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equxvedits · 5 months

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You Would Choose Me, Correct?

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ Synopsis: When Jogo succeeds in resurrecting Sukuna, you are unfortunate enough to come across him. Dragging you into his domain, Sukuna fucks you into submission.

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WARNINGS: MDNI, 18+, Fem Reader, Smut, Non-Con/Dubious Consent, Slight Manipulation, Fingering, Sukuna Steps On The Reader, Oral Sex (f. receiving), Masturbation, Shoe-Licking, Doesn't Pull Out, Sukuna Has A Superiority Complex, Sukuna In His True Form, Mean Sukuna, Extremely Submissive Reader, Age Gap (reader is 18, sukuna is...old 💀)

・❥・wc: 4.0k words

・❥・masterlist

With two fingers pressed against your temple, you were gradually trying to form a connection with Yuji as you ran around the empty Shibuya station.

You had been trying to connect your eyesight with Yuji's for the past 10 minutes but every attempt had been futile.

Your cursed technique allowed you to connect your mind with anyone you marked with your cursed energy.

It had been a never-before-seen prowess that you could only have succeeded in controlling because of your teacher, Gojo Satoru.

Currently, you were the only third year from Tokyo Jujutsu High, your two classmates being unavailable due to their suspension.

Since you were everyone's senior you had been given the responsibility of looking after Yuji during Gojo's absence.

Which you were failing miserably.

Not only had you lost sight of Yuji after being separated, but you also had been able to connect and look through his eyes, only to witness him fighting an enemy.

It was hard to pinpoint his location through the glimpses since the chaos was too distracting, but you still ran around the station to find him.

It wasn't until a few minutes ago that when you tried to connect your eyesight, you found nothing but darkness.

It could only be two things. He was unconscious, or he was dead. You could only pray to god that it wasn't the latter.

As you ran through another corridor you noticed two girls at the end of the hallway with some sort of fog or steam around them.

The sight concerned you, seeing these two young girls in the middle of the battlefield.

"Hey, girls! Are you alright? Anyone injured?" Your jogging comes to a halt once you reach them.

One of the girls gets defensive, holding up her phone to you as she holds the other girl close.

"I'm not here to hurt you! You need to leave, it's getting dangerous here!" You raise your hands in surrender trying to give a reassuring smile, confused as to why she held up her phone.

The brunette girl looks back at you for a moment before her gaze shifts to something behind them. Only then had you noticed and realized the situation.

"Yuji-kun!" You shout in concern, dashing to attack the curse in front of him.

"Don't waste my time..." The blue curse demands but you freeze in your step as you notice his hand had been sliced clean off.

Your breath gets caught in your throat, skin perspiring at the sudden intensity of something dark.

"I'll give you one second. Move."

Your breathing gets quicker as a suffocating feeling overwhelms your being. The curse and the two girls dash back a few feet, further away from Yuji's body.

Yuji starts to stand up and walk towards the four of you. The other three stood a few feet behind you, and as much as you would like to get further away from the approaching male, your feet stayed planted.

This presence. It was no longer Yuji.

Sukuna.

You had witnessed Sukuna take over Yuji's body in the past before but it had been very obvious to you that something had changed.

He was intimidating back then but right now, he was terrifying.

It had been easier to stand your ground against him in the past, but it just seemed impossible this time.

Maybe you had grown too used to Gojo's protective presence that now that he wasn't here, the King of curses appeared even more menacing.

With every single step Sukuna took, it became obvious that Yuji now bore at least 3 times the fingers he originally had before coming here.

Your heart was beating at an abnormal rate. Your body started trembling the closer Sukuna got until you felt your legs buckle under the pressure.

You fell to your knees, head hanging low to avoid all eye contact with the curse. Your body instinctively closes in on itself to make yourself appear smaller.

You wrapped your arms around yourself, hoping that somehow Sukuna would ignore your presence.

But sadly that wasn't the case.

He stopped right beside you, feet next to your thighs as he started to speak.

"Holding your head a little too high, don't you think?"

If his voice hadn't terrified you then the sounds of blood splattering certainly did. Since you had your back to the other three you didn't know who had been hurt, and honestly a part of you was too petrified to turn around.

"You should learn from this brat." You felt a hand being placed on the top of your head.

You knew who it was and had to desperately stop yourself from flinching away, too scared to accidentally offend him.

But as the hand smoothed over your head once, a small terrified whimper left your mouth. Your eyes were screwed shut to stop the tears pricking your eyes.

"You thought kneeling on just one knee would be enough?" He asks rhetorically as he continues to smooth his hand over your head.

"The boughs that bear the most hang lowest. But it seems your head doesn't bear much."

As he said that the hand resting atop your head abruptly shifts to the back of your neck. In less than a second you're standing upright staring right into Sukuna's eyes.

"You'll be useful later."

An impact on your jaw was all you felt before your vision faded to black.

"Master Sukuna..."

You slowly started to stir awake, hearing a few voices speaking in the background. Your entire body felt hot as if you were dipped in lava.

You only regain consciousness when you hear one of the voices raise their tone.

"Uraume?!"

You jolt awake at his voice, lifting your upper body to sit up. You look around to see Yuji standing a bit away from you with a monk-like person kneeling in front of him.

It took a moment before you remembered what had happened.

Sukuna! He knocked you unconscious.

You try to speak but feel your mouth hurt. You bring your hand up to stroke your jaw, realizing how it felt sore. You knew it was probably because Sukuna had punched you.

Only then had you noticed very small but numerous burns on your hand. You look around and find yourself scared and dumbfounded.

You were sitting on the apex of destruction. The destruction that was no doubt caused by Sukuna.

"Master Sukuna?" You hear the monk address the King.

Noticing you to be awake, Sukuna spares you a glance before speaking.

"I have urgent business to deal with."

"...I see." The white and red-haired monk discreetly glances at you. You flinch when you make eye contact with the person named 'Uraume' but they only close their eyes, bowing lower to Sukuna.

"It won't be much longer until I'm completely free. Don't neglect your preparations." Sukuna walks towards you as he speaks.

You try to move away from him but can't, your body is still weak from Sukuna's hit. He stood tall above you, a menacing smirk on his face.

"See you later, Urame...

...Domain Expansion: Malevelont Shrine."

Your surroundings change suddenly feeling cold. You see Sukuna standing exactly where he was, just now he adorned a light kimono with black accents and a dark scarf wrapped around his neck.

You look down to see yourself now sitting in what seemed like a shallow river of blood. Was it blood?

Just when you try to stand up, you halt your actions when Sukuna appears in front of you.

"Who permitted you to move?" He asks glaring down at you.

"I-...s-sorry." You let your head hang low.

"Don't speak. Your lips should be sealed until ordered otherwise." He demands as you nod wordlessly.

Internally you were screaming at yourself. Scolding how you shouldn't be submitting yourself to something you spent your life training to eradicate.

You tell yourself that if you die then it's because of your duty as a Jujutsu Sorcerer. No one will hold it against you if you lose against Sukuna.

You shout at yourself to fight back, that anything is better than bowing to a curse. But alas your body refused to listen to your brain.

It only listened to Sukuna now.

"Spread your legs."

His tone was firm, making it obvious he expected complete obedience from you. And that is what he got.

Your legs move further away from each other a good distance till your uniform skirt allows you.

Sukuna clicks his tongue in annoyance.

"Lift your skirt, fucking dimwit." Your lips wobble at his harsh words but do not resist. Your hands work slowly to lift your skirt up so it is now inverted and covering your torso.

You slowly spread your legs further away, although there wasn't much to see due to you wearing leggings underneath.

As you slowly build up the courage to protest it is immediately shut down when Sukuna presses the sole of his shoes on your covered cunt.

You almost gasp out in shock but compose yourself, not ready to submit yourself yet.

"You really surprised me. You were so prepared to exorcise me when I first resurrected. Look at you now, so submissive. I did tell the Gojo Sorcerer that you'll be the first I'll take."

He taunts you all the while continuing to put pressure on your folds. Watching you have no reactions he huffs in annoyance before finally removing his feet.

"This is boring. Stand up. Undress yourself completely and go sit over there." He says pointing towards the throne on the shrine.

You slowly stand up whilst fixing your skirt, finally having built up some courage to fight against him.

"I'm not doing anything, King of Curses. Sukuna!" You exclaim as anger builds in your chest. But all is lost in the blink of an eye.

Before you could have moved, Sukuna was behind you. His hand was on your chest before your uniform shirt had been ripped off of your body.

You shriek out of fear, hands moving to cover your chest. Sukuna uses his feet to kick your legs from underneath you.

Losing your balance you fall onto your hands and knees as he crouches down beside you. He once again lifts your skirt as the other brings down your leggings.

Taking your hands he holds them behind your back, keeping them in place. Due to this your face was on the floor, back arched, and ass up.

His other hand starts to rub your cunt through your underwear, before sighing in disappointment.

"I need you wet." As he says that his fingers move around your bare chest to toy with your nipples. They would pinch and tug at your flesh making you whimper slightly.

That paired with the constant rubbing of your clit and the pressure of your hands being held tightly. You found it harder to resist it.

Due to the situation, it had taken you a moment to realize something. How was he doing that?

One of his hands was toying with your now bare clit, the other playing with your chest. But your hands were still being held in place.

You slightly move your head to look at Sukuna and find yourself staring at someone completely different.

It was no longer Yuji, but rather someone who looked exactly how Sukuna's real form was described.

Two faces with four arms.

In fact, his only vacant hand was near his mouth, covering two of his fingers in saliva as he later plunges the same fingers into your cunt.

This time you couldn't hold your moans back. Not only did his appearance change, his true form was larger as well.

There might have been a feet or two difference in height but he was now prominently wider, making you feel even smaller.

His fingers brushed along your walls as you convulsed around him.

"P-please stop...stop!"

You sob as you grow closer to your release. A second goes by when you suddenly felt empty, cunt pulsating around nothing as your head felt an immense force against it.

You soon realize that he held your head in his hand, bringing you closer to his body. Your face was soon in front of his.

"Don't order me, you pathetic woman. Now go do as I asked." He says with a chilling tone. You nod hastily.

He releases his hold on your face and you stand up and look around for a moment. Then you remembered he had told you to sit on the throne-like structure.

You had only moved a few small steps before being stopped once again.

"Stop. Take off everything you have on first." Sukuna demanded. You look back at him before looking down. Your leggings and underwear still clung onto your thighs and your skirt covered your torso.

You smoothly slip everything off before starting to walk once more, Sukuna right behind you.

It takes you less than a minute to climb up the stairs before reaching the throne. You turn around to settle yourself on the seat but are stopped by a sudden pressure around your neck.

"Who said you could sit there?" Sukuna tightens his grip on your neck and you struggle against him.

"Y-you said—"

"I told you to take a seat over here. It's obvious I meant the floor, do you think so highly of yourself to take a seat on my throne?"

His tone scared you so desperately denied.

"No! I'm sorry! I-I'm s-sorry! I mis-misunderstood! P-please forg-forgive me!" It was difficult for you to speak, barely getting any airflow along with the fear that clouded your veins. You couldn't do anything but plead for your life.

At your words he releases his hold on you, resulting in you landing on the floor breathing heavily.

While you composed yourself, Sukuna settled himself on his throne.

"Come here. Look at me." The King demands making you turn your head to him. You saw him pat his thigh once expecting you to understand.

You didn't, but took your guess. Moving closer to him while also not leaving the floor, you hesitantly rested your head against his thigh.

He smirks down at you as his hand moves to pat your head.

"You finally understand your place, woman." He grins mischievously.

"During our time here, I'll ask you what want at any time once I'm satisfied, and I'll give it to you. All you need to do is obey me. Understood?"

You nod mindlessly.

"Good. Now, make yourself cum." He says in the most natural tone. You were caught off guard by this, not understanding.

"I don't-" Before you question further, one of Sukuna's arms had moved making you flinch and close your eyes out of instinct.

You only open them when you hear Sukuna laugh. You watch him use his fingers to open his kimono, revealing himself to be completely bare underneath.

Although you tried to fight it, you did catch a glimpse of his girth that laid against his lap.

"Make yourself cum. Use anything here. Your fingers, the floor, my shoes, my cock, heck you can use one of those bones lying there as well. Just fuck yourself, and make it pretty."

You understood what he had asked of you, but your body didn't move. He only stared at you waiting.

"You have 10 seconds to start, otherwise the deal is off." He states, pressuring you.

You realized that this was the only way for you to see another day. So you decided to put aside your pride and dignity and comply.

"May I lick your shoes, Master Sukuna?"

Throughout the entire night, this was the first time Sukuna heard no jitters in your voice, so he only grew amused by your bold yet pathetic words.

"Do what you want."

With the confirmation, you move away slightly so you can bend lower. You shift your body to get on all fours, going lower till your face reaches Sukuna's shoes.

Slowly you began to lick against the material, soaking it in your saliva.

This was humiliating. But even as tears sprung to your eyes this was undoubtedly the best strategy. For someone as egoistical as Sukuna it would be hard to satisfy him with someone else's pleasure.

So you had to make sure he felt like a true king. Knowing that something like a mere shoe of his could get you off would definitely win him over.

You just had to endure.

Once the tip of his shoe was soaked, you moved away to sit up and lean back. Inserting two fingers in your mouth you drenched them in your saliva before spreading your legs.

Now that you were on complete display, your fingers moved to your already dripping cunt to massage through your folds.

You did that for a few seconds before moving closer to Sukuna's shoe, eventually pressing your slit against it.

You had initially planned to try and insert his shoe in you -even just barely- but decided against it when you felt the true size of it. So you resorted to just rubbing yourself against the material.

You moved forward to hug his leg, moving your hips to rub across the length of his shoe. You slowly opened your eyes to look at Sukuna, wanting to see if your display was affecting him at all.

And to your surprise, it was. His cock which was previously resting against his lap was now hard against his stomach.

But what caught you off guard wasn't the size of his girth, rather it was his stare. His red, venomous eyes bore into yours, the sight itself making you stumble over a few strokes.

Your cheeks flushed hot as you started to feel genuinely aroused by the situation. The roughness of his shoe becomes more apparent as you continue to rub yourself against the most pleasurable spot.

"Mmmh! So close..."

Your mumbles come out soft as your brain slowly grows incoherent.

Sukuna grinned cooly at the sight, amused that his original plan was working out as he had thought.

You weren't the best asset among all the other sorcerers he came across, but your cursed technique was valuable.

Although he knew he wasn't really in need of your technique either, he was just curious about your ancestry.

And if possible, he could use your body as a vessel for a stronger curse who could put use to your technique.

He just had to bring you to his side.

Sukuna abruptly rips away his feet, leaving you with nothing to rub against. You suppress a whine that builds at the back of your throat and just look up at him in confusion.

"You were good, but it's not enough. Come here, I want to taste you." He hooks his hand underneath your arm to lift you and make you straddle him.

He uses your shock as leverage to push the tip of his cock into your entrance. You jolt but don't complain, thighs still shaking from your ruined orgasm.

He slowly pushes against your hips to bring you down on the rest of his length.

Your moan comes out strangled, vocal chords confused on whether to scream or moan.

Trying to ignore the stinging from the stretch, you slowly start to move as Sukuna's hands guide your movement a few times.

You feel yourself stretch around him a few times before he lifts you a little too high, making him slip out of you.

"Master Sukuna...?"

"Don't move."

Two of his hands started to fiddle with your breast when you feel a wet muscle against your cunt.

You look down to see a tongue sticking out of Sukuna's stomach that makes you want to screech. But your voice immediately dies when the same tongue slips into your walls.

Your lips part at the feeling, pussy clenching around his tongue out of reflex. Sukuna pulls you closer, moving you a bit up so your cunt was pressed flat against his stomach.

Losing balance you fall ahead slightly, hands on each side of his head against the throne as your head lulled forward, chin touching his hair.

You suddenly felt a stinging on your ass, realizing Sukuna was digging his pricking his nails into your skin.

You felt a wave of fear rush to your head, wondering if he had gotten mad by you directly touching his throne.

You had only done that so you were not holding him instead. You almost shifted to move your arms but halted when you felt wet around your breasts.

Sukuna has encased a small portion of your right breast in his mouth -the one in its rightful place- tongue circling your nipple, canine digging into them slightly.

Without even realizing your hips were grinding against his stomach, the tongue inside your walls speeding up its ministrations.

Just when you felt your release snap, your ecstasy was shattered by Sukuna retracting both tongues from your body after he whispered 'delicious'.

Moments later you were turned around, your back against his chest as you moved up and down on his cock.

His hands continued to stimulate your nipples, as you grew wetter and wetter with each thrust. Your eyes clouded with pleasure as you slowly forget your motive.

Everything below you was now drenched in your arousal, Sukuna reveling in every second of it. His other pair of hands remained on your hips, pressing down and making it harder for you to move.

Slowly you started to lose your control, eyes brimming with tears due to the frustration of not being able to move.

You were so close, your stomach growing heavy with your release.

So as your last resort, you start to beg.

"M-master Sukuna! I'm gonna cum! Gonna cum, please let me move!"

You wiggle against his hold not caring about how pathetic you looked. You continue to plead but he doesn't reply.

"Please! Please! I want to cum!"

"You have satisfied me. Tell me, how should I reward you?" He finally spoke making you pause your babbles.

"W-what? Please, just let me move, Master Sukuna!"

"I told you. I'll give you anything you want once I'm satisfied. Tell me, what do you want?"

"Nothing! P-please- please!"

"Are you sure? Everyone wants something. Tell me, and I'll give it."

"Then! Please, fuck me! I'm s-so close, Master Sukuna! Please make me cum! That's what I want!"

Sukuna smirks in triumph. You had played right into his hands. He grinned against your nape, using his hands to push you forward off the seat and against the floor.

He got behind you and continued to thrust into you, ass rippling due to the force of his hips.

"There's your true nature. You could have used this opportunity to leave but you insisted on being a whore. That's alright, I like this look you."

You could only whine out in response to his words.

"Let's wait till the realization settles in, knowing you're milking your enemy's cock as your comrades walk to their deaths."

You had started crying, the pleasure overtaking all your emotions when his fingers rubbed harshly against your clit.

"Even then, you would choose me. Correct?" He asks, smirking when you nod dumbly as your lower abdomen grows tighter.

"Ahh~ I would choose you! So-ngh! Just- right there!"

You let out a hoarse moan when the tension snaps, throwing your head back as you cream on his cock, some of your arousal spurting out and onto the floor.

Your orgasm came in waves, making you dizzy as his thrusts never stopped. He continued to fuck you through your release determined to build another one.

"You hear that, brat? She says she would choose me." Sukuna says in a taunting tone. You continue to pant heavily from your release but try to look back at him, confused by his words.

Only then did you notice a figure standing below at the end of the stairs.

"W-wait...stop..." You voice out, your voice trembling.

"Weren't you saying how much you looked up to your [name]-senpai? Well, I'm sure the truth is apparent to you." Sukuna continues to taunt the figure, not once halting his thrusts.

"NO! YUJI DON'T LOOK!" You screamed desperately, finally meeting the eyes of your junior classmate.

Your tears flowed freely, finally realizing Sukuna's actions. Was he trying to break Yuji's soul?

From the look on Yuji's face, it was obvious that Sukuna was successful. And you had stupidly played into his hands.

"LOOK AWAY YUJI! STOP RIGHT NOW SUKUNA! STOP IT!" You were glad that Yuji complied and looked away from you, but the heavy tears falling from his eyes only added to your guilt.

"Why would I stop? You're clenching. You're going to cum again." He states. And he was correct.

His cock reached where you could never imagine, the pressure against your sensitive walls only brought you closer to another release.

"Pl-please, stop..."

You whimper-moan desperately, making sure that Yuji's gaze is nowhere near you.

"Don't order me around. This took a lot of effort, to bring you into my innate domain. You should be fucking honored."

"Cumming!"

You scream out without realizing, Sukuna following soon after to fill you up, not removing himself until every single drop was settled deep in you.

"I was going to kill you, to hurt the stupid brat. But this was way too much fun! I wonder how the Gojo Sorcerer would react seeing his student so dumb on my cock."

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lvoryingrid · 3 months

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The Cabin In The Woods

Levi x fem!Reader

Synopsis: In the midst of a Titan battle, Levi Ackerman and (Y/n) seek shelter in a forest cabin. The rivalry between them turns into an unexpected intimacy as subtle touches escalate.

Warning: 🔞 minors do not read/interact : contains 18+ content, smut/erotica

The battlefield was a symphony of chaos, with the metallic scent of blood lingering in the air. Levi Ackerman, humanity's greatest hope, moved with unparalleled grace, his blades dancing through the tumult like a deadly waltz. Thunderous roars of Titans reverberated around him, accompanied by the desperate cries of soldiers caught in the merciless grip of the war.

Amidst the swirling dust and smoke, Levi's steel-blue gaze focused on (Y/n)’s face. Her movements were a ballet of survival, each strike a testament to her unyielding determination. As their eyes met in a fleeting moment, a silent understanding passed between them, a recognition of the shared struggle against a common enemy.

"(Y/n)! Watch your left flank!" Levi's voice cut through the cacophony, a sharp command born of necessity rather than animosity. She shot him a quick glance, a mixture of irritation and acknowledgment in her eyes. "I don't need you to babysit me, Captain!"

The Titans closed in, and Levi fought with a controlled fury, dispatching the colossal foes with calculated precision. Yet, in the back of his mind, a growing unease nagged at him. He couldn't shake the feeling that time was slipping away, that the stakes were higher than ever.

In the midst of the relentless battle, Levi and (Y/n) found themselves back to back, defending each other against the onslaught. The clash of steel against Titan flesh created a chaotic melody, punctuated by the occasional exchange of glances and shared determination.

Levi smirked, a hint of amusement tugging at the corner of his lips. "Just making sure you don't get yourself killed. Wouldn't want you to miss out on the chance to lose to me again."

Her response was a scoff, but there was a glimmer of a smirk hidden beneath the exterior. "You wish, Captain. I can handle myself just fine. I just don't want to waste my energy saving your sorry ass," she shot back, a glint of camaraderie in her eyes."

Levi raised an eyebrow, a hint of annoyance breaking through his stern expression. "Don't get too cocky. We've got a long way to go."

The battlefield gradually fell silent as Levi and (Y/n) found themselves veering away from the main force, their surroundings becoming a dense forest. The sun dipped below the horizon, casting an eerie glow over the landscape as ominous clouds gathered overhead. The first droplets of rain splattered against their uniforms, gradually evolving into a relentless downpour.

Levi cast a sideways glance at (Y/n), raindrops clinging to her disheveled (h/c) hair. "We need to find shelter before we get drenched. HQ can wait until tomorrow."

(Y/n) shot him a defiant look, raindrops clinging to her disheveled hair. "I don't need you to state the obvious, Captain. I'm not stupid."

Levi rolled his eyes, his annoyance evident. "Just follow my lead and try not to slow me down."

They trudged deeper into the forest, the tension between them palpable. The rain intensified, turning the path ahead into a muddy quagmire. The sound of raindrops pelting leaves and the distant rumble of thunder echoed through the trees, creating an atmosphere thick with unease.

Levi's sharp eyes scanned the surroundings, looking for any sign of shelter. "There should be a safehouse not too far from here. We can regroup and head to HQ in the morning."

As they ventured deeper, the tension between them gave way to an unspoken understanding. The rivalry that had defined their interactions now danced on the edge of something more—a raw and unexplored passion simmering beneath the surface.

Finally, through the dense trees, a dilapidated cabin emerged. The wood creaked and groaned under the rain, but it seemed like the only refuge they had. Levi pushed the door open, and they entered, their soaked uniforms clinging to their bodies.

The cabin's interior was dimly lit, shadows playing on the worn walls. Levi couldn't ignore the flicker of vulnerability in (Y/n)'s eyes, her guard momentarily down. "We'll stay here for the night. Tomorrow, we head to HQ."

(Y/n) nodded, the gravity of the situation sinking in. The air in the cabin crackled with tension as they realized the close quarters they'd be sharing. The rivalry that had fueled their interactions now seemed like a thin veil hiding a deeper connection.

As the storm outside intensified, the two found themselves huddled in the cabin, the air thick with unspoken words. The flickering lantern cast shadows on Levi's face, accentuating the lines of fatigue and determination.

"I never thought I'd find myself stuck in a creepy cabin with you," (Y/n) teased, a small smile playing on her lips.

Levi's stoic exterior cracked just a bit, a subtle smirk appearing. "Consider it a special fucking treat."

Levi's keen eyes scanned the dimly lit cabin, searching for any available resources. Spotting a stack of old planks in the corner, he gathered them and set to work on starting a fire. The flickering flames cast a warm glow across the worn interior, revealing the exhaustion etched on both their faces.

As the fire began to crackle, Levi glanced over at (Y/n), who stood shivering in the corner, her wet clothes clinging to her like a second skin. With a barely audible sigh, he got up, his movements purposeful. "Stay put."

(Y/n) shot him a skeptical look but complied, watching as Levi disappeared into the shadows of the cabin. He returned moments later, holding a dusty, moth-eaten blanket. Without a word, he tossed it towards her.

"Here, wrap yourself in this. Your clothes are soaked, remove them" Levi instructed, his tone gruff but carrying an underlying concern.

(Y/n) caught the blanket, eyeing him warily. "You're not planning to play the hero, are you?"

Levi raised an eyebrow, his expression unchanging. "Don't get any ideas. I'm not doing this for you; it's for my own peace of mind. I don't need you catching a cold and slowing us down tomorrow."

She rolled her eyes, attempting to brush off the subtle act of kindness. "Well, aren't you just a gentleman in shining armor."

Levi scowled, irritation flickering across his features. "Quit the sarcasm and do as I say. It's practical, not chivalry."

Levi's gaze flickered away as (Y/n) began to peel off her wet clothes, the fire's dim light casting an ethereal glow on her silhouette. She could feel the weight of his discomfort, a strange mixture of vulnerability and an unfamiliar tension in the air.

"(Y/n), don't make this more awkward than it needs to be. Just get dry," Levi muttered, his eyes fixed on the fire in a futile attempt to avoid the scene unfolding before him.

(Y/n) shot him a wry grin, her usual defiance cutting through the air. "Oh, Captain, can't handle a little skin? I thought you were supposed to be a tough guy."

