan Qiren could reasonably expect to see before he’d had a chance to make some serious changes and enough time to make sure they would stick.)

“I can go to the Jiang sect,” Wei Changze volunteered. “Cangse shouldn’t, since she’s nominally guarding the kids right now – and I’m better at avoiding answering questions about uncomfortable things like that. Fengmian will listen to me on something like this.”

“He’ll listen, but will he do anything?”

Wei Changze sighed. “I think so. I’ll do my best to get Yu Ziyuan on board as well – she doesn’t like me, but she doesn’t hate me, either.”

“Another good reason not to send me,” Cangse Sanren said, then shrugged. “I guess that leaves me to go tell the Nie sect? That’ll be fun, I don’t think I’ve been to the Unclean Realm in years.”

She paused, then belatedly winced.

“Oh, sorry, Qiren-gege,” she said.

Lan Qiren frowned. “For what?”

“I just assumed you’d be the one going to the Cloud Recesses to tell the Lan sect,” she said. “Wouldn’t that be awkward?”

“Why would it be awkward?” he asked, puzzled. “Even if I married out, I’m still a Lan, and a member of the main family. Naturally I should be the one to go to them. I am the one most likely to be believed.”

He was painfully aware of how slow his sect was to trust in news from the outside. Some of them claimed that it was just obeying the rules against gossip, but Lan Qiren suspected it had more to do with a violation of Do not form a clique to exclude others.

Still: even if his marriage had now rendered him an outsider, he was still a Lan of the main sect line, and more than that, he had been their acting sect leader for ten years. That was not nothing. He knew how to make them listen.

And…the coins were not the only business Lan Qiren had with them.

Lan Zhengquan – the other sect elders –

Lan Qiren’s brother had claimed that they’d all known, to greater or lesser degree, and that they’d all refused to share their knowledge with him, purposefully deceiving him. Lan Qiren needed to know how true that was. He needed to know how far the rot extended. He needed to make them see that they had to excise that rot, destroy the corruption of their values root and branch, if the Lan sect were to hold its head up high in the cultivaiton world once more.

“What about my brother?” he asked, thinking of another problem. “We speculate that he fought with Jin Guangshan, and he certainly must have been here to create the coins, but we do not know where he has gone.”

“I expect he’s still here, hiding somewhere,” Wen Ruohan said. “Jin Guangshan’s death was too recent – my forward scouts were already here, setting up detection arrays. Between the scouts and my spies, they would have noticed if someone tried to escape the city, and now that my army is here and searching the city, there will be no chance left to leave; it is impossible for him to run away even if he wanted to. Do not be concerned – I will find him for you, Qiren. You go to the Cloud Recesses.”

Lan Qiren smiled, thinking once more of the painting: obsession, he’d titled it in his head, but it could also be called merely love, if a very particular form of it.

But perhaps, for Wen Ruohan, the painting would best be termed something even rarer than love: trust.

He was letting Lan Qiren go, and back to the Cloud Recesses of all places. Back to his home, back to where he had supporters and a Great Sect of his own to back him – if Lan Qiren wanted to leave Wen Ruohan, or to turn against him, this would be the best moment for it. Now, when Wen Ruohan was weakened; now, when his forces were committed far away from the Nightless City; now, when he trusted him.

Lan Qiren would not betray that trust.

And neither would he overlook what Wen Ruohan was doing for him – because it was for him that he was doing it. Finding Lan Qiren’s brother was a necessity, of course, as necessary as finding and putting down any mad dog. But sending Lan Qiren away…

I will find him for you, Wen Ruohan had said, but he meant I will kill him for you.

Knowing that they were discussing his brother’s death should have made Lan Qiren feel bad.

It didn’t.

Later, when he had time, he would mourn his brother properly. He would mourn the possibility of his brother, really, rather than the man he’d become in the end, but that would be enough to fulfill his duties, whether to his brother, to his family, or merely to himself as a younger brother. And when he did, he would take the time to properly mourn He Kexin as well, as he should.

For the moment, he would be grateful for what he had, however unexpectedly he’d obtained it.

“We have a plan, then,” Lan Qiren said firmly. “I will set out tomorrow morning, at the earliest opportunity.”