Levi scowled, irritation evident. "This isn't the time for your sarcasm. Just get yourself warmed up and get some rest. We have a long day ahead."

As she covered herself with the blanket, the glow of the fire outlined the curves and scars on her body. Levi couldn't help but steal a glance, the flicker of the flames highlighting the strength and resilience etched into every mark. For a moment, the intensity of their rivalry faded, and Levi found himself oddly captivated by the vulnerability in front of him.

(Y/n) caught the fleeting look in his eyes, a playful smirk dancing on her lips. "Captain, I never thought I'd see the day when the great Levi, would be caught ogling."

Levi's cheeks tinged with a hint of red, a rare occurrence for the stoic soldier. "I'm not ogling. Just making sure you're not going to collapse from exhaustion."

She chuckled, the sound echoing in the quiet cabin. "Sure, Captain. Whatever helps you sleep at night."

The rain continued its relentless assault on the cabin's roof, creating a soothing backdrop to the awkward tension that hung in the air. As (Y/n) settled under the blanket, she couldn't resist the opportunity to further tease Levi, who was doing his best to avoid eye contact.

"Captain," she called out with a mischievous glint in her eyes, "aren't you feeling a bit chilly yourself? You look like you've taken a swim in the river."

Levi shot her an annoyed glare, his irritation evident. "I'm fine. This isn't a cozy campfire, and I'm not here for your entertainment."

(Y/n) chuckled, undeterred by his gruff demeanor. "Oh, come on, Captain. We wouldn't want you catching a cold now, would we? That'd be a tragedy."

Levi clenched his jaw, his annoyance reaching new heights. "I don't need your concern, and I certainly don't need your commentary. Just get some rest."

But (Y/n), never one to back down from a little banter, decided to up the ante. With a sly smile, she shifted under the blanket, feigning a shiver. "You sure about that, Captain? Your teeth seem to be doing a little dance there. Maybe we should huddle together for warmth."

Levi's eyes narrowed, a barely audible growl escaping his throat. "I said, I'm fine."

Undeterred, she continued to playfully prod him. "You know, it's scientifically proven that body heat is the best way to stay warm. Just saying."

Levi shot her a withering look, his annoyance now accompanied by a faint blush. "I don't need your suggestions, and I certainly don't need to 'scientifically prove' anything with you."

(Y/n) couldn't help but laugh at his expense. "Relax, Captain. I'm just messing with you. No need to get all hot and bothered."

Levi rolled his eyes, his frustration evident. "I'm not bothered. Just get some rest before I decide to leave you out in the rain."

She grinned, her eyes sparkling with mischief. "Well, Captain, if you change your mind and decide you need some warmth, I'll be right here."

The rain outside showed no signs of letting up, and despite Levi's attempts to brush off the chill, his trembling form betrayed the cold that had settled into his bones. (Y/n), under the worn-out blanket, couldn't help but notice the subtle shivers that ran through him.

"You're freezing, Captain," she remarked with a raised eyebrow, her teasing tone giving way to genuine concern.

Levi shot her a glare, his pride evident. "I've faced worse than a bit of rain."

(Y/n) sighed, a hint of exasperation in her voice. "You can drop the tough act, Levi. We're not in the middle of a battlefield now. We're just two people trying to stay warm."

Levi scowled but didn't offer any further protest. The truth was, the relentless rain had taken its toll, and his ego was the only thing keeping him from admitting it. With a begrudging acknowledgment, he finally mumbled, "Fine, but don't get any ideas."

(Y/n) chuckled, shifting to make room for him under the blanket. "No promises, Captain. Just trying to survive the night."

Levi shot her a warning look before begrudgingly starting to remove his wet clothes. The fire's dim light flickered over his scars and the defined muscles that spoke of years of battles. As he shuffled into the blanket, (Y/n) couldn't help but smirk at the irony of their situation.

"See? That's not so bad, is it?" she teased, her eyes gleaming with amusement.

Levi grunted in response, avoiding eye contact. "This doesn't change anything. I'm only doing this to shut you up."

The fire's dying embers cast a soft glow across the cabin, and with every flicker, Levi and (Y/n) found themselves drawn closer under the blanket. The initial distance that had defined their makeshift alliance began to close, replaced by a palpable tension that hung in the air like the storm outside.

Levi, still maintaining a semblance of stoicism, shifted slightly, unintentionally brushing against (Y/n). The brief contact sent a shiver down both their spines, an electric charge that neither could ignore. The subtle touches, once accidental, now held a weight of unspoken possibilities.

"(Y/n), watch where you're putting your damn elbows," Levi grumbled, his attempt to mask the underlying tension evident in the gruffness of his voice.

She shot him a sidelong glance, a playful glint in her eyes. "Captain, I can't control where my elbows go. Maybe you're just too close."

Levi scowled but didn't pull away, the proximity between them amplifying the uncharted territory they found themselves navigating. The cabin, once just a refuge from the storm, became a space where the lines between rivalry and something more blurred.

As the rain outside dwindled to a gentle patter, the quiet cabin seemed to amplify the sound of their breaths. The air became charged with a quiet anticipation, the weight of unspoken words hanging between them.

(Y/n) couldn't resist the temptation, her hand subtly finding its way to Levi's arm. The touch, feather-light and seemingly innocent, sent a shockwave through both of them. Levi's gaze flickered towards her, a silent acknowledgment of the shift in dynamics.

Levi cleared his throat, attempting to break the tension. "Keep your damn hands to yourself."

(Y/n) smirked, her fingers tracing absentminded patterns on his arm. "I'm just trying to stay warm."

Levi, irritated by the unexpected turn of events and the unsettling tension in the air, decided to retaliate in his own way. With a calculated smirk, he shifted closer to (Y/n), his fingers gently trailing along her arm in a manner that mirrored her earlier touch.

"Don't get too comfortable. This isn't an invitation," Levi remarked, his voice carrying a mix of annoyance and amusement.

She raised an eyebrow, the smirk never leaving her face. "Oh, Captain, didn't know you had it in you. Looks like the great Captain can't resist a little intimacy."

Levi scowled, attempting to maintain his composure. "This is purely practical. Don't read too much into it."

The banter continued, each subtle touch carrying an undercurrent of challenge. As the cabin remained shrouded in the quiet sounds of the rain and crackling fire, the atmosphere became charged with an unexpected energy.

In a moment of boldness, (Y/n) decided to turn the tables. Her fingers trailed along Levi's jawline, a playful glint in her eyes. "Captain, you're not fooling anyone. I can feel the heat radiating off you."

Levi's breath caught in his throat for a split second, his usual stoic facade momentarily faltering. "I told you, it's for warmth. Nothing more."

But (Y/n) wasn't deterred, her touch becoming more deliberate. "You know, Captain, sometimes actions speak louder than words."

"You're pushing your luck," Levi growled, the lines of annoyance and desire blurring in his eyes.

She met his gaze with a challenging stare, her lips curving into a sly smile. "Is that a threat, Captain? Or perhaps an invitation?"

Levi, not one to back down, closed the remaining distance between them, grabbing her by her hair. The frustration that had simmered beneath the surface now boiled over, fueling a passion neither had expected. In a moment of heated intensity, their lips collided, a clash of desire that silenced the banter and left only the echoes of their shared breaths.

The kiss, at first fueled by frustration, quickly morphed into something deeper—an exploration of uncharted territories and emotions that neither had dared to acknowledge. As their lips moved in a rhythm born of a newfound connection, the storm outside seemed to mirror the tempest of emotions within the cabin.

When they finally broke apart, (Y/n) and Levi were left breathless, their eyes locked in a silent understanding that transcended words. The fire, though now reduced to embers, seemed to burn brighter in the aftermath of their passionate exchange.

Levi, his usual composure momentarily shattered, struggled to find the right words. "This... doesn't change anything. We're not suddenly buddy buddy because of a kiss."

(Y/n), a flush of warmth coloring her cheeks, smiled with a hint of mischief. "Who said it had to? Maybe it's just something between us, Captain."

Her words sent a thrill of anticipation through Levi, and he felt himself grow hard against her. Unable to contain himself any longer, Levi roughly pushed (Y/n) back against the floor, pinning her beneath him. Her eyes widened in surprise, but there was a spark of anticipation in their depths that told him she wasn't entirely opposed to this development.

He leaned in close, his breath warm against her neck, as he whispered "Is that what you want?" he growled, his voice gruff, rough with desire. "Do you want me to touch you, that bad?" As he felt her nipples harden beneath his palms. He cupped her breasts, playing with them before lifting them so he could kiss and suckle her nipples.

(Y/n) arched her back, pressing her breasts further into Levi's hands as his lips and tongue teased her nipples mercilessly. She could feel the heat rising within her, spreading like electricity through her entire body. "Levi" she moaned, her voice breathy and needy. "Yes, please, touch me."

"Do you want me to make you feel good?" His fingers, reached down her body playing with her pussy, as he continued the relentless teasing, and she could feel the pressure building inside her, making her body tremble with anticipation. "Oh, please, yes," she moaned a hint of impatience in her voice, arching her back even further, her fingernails digging into his shoulders. "I want you."

Levi smiled wickedly, his eyes glinting with lust. "Tell me what you want," he commanded, still teasing her with his fingers. "Tell me how bad you want this."

"I want you inside me," she whispered, her voice barely audible over the pounding of her heart. "I want you to fuck me so hard I can't think about anything else." Her hips bucked upward, seeking the connection she ached for, and his thumb brushed against her clit, sending a jolt of pleasure through her.

With one swift movement, Levi positioned himself between her spread legs, his erection pressing against her wet folds. Smirking at the thought that he barely touched her and she was that wet for him. He leaned in, his lips finding her ear, and growled, "I've wanted this since the moment I fucking met you. Fuck you so hard you won't be able to say anything else but my name" With that, he pushed himself inside her, filling her up in one deep stroke that made her cry out in pleasure.

As Levi thrust into her, the world around them seemed to fade away, leaving only the two of them in this small, intimate space. The sounds of their bodies colliding and the wet slapping of skin on skin, filled the air. He moved with a savage grace that sent waves of pleasure coursing through her veins, his powerful body braced above hers. Her fingernails dug into his shoulders as she met his thrusts, their hips moving in perfect rhythm.

Her breath came in ragged gasps, her eyes squeezed shut as she surrendered to the overwhelming sensations. The tension that had built up within her since their confrontation finally released, coursing through her like an electric current. She arched her back off the floor, her nails digging deeper into his shoulders as she felt the familiar tightening in her core.

"Oh, god, Levi," she moaned, her voice hoarse from the effort of keeping up with his pace. "Don't stop." she said as her hands found their way to his dark hair.

He growled, his lips finding her neck, leaving a mark as he thrust harder, deeper. "I'm not going to stop. Not until you're screaming for more." His hips slammed against hers again and again, the friction building up with each passing second.

The air in the room seemed to crackle with the intensity of their passion, and she could feel the heat of his body against hers, his sweat mingling with hers. Her muscles began to quiver, her orgasm barreling down on her like a runaway train.

"Levi," she cried out, her body tensing as the wave of pleasure washed over her.

His movements became even more frenzied, his thrusts more urgent as he felt her body begin to convulse around him. With a harsh groan, he threw his head back, his eyes squeezed shut, and emptied himself inside her.

As the last shudders of pleasure subsided, Levi collapsed on top of her, his weight pressing her into the carpet. He held her close, his breathing labored as he tried to catch his breath. After a moment, he looked down at her with a satisfied smirk and muttered, "You're such a fucking brat."

Despite the harsh words, there was a possessive fondness in his tone that she couldn't help but feel warm inside. He rolled off her, propping himself up on one elbow as he gazed down at her, his eyes trailing down her body.

"Next time, it'll be in a cleaner environment," he said with a wink. "I'll make sure we have a bed or something."

"You're unbelievable," she remarked, her eyes meeting Levi's with a mixture of amusement and warmth. The flickering light cast a gentle glow over the scene, highlighting the vulnerability beneath their tough exteriors.

With a swift motion, he covered their bodies with the blanket, the warmth of the fabric cocooning them in a shared space. "You know, your scientific facts might have some truth to them."

Masterlist

#levi x reader #levi ackerman #aot x reader #levi aot #captain levi #aot levi #levi attack on titan #levi heichou #snk levi #shingeki no kyojin #aot #snk #levi x y/n #one shot #smut #aot smut #levi smut

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dailyadventureprompts · 13 days

Text

DM Tip: Lining up the Pieces

A few years ago I saw a video that changed the way I design combat encounters, using chess pieces and 4th edition monster roles as a handy way of conceptualizing the enemy roster and making better combat.

I’ve wanted to refer back to it for ages now, but I can’t seem to find it. As such, I’m going to reproduce it’s wisdom here for everyone’s benefit and hope I can find the source one day. ( I feel like it was a Matt Coville video, but my searches have turned up nothing. Seriously, if you can find it I will be extra grateful).

TLDR: You can break down enemy combatants into six (ish) roles represented by different kinds of chess pieces, and you can mix and match them when designing encounter to create fun tactical scenarios. You can also use this as an alternative to CR picking a “budget” of these enemy roles based on how many players are in the fight. Check out the types below the cut:

Infantry (pawn): Generally weaker and mechanically simpler than any other type of combatant, the infantry uses teamwork or sheer numbers to overwhelm the party. This can be anything from rank and file soldiers to a necromancer’s skeletal minions to a pack of wolves, anything that takes up space on the battlefield and prevents the party from targeting who they want or generally getting their way in a fight. 5e combat is a numbers game, and the infantry is there to swing the numbers in the enemy’s favour (until the party cut through them to even the odds). Infantry likes battlemaps with chokepoints they can hold and crossroads they can use to outflank opponents. When budgeting they’ll have a balance of 2 infantry per 1 player they’re matched against , but the weaker they are, the thinner you can spread them.

Brute (rook): High defence, high offence, the brute is an outright threat that the party should not want to take in a head to head fight. Giants, beasts, constructs, and heavy armoured warriors are your traditional brutes, but you could also go with a buffed to hell battlemage getting all up in the party’s face. Conversely, every brute has some kind of weakness that the party can exploit. They might be slow, or be unable to maneuver as easily, or like a werewolf, fiend, or troll, have particular weapons or damage types that overcome their natural resilience. Their job is to force confrontation, blunder into the middle of combat and force the party to act defensively rather than proactively. They soak up the party’s frontline’s attention while forcing the mid/backlines to scatter under the threat of too much raw damage. The brute Likes open spaces where they can have a direct path to the party and dead ends they can corner their targets against. Budget: Around 1 per 3 players

Skirmisher (knight): A very broad type of opponent, the skirmisher’s job is to bully the party’s weapsots whenever they’re exposed. They can do this by being ranged fighters ( traditional archers, magic users) or by being highly mobile (stealthy, mounted, flying, teleporting). They’re the bane of the party’s backline, generally targeting whoever has the lowest armour/or least health, then using their evasiveness to deny any kind of retaliation when the group rallies to protect their squishy friends. Skirmishers have great offence but are generally pretty weak, made helpless when you can deny them their movement/terrain advantages. Skirmishers like unfair fights, terrain that gives them a movement advantage, cover, or allows them the highground over their foes. Budgeting: 1 per 1-2 players.

Controller (bishop): The controller’s job is to fuck with the party, Either by locking down some of their stronger options (counterspelling, mind control, status effects, grapples), by manipulating the battlefield in some way that disrupts planning (aoe spells to prevent grouping together, summoning to reinforce numbers, barriers and banishment to single targets out), Or by advancing the baddies’ goal while the party is otherwise occupied (the cult priest finishing the disastrous ritual, the master thief making off with the mcguffin) forcing them to split their attention. The controller likes to distinctly be away from combat, and will usually be on the otherside of some kind of hazardous/hard to bypass barrier, sometimes of their own making. Budgeting: 1 per 2-3 players:

Support (king): Usually a healer, bodyguard, or some kind of buff-bot, the support wants to piggyback on other sorts of units or make them better at doing their jobs. Generally this means they’ll ignore whatever the party is doing to focus on staying with effective range of those who most benefit from their abilities. Supports will stay back in safety while throwing out buffs, bodyguards will put themselves between the party and their designated defendee. They tend to prefer whatever type of terrain most benefits their partners. 1- 2-3 players

Elite (queen): Something to be reckoned with, an Elite mixies the strength and abilities of two other kinds of combatants and uses both to devastating effect. Combine a brute and a support for an unstoppable frontline commander, or infantry and a skirmisher for an elite striketeam that attacks in perfect coordination before fading back into the shadows. Mix and match for whatever combination you think would be most interesting for a situation, then supplement it with a different unit or two for contrast. Elites make up your traditional “big bad and minions” bossfight, without escalating to the full party challenge of “solo” monsters. Budgeting: 1 per 3-4 players.

Picking the right Pieces:

Generally what you're going to want to do when planning a combat is to first think of what the baddies are trying to acomplish with the fight then pick 2-3 different types of baddie that you think would work well in concert to achieve that goal. "Kill the party" is an all too common goal, but you could easily imagine others that provide for dynamic stakes:

A group of forest bandits intend to rob a caravan, so they unleash a captive warbeast as a distraction while their archers rain chaos from above (Infantry, brute, skirmisher)

A villain abducts an important npc into a carriage while their dutiful muscle run interference (controller, brutes)

A necromancer hurls curses from behind a barricade of gravestones while their undead minions pour from surrounding tombs ( Controller/infantry)

While the party is ambushed by an archer in a tower, a cloaked figure waits in the underbrush, waiting for them to thin out and begin picking them off one by one (paired skirmishers of different types)

After the fighter is tricked into single combat against the mounted arena champion, the rest of the party will have to search the crowd for the caster secretly channeling healing magic to their opponent. ( combined brute/skirmisher elite, support)

Once you've got your pieces picked out, you can start designing the battle arena taking the desires of each combatant into account while also throwing in any environmental flourishes you'd like to enjoy.

As an added benefit for DMs like me who don't have the inclination or budget to collect huge batches of minis, it's SUPER easy to pick up a second hand chess set or two and use them as stand ins. Your players will have an instinctive understanding of what each piece does which will help them understand the roles outlined above.

Artsource

#dm tip #dm advice #combat #dap combat hack #dnd #dungeons and dragons #d&d #ttprg #pathfinder

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avocado-writing · 11 days

Note

Hey there I hope you’re having a wonderful day, could I make a request for bg3? I’d like to request the crew with a noble barbarian tav, kind of like Godfrey from Elden ring. Normally they are very regal, eloquent, and in control, they might even think they are some knight until they finally let loose. Whether it’s their s/o in danger or a challenging battle, they just go to town, very ‘I have give thee courtesy enough!’.

oh anon, you're very kind to think that I'm a competent enough gamer to have played elden ring. writing these scenarios as if they're seeing you go into a rage for the first time!

Astarion

Very much an 'oh. oh! oh...' moment for him.

Doesn't want to confess that he's attracted to the way you go feral, but anyone looking at him during battle will see how he is affected.

He already thought you were charming with your eloquence and courtly mannerisms, but this drives him wild. The idea you had this potential thrumming through your veins this whole time is delicious.

He can smell the blood pumping through your veins as you rage and does something for him. If you're together, expect a visit from him that night.

Gale

Loves to engage you in long, thoughtful conversations over tea every night. Did not expect this side to you.

At first he thinks some untowards magic has been cast on you, but then he sees how in control you are even when you're letting loose.

Is flustered and flattered when you make sure he's safe in battle, using your rage to protect his body with yours.

Afterwards when you check he's okay he has to try and hide how much he's blushing as he stammers out an affirmative. Asks you lots of questions about the nature of your rage. Can't stop staring at you when you're in battle...

Wyll

Lets out a little "oh, my!" when you first rage in front of him.

A bit gobsmacked but jumps back into action, quickly helping you fend off whatever enemies have caused your ire.

Is over it remarkably quickly, and takes it in his stride - in camp the two of you discuss court and your respective times in it, laughing at tales of long gone social faux-pas...

And on the battlefield you are a machine cutting down everything in your wake as he uses finesse to dispatch your foes. He thinks you are night and day... but that you are wonderful.

Karlach

Sees you rage for the first time and she lets out a "FUCK YEAH!"

Drops into a rage by your side and the two of you absolutely decimate the battlefield. The gang of mercenaries who came for you never knew what hit them.

After you wipe your brow with an embroidered handkerchief from your pocket and offer her a spare, which she takes and uses (completely destroying it in the process with soot from her engine)

Geeks out with you every day about raging. The two of you discuss battle tecniques and play-wrestle, which more often than not brings down half the camp. She loves it. She thinks you're perfect.

Lae'zel

Never really gave you the time of day before now. She found your elegant manner irritating. Why use honeyed words when you can cut straight to the point?

But then, oh, she sees you rage, and she is enamoured.

That night demands that you tell her why you never said that you could fight like that. You have an argument saying you never felt the need to... it goes on until the two of you calm down and end up sitting well into the night discussing how you grew up as warriors.

She has a respect for you from then on, confident you can look after yourself on the battlefield. More often than not she watches you fight with an appreciative eye.

Shadowheart

Oh, she's thrilled. We know she likes barbarians anyway (see her thirsty dialogue about Karlach) so when you rage in front of her?

She just stares for a bit. It's all she's able to do.

When that staring leaves her vulnerable to attack and you come and defend her, oh, she's gone. She has such a crush on you. If she had one before, it's doubled.

You're always the first one she comes to check on after battle. She likes to lay her hands on your bicep as she's healing you, perhaps feeling the muscle a bit more than is necessary. Her cheeks are always bright pink.

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hellodarling1357 · 4 months

Text

Battle Wounds (Cassian x Reader)

I didn’t realise how busy Christmas would be but I’m finally back on track with finishing/starting some of my WIPs and requests.

This is just a reader-insert / little rewrite of chapters 56 - 61 of ACOWAR

Enjoy 🥰

Word Count: 3,600

Standing along the edge of the field of tents, you watched alongside Feyre, Mor, and Nesta as the battle raged across the floor of the valley below.

Your eyes were keenly fixed on the armoured figure of your mate, breath quickening with each clash of a sword and shout of pain as Cassian led and held the lines of soldiers fighting against Hybern’s forces.

As much as you hated him being in the thick of it, you couldn’t deny the fact that he was damn good at what he did. It was like a dance, the way he moved with and against both your own and the enemy soldiers, never faltering as he somehow managed to keep an eye on every stage of the battle.

You cursed under your breath at Keir’s lack of control over his own soldiers, forcing Cassian’s attention away from what was going on around him as he roared above the sounds of battle for Keir to fix the lines.

You could sense Mor’s growing frustration as she shifted from foot to foot from where she stood on the other side of Feyre. That feeling of helplessness and being ordered to stay up here, to protect Feyre and her sisters, while she could be raging a battle of her own below ran through her.

The sound of Mor’s groan as Keir’s forces caved in response to Hybern cavalry surrounding them was a distant sound as you watched on in horror as Cassian leapt into the air and flew straight into the middle of the onslaught. The stream of arrows and spears just barely missing him as his Siphons dimmed. You furiously tugged on the bond, begging him to get out, but you knew it was no good as he unleashed himself on Hybern, further ignoring Rhys’ roared orders to fall back.

You barely registered Feyre squeezing your hand, breath stuck in your chest, as you watched Azriel lunge into the fray, desperately fighting his way towards Cassian who was completely surrounded. The red flare of your mate’s Siphons only allowing him a moment of reprieve as he panted in the midst of a circle of dead soldiers before more moved forward to take their place.

Too fixated on the battle and Cassian’s sputtering Siphons, you were oblivious to Feyre pulling Mor aside. But you quickly caught sight of your friend’s stream of golden hair appearing beside Azriel as they edged closer and closer to Cassian who was beginning to slow in his assault against a Hybern captain.

You whipped around, tearing your eyes away from your mate for the first time since the battle started. Nesta was still standing feet away from you, eyes frantically moving across the battlefield as if she didn’t know where to look.

But Feyre…

Turning on the spot you scanned the space around you but found no trace of your friend.

You raced towards the sea of tents, senses heightened as you tried to track her down; Rhys would be furious enough at Mor for abandoning her post in favour of the fight, let alone when he realised you had been too distracted by your own mate to notice that Feyre had also left your spot overlooking the valley.

Heartbeat quickening, you frantically searched tent after tent, but there, exiting the one Elain resided in…

You winnowed towards her, grabbing hold of Feyre’s arm, not realising it was the exact moment she also decided to winnow, taking you alongside her as she headed towards the Middle.

*****

“Feyre, what are you doing?”

Still breathless from the unexpected journey, you furiously stared at her before taking in your surroundings, quickly zeroing in on your mating bond to make sure nothing had happened to Cassian in the minutes you had been gone.

“Y/N,” she seemed just as shocked. “I… I have a plan, I think it will help but you need to go.”

A disbelieving laugh left your throat but your words were quickly swallowed down as an ancient, rasping voice filled the clearing.

“Have you come to kill me, or to beg for my help once again, Feyre Archeron?”

Shooting you an apologetic grimace, Feyre turned towards the Suriel.

***

Alert and on guard, you stood in silence as Feyre spoke with the Suriel. Your mind raced as you tried to be present and focus on what was occurring in front of you, but you couldn’t stop yourself from fixating on the bond and the adrenaline, laced with fatigue, that raced through it.

“…Tell the silver-eyed messenger that the answer lies on the second and penultimate pages of the Book. Together they hold the key.”

You tuned back in with a blink, aware you had missed the conversation but still daring to ask, “The key to what?”

The Suriel studied you closely, causing a chill to run down your back, before replying, “The answer to what you need to stop Hy—”

But the sudden spray of black blood that covered both you and Feyre as the arrow made impact with the Suriel’s chest had you pulling out the Illyrian sword Cassian had given you as you scanned the darkness of the trees for the assailant.

More arrows shot through the trees, causing the Suriel to stumble and scream, and then a lilting female voice crooned, “Why does it talk to you, Feyre, when it would not even deign to speak with me?”

Ianthe.

It had been centuries since you had last seen the High Priestess, but the sight of her still had your blood boiling. The encounter you stumbled across involving her and Cassian, so soon after you had been mated, had not ended well for the blonde haired fae. The fact that she had tried similar tactics on Rhysand and Azriel, only furthering the anger coursing through you.