“We can leave tomorrow, too,” Cangse Sanren agreed, then made a face. “Though maybe…not quite as early as whatever you mean…you Lan are all insane…”

Lan Qiren sighed and ignored her.

“How much do you need to do to get started with the search on your end?” he asked Wen Ruohan as they walked out of the hidden laboratory. “Although current events naturally take priority, if there is an opportunity I should very much like to play you the song I wrote for you.”

“In that case, very little time,” Wen Ruohan said with a faint smirk.

Lan Qiren left him to it and returned to their rooms. He didn’t have anything he needed to pack, as he’d arrived at Jinlin Tower with little more than the bare essentials and had never had the opportunity to unpack, but he hadn’t come here for that.

Guqin in hand, he began setting up an extensive set of privacy wards, layering them on several times over, and then over again. It was almost certainly overkill, but they’d been subject to an assassination attempt once before, and Lan Qiren wanted them to be able to sleep without concern.

As well as – other distracting things.

He had promised to be diligent, after all. Diligence is the root.

“Tell me, Qiren,” Wen Ruohan said upon arriving and observing Lan Qiren’s preparations. “Is there something about Lanling that particularly inspires you? Or is this just good luck on my part?”

“Purely the latter,” Lan Qiren said dryly. “I assure you.”

Wen Ruohan chuckled. “Why so many, though? Do you have a particular concern that we will be attacked while sleeping tonight?”

He seemed to be suggesting that Lan Qiren was being unnecessarily paranoid. Ironically enough, Lan Qiren was well aware that if he confirmed that he had such a suspicion, Wen Ruohan’s own paranoia would then ensure he did not sleep at all.

Lan Qiren wouldn’t do that to him, but for a moment he was tempted.

“I do not,” he said. “However, I wanted to ensure that we had some privacy, as I had hoped that we could try dual cultivation this evening.”

Lan Qiren was a little disappointed when Wen Ruohan’s expression of mild approval and teasing did not change in any way at his words. He’d hoped that being unexpectedly blunt with the request would have a greater and more amusing impact.

However, Wen Ruohan also didn’t say anything, so eventually Lan Qiren prompted: “If that would be acceptable to you?”

Wen Ruohan blinked extremely slowly, as if moving through water, and then said, with unusual politeness: “Forgive me, you may need to repeat yourself.”

Lan Qiren felt a sudden urge to laugh, though he suppressed it immediately. It seemed he’d gotten his desired-for impact, only it was even more impactful and more humorous than he’d originally suspected. Truly, Wen Ruohan could be very funny…often when he least expected to be.

“I would like to dual cultivate with you this evening,” he said, and watched as Wen Ruohan seemed to absorb that statement with remarkable slowness. “I also would like to play for you. I do not expect that either will have much effect, but it would please me to know that you have as much power at your command as possible when you go up against my brother.”

“Oh,” Wen Ruohan said, and sat down heavily on the bed, all at once, as if he were a puppet whose strings had just been cut. “Yes, that makes sense.”

Lan Qiren arched his eyebrows. “Do I want to know what you were thinking?”

“Many things, none helpful,” Wen Ruohan said, which meant his thoughts had probably been especially pornographic in nature. “Are you certain about the dual cultivation? It’s not necessary. I am quite confident in defeating him either way.”

“If it is not something you want to do, we do not have to,” Lan Qiren said, tilting his head to the side and wondering at Wen Ruohan’s atypical hesitancy. Most of the time, the other man was goading him on to further acts of debauchery, not acting skittish – he hoped that he had not inadvertently misstepped, somehow. Was there some sort of etiquette he should have followed…? “You had previously expressed an interest in doing it, that was all. I thought now seemed like a good time.”

Would making a joke about carriages be inappropriate? Was this a sensitive subject or something? Something that had happened to Wen Ruohan in the past –

“You’re not – worried?”

Oh. Of course.

Understanding dawned.