“Y/N, what a pleasant surprise. How is that gorgeous mate of yours?” But her attention was already focused back on Feyre, prattling on and on about Hybern and Tamlin and how she had captured the Suriel with a sickly satisfied smirk.

“I should have slit your throat that night in the tent.” Was all Feyre deigned to give as a response.

An arrow shot through from one of Hybern’s soldiers which you quickly deflected, edging closer with your blade angled, ready to pounce.

Ianthe’s face tightened as she glowered at Feyre. “You’ll find you want to reconsider how you speak to me. I’ll be your best advocate in Hybern.”

“I suppose you’ll have to catch me first,” And with that, Feyre was hurtling into the woods, Ianthe close on her trail.

You took the momentary distraction as a chance to engage both guards.

They smirked at you, edging closer as though tracking their prey. To your delight, it seemed they had no idea who you were. Had no idea that you had trained alongside Illyrian warriors for centuries, that your mate, the General of the Night Court, had overseen your training to an almost gruelling manner until he was satisfied that you could hold your own.

So you smirked right back as you leapt towards them, blade raised and ready.

The fight didn’t last long.

*****

After ensuring the two Hybern soldiers were well and truly dead, you raced after Feyre but the trail blurred and darkened the further in you got, causing your sense of panic to rise as you let out a frustrated yell.

The silence of the woods was abruptly broken by the sound of an unending scream. Without a second thought you raced towards it, hoping that it wasn’t Feyre and that you hadn’t been too late.

But there she was, flying through the trees towards you as she grabbed you by the arm and pulled you back, racing towards the clearing.

“Feyre…,” You gasped as you caught your breath. “What was that?”

“I figured I owed the Weaver an apology and decided that acquainting her with Ianthe would suffice.”

You were both stunned and impressed by your friend’s quick thinking but Feyre was already heading towards where the Suriel lay, kneeling down beside it and grasping its bony hand in her own.

Staying a respectful distance away, you watched on in silence, tears filling your eyes as you watched the Suriel’s chest stop moving, Feyre weeping over it. Stepping closer, you put a comforting hand on her shoulder.

“Feyre…” You started, stopping as your senses heightened in on another presence.

You raised your blade and cautiously turned, letting out a sigh of relief when you found Helion hurriedly striding towards you.

“Come. It is not safe. I’m here to bring you back, both of you.” A panicked look in your direction had your brows furrowing but you pushed it aside as you helped him pull Feyre to her feet, watching on as Helion’s flame burned the cloak-covered Suriel to a pile of ash before taking his hand and allowing the warm light to whisk you away, straight into Rhys’ war-tent.

*****

You knew something was wrong the moment you took in Rhys’ pale features, splattered with blood that was not his own. He pulled Feyre into a crushing embrace before fixing you with a heavy look that told you enough.

“No…” You felt yourself begin to hyperventilate. “Rhys, is he…? Where is he?”

The encounter with Ianthe had distracted you enough that you failed to miss the disturbance that flowed down the bond. But Cassian couldn’t be dead, you would know if he was dead.

Your body started to shake as you stared back at Rhys, seeing nothing.

Then you were moving. Racing out of the tent, following the faint trace of your mate that the bond provided.

A sob escaped you as you shoved through the tent’s entrance. Mor and Azriel, standing in front of the cot, blocked your view of who lay atop it.

“Y/N—“ Mor’s tearful voice was a distant echo as she reached for you, but you pushed past, falling to your knees beside the cot as you took in the sight of Cassian, covered in both mud and blood, unconsciousness not allowing any escape of pain as his face contorted under the healer’s glowing hands, breathing laboured and weak.

There was no chance of stopping the vomit that violently urged up your throat once you noticed the too-deep slice curving up Cassian’s navel to the bottom of his sternum. All you could see was Cassian, pale and bloody, not giving you space to even be aware of your sobs and the violent shaking that coursed through your body.

The healer kept working, someone knelt beside you, pulling you into their arms, you didn’t know who, didn’t know how much time had passed as you sobbed, and shook, and stared at the male in front of you who meant everything to you, who you couldn’t imagine life without, who now seemed as though he were mere moments from death.

The gaping slice across Cassian’s middle grew smaller and smaller, the blood easing to a slight trickle. Still, you refused to look away, even as the commotion of Rhys and Feyre rejoining you slightly pulled you away from your racing thoughts.

“Is he—is he going to—“ Feyre’s unfinished question loomed, forcing you to momentarily drag you bloodshot eyes away from your mate’s body to the healer who had been tirelessly working on him.

“No. He’ll be sore for a few days, though.”

You started to cry again, not sure if you had truely stopped in the first place. This time it was Azriel who knelt beside you, placing a comforting hand on your shoulder as Feyre, again, asked, “How?”

“He wouldn’t wait for us,” Mor said flatly. “He kept charging—trying to re-form the line. One of their commanders engaged him. He wouldn’t turn away. By the time Az got there, he was down.”

Azriel’s face was stone-cold, even as his hazel eyes fixed unrelentingly upon the slowly healing wound.

Blood rushed to your head, blocking out Mor’s questioning of where Feyre had gone, and why you had needed to chase after her.

The sudden fluttering of Cassian’s eyes had you loosening a breath as you hurled even closer to his side, carefully grasping his calloused and scarred hand, watching unblinkingly as he finally opened his eyes and let out a groan of pain.

“That’s what you get,” the healer chided, gathering her supplies, “for stepping in front of a sword.”

She frowned at him. “Make sure he rests tonight and tomorrow.” A brief nod in your direction, “I know better than to insist on a third day after that, but try not to leap in front of a blade anytime soon.”

Cassian just blinked rather dazedly at her before slowing turning his head to face you.

“How bad?” he asked, his voice hoarse.

“How bad was your injury,” Rhys said mildly, “or how badly did we have our asses kicked?”

Cassian blinked again. Slowly. Turning his gaze away from you and towards his friend. As if whatever sedative he’d been given still held sway.

“To answer the second question,” Rhys went on, Mor and Azriel backing away a step or two as something sharpened in his voice, “we managed. Keir took some heavy hits, but … we won. Barely. To answer the first …” Rhys bared his teeth. “Don’t you ever pull that kind of shit again.”

The glaze wore off of Cassian’s eyes as he heard the challenge, the anger, and tried to sit up, hand tightly squeezing yours at the pain he felt. He hissed, scowling down at the red, angry slice on his chest.

“Your guts were hanging out, you stupid prick,” Rhys snapped. “Az held them in for you.”

You did a double take at that, flinching once you finally noted the blood - Cassian’s blood- caking Azriel’s hands.

“I’m a soldier,” Cassian said flatly. “It’s part of the job.”

“I gave you an order to wait,” Rhys growled. “You ignored it.”

You felt your breath quicken again, heart skipping a beat at the fight playing out in front of you, your own anger at his recklessness beginning to appear now that you knew for certain that Cassian was going to be okay

“The line was breaking,” Cassian retorted. “Your order was bullshit.”

Rhys braced his hands on either side of Cassian’s legs and snarled in his face, “I am your High Lord. You don’t get to disregard orders you don’t like.”

Cassian sat up this time, swearing at the pain lingering in his body, your arm quickly wrapping around him to offer some support. “Don’t you pull rank because you’re pissed off—”

“You and your damned theatrics on the battlefield nearly got you killed.” And even as Rhys spat the words—that was panic in his eyes. His voice. “I’m not pissed. I’m furious.”

“So you’re allowed to be mad about our choices to protect you—and we’re not allowed to be furious with you for your self-sacrificing bullshit?”

Rhys just stared at him.

Cassian stared right back.

“You could have died,” was all Rhys said, his voice raw.

“So could you.”

Another beat of silence—and in its wake, the anger shifted.

Rhys said quietly, “Even after Hybern… I can’t stomach it.”

And the way Rhys spoke, the way Cassian leaned forward, wincing again, as he let go of your hand and gripped Rhys’s shoulder…

The others quickly left, you hesitated, torn between letting them talk and remaining by your mate’s side.

Rhys’ voice broke through, deciding the matter for you, “Stay, you being here will help.”

You silently remained by Cassian’s side as they spoke, brother to brother. Still in shock by the state you had found your mate in, the previous conversation was only just catching up to you. And with the realisation of what Cassian’s excuse was, as well as his apparent lack of care for his own safety, you were overcome with white hot anger and finally snapped.

“Are you fucking kidding me?”

Both males abruptly looked at you, silenced by your first words since seeing Cassian bleeding out on the medi-cot.

“Y/N—“

“No. Are you fucking kidding? I’m a soldier. It’s part of the job,” You mocked. “Well what about your job outside of this war. As a friend, a brother, a mate? Did you ever once think about anyone else, about me, when you decided to jump at the first chance of playing hero?”

Rhys remained silent during your outburst, wishing he didn’t have to witness the fight that was about to break.

Stiffly turning to face you, Cassian observed you as you took in a few deep breaths, eyes still wide from panic and fear.

“Y/N,” he said slowly, grasping your hand in his. “I’m General of the Night Court, I can’t just sit back and do nothing while our soldiers take the fall—“

But you were shaking your head at him, vision blurring through a sea of tears.

“I know, trust me, I know, Cassian,” You let out a humourless laugh. “But you promised. You promised you would stay here, with me. Cauldron, we even spoke about properly trying for a child after all this was over. And then two seconds later you’re throwing yourself into the middle of it and almost dying in the process.”

Rhys silently left the tent, any words he had saved up to say to his brother as a way of reprimanding would hold zero weight compared to what you had to offer.

Despite himself, Rhys couldn’t help but smile fondly at the idea of the two of you having a child. He knew your plans had been put on hold after everything that happened whilst he was trapped Under the Mountain; and knowing this now, he swore to himself to subtly relieve Cassian of some of his more demanding and dangerous duties. It was the least he could if it meant the happiness of two of his closest friends.

Ignoring the pain that ricocheted through him at the slightest of movements, Cassian turned to properly face you as he guided you to sit beside him on the cot.

“Sweetheart, all I could think about was you,” he gently cupped your face, wiping the tears away. “You heard Rhys, we were so close to losing everything today, and if that had happened…” he took in a deep breath to collect himself. “If we had lost, and I hadn’t done everything in my power to prevent it, I couldn’t live with myself knowing that whatever happened afterwards, what could have happened to you, if Hybern won… It would’ve been my fault.”

He pressed a kiss to your forehead, gently caressing his thumb over your cheek.

“You almost died, Cass.” Your voice was barely a whisper as you grasped his hand.

“I’m not going to apologise for trying to protect you. If me getting hurt meant any of us getting a shot at a future after this, then it was worth it.”

“A future without you in it isn’t worth it to me.”

“Y/N—“

“No, Cassian, please. I thought I had lost you. How would you feel if it was me where you are right now?”

Cassian let out a sigh, unable to fathom how much seeing you split down the middle would tear him apart.

Gritting his teeth in pain, he moved over to make more room on the cot before pulling you into his side. You snuggled closer into him, cautious of not jostling him too much as you eyed his injury.

The pair of you lay side by side in silence, Cassian’s breathing eventually evening out and growing heavier as he drifted off to the feel of your fingers running through his hair.

Still feeling on edge and needing to do something, you detached yourself from his arms, careful not to wake him. Scanning the tent, your eyes landed on a few clean cloths and a bowl of water that the healer had left behind.

With a sigh, you started to carefully wipe the blood away from Cassian’s body, the bowl of clean water fast becoming a murky red mess.

Cassian stirred once you reached his wound, your fingers gently dabbing away the caked blood, leaving the newly healed split across his middle as the only evidence that he had been injured in the first place.

You felt his eyes on you as you finished cleaning him up, letting out a sign before finally lifting your eyes to meet his.

“I’m still so mad at you.”

“I know you are.” The slight tug on the bond you shared left you with a weary smile as you placed the dirty cloths in a heap beside the bed before lying down beside him again.

You laced your hand with his as he murmured, “I think I know a few ways I can make it up to you.”

You rolled your eyes, a light laugh escaping your lips.

“Yeah I can think of a few ways too, starting with you not acting like a baby for the next week and actually staying in bed.”

“The healer only said two days.”

“Yeah, well, I’m saying seven.” The look you fixed him with told him there would be no changing your mind.

He let out a huff of a laugh as he brought your hand up to his lips, placing a soft kiss to it before holding it against his chest.

“Fine. But only if you’re staying in bed with me.”

The shit eating grin that lit up his face had you shaking your head, your only response was a flick to his nose followed by an overwhelming surge of love that flowed down the bond.

#cassian x reader #cassian acotar #cassian x y/n #cassian x you #cassian imagine #acotar #acofas #acomaf #acosf #acowar #marley writes

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vampyrsm · 4 months

Text

‣‣ COR UNUM: CHAPTER EIGHTEEN | KŌJIN

‣‣ Synopsis: Our tale continues with a King reunited with his Queen, a touching reunion that is painted red with the blood of their enemies. The Queen gives her first decree, and she wishes for the heads of those who had wronged her.

‣‣ Main Masterlist | AO3 ‣‣ Pairing: Sukuna x Reader ‣‣ Word Count: est. 10k ‣‣ Warnings: Blank blogs & Minors DNI. Dead Dove: Do Not Eat. Set in the Early-Heian Period, trueform!Sukuna, female reader, cannibalism, death, cursed spirits, fighting scenes, heavy blood and gore, cursed energy usage, starts with Sukuna's POV, vomit, rape mentions.

“There you are.”

Instantaneous relief. A clicking of two puzzle pieces coming together, a deep breath after being submerged in icy water. Sukuna had never known what relief truly was, not until you had been swept away in the middle of the night. He feels that part of his soul blossom when you press back into his chest in recognition of his voice.

Sukuna doesn’t want to linger too much on the state you’re in. He scented your blood before he felt the amount of cursed energy you were putting out. With the arm wrapped around your waist, he can feel the pulse of foreign cursed energy there. You’d been marked by something that would cause even Sukuna to crumble to his knees in pain… and yet here you were, standing and fighting.

The men who had surrounded you were nothing but mangled flesh and bone on the floor, the sheer pressure of his cursed energy enough to crush them. And so, Sukuna takes a second to glance around the courtyard—if you could still call it that. You had done all of this, he could see the deep lines thrown into the buildings that had managed to survive, the ground had been destroyed before he had gotten here.

He only feels a flicker of pride before he realises you still haven’t moved in his arms, he manoeuvres you easily enough with his extra arms until you’re facing him. It takes every ounce of his self-control to not roar in anger at what they did to you. The scratch marks along your face had torn deep enough into your flesh that he could see a few of your teeth through the gap in your cheek.

Your eyes are red, not like his own but rather filled with blood. You’re covered in grime, dirt and other fluids that he’s certain only belong to cursed spirits. Just what happened to you here? He doesn’t hesitate in brushing a hand along your cheek, the whitish glow that follows his fingers heals the wounds there.

Sukuna watches as your eyes flutter to a close when that same healing hand strokes over your eyes, the damage there is more than he realised. You were partially blinded—and so, Sukuna holds his hand over your eyes for a moment longer. He can feel his own eyes sting, a prickling sensation that forms at the back of his head and burrows into the backs of his eyes.

His own vision blurs, a near-transparent film covering them and he wonders how you had managed to kill so many even when you were unable to see clearly. He blinks, and his eyes are restored. As are your own. He meets your gaze then, and he can see the hurt there.

But then your face shifts, and it’s almost as if you grew sickly green at the sudden feeling that overtook you. He doesn’t fight back when you push him away, and he can only watch as you wretch and heave. Vomit wasn’t something Sukuna was particularly bothered by, he wasn’t overly fond of it either. The smell, it reminded him of the men he slaughtered on the battlefield who would throw up their breakfasts out of fear.

His eyes dart to the floor at the sound of a… wet thud. And his eyebrows raise.

“Tasted awful.” Your voice is hoarse, and Sukuna snickers.

“Men do usually taste the worst. It’s why you go for the women.” Sukuna replies as if he were talking about a choice between two articles of clothing. You glance up at him and he sees a glimmer in your eye, a spark of the woman who he had held in his arms so many nights ago.

“Noted.” Sukuna watches as you turn to glance around the courtyard, perhaps seeing it for the first time after it had died down.

“Uraume is waiting for us.”

“I’m not finished here.” You reply and Sukuna can’t help but smirk at that.

“No? You wiped out a good portion of the Zen’in clan, and you’re drained from just that.” He doesn’t mean it to come off as rude, Sukuna had always been one to state the truth. Especially with you.

“That’s why you’ll help me.” You turn to face him and Sukuna for the first time takes a good look at you.

Something was different. Something had occurred and changed a part of you forever, you hold yourself with a sense of regality. You may be drenched in blood and viscera, and you don’t seem to even notice the fact there’s a strip of human flesh hanging over your shoulder. Or perhaps you do, the finger you had rejected from your stomach seems to tell him enough.

You were just like him.

You take his moment of quiet observation to continue, “The Shogun and Sugawara are both still here, and I want them dead.”

A Queen who has made her first decree. And that makes Sukuna’s smirk grow into a knowing grin. He grabs at you, a firm yet gentle touch that has you close enough that he can smell the lingering scent of death that clings to your kimono—one he did not gift you, and that nearly has his claws sinking into your arms. He’d get his answers to what happened to you, soon. But not now… first…

One of his spare hands slides along your body until it rests against your chest, large fingers splayed out flat against your heart. “Don’t stray from my side, and you’ll be capable of fighting as if you weren’t near-catatonic from fighting.” His fingers hook under your chin, tilting your head back until you stare him in the eye. “Understood?”

You nod, and his hand presses harder against your chest. It’s so reminiscent of when he had first bestowed that vow on you, it feels like a century ago. He wished you knew just what he went through to track you down. He didn’t sleep anymore, he burned down villages that simply got in his way and he can’t recall just how many people he killed; ‘innocent’ or otherwise.

His own cursed energy greets yours like an old friend, they blend and bond within the swell of your chest and replace what had been stripped away. There’s no physical or mental toll on Sukuna to heal you, to lend you his own strength to ensure you don’t die from exhaustion.

He feels that part of him within you, that darkness that has consumed a vital part of your body and soul. It welcomes him in, curls around the energy he forces through your body and pulls him in deeper. He feels the scars left on you, the mental ones, he can feel the anguish you went through and also the rage.

Again, Sukuna knows he’ll get his answers in due time. So he ignores it, pushes past it and lets his energy sink into the vast emptiness of your body. You had to use something big and taxing to cause this amount of drainage—

“You had to use your domain?” Sukuna questions with an eyebrow raised, he knew you were aware that creating a domain was essentially the final card someone had to draw to ensure they won a battle—and to only use it when you were on the brink of dying. That, of course, didn’t apply to someone like Sukuna. He had years of expertise and a greater understanding of cursed energy as a whole.

You’re silent for a beat, and you glance at him with a look in your eye that almost makes him pause. “I had no other choice.” You offer instead, but Sukuna can see that slight gleam in your eye. You’re not telling him the whole truth as to why. In the past, he may have pushed you for an answer but tonight was not the night.

A buzz thrills itself down Sukuna’s spine, snapping his mouth closed to stop the words that were about to spill from his lips. His body grows rigid in front of you, and he doesn’t move an inch at the sound of a rushing of footsteps that flood from the ruins of the surrounding buildings.

Before you can react, he wraps two strong arms around you to secure you to the front of his body before he launches himself up into the air. The ground beneath him cracks further from the force he had thrown himself up out of the way, the wind whistles past his ears and he knows you’re watching the ground disappear further and further away.

The ground down below explodes in a flash of red, the cursed energy that billows outwards from the impact is enough to throw both Sukuna and you in his arms a few feet further into the sky before the inevitable plummet comes. His back scrapes against bare tree branches, and yet he curls his two free arms around you further until you are completely shielded from the onslaught.

His feet find the ground easily enough, and Sukuna is forced to dig his heels into the ground to stop his body from tumbling over with you in tow. You haven’t moved from his arms, still curled so close he can feel the warmth of your breath brushing against the hairs on his arms still tightly wrapped around your body… and he’s never been more thankful for someone's breathing before.

You shift in his arms and he has no choice but to release you, a part deep inside of him snarls at the prospect of letting you go. But he doesn’t stop you from taking a few steps forward through the destruction of the trees and ground from his descent, all he can do is watch as you stare in the direction you’d come from.

“Sugawara will want to kill me first.” You don’t glance over your shoulder as you speak, “He tried once already and failed. He’ll do it himself this time.”

His eyes narrow just slightly, a calculating look landing on the back of your head. Sugawara was a formidable opponent, someone even Sukuna had failed to eradicate for good. His technique had proven difficult to battle against, and Sukuna didn’t have a true firm understanding of Sugawara’s technique either. It wasn’t written in any scrolls or any books anywhere, no one else in existence had ever had such a powerful technique like it.

And yet, it’s you who had apparently gotten to Sugawara enough to set his sights on you instead of Sukuna. That alone stirs the anger deep in his gut, not because he wants to be the one to fight Sugawara but because it’s you. You’re not weak by any means, Sukuna would never stop you from fighting your own battles but Sugawara was ruthless.

“He won’t be alone.” Sukuna settles on instead, his upper arms crossing over his chest whilst his lower set rests against his hips. “The Shogun is here too. Sugawara will fight to protect the Shogun.”

“I know. That’s why we’ll fight them together.”

You finally turn back to him, and almost immediately his heart thunders in his chest. Such an odd feeling, to feel his heart batter against his ribcage beneath the layers of muscle and skin. You were devastating. With blood painted onto your cheeks, on your lips and chin. It reminds him so vividly of the time he ordered you to eat your own husband's heart.

It filled him with heat then, and it does now. Even with that look in your eye that tells him you’ll decimate the Zen’in clan before he can, Sukuna thinks he might just let you.

“Look who found her worth. Being a Queen is becoming of you.” He grins his words, one hand coming up to the side of his neck to crack the tension there before he rolls his muscles loose.

His eyes linger on your lips when they crack in a small grin of your own, the blood on your face breaks along with it. Your eyes still hold a vacant glassiness to them, a dark void of something he cannot quite put a finger on. Your lips part but then you stop, turning your head at the same time he does.

There’s a crush of broken branches and mud beneath feet, a rushing of multiple Samurai all heading directly for both you and himself. He can practically taste the blood in the air, and his stomach growls in joy at the prospect of eating something fresh. His stance shifts, a foot sliding back through the destroyed earth. The muscles in his legs tense— “Keep up.”

You watch Sukuna’s lips flatten after the grin he tossed your way, his words were to be taken literally. His body vanishes before your very eyes, but not with the use of your cursed technique or even his own energy. Sukuna was fast. A predator, a man designed to be the fastest hunter in the dark to ensure no one ever escaped.

He throws himself forward, the people who pour out from the darkness of the trees find themselves unable to react with Sukuna suddenly appearing in their faces. It’s like a tidal wave of blood, a wash of red speckles that splatter against the trees and douse the leaves in crimson. He doesn’t stop either, simply running through people as if they were nothing.

Your chest burns at the distance he puts between yourself and him. He told you to stay close and you’d feel as though you hadn’t nearly exhausted yourself to the brink of death. A binding vow of sorts, not quite as pungent as the one binding your souls together. But more of just a loan of his energy until you return home.

Home. You’d be going home.

That has your energy shooting through your body, a burst—and you’re gone. You throw your body forward much quicker than you had ever before, the bodies you pass by remain frozen in time until they fall to the ground; slashed and broken. Your blade runs through them as if they were made of wet paper. Your eyes are locked onto Sukuna’s back, so far ahead of you that he’s growing distant with each step.

You’re so focused on Sukuna that you miss the sudden approach of a man from your flank. His blade slams into your side, and it’s with enough force that you tumble out of the streamlined trajectory you had thrown yourself into. The ground comes crashing into you, dirt and leaves sticking to the fresh blood that drips from your hands and coats your face.

The blade in your hand skitters across the floor, out of your range to quickly grab it. You twist your body around, ignoring the sharp pain that blooms across your ribcage. Grasping at the loose dirt beneath you, you raise yourself off of the ground just enough to turn your attention to whoever had hit you.

“Hello, little warrior.”

Kiso. He was still alive.

“Kiso.” You hiss his name, and Kiso frowns. The wrinkles on his face deepen with the years that had passed by since you were taught by him how to wield a weapon. He should be dead, he should’ve died protecting your father—and yet here he is, serving the new Shogun.

“It should have never come to this. Your father—”

“Is dead!” You yell, pushing yourself up from the floor but not without grabbing your katana. “And you should be dead with him.”

“I tried to stop him. I told him it was wrong to kill his own daughter, his only child.” Kiso pleads, yet you don’t miss the shift of his hand to rest against the hilt of his own sword. “I saw you as my own, and when he said he was going to go through with it. I left. I abandoned my honour, my name, and he died. Because I wasn’t there to protect him.”

You don’t want to tell him that he would’ve died regardless. Sukuna was merciless as much as he was strong. Neither of them would’ve survived.

“And I see you too have abandoned your honour.” He continues, eyes drifting away from your hand on the blade and across the blood that drips from your face. “I thought I trained you to fight something like this.”

“‘Something like this?’” You grit your teeth when you repeat his words back, and then it dawns on you. He was the right-hand of the Shogun, your father, and you don’t doubt your father would’ve told Kiso what the Emperor had said. “You knew from the very start, didn’t you?”

“Yes.” Kiso drops his eyes for a second. “I trained you in hopes that you’d be strong enough to make the right choice when the time came and to stop that demon—”

“Choose your next words carefully.” Your fingers tighten around the hilt of your blade, and your chest tightens further at the distance between yourself and Sukuna. Your energy was waning with each passing second.

“—That demon bastard before he ruined you.” Kiso meets your eyes, a silent understanding that he has come to accept the fact he would fight you. Be it to the death, or worse. “Yet I sense that your cursed energy is not your own. I failed you.”

“You’re wrong.” You shift your stance, one foot just behind the other with your elbows drawn inwards. Your sword pointed directly at Kiso. “Both you and my father claimed I’m cursed, I am anything but.”

Kiso’s eyebrows draw together in confusion. “...Your father? When did you speak with him? I thought you weren’t in contact with him before he died.”

He didn’t know. He didn’t know your father was cursed and locked in the very estate he was presumably staying in to serve your uncle. Your throat tightens at the realisation, Kiso wasn’t the enemy here. He had no idea and he still came out to find you, perhaps in hopes to deter you from the obvious path you had carved for yourself.

That child he trained so many years ago within you screams when you bolster your cursed energy. No, Kiso wasn’t the enemy here. You were.

His hands are aged and wrinkled as they wrap around the hilt of his blade, drawing it from its sheath and holding it before him in a similar stance to your own. It’s you who moves first, slow and steady steps through the upturned dirt slowly turning into mud beneath your feet. You make sure to dig your toes in, to ensure you had a solid foothold before—

Kiso strikes when you’re in range. His sword clangs off of your own, enough to force your sword to the side and it’s as if age is nothing to him. He moves just as he did in his younger years training you, with violent grace. A sequence of precise strikes has you defending against his blade, enough to have you taking steps backwards to give yourself a moment to breathe—and to work out the best way to take him down.

He circles you, as you do him. His sword still pointed in your direction, and eyes that were dull with guilt are now sharpened with years of an experienced samurai. He moves first again, the same manoeuvre to force your blade and body to the side. Kiso swings his blade down this time, in hopes of burying it in the meat of your shoulder.

You’re forced to side-step out of the way and consequently out of your stance, and Kiso monopolises on it. His sword rears back and comes back down in a fluid motion to collide with your neck, you’re forced to put yourself in an uncomfortable stance. Your katana collides with his own, and he forces all of his weight down onto it in hopes of overpowering you.

Instead, it only brings you face-to-face with him. Your joined swords are a thin barrier between you and the man who pants from just a few movements. He had grown weak in his old age, slower. He knew he had only a handful of movements left before he inevitably died—you just had to beat him to it.

“I thought I would never cross swords with you again.” He huffs out, sweat beading in his hairline from the effort of holding his sword to yours. Then he pushes against you, forcing you to take a few steps backwards and your sword to lower with the tip pointed to the ground. “How I missed it.”

“I didn’t.” It sounds like a lie on your tongue but instead, it’s the bitter truth. You didn’t miss training with Kiso, you didn’t miss living with your father and you didn’t miss the person you were before you were taken by Sukuna. That woman—that girl, she was nothing compared to who you are now.

Kiso flares his nostrils, a look of disappointment flitting over his face that only a father could muster. And he rushes towards you, clumsy in his foot placement. You dig your foot into the ground and kick it out towards him, mud flies upwards and into his face.

Immediately he reels backwards, eyes forced to close and he misses when you shift the blade into one hand and drop your body low to avoid the blind swing of his sword. You slice the blade across his shins, and he falls into the dirt below. Kiso swings his blade at you once again on the floor, an undignified yell following it but you bat his sword away—it falls to the ground a few feet away from him.

You stand over him, staring down at the man who had once claimed himself as your father figure and teacher. Your chest heaves, and the burning at your rib cage pinches with each breath. Sukuna must be too far to share his cursed energy with you, the binding vow digs in deep enough to stop you from healing.

“You failed me long before now. You failed me when you let my father sell me to that wretched man.” You raise your sword just slightly, and that alone has your arm shaking with the effort. You had to move, and quickly. “I hope when you see my father in the afterlife, he will tell you of how I killed him too.”

It’s become second nature now, to raise your sword and bring it down with enough force to remove a head from someone's shoulders. Kiso’s head lands with a wet thump into the mud, rolling to rest aside his sword. His body drops too, blood bleeding out into the ground. A stain on the world to mark his failure.

You don’t wait to let the realisation of who you killed sink in, instead you twist on your feet and run in the direction of screaming and laughing. Sukuna’s laughter. With each step, you feel your body grow less lethargic. The wound at your side heals the second you’re close enough to grasp at the cursed energy loaned to you and to tug on it, to wrap it around yourself and disappear from the spot you occupy.

Bursting through the treeline, you find Sukuna in a clearing with what must be over fifty men and countless dead bodies strewn around. He’s doused in red, dripping from the tips of his brushed back hair and the tips of his fingers. A glance at the closest body shows you he hadn’t been using his cursed technique on these men, but rather he was fighting with his body instead.

As if sensing your return, Sukuna snaps his gaze from the men in front of him to lock eyes with you. His lower set of eyes dart across your hand still wrapped around your blade that drips in fresh blood, and at your side where the gash once was. There’s a flash of concern that quickly washes away when he realises the once-wound was nonexistent.

And then he grins. The look in his eye is borderline hysterical, a type of bloodlust that only he could muster and control without losing himself. A heat washes over you from head to toe, the pitter-patter of your heart is more like the rhythmic beating of a war drum with the way he looks at you; like he’s truly hungry and you’re the only thing capable of satiating his endless hunger.

A sharp booming yell and a woosh of metal has your heart seizing in your chest, but Sukuna doesn’t seem to glance in the direction of the man running at him with his sword raised. Instead, he raises to his full height with an easy roll of his shoulders. The man gains ground quickly enough that you wonder if he had used his own cursed energy to propel himself closer, but it means nothing in the end.

Sukuna raises a hand from his side, the entirety of his palm covering the man's face—fingers long enough to nearly encompass his whole head. And then… he squeezes. It’s a crunch and then a loud pop, a sound you’re familiar with now but it was as if Sukuna had put no effort into crushing an entire man's head with just one hand. All whilst staring directly at you with a grin that grows more and more salacious as the seconds pass by.

He tosses aside the man’s body, a dull thump on the ever-growing pile of bodies. Then he’s striding towards you, uncaring for the discarded limbs and piles of viscera he steps through to get to you. Your blood roars in anticipation of his approach, your hand growing sweaty around the hilt of your blade when he levels you with a look that promises your downfall.

With only a few feet between you, he suddenly halts. Something flies between the two of you, it’s small enough that you can’t quite see what it is exactly but the scent hits you full force. Rot and decay, a curse. Not one from the pit, you realise quite quickly. Those spirits had the scent of desperation and dampness that only came from being locked in a dark hole. These ones were fresh, and wrapped around them was the lingering subtle scent of someone’s cursed energy.

You turn your attention to the clearing, as does Sukuna. A man is standing there, his eyes locked onto you—not Sukuna. Curious. You watch him brandish a hand in front of him, and there in his palm is another small-sized curse that curls into the shape needed for him to launch them at you. Oh, you had no idea people could control cursed spirits with their own cursed energy.

Sukuna flexes his fingers at his side, lip turning up into a snarl that displays the canines he’s used to rip and tear people apart.

“Wait.” You raise your hand in Sukuna’s direction, and it must be a surprise to the man wielding curses because his eyebrows raise when Sukuna complies. “I know this one.”

The unnamed man looks horrified at your words, his nostrils flared in an obvious sign to try and regulate his breathing when you take a single step towards him. The curse in his hand writhes, waiting to be used and yet he seems to be frozen in place when you lock your eyes with his.

“They thought I was unconscious for most of the time they beat me, tortured me by ripping strips of my flesh… but I was always awake, listening.” You don’t miss the thunderous growl from Sukuna at your words. “This one visited often. Not to visit me, of course. No—he came to visit Sugawara.”

It’s the truth. This man, whilst you didn’t know his name, had shown his face many times. He was someone who always brought Sugawara his meals, even sat with him whilst they whispered in hush tones. You could never hear what they spoke of, but the general closeness of them was enough for you to latch onto the fact that this was someone dear to Sugawara.

A friend, perhaps, a childhood friend. Someone he had trained with to become a samurai, or there was always the idea that he was a lover. It mattered not though who this man was to Sugawara, instead you sank your teeth into the fact he was important to someone strong.

“Isn’t that right? Sugawara was always happier after you spoke to him. He even stopped my torture early because of the good mood you put him in.”

“No.” The man has the audacity to lie, his voice warbles just slightly and you grin like the wolf who caught the lamb.

“Liar.” Sukuna chuckles to himself at your words, a lazy tilt of his head as he watches you instead of the man who steadies his foothold in the muddy mixture of blood and guts.

The curse that had been dormant in his hand is thrown with a speed that would catch anyone off-guard—anyone who wasn’t you. As it pushes closer, the flood of cursed energy that rolls off of you slows the cursed spirit to a standstill in front of you. It’s a small bluish-green thing, with wings and small hands. A singular eye. It was hideous and you wonder just what its purpose was meant to be.

You pluck it from the air, and time crashes back into play. The man before you glares at the cursed spirit between your two fingers, watching as you appraise it like a bug you caught.

“Ugly. It’s like a fly but with a tiny human body.” You meet the eyes of the man across the clearing, and his face crumples when you burst the fly-headed cursed spirit between your fingers. Was he too weak to throw something stronger at you? A pity. A cursed technique like that could be powerful enough to tip the scales.

The man's breath stutters in his chest when you reappear directly in front of him, your hand still holding the bloodied blade tightening for a second. He’s unable to even grab at his own blade, you slice the sharpened edge of your blade along his right leg from calf to thigh. He stumbles down to one knee in front of you, a caught scream in his throat when you drag the blade upwards.

It bites into his chest, scoring his skin with a blossoming red line that bleeds into the navy of his kimono. In a fluid move, you bring the katana up and over your head. A move that is largely frowned upon by well-trained samurai, their only job is to sever a man's head from his shoulders. The man on his knee before you widens his eyes in horror, no doubt stricken with fear at the grin only Death herself could wear when gifted such a bountiful kill.

His skull cracks beneath the pressure of your blade, a burst of your energy down the length of the blade empowers the blade to bury itself down until you meet the top of his spine at the base of his neck. His eyes are wide with horror, blood spraying up and into your face. You spy his brain, sliced cleanly in half and it should make your stomach lurch uncomfortably. A man’s entire life, sliced in half by the use of your blade—but no disgust sets in.

“Seiwa!” A voice you’ve come to know so well in the days of your capture yells from somewhere to your right.

“You’re late again, Sugawara.” Sukuna snickers, you’re unsure of what he means by ‘again’ – most likely a battle in the past that had occurred between the two. “You failed at saving someone you care for—again.”

You plant your foot flat against the man’s—Seiwa’s chest, pulling on your blade at the same time with a slick sound. His body falls to the ground, lifeless, two halves of his head holding on by a thread. You turn to find Sugawara staring at you, his chest rising and falling with a pungent type of rage that taints the air with his energy.

“No longer hiding beneath the skirts of your Shogun?” Your words ignite a fury within Sugawara almost immediately, his fingers minutely tightening around the hilt of his sheathed blade. He was ready to attack at a moment's notice.

“I should’ve cut off your head the moment I saw you.” Sugawara spits the words, and in return earns a scathing glare from Sukuna who turns to face Sugawara.

“Yes, you should have.”

Sugawara’s upper lip twitches, as if he were to snarl at you. Instead, his hand slips free from his blade, and you only have a split second to recognise the stance he takes. A hand outstretched, feet planted into the ground and the buzz of the air becomes thicker almost instantaneously.

The dark clearing of the forest is bathed in a bright red light, you recognise this technique. It was the one that would’ve killed you when you resided in the first temple Sukuna had brought you to, it destroyed the bedroom you were in before you could register what was happening. And this time, Sugawara wasn’t going to miss.

It zips through the air directly at you, blinding you to Sukuna who sprints directly towards Sugawara the moment he releases his technique. You stare with wide eyes at the red ball hurtling towards you, and all you can think to do is force out every bit of your cursed energy. The ball slows before you, the energy buzzing and snapping just inches from your face.

You move your feet to the side, ready to bend your body out of the way—when suddenly, the red ball of energy vanishes from in front of you.

Time snaps back in place, and you can see Sukuna throwing his fists repeatedly at the invisible barrier that surrounds Sugawara. You can hear the buzz of the energy starting to give to the pressure from Sukuna’s own energy yet Sugawara continues to stare directly at you – his smile is like that of the cat who ate the canary.

Sukuna snaps his head in your direction suddenly, all four eyes honing in on you in a wide-eyed fashion that paints him in a rare shade of worry. Something hot and wet trickles down along your leg, soaking into the muddy and torn material of the kimono you had managed to keep intact enough to cover your modesty.

A glance down confirms that the material is turning into a deeper shade of crimson, the gathering of blood so dark it almost looks completely black. Your muscles twitch—or you think they do, your unarmed hand moves to grasp at the twitching pain in your side. Only to find your hand pressing into destroyed organs, your bones protruding from a perfect circle that had ripped through your body.

You think you hear the sound of Sukuna’s shuddering breath at the state of your body, but it’s impossible to hear anything over the roaring of your blood against your brain. Your fingers press into your partially destroyed intestines, feeling your way up until you can feel the muscles pulsing around the rhythmic beat of your heart.

How strange, to feel the beat of your own heart. It’s wetter than you thought, a thick goo that slips against your fingers when you continue to drag your hand up along your body until you find the mangled edge of where your shoulder once was.

There’s a loud snap and crackle, energy against energy. You look away from the gory mess of your own body to glance forward. Sukuna has his back to you, all muscles tensed and rippling with the effort of his punches. The invisible shield around Sugawara continues to hiss and snap against the effort of trying to bat off his attacks. You can see Sugawara throwing his own punches back, each of them batted off or dodged by Sukuna.

He moves faster than you had ever seen before, was this his natural speed or was he tapping into the portion of his soul that had forged with your own? It’s breathtaking to watch, both of them on a level far beyond your own. Yet Sukuna holds the upper hand, his moves are coated in a deep and shimmering shade of rage. Sugawara injured what was his.

Sukuna shifts slightly, a hand coming to lay flat against the surface of that shield to then explode with an immense concentration of cursed energy.

It’s enough to throw Sugawara backwards into the tree line, his body nothing but a blade that cuts through trees. Except, it takes no time for his body to reappear, instantly landing with both feet firmly on the ground in front of Sukuna with his sword raised. Your blood sings at the realisation as to what blade that is; the one that nullified your cursed energy.

You move before you can think anything of it. A warmth washes itself down from the top of your spine and through your body, curling at the edges of your frayed and destroyed organs. Flesh reforms itself in the blink of an eye and you can see the surprised look on Sugawara’s face when he spares a glance towards the sudden movement to the side of Sukuna.

The blade you had been using was obliterated in the first attack, so you improvise.

You ball your newly remade hand into a tight fist, there’s a surge of energy that blossoms at the surface of your fist before it envelops it entirely. The black and red energy is sharper than usual, like it was made to ensure it hits. Sugawara has no time to react to your speed or the reinforced punch you throw his way. It shatters the shield around him, the energy required to keep it functioning splinters off in all directions.

Your fist collides with his chest, a hard enough punch that the ground shudders beneath you and the mountains in the distance rumble. Sugawara crumbles beneath the pressure, his knees finding a home in the bloodied mud beneath him. His sword dropped next to him, the glowing inscription fading until it was nothing but a simple katana — whoever had gifted him that sword made sure only he could use it.

“H-How?” Sugawara spits the words, blood dripping from his lips and rolling free from his nose.

“You missed.” Sukuna comments from just over your shoulder, and you can feel the warmth of his energy curling itself delicately around you from the briefest of touches. A gentle hand to heal what you may have overlooked in your haste to ensure Sukuna survived. “You should’ve tried harder. It’s a shame. That, in the end, you’re nothing but a flopping fish. Waiting for mercy.”

Sugawara’s breath comes in short wheezes, each one wetter than the last. You take your place before him, staring down at him like he were nothing but a peasant bowing at your altar. His eyes are a brilliant shade of blue even in the moonlight, they swim with a presence only that a God could possess. These eyes were something else, a gift bestowed upon a man who bowed to that of a mortal human. How disappointing. Perhaps in another life, Sugawara would’ve been a great ally.

His skin is cool beneath your touch, no scars mark his skin and no blemishes. A man untouched by the harshness of the world, and yet you hold his face so delicately.

“You had a chance to stop this from happening. You could’ve helped me escape and I would’ve left you alone—” Sukuna grunts at your words, clearly displeased. “Yet you chose to be the lapdog of a man who would’ve killed you simply because he could. Sugawara Michizane, you truly were a disappointment.”

“Then kill me already. Be done with it.”

“No.” You stroke your thumbs over both of his eyebrows. “You did show me small mercies in the face of men who wanted nothing more to rape me. You kept me clothed, you protected my cell at night from men of my own blood.”

Sugawara stares up at you through his lashes, watching when you tilt your head to assess the situation once more. He looks nervous, no doubt because Sukuna is starting to growl deep in his chest at the words that continue to pour from your mouth.

“If only that were enough for me to forgive you entirely.” You smile when Sugawara jolts in your grip, your fingers curling into the side of his head and your thumbs come to rest over his eyes. “These eyes—a weapon that you could not yield. Such a waste.”

You press your thumbs inwards, and Sugawara immediately screams at the pressure. You can feel the cursed energy within his eyes, bulging beneath the crushing of your thumbs into his eyes. “These eyes will be the curse of your family. Until the end of time itself, those who are blessed with these eyes—they will die. Be it by my hand or another.”

Sugawara continues to writhe beneath your hands, your fingers squish further into his eyes until you hear—pop. They burst beneath your fingers, the flood of blood that comes after is enough to form a veil over Sugawara’s face.

“Don’t forget my words. It’s no longer a threat, nor a promise. It’s a vow.” You draw your hands back, fingers painted in the blood of a man fallen. Sugawara covers his eyes, scratching at his skin uselessly as if that would be enough to heal what had been done. But it doesn’t—his eyes, unable to reform and lost until the next generation.

“Now leave.” Sukuna growls, and one of his hands skirts along your back. “Before I change my mind on allowing the mercy that has been given.”

Sugawara scarpers to his feet, uncaring for the blade he left behind before he turns towards the direction he assumes is the correct way. He trips and falls, a tedious effort to watch until he fades into the shadows. A man gone and lost, in exile until the day he dies.

“He may return one day.” Sukuna turns his attention to you, and you glance up at him. “There’s no guarantee that he won’t still kill you.”

“He won’t.” You glance away when Sukuna frowns, instead bending down to pluck the forgotten blade from the ground. The engraved words remain dull. “He knows my word to be true.”

Sukuna pulls the blade free from your hand, and you watch him inspect it a little closer. “A cursed tool I’ve never seen before. Its energy is almost non-existent.”

“It’s the same one he used to nullify my senses, to cut me off from the part of me that’s connected to you. That's why I nearly died.” You brush a finger along the sharp edge, it cuts and yet it does nothing. “It would’ve killed you. Whoever gave him this is something entirely different from Sugawara.”

Sukuna doesn’t dispute your claim about his near-death encounter, his eyes are calculating. Dancing back and forth along the inscriptions as if he could see the very hand that engraved such a potent amount of cursed energy within a blade.

“It belonged to the Emperor.” He flips the katana over in his hand before he points the hilt in your direction, letting you take it from him. “Only he possesses cursed energy like that. It’s enough to wipe someone from existence.”

“Someone that powerful exists?” You ask, glancing up in time to see Sukuna furrow his eyebrows softly.

“You forget yourself, little one.” A finger tucks itself beneath your chin, forcing you to meet his gaze as he lowers into your space. “You’re just as powerful now. Don’t forget that, ever.”

His words warm you from the inside out, to be praised by the man who sat atop a throne made of those lesser than he. You hadn’t realised it at the time, but you yearned for that. That feeling of acceptance, of being the source of someone’s pride—it was something indescribable.

A snap of a twig in the distance has your head turning that way, peering into the darkness… yet nothing is revealed.

“The Shogun is still out there.” You comment, leaning into the warmth of the hand that cups your cheek.

“He’s been hiding in the shadows for some time,” Sukuna confirms, straightening himself up to his full height and dropping his hand from your face. You try not to mourn the loss. “A coward even moments before his death. How he came into a seat of power—”

“You did kill my father, or tried to.” You point out. It’s true—Sukuna is the reason your uncle has the title now.

“Tried?” Sukuna exclaims, eyebrows drawing together when you meet his gaze. “What did they do?”

“Cursed him. I killed him myself, for good this time.” Sukuna’s eyebrows relax the moment he registers your words, nodding his head just slightly as if the puzzle in his mind has finally come to fruition.

“I did find it strange that they didn’t spring to action when I dislodged the heart from your father's chest. They must’ve planned for it.” Sukuna glances away from you, staring into the treeline over your head. “We’ll discuss this later. The Shogun is approaching.”

“He bears the same technique as my father.” You step away from Sukuna, turning to face the direction footsteps grow louder from. You hold the katana in your hand tightly; it still does not buzz to life with that cursed energy belonging to the Emperor.

“A shame. I heard the Zen’ins harnessed the shadows, and yet I’ve never witnessed the greatness of it.” Sukuna cracks his neck with a quick roll, shifting his arms slightly to ease up the muscles. It didn’t look like he was nervous or afraid this fight would be tough—in fact, he looked like he was preparing for a grand feast.

Shadows—you’ve read the same. In fact, in your youth, you remember a young boy with hair of black. He owned two dogs, black and white and they were always by his side. At the time you had no idea they were born of shadow, but admittedly you did find it odd when they’d appear out of nowhere. They were only small and no larger than pups — if only you knew the power that boy possessed.

The clearing around you grows silent, a tension that forms just moments before the inevitable break. You can feel eyes watching you, grazing across your exposed flesh for any weaknesses… but they don’t strike. Sukuna seems to notice it too, as he runs a blood-soaked hand through his hair with a broadening grin on his face.

“They’re hesitating. I can smell their fear, what did you do to them?”

“Nothing they didn’t deserve.”

Sukuna laughs, dropping the hand from his hair to hold it just before him. Two fingers raised, and his thumb tucked close. “That Samurai spirit in you still lives I see. You give them too much mercy, they deserve to die like the dogs they are.”

Two things happen almost instantaneously; birth and death. The birth of a cursed technique that only Sukuna could muster, and the death of those surrounding you.

You can feel the sudden burst in Sukuna’s cursed energy, as if he had put a dampener on it for the sake of being close to you. It floods the area, and it’s potent enough that you can feel your knees threatening to buckle—to bow to the man and give him the respect he so clearly deserves.

The treeline before him becomes nothing but splintered bark and torn leaves, the blood that sprays from the bodies eviscerated by the long-range dismantle is like rain. It warms your skin, slinks its way into your pores and burrows itself as if the blood had found its new home. Sukuna only smiled further, all his teeth on show — he was enjoying himself.

There’s a clear path directly before you both. A deep slash through trees and the ground alike, a direct cut towards your target. The Shogun stands at the other end of it, just a dot of a figure in the distance with firelight outlining his body. You recognise his armour, a grand Kabuto helmet and layers upon layers of beautifully woven iron and tatami—it wasn’t his.

It belonged to your father, and his father before him. It was a family heirloom in the hands of a man who had overseen the torture of his niece and cursed his own brother.

“He dies tonight.”

“Then we’ll feast on his flesh and pick our teeth with his bones.” Sukuna lowers his stance just slightly, all four arms splaying out—and then he disappears in an instant.

A familiar pulse tightens behind your eyes, and you watch in fascination as Sukuna moves, unlike anything you’ve seen before. He’s fast, faster than anything you’ve ever seen. He moves as if the world was designed for him to conquer, like a predator who knows he’s at the top of the food chain.

It’s enough to cause you to spring into action. You follow his trajectory, chasing him through the mud and viscera, it squelches beneath your bare feet and sticks to your already filthy skin — but it’s not enough to stop you from pushing yourself forward with every drop of cursed energy you can use.

Naturally, it’s Sukuna who reaches the opening filled with the most elite members of the Shogunate, minus Sugawara. There’s an obvious space next to the Shogun where he should stand, and immediately Sukuna notices it. He strikes his way through the men in front of him, tearing them asunder with just his bare hands and teeth. He grins in delight when said men scream in agony when his claws sink into armour that was designed to prevent their deaths.

But nothing in this world could stop the natural disaster that is Sukuna Ryomen.

You follow after him, the katana in your hand comes second to the slicing with your own hand. You enjoy the warmth of fresh blood seeping into your skin, how it curls around your fingers and dries beneath your nails. Their screams are muted against the whooshing and roaring of your own blood, how that darkness within you sings in delight at each life you take with the bareness of your own hand.

It even purrs when you use a sword that isn’t your own. It may not come back to life with the cursed energy imbued by the Emperor himself but it doesn’t need to. Your own energy wraps around it like an old friend, it slices through more than just the fabric of their clothing and the fat of their flesh. It’s as if it cuts at the very surface of the world itself; nothing can stop you.

You lose sight of both Sukuna and the Shogun amid the dance with your blade. The blood sullies your vision, it drowns out the fact you’re outnumbered ten to one — the numbers mean nothing to you when each pulse of energy that rushes through you is like that of a caress from Sukuna himself. He purrs at the back of your mind, grinning in delight at the small Angel of Death he had curated with his very own hand.

It isn’t until you realise you’ve massacred your way through a lengthy portion of the awaiting army that you’ve also made your way closer to Sukuna. He’s made his way through a much larger portion of the wall between himself and the Shogun, bodies are torn and ripped apart around him. One hand is wrapped tightly around what must be someone’s leg, a large chunk of it missing as his stomach chews thoroughly.

He notices you approaching, his lone eyebrow raising in amusement at the state of your being. You can feel blood in places it shouldn’t be, your hair is matted and flat to your head as if you’d dunked yourself in it. It soaks and settles in that dark deep place of yourself; the blood of your family and the innocents who served their Shogun blindly continues to taint your dwindling soul.

“He isn’t attacking.” You comment, noticing the Shogun still hidden behind three men who must be deemed his strongest. His sword is drawn yet he doesn’t make a move. Truly a coward until the very end. “It’s not unexpected, however. He could only hurt me when I was bound and useless.”

“I see.” Sukuna growls, a deep rumble deep in his chest and his eyes are narrowed towards the Shogun. He still doesn’t know the true extent of what you had gone through and yet he bares his teeth as if he had been the one nearly drowned on a flat table, as if he was the one stripped bare whilst they whipped at your skin with blunt wooden objects and flayed you for the world to see.

One man steps forward out of the formation they’ve created around the Shogun—and he vanishes into nothing but a pile of mush; a single flick of Sukuna’s hand had secured his death. The Shogun visibly flinches, and that’s when it dawns on you… he has never faced Sukuna.

It was your father, and the men before him. Your Uncle would’ve been hidden away in the estate, kept safe and secure beneath the cloth of his mother's dress. He was outmatched, and he knew it.

“Face your death like the Samurai you are.” Sukuna snaps, his fingers curling around the leg in his hand until it breaks with a loud crunch. “Or I will pluck you from the ground you stand upon and make you beg for death.”