It wasn’t that Lan Qiren did not know what risks dual cultivation entailed. They would be merging their qi together, achieving harmony, accessing something deep within each other, and in so doing they would leave themselves vulnerable to the worst sort of theft. It was a little like the fictional array his brother had invented, and no doubt the reason Jin Guangshan was so willing to believe in it: this was the only way Lan Qiren knew of that cultivators could steal each other’s spiritual energy. Once they were dual cultivating, they each of them had the chance to destroy the other, if they wanted, or drain away the other’s cultivation and leave them empty and broken – or, well, Wen Ruohan could drain him dry, while Lan Qiren could at least make a significant dent in Wen Ruohan’s remaining power, leaving him weak and powerless just before his brother attacked him.

And that made all of Wen Ruohan’s hesitations make far more sense. It was exactly what his painting had already told Lan Qiren: the thing that had been most missing in Wen Ruohan’s life until now, that which he lacked most, was not love, nor lust, nor friendship, but trust. Someone he could feel safe in trusting, but also someone who would trust in him: someone who would give him the benefit of the doubt, who would side with him first simply for his own sake, someone to believe in him, with an unshakeable faith.

Luckily for him, Lan Qiren had that in spades.

“No,” he said. “I trust you.”

Wen Ruohan looked as though he’d just been struck by lightning.

Lan Qiren politely averted his eyes for a little while to let him have some privacy as he collected himself.

“I do want to play for you first, however,” he remarked after a few moments had passed, changing the subject. “I know a number of songs that can be used to enhance meditation and improve energy, and of course there is the song I wrote with you in mind – I am not yet certain as to what the purpose it may eventually be put, so playing it for you may be pointless, but as an emotional matter, I would still like to do so.”

“That would be good,” Wen Ruohan said, his voice a little hoarse. “I would very much like to hear it.”

“I will warn you that the same terms apply as to your painting,” Lan Qiren said, moving over to settle by his guqin. “I do not explain my songs. I find that it is impossible to express precisely what I intend using words. They simply do not capture the full extent of my meaning.”

“Mm. ‘If it were possible to simply say what I meant, I wouldn’t have needed to paint it’ – something like that, but with music?”

“Exactly,” Lan Qiren said, and snuck a peek at him: Wen Ruohan looked much better, though his expression was still uncharacteristically soft. It was nice. “Going back to the subject of dual cultivation, as you can imagine, I am thoroughly inexperienced in how it would go. Would you like to take the lead? Or the assertive position, for that matter?”

That seemed to give Wen Ruohan yet another shock: he stared blankly at Lan Qiren for another long moment.

“You go both ways?” he asked, a little incredulous. “Since when?”

“…you do remember that I came to your bed a virgin, correct?” Lan Qiren asked, a little bewildered by the question. “You made fun at my expense over it? Several times? How would I have known if I preferred one to the other? I just went with what felt right at the time.”

Wen Ruohan opened his mouth, then closed it, then opened it again – then repeated the whole process a few more times, looking increasingly aggravated each time.

In fact, overall, he seemed to be deeply vexed by something, though Lan Qiren couldn’t begin to guess what. Some internal debate or shockingly overturned assumption he’d made, presumably.

“Receiving does not seem that difficult?” Lan Qiren hazarded a guess. “Unless there is something I’ve missed?”

Wen Ruohan snorted, and all of a sudden, he no longer looked annoyed, all the tension leaving his shoulders as he relaxed. “No, nothing like that,” he said. “I think you have a good grasp on the mechanics by now. This is on me: I should stop being surprised at being surprised by you…tell me, do you really not mind? The thought of being the one being taken, I mean?”

Lan Qiren had heard some strange things about sex before, but this one seemed especially bizarre. “I already told you that sex is not an imposition to me, but a duty I am happy to fulfill. Why would the position matter?”

“I’ve often asked myself the same question,” Wen Ruohan remarked. “I have yet to receive an adequate answer. And yet, some people think it does.”

“I enjoy the position I generally take,” Lan Qiren said with a shrug. He was not ‘some people’ and never had been. “I have never especially yearned to try the other way around, but perhaps it would be valuable as a learning experience…?”

Wen Ruohan stifled a laugh in his sleeve. “Let us save that for another time. I would prefer not to distract you right before you go confront your sect elders – I assume you are planning to raise the issue of the mine with them?”

“Of course. How could I not? Justice has already been delayed long enough.”

“I thought you’d say that. I almost regret not being there to see their expressions, but I suspect that if I were there, they wouldn’t make them.”

Lan Qiren inclined his head in agreement.

“As for dual cultivation…” Wen Ruohan paused.

“We do not have to,” Lan Qiren said firmly. “It was only a thought – ”

“I like it.”

Lan Qiren paused, a little frustrated: Wen Ruohan could be so mercurial at times.

Wen Ruohan laughed at him, clearly identifying the expression on his face.

“I would very much enjoy dual cultivating with you,” he said. “In spite of the risks of it – because of the risks of it. I like the idea that you would bare yourself to me and give me everything you can, wanting me to be strong, wanting me to have power, not because you fear me, but because you fear losing me.”

He smirked.

“After all, the one advantage of being in love with a bastard like me is my longevity, is it not?”

Lan Qiren groaned. Wen Ruohan was never going to let him live that one down, ever.

“Well, for my part, I look forward to what it will do to you.”

“To me?” Lan Qiren asked, surprised. “What do you mean?”

“Proper dual cultivation benefits both parties, but the weaker one benefits more,” Wen Ruohan said, confident as ever. “I want to see your face when the power comes to you. I want to send you back to your sect glowing – I want them to see that beautifully pure golden core of yours shining through your eyes, and know what a treasure they gave up when they gave you to me.”

“And you are not worried in return?” Lan Qiren asked, charmed in spite of himself. Despite the offer, he had no intention of letting himself take too much of the power they would be able to generate – the purpose for this evening was to enhance Wen Ruohan’s strength, not his own. “Your paranoia is infamous, and yet your primary thought is of me and my fears, not your own?”

Wen Ruohan laughed and settled down into a meditation pose.

“That much I already promised you,” he said mischievously. “Do you dare doubt my word? Watch yourself, Qiren. I might grow insulted.”

Lan Qiren smiled despite himself, and settled himself at his guqin.

“Now, play me your song,” Wen Ruohan ordered, back to being imperious and demanding. “The one you wrote for me. We’ll start with that one, and then we’ll see about the rest.”

Lan Qiren would have preferred to start with the more definitively useful ones, the ones that encouraged focus and clarity of purpose and strength, but it was no matter – he could play those just as easily later, or even in the morning if need be. And he did want to play Wen Ruohan the song he’d written for him.

He didn’t know if Wen Ruohan knew what it meant for one of Gusu Lan to write their beloved a song. But whether he did or did not, it didn’t really matter. The music was the music, expressing whatever it expressed, the listener just as able to extract meaning as the player, each interpretation equally valid.

All Lan Qiren could do was play it with every last feeling he had in his heart.

He put his fingers to the strings and sank into the music.

When he finally looked up, it was to see Wen Ruohan kneeling in front of him, his eyes glowing – literally glowing, the way he’d said he wanted to do for Lan Qiren (and which Lan Qiren had perhaps mistakenly assumed was merely poetic exaggeration), the red of them bright like rubies.

“Qiren,” he rasped, voice choked with unspeakable emotions, and he reached out to put his hands on Lan Qiren’s face. “The answer is yes.”

Lan Qiren didn’t even know the question, but as Wen Ruohan reeled him in, he found he didn’t care.

#mdzs #wen ruohan #lan qiren #cangse sanren #wei changze #my fic #Megafic

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vitaminseetarot · 9 months

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Perseid PAC Pick a Fruit: What Blessings Are About to Shower Upon Your Life? 🌠

Hey, hey, listen! [/navi]

Did you know we're gonna have an insanely wonderful Perseid meteor shower on August 13th?! It'll be somewhere in the ballpark of, I dunno, 200 meteors passing an hour?! And the moon will be dark so they will be perfectly visible! So time to grab your favorite lantern, unroll the sleeping bag, and pray for some clear skies cause the night will be sparkling like champagne ~

In the event that you don't see the showers (city light pollution go brrr), their blessings will still be felt by all as they pass over us like benevolent winged unicorns. So I'm gonna do for you a quick PAC to find out what kind of blessing you will receive around this time. The blessings may be small and sweet, but it might just make you smile and look up.