You both watch in silence as the two remaining guards exchange a glance with each other, a clear look of anxiousness for what their Shogun might say or do. General Jien, the Shogun, only deepens his scowl as if Sukuna had thrown mud at him instead of offering him a chance of an honourable death.

…He does not step forward to face his death.

Sukuna all but smiles, and he vanishes in the blink of an eye. Two of his hands press against the remaining guards, and they too have only a nanosecond to realise their death has come to them. Slices appear on their skin—and then the bodies fall to the ground. Their swords sink into the mud and flesh, their armour now empty husks.

The Shogun reels back at just how quickly Sukuna moves, and he attempts to swing his blade. You can taste the sourness of his cursed energy behind the swing, it buzzes and lashes out in an attempt to fight but ultimately loses out in the battle of dominance against Sukuna’s own. Sukuna moves his hand to grab ahold of the blade, his black claws scrape loudly against the material until he has a firm grip.

Then… he simply shatters it into a million different little pieces.

“Pathetic.” Two of his hands grab ahold of the Shogun’s arms, holding them up and out of the way. Before a third arm shoots forward, his fingers all together to form a tight fist—and then it bursts through the stomach of your uncle. He screams, the wetness of his voice is something you’ve wanted to hear for a long time.

Sukuna pulls his speared arm back through the stomach of your uncle, and you can hear the rip and squelch of something before he pulls free the length of his intestines. They fall flat to the ground in a growing pile, and with each passing second your uncle grows paler and paler. His hand, now free of the intestines, shoots forward again.

His claws sink into the armour covering the Shogun’s chest, ripping apart the iron as if it were nothing to him. Perhaps it is nothing to a man-made monster like Sukuna. Your Uncle's scream is silent this time, his mouth agape and eyes threatening to close for good when Sukuna grabs ahold of his ribcage… and pulls it free from his body.

The half he snapped clean off falls to the side, dripped in flesh and thinly stretched sinew. It makes your heart pulse in your chest. His hand dips back into the opening now to the side of his body, and you watch as Sukuna takes his time to pick and choose which organs to pull free from his body… as if he knew what would prolong his death before he inevitably died from blood loss.

“Wait.”

Sukuna stops once he throws what must be the kidney to the stomach that’s waiting for more food to feast on. He glances over his shoulder at you and he looks wild. Beyond it, even. His pupils are pinpricks, the skin and second face he wears is coated in glittering crimson red and he almost looks like he may attack you out of instinct.

“I want to make him suffer too.” You say, taking a step forward to Sukuna who’s muscles bulge with tension and veins that pop along said muscles. He’s holding himself back. “Please. Allow me.”

His upper lip twitches before he relents, he releases both of the arms he was holding to hold the Shogun high enough to rip him apart tooth and nail. Immediately, Jien crumbles to his knees on the floor, sinking into his own intestines and other bodily matters. He looks like he’s dancing the fine line between life and death, but you haven’t granted him that privilege yet.

Your fingers wrap around the grand horns of the Kabuto helmet, lifting it free from your uncle’s head and wordlessly Sukuna takes it from your hands. You finally see your uncle bare in the moonlight, his face is gaunt and his eyes unfocus the longer he stares up at you.

“Do you remember what you said to me?” You ask, but no answer comes. Your uncle's tongue lays dormant on the floor next to your foot. Sukuna had torn that out with just two fingers when your uncle started to squeal like a pig.

“You called me a filthy pig and a whore. You let your men fantasize about raping me. You sold me to Sugawara like a broodmare.” You don’t focus on the growing sound of thunderous snarling behind you. “Death is too good for you, General.”

You swing the blade still in your hand, the head of the Shogun thumps to the ground and his body remains kneeled before you. His death should squash that pain within you, it should quell that rage and still… you feel nothing but anger, a raging type of storm that bubbles deep in your gut and tightens your throat.

Sukuna says nothing when you bury the tip of the blade into the ground next to your uncle's now still body, nor does he comment when you pick up his dismembered head. Only to plant it atop the hilt of the blade, his mouth agape and eyes wide with the fading image of his executioner.

“It’s done.” Sukuna softly speaks into the night, the screams of the dead die out when his hand lays against your back. “Home awaits us. A hot spring too.”

Your eyes flutter when you turn to look up at Sukuna, and he peers down at you with what might just be a flash of empathy. But then it’s gone when you blink again, the dots that fill your vision blot out his face. His hands grasp at you, two large arms holding you up against his chest when your legs can no longer hold your weight fully.

“Home.” You whisper, weakly brushing your bloodied and bruised fingers against Sukuna’s face. He visibly leans into the touch. “Take me home.”

“As you wish.” And for the first time since he had found you, he presses his lips against your forehead. It’s a lingering touch that has your mind blanking and eyes closing fully, a warmth that races down from the top of your head all the way to your toes… a welcome sleep after all that you have endured.

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#dead dove do not eat #cw gore #cw dark content #cw violence #tw cannibalism #sukuna x reader #sukuna x you #jjk x reader

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alwayscorvus · 2 months

Text

What are lions truly scared of

half-lion!Jing Yuan x malereader, fluff

Jing Yuan resembled a lion in many ways.

Lions stood out with their bushy mane, one that was incredibly similar to Jing Yuan's. Long, thick, messy. Extremely difficult to control.

Lions weighed around 420 pounds*. Known for their massive build. Their mass and strength allowed them to hunt and fight for their pride. Exactly as in case of Jing Yuan who had a powerful physique, which made masculinity radiate from him. By his very appearance, Jing Yuan woke awe and fear in eyes of his enemies.

Lions were "kings of the jungle". They kept watch over other animals. Just like Jing Yuan, who ruled Xianzhou Luofu thanks to his role as one of leaders.

Lions mostly didn't raise their offspring, leaving that to lionesses to do. Despite this, they always protected the youngest ones. Maybe that's why Jing Yuan often put off teaching Yanqing and preferred not to assign him difficult tasks through which he could get hurt.

Lions were known for performing outstanding hunts. Choosing right time, adjusting their attack tactics and observing their prey for a long while. When working as a team and carefully following tasks instructed to them, lionesses were able to knock down a giraffe that greatly surpassed them. Perhaps this is why Jing Yuan was such a great strategist. His skills worked well both in chess and on battlefield. Man didn't act by impulse, he thoughtfully chose his next steps. He knew that not all attacks should be responded to, and even if, it wasn't necessary to do that immediately. Sometimes it was better to wait for the right moment. Slow action and "patience" also allowed Jing Yuan to not get too much tired...

Lions became exhausted easily and run only on short distances. So you could say that Jing Yuan had in genes this laziness and dullness which he was always showing.

That's why it wasn't surprising when, during transformation of some of Luofu's residents, Jing Yuan was one of them.

Yes, at some point the nation over which Jing Yuan held custody began to change. At first Xianzhou Luofu was just an unusual and wonderful place inhabited by many different species. The most popular of them were of course Foxians, Vidyadharas and Xianzhou Natives. The last one were previously famous only for their long-living. They didn't show any animal traits in their apperance. Over the years, however, this began to change. Mutations weren't common, but despite that, in some individuals they suddenly triggered the appearance of parts unusual for human body. Tails, horns, extra ears, claws, scales, anything that just referred to animals that Natives personified.

Because of that, an already perfect image of General was enhanced by a pair of white lion ears and a long, swift tail.

However, that was not what caught your attention. Rather it was a Jing Yuan's strange behavior.

At first, you thought you only imagined it or that it was just a pure coincidence. Over time, however, you found that Jing Yuan was really avoiding you on purpose.

At Louofu celebrations, by the time you were able to push through the crowd to where Six Charioteers were standing, Jing Yuan had always managed to change his position. Leaving behind only sight of departing shadow and ruffles of his robe waving in the wind.

When you visited Divine Foresight for business matters, you could never find Jing Yuan. When you asked about him, you were told that man had left only seconds before you arrived. Or even better, that at that day he wasn't there at all. And you could have sworn that behind the closing door to one of the back rooms, you saw a long, white tail frivolously levitating in the air.

However, you got really fed up with all that when Jing Yuan sent his representatives to consultation with you instead of showing up himself.

You also like Jing Yuan belonged to long-lived species. Although you didn't reveal any additional features in your appearance. And in look were no different from an ordinary person (well, maybe not counting large build in form of broad shoulders and above-average height). But elephant blood flowed through your veins.

As a result, you and your family became famous for your divine memory. Because of which, male line of your dynasty from generation to generation served rulers as consultants and "treasurers of knowledge". Though this didn't happen often. Because your services were extremely expensive. And also because you have lived in a grudge against Six Charioteers since ancient times. Precisely, since a few centuries ago one of former rulers made a decision completely different from your suggestions. That offended your pride deeply. However, your helping still took place in special circumstances.

One could say that due to the long life span, there weren't many of your "generations". But unfortunately, because of your genes, you were the target of so-called "poachers". They were eliminating you because of highly paid commission. You were valuable, your knowledge was precious. And it posed a great threat to others. That forced you to start new generations. By holding sensitive information from many years, your grandfather and later also your father lost their lives. Only you remained. And it was you who held the duties of "treasurer of knowledge".

You did it with extreme diligence and were respected by many. That's why you decided to take advantage of it.

When stellaron crisis hit Luofu, and you were once again asked to share your knowledge by Jing Yuan's subordinates. You gave an ultimatum.

General had to personally show up.

New deals, raises, promises of extraordinary rewards couldn't bribe you.

What's more, enough was enough when, after "agreeing" to your terms, another broker appeared at the meeting instead of Jing Yuan. Explaining himself with General's "illness".

To some, your attitude could seem trivial. But you really needed to find out why the head of Xianzhou Luofu had been avoiding you like a fire for years. Was there something wrong with you? Did you offend him with something? But how were you supposed to do that if you had never even seen him in person. Exactly. You had never had the opportunity to even see Jing Yuan with your own eyes before. You only knew his appearance and character from stories, paintings and your own analysis. That additionally kept you motivated in holding on your decisions.

And that's why you left the meeting room with a bang. News about your grudge immediately reaching General.

Jing Yuan realized that he had crossed the line. And that if he really wanted to get answers for his questions, he had to meet you in person. Not hologram, not anyone else, but he himself. If you would grant him another chance at all….

Your curiosity, however, worked in his favor. A week later, Jing Yuan showed up at your residence.

You found him sitting on a mat in your office. At the sight of him you instantly froze for a second. He looked even better than they described him, though perhaps not as majestically... Did you imagine that or did he really give off a vibe of shy and lost? Hunched, he looked around the room with hesitation. Avoiding your gaze at the same time. You didn't know where the great, famous, well-respected general had gone.

You took a seat on the other side of the table. And you took a closer look at him.

Fluffy white ears lay flattened on his head, and eyes that still avoided your face were squinted. With your memory, you returned to books about lions that you had been browsing, wishing to learn more about Jing Yuan.

Similar symptoms occurred in cat family when they were scared of something. But what could a brilliant General be afraid of. Stunned, you looked around to the sides, but you didn't see any threat behind your back.

-So how can i help the famous Jing Yuan? - you asked almost amused.

-Nameless... Is there anything I should know about them regarding the history of Xianzhou Luofu? Something that could prevent success of our cooperation? Can they be trusted?

You smiled at this.

-Why don't we start with what we agreed on in the letter first? - you recalled your conversation that you held after the last insult.

Man pulled a book from behind his bask and slid it timidly towards you. You grabbed it and opened at the page pointed by bookmark which surprisingly matched the patterns on Jing Yuan's robe.

You read the subject and then next few lines.

"What are Lions scared of?"

"Lions have only a few predators to fear other than humans."

Not that.

"Lions are not really scared of elephants. But elephants are the only animals they really try to avoid. [...] Lions show elephants respect that they deserve. Lions know that they will not defeat an elephant alone, because elephants are too powerful and massive for that. "

You smiled even wider and came up with another idea.

-What would General say about changing our agreement? I wouldn't want to drain Luofu's treasury that much... You have nothing to be scared of General. Although your ears could "suffer" a bit under new rules -you suggested playfully.

Jing Yuan rapidly raised his head. For the first time you could sink into his golden eyes. Nevertheless, you were greatly distracted from this astonishing view by naughty tail, which also rose to attention and flicked in the air.

After a moment, Jing Yuan burst into laughter, and his confidence returned. He nudged his head over the table towards you.

-What are u waiting for?

You also responded to the remark with laughter and slight disbelief.

Several decades of waiting, and everything could be solved in a few seconds.

You lifted your hand up, over Jing Yuan's mane. You hesitated for a moment, but then excitedly ruffled lion's ears. Soft to the touch. Fluffy as a cloud. Pleasantly cold after traveling outside.

And those purrs... Almost cat-like purr that came out of Jing Yuan immediately right after your gentle hands began kneading his ears in not so gently way. You could hear it more often.

And what's more, you could probably even fall in love with it.

made while listening to AREZRA "Goodbye"

*~190 kg

#fanfic #fanfiction #scenarios #tmr #x reader #genshin impact #hsr #x top male reader #x male reader #jing yuan #jing yuan x reader #jing yuan x male reader #honkai star rail #hsr x male reader #honkai star rail imagines #jing yuan hsr

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elysiumania · 9 months

Text

title: carve it to the end pairing(s): blade, reader characters: blade, reader, kafka, silver wolf word count: 9.8k+ synopsis: blade is familiar with the profound sin that encompasses his entire existence, yet he never anticipated that a whirlwind of emotions for you would also ensnare him.

In the midst of your daring mission, you and Blade find yourselves separated from Kafka and Silver Wolf, who have been entrusted with the crucial task of retrieving the coveted stellaron from the clutches of the world's sovereign. This scenario is all too familiar, as Elio, your mysterious leader, often assigns you such missions to procure the stellaron from different worlds.

The urgency of the situation is palpable, as Elio's command weighs heavily on your shoulders. Time is of the essence, and the success of your mission depends on each member's unwavering focus and commitment.

The world you find yourselves entrenched in is a labyrinth of mysteries and dangers. Its atmosphere crackles with an otherworldly energy, its landscapes a juxtaposition of ethereal beauty and imminent peril. Shadows dance along the twisted paths, hinting at lurking threats that could emerge at any moment.

In the heart of the battlefield, you and Blade move with an elegant synchrony, your every action an evidence to the rigorous training and discipline that you both possess. Your movements are precise, your coordination seamless, as if you were two halves of a single entity, united by a common purpose.

Every movement is deliberate, calculated, as you swiftly evade the oncoming strikes and launch devastating counterattacks. The air is charged with a palpable tension, your senses heightened to their fullest extent.

Time seems to slow down. Your world narrows to the immediate threat before you, the rest of the battlefield fading into the periphery. The only sound you hear is the clash of steel, the rhythmic pounding of your heart, and the rhythmic breaths you take in tandem with each movement. There is a singular purpose that drives you forward – the complete annihilation of your enemies.

In a swift turn of your body, you witness Blade parry the bullets fired to him.

Blade's presence on the battlefield is truly formidable, exuding an aura of power and confidence that commands respect. Every swing of his blade is executed with calculated precision, a dance of lethal elegance. His movements are fluid and swift, as if he were an extension of his weapon, effortlessly cutting through adversaries with a deadly efficiency.

There is a raw intensity to his fighting style, a controlled ferocity that sends shivers down your spine. He is like a force of nature, untamed and relentless, his strikes landing with devastating impact. It is a sight to behold, the embodiment of a warrior at the peak of his skill and strength.

However, amidst the chaos and violence, you can discern a meticulousness in Blade's approach. His attacks are not haphazard or reckless, but rather purposeful and strategic. He anticipates his opponents' moves, parrying and countering with calculated precision. His reflexes are honed to a razor's edge, allowing him to seamlessly transition from defense to offense, leaving little room for his enemies to counterattack.

You, too, are a force to be reckoned with. Your reflexes are honed to perfection, your aim unerring as you unleash a hail of bullets, each shot finding its mark with lethal precision. Your training and experience have molded you into a formidable combatant, a force that strikes fear into the hearts of your enemies. Your focus is steady, your concentration laser-sharp as you analyze every opponent, calculating their weaknesses and exploiting them with ruthless efficiency.

As the battle wears on, a sense of fatigue begins to creep into your limbs. The adrenaline that fueled your movements earlier starts to wane, and you feel the weight of exhaustion settle upon you. Your breath becomes labored, each inhale a struggle as you try to replenish the oxygen needed to sustain your efforts.

The once effortless movements now require a conscious effort, each swing of your weapon feeling heavier than before. Your muscles ache, protesting the relentless strain placed upon them. But you push through the discomfort, your determination overriding the physical toll on your body.

With every passing moment, your stamina diminishes further. The pace of your strikes and evasions slows, each action requiring a greater expenditure of energy. Your once precise and fluid movements become more sluggish, the gaps in your defenses more apparent. But you refuse to yield, knowing that the moment you falter could spell disaster.

Your breaths become audible, each exhalation a visible cloud in the cold air. Beads of sweat drip down your brow, stinging your eyes as you struggle to maintain focus. The weight of exhaustion settles, threatening to drag you down. Yet, you find solace in the knowledge that you are not alone in this battle.

Despite the weariness that seeps into your bones, your pride and determination refuse to waver. You cannot bear the thought of leaving the burden solely to Blade, for that would make you vulnerable at a crucial moment. You know that victory in this battle depends on your firm presence and contribution.

As the enemy forces thin, a surge of determination courses through your veins. You can taste victory within reach, a tantalizing prospect that fuels your resolve. With renewed focus, you rally your remaining energy, striking back with a newfound ferocity. Each blow is a testament to your unyielding spirit, a defiance against the constraints of your weariness.

And finally, as the last enemy falls to the ground, a moment of stillness descends upon the battlefield. The air is heavy with the scent of blood and sweat, mingled with the unmistakable aura of victory. You stand amidst the fallen, your breaths coming in heaves, your body weary and battered. But within the exhaustion, there is a sense of triumph, an indomitable spirit that refuses to be defeated.

Every breath you took came with labor, as if each inhale and exhale required a monumental effort. Weary and fatigued, you turned your body to face Blade, whose face remained unblemished, betraying no signs of exhaustion or weariness. It was as if he had not engaged in the grueling battle that had left you drained and depleted.

Amazement and admiration swirled within you, mingling to form a chuckle that escaped your lips. You marveled at the strength embodied by your steadfast co-hunter, a strength that defied mortal limitations. The question lingered in your mind: Was this unwavering perseverance an inherent gift of his immortality?

Envy welled within you, a gnawing ache that intensified with each passing moment. It stemmed from Blade's indomitable will, his resolute determination that propelled him forward in the treacherous landscape of the battlefield. Yet, you couldn't help but be acutely aware that this very essence of strength—the enduring spirit that coursed through his veins—was also the source of his burden, one he carried with stoic grace.

Blade's eyes, intense and piercing, locked onto yours, their gaze penetrating through the facade of nonchalance he wore. A subtle furrow appeared between his brows. With each measured step, he closed the distance between you.

Your vision blurred, and the world around you transformed into a swirling haze, dissolving the boundaries between Blade and the backdrop. Amidst this kaleidoscope of colors, it was Blade's familiar hues that remained distinct, serving as a steadfast anchor amidst the chaotic whirlwind.

"(Name)," his voice called out, urgency lacing his tone, but you found yourself incapable of responding. Your focus shifted inward, drawn to the state of your own well-being. Fatigue clawed at your limbs, a relentless heaviness weighing down every movement, while a disorienting fuzziness clouded your thoughts.

Your body swayed, a mere puppet succumbing to the invisible forces tugging at your senses. Before comprehending the full extent of your unraveling consciousness, strong arms encircled your waist, pulling you into a tight embrace. The hold was both protective and firm, a lifeline anchoring you as you teetered on the precipice of unconsciousness.

With a final shuddering breath, the world around you faded into an all-encompassing darkness, your awareness slipping away like sand through your fingertips.

Blade's intense gaze remained fixed upon you, his eyes bearing witness to the toll that your relentless battles had taken on your weary form. He understood the limits that you, his trusted comrade, bore as a fellow hunter. Countless enemies had tested your stamina, their sheer numbers depleting your reserves as you confronted them head-on, side by side.

The signs of exhaustion were evident in the lousiness of your movements, your shoulders rising and falling in an irregular manner. Each breath became a heavy burden, weighing upon your chest. Your once fluid motions had begun to falter, slowing as weariness claimed its hold. Yet, even in the face of these challenges, you stood resolute, confronting the onslaught with dedication.

Finally, the last of your adversaries had been vanquished, leaving only stillness in their wake. Blade, ever vigilant, turned his attention towards you without delay. His piercing gaze met your weary countenance, observing a vulnerability that was unfamiliar to him. The customary smile that you often flashed at him, one that had grated his nerves in the past, was now replaced by a weariness he had not witnessed before—a new encounter, a glimpse of your fragility.

He approached you, his strides purposeful and deliberate, calling out your name to capture your attention. Yet, you remained lost in your own thoughts, your gaze fixated upon the ground as if oblivious to his voice. Sensing your imminent collapse, Blade's instincts kicked in, honed from years of battles fought side by side.

With remarkable swiftness, Blade extended his arm, snaking it around your waist, pulling you tightly against his chest. The impact of his swift action halted your impending fall, providing a secure anchor within the shelter of his embrace.

An irritated expression twisted Blade's features, his countenance marred by displeasure as he clicked his tongue in disapproval upon witnessing the vulnerability you now displayed. A flicker of annoyance danced within him, tugging at the corners of his being, yet an inexplicable flutter of something else lingered momentarily, a fleeting sensation that he swiftly dismissed.

He listened intently, attuned to the barely audible sound of your breathing, attesting to the rise and fall of your chest. Blade was certain that your slumber was merely a consequence of the relentless fatigue that accompanied the arduous battle you had endured. Letting out a sigh, he adjusted his stance, shifting his weight to better support you and ensure your comfort.

In the stillness, the sound of approaching footsteps broke the silence. Blade turned his gaze over his shoulder, catching sight of Kafka and Silver Wolf making their way toward him. A mischievous smirk adorned Kafka's face as her eyes fixated upon the curious and unusual scene unfolding before her.

"What happened to (Name)?" Silver Wolf inquired, her tone tinged with curiosity as she observed Blade and the slumbering figure in his arms.

"Fatigue," Blade responded curtly, his voice devoid of any elaboration.

"Oh? Did you encounter a formidable number of enemies then?" Kafka interjected with amusement. "It has been quite some time since I've seen (Name) exhausted to this extent. She usually dispatches her adversaries with impressive swiftness."

Blade chose not to respond to Kafka's remark, his gaze drifting down to your peaceful form nestled against his chest. The lines of fatigue that etched your face seemed to soften, revealing a vulnerability that was rarely witnessed. It was a sight that both intrigued and unsettled him, stirring emotions he struggled to comprehend.

"However, this scene is undoubtedly worth witnessing and quite rare.”

Blade's irritation grew as Kafka's words rang in his ears, emphasizing the rarity and significance of the scene unfolding before them. He groaned audibly, sensing the intrusion of his co-hunters into this trivial moment.

However, his annoyance escalated to exasperation as the sound of a shutter reached his ears, followed by the realization that Silver Wolf had captured a photograph of you both in your vulnerable state.

"I will send this photo to (Name)," the hacker announced, her fingers swiftly tapping on her phone to carry out her plan.

His head snapped towards his co-hunters, a glare burning in his eyes as he observed Silver Wolf holding her phone aloft, a mischievous and amused grin etched upon Kafka's face as she stood beside her, hand confidently placed on her hips.

A deep groan escaped Blade's lips, a resounding protest against the audacity of their endeavor. The boundaries of privacy seemed to blur in their presence, and he found himself grappling with the precarious balance between camaraderie and personal space.

Unperturbed by Blade's disapproval, Silver Wolf announced her intention to send the captured photo to you, her fingers tapping on her phone to execute the plan. Kafka's amusement was evident in her voice, reveling in the presumed surprise that awaited you upon awakening to a barrage of messages.

"She will be bombarded with this photo as soon as she awakens," Kafka chuckled, relishing the anticipation she held within her mischievous gaze. Her words danced with a mixture of presumption and amusement, an implicit belief that the outcome would be nothing short of entertaining.

As Silver Wolf scrutinized the sent photo, her sharp eyes honed in on a particular detail that caught her attention. With a sense of urgency, she zoomed in on the image, focusing on your arm. A splotch of crimson stood out, a telltale sign of blood trickling down your skin. Instantly, she relayed the concerning discovery to her companions.

"I believe it's imperative that we return to headquarters and bring (Name) to the healer without delay," Silver Wolf suggested, her tone laced with genuine concern. As she faced the perplexed expressions of her companions, she clarified her reasoning. "I noticed blood on her arm in the photo. It's possible she sustained a wound during the battle."

Blade's gaze snapped towards you, his attention immediately drawn to the area where the hacker had spotted the alarming sight. His eyes scanned your slumbering form, searching for any evidence of injury. And there, peeking out from the side of your arm, he spotted the crimson stain, smearing his own sleeves with your blood. A huff of frustration escaped his lips, mingled with a tinge of exasperation.

He couldn't help but ruminate on the recklessness that often coursed through you, the audacity with which you faced danger.

Indignation surged within Blade, rising like a tempest within his chest as he contemplated the dire consequences of your actions. While he grudgingly acknowledged his own tendency for recklessness, a belief that his immortal nature would allow him to withstand wounds and slashes with ease, he recognized the stark contrast in your vulnerability. You did not possess the gift-like-curse of immortality, and the wounds you sustained held the potential for far graver repercussions.

Devising meticulous plans, carefully assessing the movements and intentions of your enemies, had always been the cornerstone of Blade's approach to victory. It was a calculated dance, a strategic ballet that he had honed over time.

Yet, what gnawed at Blade's core, sparking the ember of irritation within him, was the unsettling realization that he was irked by your recklessness. It should not concern him if you were to meet your demise on the battlefield. After all, death had been his elusive pursuit, an ever-present companion lurking in the recesses of his existence, a catchphrase that easily rolled off his tongue. It was a facet of his other self, one he had sought to embrace yet had never fully attained.

And yet, the bitter taste that lingered on the tip of his tongue, the annoyance that prickled beneath his skin, betrayed a profound unease at the thought of your death. It was an incongruity that bewildered him, challenging his steadfast commitment to detachment. How could you, someone he had never truly regarded beyond the confines of a fellow hunter, stir within him such distaste for the inevitability of death?