Some of these piles were heavier than anticipated, so please note that blessings come in all shapes and sizes like these fruits below.

🍌🍊🍎🍌🍊🍎🍌🍊🍎🍌🍊🍎🍌🍊🍎🍌🍊🍎

Pile 1: Banana 🍌

[XIII Death, XI Justice, 5 of Cups; Markab, Debilitated - Discomfort, 1. Vision- Contemplating the Future]

This pile reminded me of old crime shows I watched ages ago like "Cold Case Files" as well as "Medium". The shows were all about resolving difficult cases to the very end. Even when the solution was found, the perp was eventually taken in, and the ghost wandered off to the afterlife, there always was a lingering sadness around each episode. Because the entire show premise and episode would not exist if it weren't for these characters experiencing injustice well before the script's running and the camera's rolling.

Your blessing is that you will have the chance to close out something that was left unresolved for a very long time. It's not going to bother you anymore. Without that sense of revenge, you're getting even. Maybe there were fights, or maybe it was just lost information, but you will ultimately feel a sense of closure from this. I read that there's really nothing you need to do at this time to facilitate this blessing. It will come on its own time. Once it does, you may feel it in the form of healthy grieving, of having a good cry. This release may be uncomfortable but it's necessary for allowing the chapter to finally end for good, so let it flow. (Try listening to "Before the Dawn" by Magnetude & Julia Marks, I always play it during rough times.)

I'm getting that you already understand this to be the next step, but I can give you assurance that it's okay to feel bittersweet about it. This isn't a typical blessing, but there is a newfound freedom to be found here. Your Justice card features the Statue of Liberty, and your ethereal orb card Markab talks about liberty as well: "You have outgrown your old skin, now it's time to utilize your wings." It seems rocky right now but trust that you are on the right path. This closure will give you the chance to transform your life and move ahead.

You're being asked to spend more energy looking to what you want to do after this is over than worrying about the closure. There are new doors opening for you, and you have the choice to go down many different paths. You're being asked to specifically consider about where you want to be one year from now, and work from there. The banana you picked is shaped like the waning crescent moon in your card, but it's also a symbol of fertility. Banana reminds you that endings imply beginnings.

If you also feel drawn to pile 3, you can check it out for further guidance as it has a similar message.

Pile 2: Mandarin 🍊

[Queen of Wands, 10 of Cups, 3 of Wands; Sirius, Jupiter - Abundance, II Resources]

What a tasty pile we got here pile 2, cause it looks like with mandarin, you're getting a taste of the sweet life. Your blessing is gonna be a huge boost to your personal confidence. It could be that someone is coming to you with a work offer, one who is bright and charismatic. Or perhaps the fire is being lit from within you. This person could have what it takes to fund your project, for example, or may be enthusiastic to work with you. Your creative potential is being highlighted here. You're onto something good!

It's great seeing the 10 of cups smack in the middle of your reading, but look closely. 10 of cups is not behaving like its usual contented self. The real rainbow is at the end of the road and right now, you're being given some green light signals to move ahead towards your destination. Even though this surge of self-esteem is going to feel really really great in the beginning, ultimately it's to serve the higher purpose of guiding you to your next assignment. This energy is the start towards setting down the foundations for something amazing.

Your ethereal orb card Sirius reads: "Offer me direction and exhibit my intention, my head is full of dreams and my existence is a fantasy." Perhaps your mind is swimming in all the wonderful possibilities that could arise from this encounter or event. But you're not meant to stay in this energy forever. Savor it, praise it in gratitude, then pack your bags and be ready to march out at dawn. If you're able to keep up the momentum, it will likely result in further blessings. But you will need to stay on track and not let it all get to your head.

You will need to keep yourself from getting too emotionally overwhelmed from this blessing. Jupiter can mean "a lot" of anything, which can cause us to feel dizzy from the sudden luck. As if you're struggling to believe if it's true. And it's good to be wary of "too good to be true" scenarios, but once you look closely at the finer details, you can proceed. The key is to stick with what's true for you and to not compromise for somebody else's vision, as it's just too soon for anyone but yourself to get involved with what you're working on, but be open to support from the outside. You can move forward with both optimism and grounded judgment.

Pile 3: Apple 🍎

[8 of Cups, Queen of Coins, X Wheel of Fortune; Athaya, Capricorn - Achieve, 2. Dominance - Believe in Yourself]

Pile 3, when I was shuffling your tarot deck I got very tense before drawing 8 of cups. Like a wound rubber band waiting to snap. Please make sure to go out on walks or you're exercising to let off some steam. You seem currently stressed out about something that has long overstayed its welcome. It's something you may deeply cherish about in some way but is draining you rather than helping you grow. It may be the very apple of your eye, but it's really poisoning you at this point. There's a sore spot that keeps getting pushed. An event may have happened recently which caused you to say, "that's it!" and storm off only to feel bad about doing so.

Don't be! The blessing here is that as soon as you drop whatever is bugging you and weighing you down, you're going to feel so much lighter. Like being lifted from the gravity of the earth for a moment. You will be propelled into an eventful and fun new chapter in your life, and you're being given the inner drive to do this. The initial blessing is gonna be a feeling of a massive weight being lifted from your shoulders and a chance to breathe. Once this happens, and you've taken care of a few loose ends, you'll be in a better position to receive greater blessings down the road. I see 1010 in your cards so look for this number as a confirmation that you're on the way towards success.

You're being asked to take personal responsibility and control for your life, but the keyword is your life. Do not take responsibility for this weird old baggage unless you actually need to talk it out with a person or make amends, but that's not what I'm reading here. This is more like if a person joined a fitness group and made good new memories and connections only to be forced to leave it behind. Maybe the fitness group was a cult all along, maybe the teacher was spreading damned lies and statistics about nutritional health, maybe there were a lot of disagreements, and it got to where you had to leave it behind just to feel any relief.

Your ethereal orb card Athaya reads: "Duality teaches us that in order to love we must bind together what differentiates us." When I read this I heard the lyrics "if you love me let me go". Sometimes holding on to what we cherish too tightly can cause it to slip quickly from our grasp when we least expect it. They were great memories, but you have so many amazing new memories waiting for you. Once you're in a position to prioritize your life first, to get your needs met, and focus on practical matters, then opportunities will be flooding in for you. Moving on won't be as hard as you think when life moves you to a better place.

If you feel drawn to pile 1, you can check it out for further guidance as there are similar messages.

This reading has not been evaluated by the FDA to diagnose, prevent, treat, or cure any disease or infection. Please ask your physician before going online.

2023, @VitaminseeTarot ™

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blackshadowswriter · 1 year

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By Your Side┃Matt Murdock

Summary: You have been condemned to your doom (you have cavities that need to be filled), but Matt is always there to valiantly face down that doom with you (holding your hand in the dentist's office).

Words: 1794

Content Warnings: None, but fluff!

AN: From this anon request, ty for the request and I wish you the best of luck with your teeth, and enjoy this big dose of fluff and comfort, I hope it helps! Personally, I've had a few dental procedures similar when I was younger, and they gave me that mask thing that you could choose which flavor air you breathe apparently. It was weird as fuck and scary as a kid. I had no idea what I was inhaling, I thought I was getting gas poisoning.

"Eight, Matthew, eight!" you bellowed, pointing at the paper. "Do you not understand my plight?"

The man had the gall to look amused, the faintest traces of a smile flickering at the edge of his lips as he tried to contain his laughter for your sake. "You did mention that several times, yes," he said. "With much emphasis on smacking that poor piece of paper."

"Poor?" You threw Matt an incredulous look before glaring at the sheet of paper that carried your diagnosis from the dentist office. "You do understand that this piece of paper had delivered my death sentence?!"

Matt's lips finally quirked up, grinning at your dramatics. "That sounds terribly unjust," he soothed. "Perhaps your lawyer boyfriend could fight these charges and that sentence?"

"Yes," you groaned, finally sitting back down in the chair besides Matt and putting your face down in your arms. "Please make it go away."

Across the hall, you could hear Foggy and Karen's muffled laughter at your predicament, and you only scowled harder. That afternoon, you had gone to your dentist appointment, and the goddamn dentist just had to tell you that you had eight fucking cavities and two in need of crowns. Four of them were being filled tomorrow, and you were contemplating hiding in your apartment and locking all doors escape the appointment.