Blade grappled with the paradox, his irritation growing in intensity. The disconcerting reality of his emotions cast a veil of unease upon his otherwise steadfast resolve. The boundaries that he had carefully constructed, separating himself from the lives of others, seemed to blur in your presence.

It was an annoyance that Blade struggled to comprehend, an unwelcome intrusion upon his carefully cultivated existence.

"We must hurry, for there may be more adversaries in our path," Kafka suggested, her voice grained with urgency.

In response, Blade swiftly and effortlessly scooped you up, cradling you in his arms with practiced ease—his hands supporting your knees and shoulders—before the trio embarked towards the waiting ship.

Their hurried footsteps resonated in unison. With every stride, Blade's focus remained fixed upon the precious cargo he carried, ensuring your safety as they made their way to the ship that would transport them to their destination.

Upon reaching their destination, Blade carefully set you down upon the bed in the clinic, relinquishing his hold as the healer swiftly took charge. His piercing gaze lingered upon you for a fleeting moment before he pivoted on his heel, preparing to depart the room.

“You’re leaving?”

Kafka's sudden question halted Blade in his tracks, prompting him to turn his gaze toward her. A hint of curiosity flickered in his eyes, awaiting her explanation.

"There's no need for me to linger here," he stated matter-of-factly.

"You're not going to look after (Name)?"

The inquiry caused his eyebrow to arch in mild confusion. "And why should I do that?"

"You already know that yourself, Bladie," she stated with a playful tone and a mischievous glint in her eyes.

Blade's frown deepened, his irritation bubbling to the surface.

"I have no idea what you're talking about," he retorted, a note of finality in his voice. "And I have no interest in delving into whatever it is."

With that, Blade turned away, cutting off any further discussion. His steps carried him away from the room, leaving behind the enigmatic conversation. But, even as he walked away, the lingering words and insinuations gnawed at the edges of his thoughts, an unwelcome intrusion into his otherwise focused mind.

Blade found himself genuinely perplexed by Kafka's implications, unable to grasp the underlying meaning of her words. However, he couldn't deny the undeniable truth that it irritated him when it pertained to you. From the very beginning, since the moment you had invaded his mind, you had become a persistent presence, governing his thoughts and actions through your infuriating actions.

Within the recesses of his being, a tempestuous whirlwind raged, its origins elusive, its nature enigmatic. It swept through his soul, stirring up a maelstrom of emotions that clashed and clashed like thunderous waves against rugged cliffs. It was as if a churning vortex had taken residence within him, disrupting the tranquility he had come to know.

This enigmatic sensation, like a riddle without a solution, perplexed him, refusing to be neatly categorized or defined. It twisted and turned, defying his attempts to grasp its essence, teasing him with fleeting glimpses of comprehension before slipping away like smoke through his fingertips. It was a phantom, taunting him with its complex nature.

This inexplicable connection with you contradicted his stoic nature, defying the boundaries he had meticulously established to safeguard his emotions. The turbulence it caused within him was an unwelcome disruption, disturbing the delicate equilibrium he had carefully maintained for so long. Yet, despite his disdain for this unfamiliar sentiment, he couldn't escape its hold.

For now, Blade chose to bury those uncertainties, channeling his focus back to the tasks at hand. The path of a hunter was one fraught with danger and uncertainty, and he couldn't allow himself to be swayed by unexplained sentiments. With a steady stride, he continued his journey, suppressing the whisper of concern that followed in his wake.

“We have a new member in our team,” Kafka announced, looking at her side where a woman stood. “This is (Name). She will join as soon as Elio instructs us.”

As Kafka made the announcement, introducing you as the newest member of their team, your presence drew the attention of the group. All eyes turned towards you, including Blade's, who observed the exchange with a stoic expression.

Silver Wolf, brimming with an air of confidence, rose from her seat and approached you and Kafka. She introduced herself with a cool demeanor, extending her hand for a formal handshake. You reciprocate the gesture, a warm smile gracing your lips as you accept her greeting.

"(Name). I am pleased to meet you," you replied, your tone reflecting sincerity and openness.

Beside her, Kafka took it upon herself to introduce Blade, her words tinged with a hint of playful warning.

"And this is Blade. He's got a few quirks, but he's a pretty decent guy. Just make sure you don't rub him the wrong way. But please beware around him," Kafka introduces him on his behalf, with a casual tone.

She conveyed his complexities, acknowledging the challenges that might arise when interacting with him. Blade simply nodded in acknowledgment, his gaze steady as he absorbed the introductions.

Taking the initiative, you extended your hand towards Blade, your gesture mirroring the earlier exchange between Silver Wolf and yourself. With a gentle smile, you spoke, voicing your hope to maintain a positive rapport.

"Blade, it's a pleasure to meet you too. I hope I can avoid getting on your bad side," you said with genuine sincerity, the sparkle in your eyes hinting at your lightheartedness.

Rather than accepting your extended hand, Blade's reaction was one of dismissiveness and disdain. He emitted a snort of irritation before abruptly turning his back to you, retreating to his designated place. It was a deliberate gesture, a clear message that he had no intention of entertaining any further interaction or connection with you.

From that moment onward, a peculiar dynamic unfolded between you and Blade. The intensity of your gaze, your unwavering attention directed towards him, became a persistent source of irritation and anger. It was as if your eyes bore into his very being, their weight an ever-present reminder of your presence.

Whether in the midst of missions or within the confines of the headquarters, your stares persisted, unabated and noticeable. It was a lack of discretion that only heightened his vexation, making it impossible for him to ignore the density of your steady focus.

Initially, Blade had chosen to overlook your behavior, granting you the benefit of the doubt and assuming that it would soon wane or change. He had granted you his patience and considered it a passing phase, a temporary inconvenience. However, as the days wore on and your behavior remained unchanged, frustration welled within him, igniting a simmering anger that threatened to boil over.

He had expected the glue-like hold you seemed to have on him to loosen, to fade away. Yet, to his dismay, it clung to him with unrelenting persistence, defying his attempts to shake it off. The irritation stirred within him, his patience waning, as the boundary of tolerance grew thinner with each passing moment.

The sudden aggression in Blade's actions shattered the fragile calm that had previously enveloped the hallway. The forceful slam against the wall resonated through the confined space, echoing with a resounding intensity. His arms flanked your head, his piercing gaze meeting your bewildered self with an unsettling mix of intensity and rage.

Caught off guard, you found yourself pinned against the unyielding surface, your movement restricted by the sheer force of Blade's hold. The abrupt halt in your path to your room left you suspended in a moment of uncertainty, as you struggled to comprehend the reason behind his unexpected and aggressive actions.

“What is your scheme, huh?”

His voice, husky yet dangerous, sliced through the air like a blade. His inquiry demanded answers, seeking to unravel the motivations behind your actions, or perhaps to assert dominance over the situation. The solemnity of his words filled the space, leaving little room for evasion or half-truths.

As Blade's intense gaze bore into your own, his indignation smoldered beneath the surface. The innocence reflected in your eyes, an aspect he vehemently abhorred, only served to further stoke the flames of his anger. It was a stark contrast to his own nature, an antithesis that rankled against his very being.

You responded, your voice steady yet laced with a hint of composure.

"I don't know what you're talking about," you declared, your words echoing in the tense atmosphere.

Blade's growl reverberated through the air, a primal display of dominance and power. The impact of his hands against the wall echoed his warning, a reminder of what he was capable of should he be further provoked. But, despite his fearsome actions, you remained steadfast, your unwavering gaze fixed upon him, as if seeking to untangle the enigma that resided within his soul.

His voice, dripping with darkness and cruelty, lashed out at you, laying bare his frustrations. The intensity of his stare pierced through you, the weight of his words bearing down upon your shoulders. He acknowledged the patience he had shown thus far, acknowledging the restraint he had exercised in the face of your relentless scrutiny.

"You have persistently fixed your gaze upon me, which has been rather vexing. Consider yourself fortunate that, despite my reputation for impatience, I have displayed remarkable restraint and refrained from terminating your existence due to your incessant and intrusive stares."

In response to his threat, you remained resolute, your voice steady as you spoke. "Then, I am thankful that you haven't taken my life yet.”

“Tell me a plausible reason to refrain myself from ending you.”

"I want to know more about you," you admitted, your voice holding a mixture of curiosity and determination. It was a risky statement, one that defied his expectations and pushed the boundaries of his guarded existence.

His piercing gaze bore into you, intensifying with disbelief and a hint of warning. The depths of his glare seemed to echo a sense of cruelty and danger, as if he dared you to challenge his skepticism.

"Don't test me," he scowled, his voice laced with an edge of threat.

"I beg to differ," you retort. "You remain an enigma to me, a puzzle that has piqued my curiosity. It was relatively effortless for me to become acquainted with Kafka and the others, but you, on the other hand, prove to be a unique challenge. Perhaps it is your distant and aloof nature that sets you apart, or perhaps there are deeper underlying factors at play."

"You previously mentioned your desire to avoid antagonizing me, yet it appears that you have now succeeded in doing so."

Blade's words dripped with venom, his threat drifting through the charged atmosphere. The darkness that shrouded him threatened to consume the space between you, leaving little room for leniency or understanding. It was clear that he believed you had crossed a line, evoking the wrath of his ire.

With a heavy sigh, you faced him without fear.

Blade's disbelief was palpable, his features contorted in a mix of incredulity and frustration. His eyebrows furrowed deeply, and his clenched jaw revealed the inner turmoil as he fought to rein in his rising anger. With one final glare, he abruptly withdrew his body, releasing you from the oppressive presence he had imposed upon you.

"Your reasons for joining the Stellaron hunters are not my concern," he declared, his voice laced with an undeniable edge of irritation. "Keep your intrusive curiosity to yourself and refrain from bothering others. I have no interest in knowing anything about anyone, including you."

The finality in his words echoed through the space, underscoring his disinterest in delving into matters beyond the immediate scope of their shared mission. It was a clear message, signaling that further attempts to breach the walls he had erected would be met with resistance and hostility.

With that, Blade turned away, leaving you to absorb the weight of his rejection and the boundaries he had firmly established. The tension between you hung in the air, an unspoken barrier that seemed insurmountable.

As he strode off, a cold and distant aura enveloped him, shielding him from the intrusions of curiosity and connection that you had attempted to breach.

The surreptitious glances you cast in Blade's direction did not escape notice, despite his prior warnings and threat. Nonetheless, he begrudgingly acknowledged that the frequency of those glances had diminished compared to earlier encounters. When accompanying other hunters on missions, it granted Blade a fleeting respite, a temporary reprieve from the occasional scrutinizing gazes that seemed to dissect him from afar.

Yet, upon your return, you would invariably greet him with an amiable smile and a friendly wave, seemingly oblivious to his prior admonitions. Blade, resolute in maintaining his distance, opted for complete disregard, refusing to acknowledge your presence or partake in any form of interaction.

However, when circumstances dictated that the two of you found yourselves on the same mission, the task became increasingly burdensome for Blade. Not due to any perceived deficiency on your part, but rather because of the unyielding intensity of your penetrating stares. They bore into him, as if endeavoring to unravel the enigmatic cloak that enveloped his very essence.

In response, Blade's glare would intensify, a lethal warning etched within his gaze. It stood as a silent plea for you to desist in your unyielding observation, a plea that fell upon deaf ears. Despite his explicit caution, you persisted in your pursuit, undeterred by his unspoken signals.

There arrived a moment when Blade's anger and irritation reached a boiling point, overpowering his self-restraint. In an uncontrollable surge of rage, he found himself unsheathing his sword, employing it as a tangible manifestation of his pent-up emotions. It was a perilous act, a palpable reflection of his internal struggle, as he fought to regain dominion over himself in the face of your relentless actions.

However, even in light of his aggression, you remained undeterred, unflinching in the face of the menace he presented. The clash between the two of you transformed into a battle of wills, an unyielding pursuit on your part juxtaposed with his unwavering resistance. The tension between you surged, leaving behind a trail of disquietude and exasperation in its wake.

Intrigued by Kafka's insatiable curiosity, she felt compelled to confront Blade about his abrupt outburst. Approaching him with a mixture of fascination and concern, her voice held a subtle undertone of intrigue, as she sought to crack the reason behind his aggressive actions.

"Why did you resort to such measures, Bladie?" she inquired, her tone infused with genuine curiosity.

The embers of Blade's anger still smoldered within him, evident in the acerbic manner in which he delivered his words.

"That woman certainly knows how to stoke the fires of my fury," he growled, bitterness dripping from his voice.

Kafka's eyes narrowed, fixating on Blade intently. She meticulously assessed the situation, scouring for any visible signs of harm inflicted upon him, only to find none. There had to be a catalyst, a trigger that had prompted such an instinctive and volatile response from him.

Based on her astute observations, Kafka deduced that your actions had not warranted such an aggressive reaction. Puzzlement tinged her words as she probed deeper, yearning for clarity.

"From what I witnessed, (Name) did nothing to incite your anger. Or am I missing something?"

Blade's head snapped towards Kafka, his forehead furrowing with a blend of frustration and defensiveness.

"She persisted with those vexing stares, despite my explicit warning," he retorted.

A playful spark flickered within Kafka's eyes as she observed Blade, a subtle amusement tugging at the corners of her lips.

"Ah, I comprehend now," she replied, a trace of understanding seeping into her voice. "So, that is the crux of the matter."

Blade huffed, his frustration unabated. "If she refuses to desist, I shall not hesitate to end her myself," he declared, his words carrying an icy finality.

Kafka's amusement only intensified, her expression transforming into one of playful intrigue. She appeared to find the entire situation rather entertaining, studying Blade with a blend of fascination and amusement. It was evident that she had gleaned something deeper from the intricate dynamics between you and Blade, something that transcended mere annoyance.

With the threat hanging palpably in the air, the tension between you and Blade reached an unprecedented apex, the consequences of your unyielding stares teetering on treacherous ground. The ball now rested in your court, presenting you with a pivotal choice – either relent and abandon this perilous path or persist with an unwavering determination, willing to face the consequences that lay in wait.

The passage of time transformed weeks into months, and yet, there remained no trace of your return from the mission undertaken alongside Kafka. Blade found himself ensnared in an unfamiliar state of tranquility, relishing in the absence of your persistent stares. Initially expecting your reappearance after a mere week, he had braced himself for the resumption of your penetrating gaze. However, the passing months painted a contrasting picture, shrouding your whereabouts in mystery.

Inquiries gnawed at the fringes of Blade's consciousness. Could the mission truly detain you for such an extensive duration? It seemed implausible that you and Kafka, both formidable in your own right, would succumb to failure or meet your demise at the hands of adversaries. Blade intimately understood the strength and cunning of his comrades. Furthermore, the absence of any official proclamations from Elio only heightened his conviction that your mission endured.

Despite his profound antipathy towards you, Blade could not dismiss your capabilities. He was not petty enough to overlook or disregard the skills of another, even if he harbored personal disdain. Reluctantly, he acknowledged your competence, recognizing that you were not to be underestimated.

Yet, amidst the tranquil days, thoughts of you infiltrated Blade's mind akin to an unyielding anchor rooted deep within the ocean floor. Rare was the occasion when he allowed himself to be consumed by thoughts of another, especially one who irked him to the core. The frustration and anger that simmered within him escalated with each passing day, a constant reminder of the enigma you had become in his existence.

Blade grappled with reconciling these conflicting emotions, struggling to comprehend why you had managed to etch yourself so indelibly in his thoughts. He battled against his own resistance, resenting the intrusion of your presence monopolizing his mind. It was a vexing state of affairs, leaving him wrestling with an amalgamation of sentiments he had long sought to suppress.

As the months gradually wore on, Blade found himself increasingly exasperated by the lingering presence of your memory within his thoughts. The weight of your existence persisted like an anchor, impeding the tranquility of his mind. It posed an enigma that defied resolution, a puzzle that exasperated him to no end.

Blade's ruminations incessantly revolved around the void created by your absence, compelling him to ponder over the intricacies of your mission and the current state of affairs. Despite having access to the contact information of all the Stellaron hunters, he deliberately abstained from possessing any trace of your details. The contempt he nurtured towards your presence rendered any form of direct communication superfluous in his discerning eyes.

His inclinations inclined towards solitude and seclusion, seldom initiating contact with his fellow hunters unless exigencies dictated such action. He refrained from extending his reach to others or responding to their messages unless they pertain directly to the ongoing missions at hand. Blade discerned no necessity for casual conversations or trivial exchanges that deviated from the intended purpose.

"I am aware that your perpetual annoyance and anger are constants, but on this occasion, they seem to possess a heightened potency compared to prior instances, even in the absence of any discernible source of provocation," Silver Wolf remarked, her voice resounding within their customary resting room. Engrossed in her gaming pursuits, she paused momentarily after completing a round.

Blade cast a sidelong glance at her, his irritation apparent. However, he chose to remain silent, maintaining his comfortable position on the couch as his gaze reverted to fixating upon the aquarium wall situated before him.

"Even in your current relaxed state, I can sense the presence of your simmering irritation permeating the room, you're aware of that, aren't you?"

Silver Wolf let out a sigh of resignation, her shoulders slumping in response to Blade's unresponsive demeanor. But just as the air left her lungs, a familiar sound filled the air, slicing through the silence—her phone's ringing tone. It was Kafka on the line, and without hesitation, she swiftly accepted the call.

"Hey."

"Hello, Silver Wolf! I'm out shopping today since it's our well-deserved rest day for both (Name) and I."

Silver Wolf caught a movement from the corner of her eye, prompting her to turn her head and meet Blade's gaze. He had straightened his posture on the couch from his relaxed position, his attention now fixated on her. A shift in his demeanor was apparent; he seemed alert and engaged as he observed Kafka's video call.

"When will you be back?" the hacker inquired.

"I'm still waiting for Elio's instructions. He mentioned that we should remain here for a while longer, as there's an upcoming mission on the horizon."

"And where's (Name)?"

A soft rustling sound reached Silver Wolf's ears once more, drawing her attention. Her gaze shifted to Blade, noting the subtle change in his posture. He now leaned forward, his upper body hunched over with elbows resting on his knees, his hands intertwined together. His focused stance mirrored his intent, as if he hung onto every word exchanged during the conversation.

"(Name) is currently recuperating in a small hospital. She sustained an injury during our mission, though thankfully, it isn't too severe.”

"Tell her to rest well.”

"Of course.”

With the call concluded, she pocketed her phone and shifted her gaze towards Blade, her eyes searching for any trace of empathy or understanding. Yet, his response was a mere scoff, accompanied by a dismissive comment.

"Weak," he uttered, his tone laced with disdain and Silver Wolf only released a defeated sigh.

With the homecoming of weary hunters, an air of relief and delight enveloped the headquarters. Genuine smiles adorned the faces of Silver Wolf and their comrades, manifesting their sincere joy as they warmly welcomed your return from the arduous mission. The unity and camaraderie among the team were palpable, tangible evidence of the bonds forged through shared trials and tribulations.

Blade trailed behind Silver Wolf, observing the scene with a detached interest. His gaze fleetingly brushed over the joyful countenances and animated conversations, until it settled upon you—the very source of his vexation. There you stood, radiant with an effusive grin, your hand extended in a friendly wave.

In that moment, an unfamiliar warmth stirred within Blade, threatening to breach the fortress he had meticulously erected around his emotions. It was a sensation alien and disconcerting, a stark departure from his accustomed state of detached coldness. Its presence vexed him to no end, this inexplicable emergence of nascent sentiments that simmered just beneath the surface.

He endeavored to quell the burgeoning warmth, dismissing it as a transient aberration in his otherwise composed and chaotic existence. Yet, with each subsequent encounter, every instance where your firm gaze locked onto him, the intensity of this sensation surged, chipping away at his steely resolve. Frustration surged within him, further aggravating the already tempestuous storm of his emotions.

Blade fought against the onslaught of these unfamiliar sentiments, unwilling to succumb to their influence. He clung to the familiarity of his annoyance, his irritation serving as a shield against the disconcerting stirrings within his heart. But deep down, he knew that ignoring these feelings would only fuel their fire, intensifying the turmoil he sought so desperately to quell.

As the days unfolded and your presence remained a constant in his life, Blade found himself increasingly entangled in a web of conflicting emotions. The war between his irritation and the burgeoning warmth waged on, leaving him with a sense of frustration and a growing awareness of the enigma you had become to him.

In the midst of the chaotic battlefield, where danger lurked at every turn, a pivotal moment unfolded that would test the depths of your connection. As the clash of weapons echoed around you, a swift and unexpected strike found its mark, piercing Blade's chest with a searing pain.

In that instant, your instinctual response kicked in, overriding any fear or hesitation that threatened to consume you. With unwavering determination, you raced towards Blade, your steps propelled by a surge of panic and concern. The gravity of the situation urged you to act swiftly, to protect him from further harm.

Despite the formidable adversaries that interposed themselves along your path, your singular focus remained unwaveringly fixed upon your wounded comrade. Each opponent that dared to obstruct your passage fell swiftly and decisively to your calculated strikes. Guided by a relentless sense of urgency, you traversed the battlefield with unwavering resolve, your purpose anchored in reaching Blade's side and attending to his injuries.

Finally arriving at his side, your hands descended upon his wounded chest with an unyielding grip. Worry danced upon your countenance, etching a crease upon your brow and compelling your teeth to gnaw on your lip. Clutching a tightly held handkerchief, you applied firm pressure to his wound, striving to staunch the torrent of blood that threatened to steal his vitality.

Blade, despite his internal resistance to your ministrations, could not help but perceive the genuine concern etched across your visage. The furrowed brows, the resolve that emanated from your eyes, and the sheer intensity of your actions conveyed volumes, surpassing the need for any spoken words in that critical juncture.

"Blade, we must attend to this injury quickly!"

Your voice quivered with genuine concern and panic, causing Blade to momentarily recoil, caught off guard by the sincerity emanating from your words. The urgency in your voice and the unmistakable tremor in your tone pierced through his defenses, reaching a dormant place within him that had long remained untouched.

Perplexity enveloped him as he struggled to comprehend the depth of your distress over a mere wound, particularly considering his own immortal nature. Yet, as his gaze remained fixed upon your countenance, a subtle yet undeniable transformation transpired within him. A tingling sensation rippled from the pit of his stomach, coursing through his chest—a foreign and unfamiliar sensation that evoked curiosity rather than repulsion.

Blade caught a glimpse of something he had long denied himself—the touch of genuine concern and the presence of someone who genuinely cared. It served as a stark contrast to the scorn and condemnation he had grown accustomed to receiving from others. For the first time in centuries, there was someone in close proximity, tending to his well-being without reservation.

A tumultuous dichotomy of irritation and acceptance rose within him, engendering a tangled tapestry of conflicting emotions. The familiar irritation that had once consumed him began to dissipate, gradually replaced by a growing appreciation for your presence and the concern you exhibited.

Though the intricacies of his shifting emotions eluded full comprehension, Blade acknowledged the faint stirrings of comfort that arose in your proximity.

"What happened?" Kafka's voice interjected, causing you to whip your head in her direction. The perplexed look on her face mirrored your own surprise, as she observed the perturbation etched on your features.

"Blade... he got stabbed! We need to hurry and bring him to the healer!" Panic laced your words, urgency driving you to take swift action.

Kafka's eyes followed your hand, which was placed on Blade's chest, the rise and fall of his breath now a matter of concern. Slowly, her gaze ascended to his face, a mixture of irritation and nonchalance evident in his features. Then, her attention refocused on your frantic self.

A few moments passed, during which Kafka's gaze seemed to penetrate the situation, processing the scene before her. Suddenly, a burst of laughter erupted from her chest, echoing through the tense atmosphere.

"Why are you laughing? This is not a laughing matter, Kafka!" you exclaimed, your frustration palpable as you glared at the wine-haired beauty.

Blade let out a low groan, vigorously slapping your hand away from his chest. His unexpected display of aggression surprised you, especially considering the wound he had sustained. It was as if the act of being stabbed was nothing more than an ordinary occurrence for him, leaving you even more baffled. Was that the reason behind Kafka's laughter?

Your confusion deepened, and you couldn't make sense of the situation.

"Oh, (Name). I thought you knew," Kafka chuckled, her laughter now laced with a sense of amusement at your bewilderment.

"About what?"

With a brief glance at Blade, who was sheathing his sword with his back turned to them, Kafka's words carried a hint of knowing.

"Bladie is no stranger to mere wounds or injuries. That particular wound is insignificant to him. He is impervious to any harm inflicted upon his physical form. In fact, he transcends the limitations of us human beings; he is immortal, my dear (Name)."

WIth Kafka’s revelation your treatment of him immensely changed. As well as Blade found himself caught in a flurry of contradictions, torn between the desire for your absence and the inexplicable irritation when you complied with his wishes. Your change in treatment, while seemingly what he had wanted, now left him more unsettled and furious than ever before.

He couldn't understand why he was feeling this way, and it frustrated him to no end. The inexplicable emotions that welled up within him whenever you were around were foreign and unwelcome. It was as if the walls he had erected around his heart were slowly crumbling, revealing a vulnerability he had long suppressed.

The sight of you flashing smiles at others, tending to their wounds with genuine concern, ignited an unfamiliar sensation within him. He detested the repulsive sensation that surged through him, the possessive instinct that flared up whenever he saw you caring for someone else. He loathed the fact that you had this effect on him, making him question his own emotions and reactions.

Blade couldn't fathom why he cared, why he was bothered by your interactions with others. He was the immortal, the one who had long shut himself off from emotional attachments. And yet, here you were, weaving your way into his thoughts and emotions, stirring up a turmoil he couldn't escape.

With each passing day, the irritation only intensified, creating a storm of clashing emotions within him. He was more furious with himself for feeling this way, for allowing you to affect him in ways he had never experienced before.

Kafka, with her keen and perceptive eyes, couldn't help but remark upon Blade's discernibly heightened irritation—an observation that had not eluded her astute perception. Driven by her insatiable curiosity, she promptly broached the subject, seeking to unravel the enigma of his unusual demeanor. Yet, true to his character, Blade responded with his customary dismissiveness, casually brushing aside her concerns without proffering any elucidation. With an air of nonchalance, he redirected his attention to the task at hand, leaving the mystery of his behavior to linger in the air, unresolved.