Sympathetically, Matt scooted over and rubbed your back. "I'm sorry, sweetheart," he said, sounding more genuine this time. "I would tell you that it's for your own good, but I figured the dentist already told me that."

"She did," you sighed. "Doesn't change the fact that this is going to be painful as hell."

"I'm sure they'll have some lidocaine to numb it," he offered.

Your face twisted into a disgusting grimace. "Ugh," you all but spat, "I fucking hate that numbing shit. My mouth is always dead for the next six hours."

"It's that, or the pain," Matt pointed out. "You have to choose one."

"Or I could cancel the appointment and just hide in my bed," you mumbled. "I'll block the dental office's number, so they can't bug me about it."

"No," Matt said, sounding greatly amused at your determination to avoid tomorrow. "You need to go get it fixed, sweetheart. I know it's unpleasant, but your teeth are kind of important if you didn't know."

You groaned again and banged your head against the desk repeatedly. Gently, Matt peeled you away from the table and shifted you in the chair so that you were leaning against his broad chest. He sighed softly and ran his fingers through your hair soothingly.

"I'm sorry, honey," he said sympathetically.

"Don't want to go," you mumbled against his dress shirt, sighing at the feel of the soft silk on your cheek.

"How about this?" he offered. "I'll go in with you tomorrow. Keep you company."

Blinking in surprise, you lifted your head up and peered at him. "You'd do that?"

"Of course. I'll be your moral support in your battle against dental fillings and lidocaine."

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When the following morning came, Matt's promise of support, which had seemed like the perfect solution the afternoon before, was not doing much to convince you to get your ass out of bed for the appointment. Matt tried to lure you out with breakfast and bribe you with the promise of cuddles when you came back, but in the end, he had to all but drag you out of bed and shoo you into the bathroom to get ready. He even stood guard outside the door to make sure you didn't sneak back into bed.

"I don't like this," you hissed in Matt's ear. "We should go."

He squeezed your hand tightly and subtly pulled you along the hallway to follow the smiling nurse leading you to the room where you would await your demise.

"I'm serious," you whispered, trying again. "You cause a distraction or something, and I'll run out the back door. Then, you can come out, and we can go home."

"No, sweetheart," he laughed softly. "We're not doing that."

"Matthew—"

"Here we are," the nurse said, stopping outside an open door and turning to you and Matt. Her eyes fell on your hand tightly clutching Matt's, and she smiled, probably mistaking your petrified grip as just affectionate hand-holding.

Does she not understand I'm walking to my death?

"You two are so cute together," she told you.

"Thank you," Matt replied eloquently. You, however, had spotted dental chair in the middle of the room that was looking dangerously like an execution chair, the only difference being the absence of restraining straps. The smell of latex gloves, disinfectant, and formaldehyde caught in your nose, making your gut churn with acid.

Matt must have sensed your anxiety because he drew you against him, wrapping his arm around your waist and kissing your temple gently. "It'll be okay, sweetheart," he murmured in your ear as the nurse started setting equipment up in the room. "I'm here, remember? You're okay."

You hovered by the doorway for a few seconds before heaving a great sigh. "Okay," you sighed. "Let's get this over with."

Soon enough, you were lying down on the stiff vinyl padding over the criminally uncomfortable chair with limbs knotted tighter than the Gordian knot. Matt, who was seated besides you on the visitor's chair, tried to massage the tension out of your shoulders, but your arms remained firmly crossed and your legs tense.

"Matthew, get me out of here," you muttered, your eyes closed.

With the hand resting on your arm, he rubbed gentle circles against your skin, leaning over to kiss you softly. You allowed him if only for some semblance of comfort. "It'll be okay," he assured you.

"They're going to kill me," you mumbled rather petulantly.

"They won't," Matt chuckled. "Besides, if they try to fatally wound you with the water sprayer, I'll stop them."

"Not funny."

He reached over and nudged your hand that was wedged firmly in the crook of your other elbow, holding his own out. With faux reluctance, you placed your hand in his offered one, and he squeezed it comfortingly. "I'll be right here this whole time," he promised. "I'm not going anywhere, I'm staying with you by your side."