Time seemed to elude Blade as he stood in his room. Lost in a labyrinth of thoughts concerning you, he found himself unaware of the passing hours, each moment consumed by you. A soft groan of frustration escaped his lips, acknowledging his own inability to pull away from his thoughts of you.

Feeling the weight of his restless mind, Blade resolved to take a moment for himself, to release some pent-up tension and clear his head. With purposeful steps, he made his way towards the nearby shower, where he could let off some steam. As the water continued to cascade over his form, Blade attempted to center his attention on the sensation of droplets caressing his skin, hoping it might serve as a distraction from the turmoil that roiled within his mind. Allowing the warmth to envelop him, he sought to ease the tension in his muscles, striving to liberate himself from the grip of his incessant thoughts.

Shaking his head, he endeavored to clear his mind of these unwelcome musings.

"What is wrong with me?" he muttered to himself, perturbed by the uncharacteristic surge of emotions that enveloped him. He had prided himself on being an unyielding and emotionless immortal, impervious to the influences of the world around him. Yet, there he stood, beleaguered by persistent thoughts concerning a mere mortal such as yourself.

With a resigned sigh, he turned off the shower and stepped out, enveloping his form with a towel. Gazing at his reflection in the fogged-up mirror, his crimson eyes reflected a blend of irritation and confusion. The unanticipated unraveling of his self-control by your presence bewildered him, leaving him grappling with emotions he could not completely understand.

Clasping his fists, he felt a surge of anger stirring within him. He could not afford to be ensnared by distractions, especially with perilous missions on the horizon. He must reclaim his focus and staunchly set aside these unwelcome and perplexing emotions.

Blade was clad in nothing but a short pajama, a towel casually draped over his shoulders to catch the lingering droplets of water. As he moved towards his bed, the resounding knock on his door demanded his attention. Curious and somewhat irritated by the intrusion, he opened the door, only to be taken aback by the sight before him—you standing there, an unexpected presence in this hour.

His surprise was evident in the slight widening of his eyes and the subtle raising of his brows. He couldn't fathom how you managed to leave the infirmary, where you were supposed to be resting. He silently calculated the time since their arrival, and the realization struck him like a bolt of lightning—five hours had passed.

"Hello," you greeted timidly. "I hope I'm not intruding."

"What brings you here?" he asked, irritated.

"I just wanted to express my gratitude for carrying me back to headquarters... and, well, apologize for any inconvenience."

"There was no other option. Kafka and Silver Wolf couldn't have taken you to the infirmary, could they? So, there's no need for thanks or apologies."

His blunt words briefly caught you off guard, causing you to blink before mustering a small smile.

"Oh." You blinked, mustering a small smile. "You're right. In that case, I'll take my leave now."

With a respectful bow, you turned on your heels, preparing to depart from his presence.

Blade's unwavering gaze remained fixated on you as you turned to depart, yet his eyes were subtly drawn to the exposed nape of your neck, igniting an inexplicable and unfamiliar sensation within him. The sight stirred something indescribable, a strange blend of emotions that only added to his growing frustration.

A maelstrom of confusion engulfed his thoughts as he questioned what was happening to him. Was he losing control, his once-steadfast sanity slipping through his grasp like elusive sand? The enigmatic emotions that besieged him intensified, leaving him grappling with a turbulent turmoil that defied understanding.

Just as the sound of heels clicking heralded your departure, Blade's trance was abruptly shattered. A primal force took hold of him, compelling him to act instinctively. In a moment beyond conscious contemplation, he seized your wrist, pulling you into his room with an abrupt force that elicited a surprised yelp from you. The door slammed shut behind you, sealing the two of you within its confines.

With an aggressive demeanor, Blade pinned you against the wall, his imposing figure rendering you feeling confined and vulnerable. His arms effectively caged you on either side of your head, while his intense gaze bore into you menacingly.

“W-What?”

Evident confusion colored your countenance as you cautiously questioned Blade, uncertain if your presence had once again provoked his irritation. His crimson eyes bore into you menacingly, wordlessly refusing to offer any response, leaving you to draw in a sharp breath, attempting to steady yourself. The charged atmosphere weighed heavily, prompting contemplation on whether a hasty escape was prudent. Yet, deep down, you recognized the futility of such an endeavor, as Blade's unmatched speed and strength would swiftly thwart any such attempt.

Summoning your courage, you made another attempt to prompt him, your words quivering slightly as they escaped your lips.

"Is there something you wish to say to me?" Despite the trepidation that tugged at your composure, you endeavored to maintain a composed facade, resolute in concealing your vulnerability.

Blade's response came with a visible grimace, his frustration unmistakable in his words, "You have persistently become annoying."

As he dipped his head, intensifying his scrutiny upon you, you valiantly struggled to keep your expression relaxed, even as your trembling hands betrayed the true depth of your emotions. The fearless front you displayed appeared only to further kindle his anger, intensifying the storm of emotions that swirled within him.

You are maddening.

"What did I even do?" Your voice took on a challenging tone, akin to that of a young cub ready to fight and growl. Intensely, you locked eyes with Blade, seeking an explanation for his behavior and his cryptic words.

"I should be the one saying that," he responded, his baritone voice carrying an edge of frustration. His answer only deepened your bewilderment, leaving you more perplexed than before.

"Huh? I don't understand—" you began to speak, but Blade's growl cut you off, silencing your words.

“What did you even do to me? Do you have another ability that can control emotions without our knowledge?”

His sudden accusation threw you off balance, as he insinuated that you possessed an ability to control emotions unbeknownst to anyone.

Your eyebrow arched in surprise and disbelief at the preposterous notion. You couldn't fathom what had gotten into Blade to make such an accusation, but you knew you needed to explain yourself, to set the record straight.

"Blade, I must admit I'm quite baffled by your accusation, as I genuinely don't know what you're referring to. I assure you, I haven't been doing anything to intentionally irritate you," you calmly explained with unfaltering eyes. "In fact, I've been following the caution you advised me about. So, I'm at a loss as to why you're upset with me once again."

Blade was right. Your compliance with his previous warning seemed to be the catalyst for your altered treatment of him. But what baffled him even more was why this change had only manifested recently, not from the very day he initially cautioned you.

Moreover, why is he justifying himself and becoming frustrated yet again? The question rings within him, echoing like an elusive whisper in the depths of his mind. He yearned to understand the source of his inner turmoil, to unravel the feelings that are sprouting in him.

The air was charged with an unmistakable sense of unease, and you could feel the weight of his emotions, veiled behind his crimson eyes. The conflict within him seemed to mirror the battle within your own heart, yearning to bridge the gap between you and find a common ground.

As you continued to gaze at him, a sliver of vulnerability flashed across Blade's hardened facade. It was fleeting, like a flickering flame, but enough to hint at the complex emotions that churned beneath his stoic exterior. His frustration seemed to be rooted in something deeper, something he struggled to put into words.

"You're well aware that I could wrap my hands around your neck and squeeze out that life of yours, aren't you?" he murmured, his lips hovering just above your ear, causing a shiver to course down your spine.

“Y-You’re crazy…”

He retracted his head slightly, fixing you with a sharp and penetrating gaze. The subtle quivering of your lips did not escape his notice, and a silent challenge passed between you both. His eyes traced a path from your intense gaze, skimming over your nose before finally lingering on your lips—a peculiar fixation, as if he had stumbled upon something mesmerizing and peculiar. An unusual urge seemed to flicker in his mind, an impulse to sink his teeth into your soft flesh until it bled.

Blade's tongue darted out, leaving a glistening trail across his lips as he raised his gaze to meet yours once more. The crimson hue of his eyes gleamed with a dangerous allure, veiled by a haze of emotions not easily discernible. Your jaw involuntarily dropped, unable to contain the wild pounding of your heart. The tension crackled with intensity, enveloping you both in its all-encompassing grip.

Every fiber of your being urged you to step back, to flee from the enigmatic danger that lurked in his captivating gaze. Yet, an inexplicable magnetism held you firmly in place, as if some invisible force bound you together.

The air hung heavy with anticipation, each passing second stretching into what felt like an eternal moment. Words seemed superfluous, for the unspoken language between your intertwined gazes conveyed more than mere sentences ever could. The space between you two became charged with a palpable energy, akin to the approach of an electrifying storm—impossible to ignore, as it enveloped you both in its relentless and tantalizing embrace.

"B-Blade—"

In an unforeseen twist of events, Blade's lips collided onto yours with a fervor that left you wide-eyed and breathless. The abruptness of the action rendered you momentarily frozen, unable to process the torrent of emotions and sensations that surged through your body.

Far from tender, the kiss bore a fierce and almost desperate intensity, as though it carried the weight of his very existence. It seemed as if he sought to carve himself upon you, as if this act of intimacy represented the last defiant stroke in a battle he waged within himself.

A sharp whimper involuntarily escaped your lips as he bit down with force, the metallic tang of your blood mingling with the taste of his kiss. The stinging sensation jolted you, yet you found yourself unable to push him away, as his strength overwhelmed any feeble attempts to resist. Instead, instinctively, you clung to him, your fingers digging into his shoulders, seeking to anchor yourself amidst the swirling chaos.

When he eventually withdrew, your breaths intertwined within the tensed air enveloping you both. His crimson eyes bore into yours, a tumultuous mix of emotions reflecting in their depths. Words eluded you as your mind grappled with the tangled array of feelings that engulfed you.

All was a blur, your heart pounding in your chest, mirroring the adrenaline-fueled rush of your thoughts. You felt like an unwitting participant in a dance of fate, entangled within a complex web of emotions that seemed to defy all rationality.

Blade's actions left you dazed and vulnerable, your thoughts in disarray. However, beneath the veil of aggression, you couldn't help but sense a raw vulnerability in him, a vulnerability that mirrored the turmoil of your own feelings.

His intense gaze bore into you, searing into your very soul, as he uttered those few words that carried a world of meaning.

"You make me go crazy."

#honkai star rail x reader #honkai star rail #hsr #blade x reader #hsr x reader #hsr blade x reader #blade x y/n #hsr blade #star rail

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cerastes · 1 month

Note

can i get other examples of gamepress being wrong about arknights? i've been using them as my main source since i started and now i'm worried i'm missing out on some operators i haven't bothered to upgrade 🙃

We could be here literally all day because it's not like they have one or two outliers, Gamepress is just mainly edited by people that live in an echo chamber and that have authority in their own circle so it's just off-the-hip, all too often wrong biased takes based on their own really reductive metrics. Chiefly, Gamepress ranks characters 1) as if they were the sole unit in the battlefield almost exclusively, and 2) using the single most broken units currently live as the barrier of entry. The unit you are looking up can't clear a chunk of map in one tap? Worthless and sub-optimal, according to Gamepress. Their only metric is Mlynar, Ch'ung the Hung, Surtr, that kind of Press To Win philosophy, and if a unit can't do that, Then It's Bad And Not Worth It.

Now, you may be thinking, "goodness me, Dreamer, you are being awfully harsh to call them complete dogshit at every angle of the game in this manner!", well, see, it's not just their Operator "reviews", they have articles sometimes. And they are god awful dogshit as well, such as "What Happened To Blaze?"

You can't see the comments anymore, but the author was getting reamed. I have one screenie at least:

Comments were mainly of this nature. Because, well, the article is straight up awful, especially since it reduces Blaze to "laneholder" and compares her to "competition" like Thorns, Mudrock, and Mountain, who, yes, they all can hold a lane, but Blaze has her own space of "infinite duration, high statline, healable 3-block with 2 tile range" that has historically allowed for Funny Tricks like clearing enemies through "walls" on tiles that could shred Thorns even with a healer, or, you know, in conjunction with any of Mudrock or Mountain, given you have 12 whole slots for you team. Again, Gamepress editors rate characters as if they were your main in a fighting game and not one of 12+1 characters you can throw in at any time. They also tend to shit on non-specialist characters (generalists; more versatile units that can do a bunch of things without really breaking the game in any regard), which is very interesting because those usually will make up a strong backbone of any competent Integrated Strategies team, so the specialists in role can do their thing while the other needs of the map are being met.

"Ebenholz is nothing special." "Goldenglow is nothing special." These are takes they genuinely held until, you know, it turned out that Eben and GG are the most relevant Casters, up there with Eyja. To be fair, it wasn't just them being wrong on Eben, but how do you look at the global blasting of GG with her numbers and don't immediately realize that's an ICBM button? All it takes is having the game installed.

The biased nature of Gamepress is also blatant:

Imagine rating April as "Really Good" while relegating Dorothy as only "Really Fun". Even before her Module3, Dorothy was absolutely devastating, bringing huge damage multipliers, crowd control, one of the single best class autoattacks in the whole game at 6* stat weight, and a Talent that gives her even more Attack for basically using her as intended. I'm not saying April isn't good, mind you, I'm just trying to highlight how biased the hands behind Gamepress are: They can't figure out Trapmasters? Then surely they are merely "really fun". Can't drop and forget them like April or Surtr, after all.

About the only thing Gamepress is good for is objective, in-game info: Dates, mat requirements, what skills do, that kind of stuff. It's got a good interface and is a good place to just quickly look up what you need to know that can otherwise be found in the game. The moment their personal opinions come into play, though? The most absolute dogshit takes. Unless you are a "unga bunga drop Surtr and Mlynar and win instan-- WAIT WHY IS INTEGRATED STRATEGIES AND RISK 23+ KICKING MY DAY 1 PLAYER ASS...!?" kinda player, then you don't really want to follow Gamepress advice.

Because they simply do not give good advice as a whole.

#corvidthots #arknights #gamepress

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pokechbi · 9 months

Text

“I bled for you, dear. You are mine now.”

WHEWWIEEE this one’s a bit different than my usual ones. Hope you all enjoy! 💗

As always, EVERY single interaction is so so greatly appreciated!!

- (Obsessive/Psychotic) König x fem reader

- 18+ MDNI !!!

- CW: blood, SH

- Not my usual smut, pt 2 with more smut is otw!

💗💗

Maybe it was your eyes. Everyone always told you that your eyes were the most expressive part of you. Or maybe it was your hair. The way it hung loosely around your shoulders, sinuously curly and sticking to your forehead when you sweat. Or was it your body? The way your clothes fit snugly against your curves, accentuating the parts of yourself you tried hiding the most. You didn’t know what it was about you that captivated him so badly. That made him like you. That made him utterly infatuated with you.

His failed attempts at subtlety rang through your mind at the end of your work days, your brain swirling with possibilities and hopeless, endless cycles of painful obsessions. His behavior was unhealthy. Obsessive. One of a stalker. But you found yourself thinking of him at night, your mind being your worst enemy. You knew he wasn’t right in the head. He wasn’t right at all. No one in his line of work could be. His hands were bathed in the blood of more men than you could ever comprehend. His mind was filled with constant thoughts of death, battle, fighting, killing. He was a beast of a man, physically and mentally incapable of compassion. In no way was he made for any kind of lasting relationship. And you knew that. Yet, as your fingers made their way between your legs at night, thoughts of him on the battlefield slashing, stabbing, shooting, strangling, penetrated your mind like a train in a tunnel too small.

You’d see him at least twice a week in the infirmary. You’d stitched his mysterious wounds countless times, your flesh burning with every feathery brush of your hands against his skin. Like a snail to salt. You knew it was wrong. You knew as a mandated reporter, you were legally required to report any suspicion of self harm. But you didn’t. And you felt as if you were betraying your very existence to cater to the psychotic needs of the man who you knew had a few screws missing for your own selfish desires. He never spoke much. Just sat there, looming over your small frame, causing your breathing to heave and your hands to tremor. He made you tense. You made him tense. The palpable tension between you just a ticking time bomb, ready to impale any passersby with the sharp shrapnel of his infatuation with you.

It seemed that every time he came to you, his wounds got worse. But they started small. Harmless. A gash in his porcelain flesh, just a few gauzes needed to stop the bleeding in order for it to heal itself. And as many times as you lied to yourself, thinking: maybe it was from training. Maybe he’d lost control of his knife, accidentally cutting himself or mishandling it. And deep down, you knew it wasn’t. You knew he had been purposely hurting himself. Just to see you. To you, it was charming. Fascinating. And it shouldn’t have been. Every cell in your body screamed for it not to get to you. But you saw his harming himself a certain kind of devotion to you. A showing of his ultimate loyalty to you, even though you hadn’t spoken more than ten words to each other outside of medical talk.

He’d been acting this way for months now. Too afraid to approach you with his feelings directly, but not afraid to leave you with constant, subtle reminders of his existence. The smell of him left on the sheet of the hospital bed. The boot scuffs on the floor, yet to be mopped up by housekeeping. The idea of him hurting himself just to come sit on the hard, too-small bed just to see you, conjured a feeling in you that made you nauseous. His behavior was sickening. It truly was. And you knew, with every visit how his wounds got worse, bloodier, deeper…it was only a matter of time.

He sat on the bed, staring down at you through his sniper hood with his arms limp at his sides as you worked on them. His gaze burned a hole through your head, searing any incoming distracting thoughts with thoughts of him. What he must have looked like under that mask. What his skin felt like. What kind of sounds he would make when he fucked. How dangerously big his cock was. And no matter how hard you fought those thoughts with every fiber of your being, the wetness between your legs was a telltale sign. He had you. He needed you. And like a moth to a lamp, you found yourself secretly chasing that high that plagued your senses every time he was near.

Your mind was hyper aware of his every move, every breath. The tension in the room constricts you, making you feel as if the air thickened with his very presence. Your skin burned with every graze of his, the hairs on your arms standing to attention. Before you even made it into the room, you knew he was there. Waiting. Stalking your every step until you made it into the room with him. And before you entered, the fuzz on your neck stood erect. Your gut sensing danger, a predator with nothing but sexually malicious intent awaiting your arrival.

This was your last straw. There had to be a way for this to end. For the never ending silent fight, the vicious cycle of wanting him, hating him, being disgusted by him, being turned on by his very stance. You were almost done stitching him, your gloves bathed in his dark, thick blood. He never so much as winced as you secured the sutures, dabbing the wound with disinfectant. You rolled back in your chair, tossing your gloves onto the rolling metal tray beside you. And as always, he hopped off the bed, looming over you with a steady foot and a half above you as you briefed him on how to clean his wound. But before he could hastily make his way back to his quarters to do God knows what, you absentmindedly grabbed his bicep. He tensed under your touch, never turning to meet your face. Your throat dries painfully as you try to speak, your delicate hands and freshly done nails begging to dig themselves into his scarred skin as he fucked you in a frenzy of predatory sexual hunger.

“König.” You manage to release. Your voice was practically a squeak, making you feel smaller under him than you already were. As if you needed to feed into his nauseating predatorial instinct even more. You cleared your throat, approaching him. With every step you took, his presence sucked away each and every atom of oxygen from you. A pitiless, dangerous black hole that threatened to drain the life from you with its bare hands.

“What are you doing to yourself?” You ask, your voice breaking and cracking. You hated showing him that you were weak. That you were ready to be pounced at, mercilessly eviscerated. And in all honesty, you liked that you were. It was shameful. The way he stood, unspeaking and nauseatingly smug at your worry made you want to drop to your knees and get yourself off on his boots while he watched you shamefully. You wanted him to humiliate you. To degrade every ounce of dignity in you and then more.

“I know this isn’t from training, sir.” You say, running your thumb gently over his fresh sutures. You swallowed the lump in your throat, your mouth and tongue suddenly dry and coarse. You pressed into the matter further, just wanting to beat at his chest until he spoke. Hating him for forcing you to care about him. You were done with this game. The cat and mouse facade that masked the filthy desires swirling between the two of you. He turned to face you slowly, craning your neck to look at his eyes. The egoistic smile in his eyes, the one he made no effort to hide behind his mask.

“Little maus…” Although his voice was gentle, it still boomed through your eardrums. His German accent wet and thick on his tongue. You keep your grip on his arm, as if the feeling of your skin against his would keep your feet on the ground. “Can’t you see? I do it for you.” He lets out a sigh, reaching a hand up to graze your cheek. “I bleed for you, schatz.” He stepped closer to you, speaking as if it were completely obvious that he sliced himself, made himself gush impossible amounts, just for you. And a part of you always knew. You were always aware, always aware how it turned you on that such a man would do such things for a woman like you.

He looked down at his arm, your grip tightening and fingertips pressing into his stitches. He lets out a sharp breath, his eyes fluttering closed as you absentmindedly dug your fingers into his gash. You stared at him, dumbfounded. You feel warmth pool under your fingertips, glancing down at his now bleeding flesh.

“Fuck! I-I’m so sorry. Let me get some-”

“Harder.” He reaches forward hastily, grabbing your arm and stopping you in your tracks. Your lips hang agape, your face growing hot and your breathing growing heavier. He pulls at your arm, bringing you towards him. The room suddenly felt much smaller, threatening to crush you in its walls. The concept of what he wanted you to do made you woozy, your stomach queasy with disgust. But a deep part of you was fascinated by it, a sleeping beauty kissed awake by the nauseatingly beautiful devotion he showed to you. To want to please you. To show you how ready he was to drop dead. Just for you. Even if it were by the woman he loved most.

You stare between his eyes, noticing how his gaze grew softer as you pressed your fingers into his bleeding flesh. He cried out, a disgusting mixture of pain and pleasure lacing his moans. You stepped closer to him, ignoring the feeling of his hot blood trickling down your wrist. You move your thumb around his stitches as you approach his chest, slowly running your hands up his muscles. You stopped below the hem of his mask, twirling it in your fingers. His hand shot up to your wrist, squeezing it with a force you could only describe as starved. Without words, he moves your hand to his stomach. You feel the muscles under his shirt flex as he guides your hand down his abdomen. You don’t think before you do it, but nothing in that moment could’ve stopped you from giving him exactly what he needed. He bled for you. Sliced himself wide open for you. He showed his devotion for you the only way he knew how. By shedding his own blood. Just for you.

You work on his belt buckle, the warm blood weeping from his arm now trickling down to your elbow. As you got his pants open, you noticed it. He was already hard. Practically throbbing for your touch. His breathing grew strained, his head dipping down. You felt a smile twitch on your lips. The world around you seemed to be gone, and it was only you and him in this distasteful moment. You, him, his twitching cock and his bleeding arm. As you took the tip of him into your hand, the warmth of his blood grew hotter as you pressed your thumb deeper into the gash. You stroke him, while simultaneously pushing your thumb forward, eliciting the pained and pleasured moans from the gigantic man before you.

You see him look down, your small hands seeming smaller in comparison to the length and thickness of his dick. He reaches an ungloved hand towards yours, wrapping his large hand over yours. He guides your strokes, the combined warmth of his length and blood traveling through your body and settling in your core. He continued using your hand to jerk himself as his body twitched and slumped, knees bending slightly. You smile, no longer trying to fight the disgusting feelings that plagued your mind. You liked it. You shouldn’t have. But you did. The nausea that rose from your stomach only fueled you more, squeezing his cock harder as he continued stroking himself with your hand.

“Harder, my love. Bitte, ich mache alles. Mach es härter.” (Please, I’ll do anything. Do it harder.) He breathed, his body jerking with painful bliss. You do as he asked, pressing your thumb into his weeping flesh harder. You weren’t concerned how much he was bleeding now, only getting him to come. This was an irreversible, irresponsible decision. You crossed a line with him, and a deep part of you knew. You fought the looming dread that threatened to ruin the moment. You belonged to him, and he belonged to you. And in some twisted, cruel way, you didn’t mind. It was dangerous. It was far beyond recovery. There was no way in hell he was letting you go without dying first. And your newfound sick, twisted desires catered to his very agenda.

“F-fuck…I’m gonna…” His hand painfully squeezed yours, your fingers incapable of moving under his grip. You felt his cock twitch as you continued digging your thumb into his wound, the warmth of his blood bathing one hand, while the heat of his hot cum wetly coated the other. He lets out a string of moans and whines, his grip weakening over your hand. He breathes heavily into the air, your thumb releasing from his flesh. You let go of his cock, both your hands coated in the liquids that came from his soul. In some gruesome, macabre way, you enjoyed it. Loved it, even. The newfound feelings swirled through your mind and made your lips curl into absentminded grin.

The sound of his belt buckle seemed to bring you back down to earth, causing you to rush to the sink and throw the faucet on. You washed your hands, looking down at your arm, now coated in blood. All of your feelings hit you all at once, feeling a strong nausea bubble in your stomach. Before you knew it, you were heaving into the sink, your knees wobbly and threatening to give out under you. You didn’t know why you threw up. You’d seen all kinds of gore, been covered in blood countless times. But this was something else. Something damaging. The looming dread growing darker over your head. You hear König shuffle, approaching you from behind. You feel his large hand caress your back, a soft gesture that did nothing to comfort you from the cold, dark things you’d just done.

“I’m afraid I’ll need some new stitches, dear.” He says, a smile evident in his voice. You nodded your head, feeling airy as you stood up from the sink. You didn’t know what you would do now, the clarity hitting you like a truck. There was no escaping this. No escaping him. You sat him down again, resuturing his wound.

“This cannot happen again, König.” You say sternly, hastily finishing his stitches and cleaning his arm with disinfectant. You stand from your chair, hands on your hips as you pace the room. He stood from the bed, walking over to you. Before you could squeak another word out, his hands were cupping both of your cheeks, your neck craning up to meet his gaze.

“It can…and it will, schatz.” He says, a soft tremor in his voice. And in an effort to combat your fears of him, he swiftly throws the mask off of his head, hishelmet clattering to the floor. You look at him, lips parted. His strong jaw was lined with a dirty blonde stubble, his lips perfectly shaped balanced with the rest of his face. His nose sat crookedly between his eyes, permanently misshapen from breaking it so many times. His eyes, strong and grey, bored into your soul as if he was looking into every possible detail there was to know about you. He dipped his head down, pulling your face towards his as he crashed his lips into yours. You moan into the kiss, his hands keeping your head still as he forces you to keep your lips stuck to his.

He parts from the kiss, looking between your eyes with a deceivingly soft gaze. He leaves you in a stupor as he bends to pick his mask up off the floor, slipping his helmet on over his head. You stand dumbfounded, tears welling in your eyes as you scramble to handle your newfound feelings.

“I bled for you, dear. You are mine now.”