Matt kept up the soft words of reassurance so well that you had almost relaxed until the doctor came into the room, gave you a professional smile, and started grabbing all sorts of tools that looked suspiciously like torture instruments. You tensed right back up, but Matt continued rubbing soothing circles on the back of your hand.

When the dentist reclined the chair and pulled out the lidocaine, you wrinkled your nose so obviously that the dentist even laughed.

"That's got to be the strongest reaction I've seen in a patient so far," she told you with no small amount of amusement. "Not a fan, I take it?"

"She hates it," Matt replied promptly because your jaw had locked up in protest to the mere sight of the anesthetic.

"Bad experiences at the dentist's," you managed to grit out.

The doctor chuckled. "I'm sorry, sweetie, but you're going to need it for this procedure. At least you got a great support system," she added, smiling at Matt.

In the end (with no small amount of nudging from Matt), you reluctantly opened your mouth and let her put the anesthetic on your gums, generously resisting the urge to snap your mouth shut and bite her the second you felt the cold cream in your mouth.

After that, the rest of the procedure went relatively smoothly. There was the typical period of waiting for the numbing effect of the lidocaine through which Matt, your absolute fucking savior, stayed next to you the whole time just as he promised he would. He held your hand and whispered soft words to you when the doctor brought the dental drill close to your mouth.

The uncomfortable pressure on your tooth (the lidocaine could take away the pain but not the feeling of the drill in your teeth) made you lock up and dig your fingernails into the armrests of the chair, but Matt allowed you to squeeze his hand until it was over. Your grip was so tight you were sure it had to be painful, but he didn't complain one bit. Through it all, he continued with his soft words that took your mind off the grinding in your teeth and the sound off the drill in your ears: "you're doing so well, sweetheart, it's almost done, you're okay, I'm here."

Finally—finally—it was over. They slathered some more nasty paste all over your teeth, reminded you not to drink or eat for two hours, and then let you go at last. The second your numb legs stepped out of the dental office, away from the small of chlorine and antiseptics, you felt like a prisoner emerging into the free air after years of captivity.

You sighed in relief, slumping sideways against Matt. "Thought I'd never be in fresh air again," you groaned, speaking a little strangely due to the lingering effects of the anesthetic.

He laughed softly at your continued melodrama. "Alright, let's get you home, sweetheart."

Ten minutes later, you were back at the apartment, a little dizzy from the lidocaine but much, much happier now that you were out of the dental office. But you still kept up the grumbling about the numbness in your mouth all the way home, much to the amusement of Matt, who seemed to find your slightly slurred speech funny and "cute."

"'M not cute, Ma'hew," you huffed. "Mah mouth feels like a po'a'o sack."

The huffy statement only heightened his laughter as he led you to bed where he had promised you could return once the procedure was over. The second you got into the bedroom, you kicked off your shoes and faceplanted on the bed with a satisfied groan.

Matt brushed your hair back and placed a adoring kiss on your temple before attempting to leave and bring you some water, but you caught his wrist. "Stay," you slurred sleepily. "You said you'd cuddle me when I got back. Bribed me, you did, Mr. Murdock."

Laughing gently, he obliged and slid in besides you, wrapping his strong arms around your form like a massive, cuddly teddy bear. You sighed in contentment, snuggling against his warm chest.

"I love you," you mumbled happily.

His lips ghosted over your forehead before coming down to press against yours. Even though you couldn't really feel his against your numb lips, the familiar gesture of it was enough for you.

"I love you too, sweetheart," he said fondly, running familiar circles against your skin.

Your head rested against the crook of his neck in peace for a few moments before you lifted your head and murmured, "Thank you for...supporting my battle against the water sprayer."

Matt snorted. "You're welcome, sweetheart. I'll always be by your side against your vicious foe of the dentist's water sprayer."

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AN: Cranked this one out kinda fast, so that's why it's short (sorry) but fluffy. More apologies if there's typos, it's late and I need to go to bed cuz I gotta get up at 6 am for class tomorrow.

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My Matt Murdock Masterlist

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