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in1-nutshell · 2 months

Note

And hey continuation of The last ask of old predacon buddy how would the decepticons react to Old Predacon buddy revert back into their younger form like out on the battlefield most of them would most likely be terrified (more specifically Megatron because he had to fight old Predacon buddy back then a long time ago)

Megatron is not going to have a fun time when he finds out.

Hope you enjoy!

Bot Buddy the Old Predacon turns to their younger self fights the Con's

SFW, Platonic, Cybertronain reader

The Autobot had been ambushed by the Decepticon’s.

They were being swarmed from every angle.

Buddy was becoming more and more restless hearing the sounds of battle through the console as Ratchet turned on the groundbrigde and went in to help.

“Ratchet let me help! We both know I can fight!”--Buddy

“This isn’t a game, Buddy. We can’t have Megatron know that you’re here like this.”--Ratchet

“And what about the others?”--Buddy

“If something does happen then come. But only as a last resort, do you understand?”--Ratchet

“…Fine.”--Buddy

The kids did their best to keep the Predacon calm while they kept on swishing their tail around in irritating fashion.

They were doing a good job keeping things under control despite everything.

“Don’t worry Buddy. They’ll be back before you know it!”--Raf

“Such faith you have Rafael. And such patience.”—Buddy

“It doesn’t look too good, but usually the bots have it covered.”--Jack

“They’ll be okay. The team’s been ambushed plenty of times. They always—”--Miko

“BBBBBBBEEEEEEEEEPPPPPPPPP! (OPTIMUS NNNOOOOO!)”--Bumblebee

“AAARRRGGGGHHHH!”--Optimus

“…”—the kids and Buddy

“…Rafael. Ready the groundbrigde.”—Buddy

Buddy slowly walks to the groundbrigde as Raf activates it.

They go through the portal.

Both sides saw a bridge open on the hill above them.

The bots optics widen knowing who it was.

Optimus was holding on to his wound on his side with Megatron in front of him.

Megatron also looked at the portal curiously.

What did the Autobots have up their…

Oh…

The giant predacon walked out of the portal and scanned the area.

Megatron actually stepped back seeing the site of the young Buddy.

It was almost like seeing Buddy when he first started out as a gladiator.

Soundwave was already planning several portals to help with the evacuation.

Buddy finally set their optics on Megatron and Optimus.

“MEGATRON!”--Buddy

“Is that—”--Megatron

“GET OFF OF PRIME!”--Buddy

Megatron narrows his optics at the Predacon.

“Megatron obeys NO ONE!”--Megatron

Megatron kicked Prime’s wound harshly.

The audial piercing scream that came out of Buddy’s throat made everyone try and cover them up.

It was too fast for anyone to comprehend.

Buddy had flown straight down and tackled Megatron off of Prime and proceeded to beat the ever-loving daylights out of him.

Megatron did put up a fight.

But the fight was already set the moment Megatron kicked Prime in his wound.

Buddy held no remorse for this mech.

This was no longer the Megatronus they knew from their days as gladiators.

This monster.

This Megatron.

Was the enemy.

They were close to offlining him, but Soundwave had tackled them to the ground.

Soundwave quickly sent out the groundbrigdes for the troops and Megatron could escape.

Buddy did manage to tail whip him before he went to the portal.

Buddy huffing as they carefully walk back to their team.

Ratchet is trying to patch up Prime’s wounds.

Buddy kneels down.

“Anyone who can’t walk, get on my back.”--Buddy

Buddy stayed by the injured bots side the entire time.

They absolutely refused to get treated until everyone was treated.

They absolutely did not leave Optimus’s side through the entire way, even afterwards.

“Has anyone seen Optimus?”--Jack

“No, not today.”--Arcee

“I saw him earlier with Buddy.”--Smokescreen

“Found them.”--Ratchet

Buddy has their wings and limbs around Optimus effectively trapping him to the med slab.

“You are not walking till I say so.”--Buddy

“Buddy—”--Optimus

Buddy moves their wing in front of Prime’s face.

“Sleep Pax. I’m going after Bumblebee and Ratchet next.”--Buddy

#transformers x reader #maccadam #bot buddy #tfp #tfp x reader #tfp x platonic reader #tfp optimus prime #tfp optimus x platonic reader #tfp megatron

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seeker-of-stories19 · 3 months

Text

Ghostsoap Shifter AU

- Ghost is a very large black Jaguar

- Soap is a border collie

- As if Ghost weren’t deadly enough already he often shifts on missions to take care of enemies

- Shifters are rare enough no one makes the connection and no one who sees him shifted ever lives

- Most people laugh at the rumors which are about as outrageous as any of the other ones surrounding Ghost

- Of course some people theorize that the rumors are more than that but there’s not really any way to prove it and they mostly don’t worry about it too much because it’s not something that makes him more vulnerable since he already stands out on the battlefield

- Soap is the opposite, absolutely everyone knows he’s a shifter and mostly no one cares since shifting into dogs, cats, bunnies, and other small animals is much more common than exotic animals

- It’s not much use on most missions but occasionally he’ll shift if there are kids around to cheer them up or heard them toward safety

- He also shifts to comfort his team members if someone is particularly upset, almost always Ghost but sometimes he does it for Gaz too and on a very rare occasion Price

- Walks all over the base in his dog form, usually following and herding Ghost around which absolutely baffles everyone because they act fairly professional otherwise

- Soap also looks ridiculously small next to him when shifted because he’s so big

- Gaz thinks the whole thing is hilarious and after he walks in on Soap in his dog form laying on Ghost on the couch in the 141 rec room one too many times he buys Soap a PTSD service dog vest as a joke

- Ghost gives him an absolute death glare but Soap beams at him

- He thinks it’s hilarious because he has admittedly been performing Service dog tasks for Simon on a semi regular basis for months at that point

- Doing deep pressure therapy and behavior interruption and grounding tasks for disassociation when Simon is struggling, especially after nightmares

- No one cares at all what they do on base because Price is pretty much in charge anyway and everyone else is too scared of Ghost to protest

- But when they go on leave Simon has a really hard time with his PTSD and Soap has the brilliant idea to put on the vest and tag along for some errands since he can’t exactly lay down on top of Simon in public in his human form if he gets overwhelmed

- It helps a ton and they’re able to go more places, sometimes with Soap tagging along just as a dog and sometimes bringing the vest as an emergency measure and shifting if Simon needs help or comfort

- Soap definitely does a bunch of research into different Psychiatric service dog tasks

- They both agree that Gaz can never know

- But it definitely makes Simon really happy even if he doesn’t want to admit it he ends up sending Soap different ideas of tasks that would help him

- He loves to see Soap find joy in his animal side

- His relationship with his shifter form is much more complex, no one else in his family was a shifter and he tried to hide it from them, even when his mom found out she tried really hard to hide it from his dad

- But eventually he found out when he scared Simon enough that he shifted into a little Jaguar cub

- From that moment on it was his life’s purpose to force Simon into shifting, and he loved to hurt and scare Simon when he was in that form especially as a kid because he liked the power of having control over such a dangerous animal

- By the time he was old enough to join the military he already had a whole separate set of scars on his jaguar form and he swore never to let that part of himself be hurt again

- Lied on his enlistment paperwork about his assigned gender at birth and about being a shifter

- The one thing he’s always liked about his shifter form is that it was always male, even when he was a kid and hadn’t been anywhere close to starting to transition

- He thinks it’s because shifter forms are supposed to be connected to you on a soul level and it helped him process his gender

- He wants to protect himself from any further harm to that part of himself and doesn’t want to find out if the rumors about how the military uses shifters is true

- The entire time he’s with Roba nothing scares him more than losing control of his emotions and shifting but eventually it happens when Roba cuts his face open and he reacts similarly to his dad

- Tests all kinds of horrible drugs on him and hurts him and makes him kill people in his jaguar form, by the time he’s buried he thinks he’s too injured to shift but he forces himself to do it one final time to dig himself out and escape

- After that he never wants to shift again but after hunting down Roba and killing all his men he transforms one final time to kill the man, tearing him apart desperate to show him that he didn’t truly master a jaguar the way he’d tried so many times

- He tries to shift after he gets shot by Sparks and Washington but for the first time instead of his body forcing it on him he can’t do it no matter how hard he tries

- He’s too late to save his family, if he’d been able to shift he could’ve saved them and the failure haunts him

- It’s years before he accidentally shifts again in front of Price after a particularly grueling mission and the man is beyond shocked to suddenly find his sergeant turning into a massive black Jaguar

- It’s takes months after that for Price to slowly help him break through his fears, he promises not to exploit his shifted form on missions but insists that he shift at least once a week for his own sanity, it’s dangerous to just ignore it

- He doesn’t have much choice but to agree but unlike for most shifters his form is no longer a safe place to hide or rest it’s just another reminder of the horrible things that have happened to him

- After that he stops caring about his Jaguar form and what happens to it, feels a sense of bitterness that this incredible ability couldn’t protect him and instead of shifting peacefully on his own he starts doing it on missions, just using it to kill as many hostiles as possible

- He knows the violence bothers Price on some level but the Captain never says anything when he rips people limb from limb with his teeth and transforms back covered in blood

- The first time Soap sees him shifted is in Las Almas when he brutally kills a few Shadows who tried to track them to Alejandro’s safe house

- Rudy is shocked and understandably cautious of the massive animal that just tore five people apart viciously but Soap looks reverent and almost excited

- Is very happy to realize there’s another shifter on the team

- Isn’t the slightest bit intimidated by Ghosts shifted form and before he can even shift back he’s touching his broad muscled shoulders, stroking the black fur gently, whispering a brief praise to him for protecting them

- He’s too shocked to shift back and Soap just casually leads him around to the side of the house where there’s a hose

- He m apologizes for the water being cold and calmly washes the blood out of Ghosts fur while he stands there in shock

- He shifts back and they go on with the mission but he has no idea what to think about what happened and can’t get it out of his head

- Soap regularly interacts with him in his shifted form during and after missions and it becomes routine for him to give him absentminded pets

- On the battlefield Soap is the only one who specifically utilizes his shifted form in mission plans

- He gains his own reputation for having a trained Jaguar and there are some truly ridiculous stories passed around base about it

- Slowly over time he finds it normal to spend time with Soap while shifted but never outside of missions

- When Soap starts asking him to shift around the base in their rooms or the rec room he can’t fathom doing it for himself

- The first time he shifts around Johnny outside of a mission is when they’re cuddling together on leave and it’s a complete accident

- It’s very common for strong emotions to trigger a shift but for him it’s almost always been fear and the few times it wasn’t fear it was anger

- He’s never shifted from a positive emotion so he’s shocked and beyond confused when he goes from purring into Johnny’s chest wrapped in fluffy blankets while the rain pours down outside to laying half across his boyfriends body as his Jaguar self

- Soap is ecstatic and immediately shifts as well, curling into Simon’s much larger body and gently licking one of his paws, snuggling under his chin fearlessly

- They get fur and dog hair all over the bed but he doesn’t even care because it feels amazing to be shifted like this

- He hasn’t shifted once in his entire life where he was truly safe, even as a kid it was in the locked bathroom when his shifted form was still just a clumsy black kitten and he wanted to spend all his time in any body other than his own

- It’s still painful but he starts opening up too Soap about his relationship with his shifted form and Johnny is absolutely devastated

- His border collie form is so precious to him and the stress relief of not having to think the way he does as a human, of just herding and protecting settles something inside him

- He can’t imagine being so viciously abused in his dog form that it became a trap of all the worst animal mentalities

- Instead of getting a more simplified thought process and the pleasure of giving in to more of his instincts and trapping people into giving him physical affection Ghost is stuck in the flight or fight of an abused animal, scared, violent, lashing out

- He makes it his life’s mission to get Simon relaxed and happy enough to have him shift from positive emotions

- It doesn’t happen too much at first because he still has so much trauma attached to his shifter form but slowly over time he can get Simon into a headspace where he shifts more often around their flat

- The first time it happens on base for any reason other than a nightmare is when he’s giving Simon a scalp massage, twirling his curls around his fingers and rubbing his fingers against his scalp while Si lets out deep rumbling purrs

- He’s heavy enough when he shifts to half crush him but he doesn’t move much except to wiggle up enough that most of the weight is resting on his legs and not his stomach

- Simon always acts like he should be scared of him like this but it’s all he can do not to coo at him when he blinks heavy lidded green eyes at him and bats at his side clumsily with a heavy paw

- When the door opens Gaz let’s out a high pitched scream of shock and nearly jumps into Price’s arms while Simon barely moves

- It’s the animal mindset kicking in differently than fear and violence and panic and he recognizes it immediately as being how he’s always understood his shifted form

- Still very much human but fewer thoughts and more instinct, making it easier to let go of anxiety then it ever is as a human

- Price looks absolutely shocked to see Simon casually shifted, bumping his large black head against Johnnys side to get his attention

- He quickly goes back to petting him

- When he shifts back he’s clearly a bit unnerved by it but just says something along the lines of never letting Gaz live down his reaction

- It’s months later that Johnny is having a difficult time with some recruits, just the type of people who like to pick at authority to try and make themselves seem tough

- Especially against the supposedly deadly SAS sergeant

- They know of Ghost and have heard enough rumors to be suitably terrified but they certainly don’t know how protective he is over Soap

- Rather than trailing around after Soap like his namesake and scaring all the recruits like he usually does if situations like this arise he takes a different route with this particular group after hearing Soap complain about some of the particularly unpleasant harassment he’s been facing

- Soap is halfway through yelling at the group of especially rude recruits when Ghost pads over to him and buts his head against the man’s chest

- He’s so shocked he freezes and the recruits are scrambling away when Johnnys face breaks into a brilliant smile as Ghost head-buts his thighs and stomach a few times before looping his strong lithe body around Johnnys back

- Soap just continues yelling at the recruits who are now cowering because he’s just casually got a massive black Jaguar draped around him

- When he finishes yelling he gives them one more warning before writing them up for insubordination and the practically run away the second they’re dismissed

- As soon as they’re out of sight Johnny breaks out into the most delighted laughter and hugs Ghost as hard as he can, pressing kisses to his snout and beaming at him

- Ghost just pushes him down and paws at him for pets, purring and butting his massive head against his chest

- Since he doesn’t have anything to do immediately he walks towards Ghosts room and lets himself in with the spare key while the few people around stare at him being followed by a massive jaguar

- People notice of course but it’s a small enough base that despite the people filtering through regularly it really is the 141s base and anyone who knows anything knows it’s a bit unregulated and very much left to the discretion of John Price

- Not to mention they’re too scared of Ghost to create any issues anyway

- So whatever chaos the 141 comes up with is mostly just ignored

- But people are definitely freaked out by a fucking Jaguar of all things just trotting after Sergeant McTavish through the hallways

- Soap of course thinks it’s hilarious and collapses laughing the second he gets the door closed

- He’s so incredibly proud of Simon he just showers him with love the rest of the night, petting him, kissing his snout, snuggling into his chest

- It makes Simon feel more loved than he has in a long time when Johnny gets so excited at one point that he accidentally shifts as well

- They love being shifted together but they also love when one of them is shifted and the other can give them love in their human form

- Soap starts transforming even more to help Simon and he can see the man slowly becoming more receptive to his shifter form

- He doesn’t transform in front of people on base again and a lot of people think those recruits were making it up

- Soap thinks it’s hilarious

- But he’s also so flattered that Ghost would transform in a semi public place for him since he knows how hard it is for him

- He doesn’t expect that Simon will ever be as comfortable as he is with his shifter form but when he starts shifting more in front of Price and Gaz in the 141 rec room he’s ecstatic

- Price and Gaz never quite get used to it but there’s nothing he likes more than seeing Simon sprawled across the couch in a patch of sunlight, tail flicking lazily as he licks him with his rough tongue

- But nothing is better than seeing Simon at home in there flat shifting comfortably just to get some pets, acting for all intents and purposes like a glorified house cat

- He’s such an attention seeker when shifted, if Soap ignores him he’ll break mugs and vases on purpose which has him feeling absolutely humiliated when he shifts back and his thoughts are more human

- Sometimes he still shifts after nightmares and things and Johnny will cuddle him close and soothe him with kisses and snuggles as he yowls and whimpers like a trapped animal

- But overwhelmingly he shifts for positive reasons and on purpose which he never could’ve imagined in the past

- It feels like he’s finally found the peace in his shifted form that he was searching for at five years old locked in the bathroom with clumsy paws, he feels like a kitten again with Johnny who is so sweet and attentive and everything he could ever hope for

- It affects their relationship significantly and they’re both incredibly happy and they work well together

- Although they never escape the cat and dog jokes from the people who know about both of them

#ghostsoap #soapghost #soapghost headcannons #trans ghost #ghoap #simon ghost riley #john soap mactavish #ghost mw2 #soap mw2 #shifters #soap cod #ghost cod #autistic simon ghost riley #not relevant but he is

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dailyadventureprompts · 9 months

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Homebrew Mechanic: Bumpercar Combat

I'm going to keep most of my reasoning behind developing this system below the cut but I think we can all agree that D&D's combat can be painfully static. I love fight scenes but after going down a combined stage combat/ videogame boss design rabbit hole I've realized that one of the primary elements is missing from D&D's combat system, namely: Movement

From a mechanical perspective, D&D combat needs movement to break up the monotony of non-spellcater characters throwing punches at eachother until one of them drops, to introduce increased risk and randomness without damage-spike abilities.

From a narrative perspective, D&D combat needs movement to introduce tension and to help put character into day to day fighting beyond just flavor text. Likewise, fights that give different opportunities for movement will feel different from one another, making them stand out in the party's mind.

So without further ado I present my fun new system, which will have your party and their enemies bouncing around the battlefield like a demolition derby:

Press the attack: If you attack a creature and your initial attack roll is higher than their constitution score, you can force them to shift 5 ft into any of the tree squares opposite from your position. You then move to occupy the space they did.

Back to a Wall: Walls and other substantial barriers grant attackers the benefits of flanking as if they were a threatening creature.

Give Ground: If you are attacked in melee and the initial roll is lower than your dexterity score you may shift into any adjacent square, forcing the opponent to move into the space you previously occupied. If you are attacked at a range, you may still shift, but the attacker loses any cover bonuses they might have till the start of their next turn rather than moving.

Tripping Hazard: If you force an opponent into a square that could be considered rough terrain ( such as if it was occupied by a chair, or down a slippery slope) the target drops prone.

First things first I want to say that this system is largely inspired by the dynamic combat movement rules by raventear productions, which I found over on reddit. It's a great system but the more I thought about it the more I realized that introducing extra rolls into combat was adding extra bloat to combat, and so I needed to retool the system to ensure that the party weren't having to roll any more dice than they normally would. My goal with homebrew is always to add more options, not bloat.

Also, go check out@jillbearup over on youtube, her series breaking down cinematic fights was one of the main drivers behind wanting to find a homebrew system like this in the first place.

Finally, long hours spent watching @ohnoitstbskyen 's in depth bloodborne playthough got me thinking about the design of fights, and the right combination of enemies and environment can truly elevate the player(s) experience. I'm also working on my own bloodborne game which gave me a reason to finalize this system.

Now lets get on to why I wanted to build this system in the first place: D&D combat is at risk of being painfully slow and boring, as it's aged the depths to which it can be slow and/or boring have only increased. While part of that is up to the skill of players at the table, I largely chalk it up to the fact that the base system of combat isn't much changed from the days of old tabletop wargaming....characters and monsters control like army units, clashing up against one another till one side drops or some spellcaster drops an AoE ( artillery). That rigidity is fine when one person is controling a whole army of units, but I think every melee character has been in a position where they're slugging away with the same old attack while the wizards get to do cool shit.

The system sort of worked back In the early days when characters and monsters could only take a couple of hits before dropping, but as the editions progressed and everything got more complex what might have first been a quick life or death clash turned into a slugfest. Attacks of opportunity and rigid flanking rules specifically encouraged this slowdown, and 4th edition, the only attempt outside of the battemaster to really play with positioning crashed and burned mainly due to WotC's incompetence.

So how do I use this?

If you're having trouble thinking of why this system might be fun to implement, here's a few ideas:

It makes groupfights more dangerous, encouraging tactical thinking. Getting advantage reliably is the deciding factor in most d&d combats, with the tide turning in favour of whichever side has the most bodies. If combatants are shifting around with every missed hit then that advantage is more up for grabs

It puts increased focus on hazards and terrain features. Ledges, pits, pillars, walls, furniture, dungeon-clutter. Make no mistake that if you use this system and then design your combat arenas with some kind of terrain feature, it's GOING to be used. Where previously players and enemies alike had to chose between engaging with the arena for a potential benefit or doing raw damage reliably, here they'll be able to do both.

It gives non burst-damage melee characters a new way to play. Rolling a barbarian or fighter is supposed to come with a scene of empowerment which can be undercut one folks realize their super-strong orc berserker is being outclassed for damage by the shifty guy with the knife. Telling that player "Yeah, that person gets to roll more dice, but you get to bounce badguys off the walls like pinballs" is more than a consolation, it's what they signed up to do in the first place.

It adds drama to the fight. There's only so many ways a dm can describe enemies taking non-lethal sword hits that only take up a portion of their hp, and they're liable to run out of those long before the campaign is through. Part of what sells the importance of those hits and keeps players engaged between the first and the last is the feeling that they've had SOME kind of effect. Moving folks around is a middle ground between doing nothing and dropping a foe, changing the battlefield in a myriad of small ways that can build up to something meaningful.

Art

#homebrew mechanic #d&d mechanics #combat #bumpercar combat #bad moon campaign #d&d

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maritotoy · 3 months

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MAUGA X Support/Medic Reader ((Part. 1))

NOTE: Believe it or not, I never realize how long I've written this one.

This narrative tracks Mauga's obsession with Y/N as it grows to the point where he is prepared to kill everyone who stands in his way. With this in mind, Mauga's commitment would gradually grow. He would start out softly and then this need on you would get stronger.

It all began when your talents were initially utilised for recruitment. You were a terrific help, willing to assist your teammates in whatever way they needed.

Your main issue was that you could never truly let them handle things on their own. As a result, it became increasingly difficult to care for yourself.

They promised you riches if you helped them fight back against their threat. There were only so many ways to profit from rival worlds, after all. You were aware that you were going into a whole new universe when you agreed, but you also felt that you had no choice but to accept them.

Ultimately, you didn't wish to pass away, did you?

It was stated to you when you first joined TALON Organization, that you should concentrate only on the battlefield. Up until you met Baptiste, an exceptional combat medic, it was great with you. Your shared enthusiasm for curing illness is what unites the two of you. It turned into a shared passion. As you try to acquire experience in several areas, like medical supplies, you both hope to discover some more useful abilities, like healing or even a unique kind of combat capability.

But you can hardly ever get to Baptiste, he's constantly at the top. Both a combat mercenary and medic. You're always looking for ways to sharpen your skills.

Even after meeting him again at your base and on missions, you are still determined to improve your ability to deal with any possible emergencies. Not until later do you find out what happens when a member of your unit gets injured.

Baptiste surged in, carrying an imposing stature and a solid, muscular frame. His voice sounded desperate, asking, "I'm sorry if I came to you! I know you are busy, but I need help with my friend, please, Y/N!" The urgency was so obvious that there wasn't much resistance. Even if he was a doctor himself, it must have seemed urgent enough.

Besides... You were in the right place to help.

You rushed over to his side and helped him stabilize his huge friend. "What happened, Bap? Are you hurt?" He didn't reply, but his eyes told you all you needed to know.

You fix your sight on his pal. He does not appear to be hurt or seriously damage. However, the man's body is completely soaked, which looks very suspicious to you. "Is he alright, Bap? I don't see anything wrong." He shook his head and gave a sigh.

"We were attacked. Mauga and I found the source of the enemy attack and got separated."

"How long has it been since then?"

"Four hours, maybe five."

"Do you have any idea of what may have caused the damage?"

"I'm not sure. However, I had already discovered him unconscious but unharmed on the ground. It should not take long for him to awaken.." You glance at the unconscious man again before you say, "Let me take a look at him." He nodded and stepped aside.

"Mauga could never be wounded by shots like that. Despite his size, he could easily absorb one hit thanks to his physique." He explains.

You crouch down and check on his comrade. He seems fine to you. There's nothing unusual about him, other than the fact that he's a bit too heavy.

You knew Mauga.

And with such.

You just don't know how to engage with him.

On a conversation? Yes. Your profession is your duty.

You don’t really get along with those who rely solely on themselves as an advantage, even though you respect their abilities.

The feeling is mutual. Every time someone gets hurt because of something beyond their control, you are there to help them.

Because that's your job as a medic.

You both have quite a difference in interests, though. You can't stand the fact that he’s so reckless, you can't understand why he doesn't think more carefully before he acts. As soon as he sees blood, it's always the most important thing.

Mauga stands tall, towering over his opponents with an impressive height of 7'5 ft tall. (My headcanon)

Mauga is a formidable opponent on the front lines thanks to his strong, muscular physique. His broad shoulders and thick neck gives off an air of strength and power, and his body is well-built, demonstrating his strength and capacity to deal severe damage to rivals.

Did I mention he has two hearts?

Unlike you, Mauga is a ruthless and cunning individual, driven by his own motivations. He never lets anyone interfere with his goals, whether or not they involve you. While he might act with reckless disregard sometimes, he is also able to calculate the best course of action.

Not anyone knows this. But you knew nontheless with Baptiste.

You may be underestimating him in some way, or you may have witnessed the genuine thing, up close and personal, but he always brags about his achievements without hesitation or shame. His fighting style turns wild and unpredictable when he fights. If Mauga doesn't want to win, he will take his time, before using ChaCha and Gunny, his chainguns, to grab the victory, and he won't give up until he achieves his objective.

He definitely is careless, isn't he?

"He's breathing just fine, Baptiste. I would say he is in perfect health, aside from the injuries, I can't detect any signs of any damage injuries either." You said as you stood up. Baptiste sighs relief. "I'll leave him to you doctor. Don't worry, I trust that you have everything under control." He says this to you while nodding in satisfaction.

This gesture of his is a way of gratitude towards the medic's work.

"I will be back later," he says as he leaves to make a round to prepare for battle.

While Baptiste was gone, you sat next to the downed mercenary soldier and begin to observe him. In the midst of his unconsciousness, he seems to be in a good state. There was no sign of discomfort or pain. His pulses are fast but steady, knowing that Mauga have two hearts, one that allowed him to replace his damaged, organic heart with a cybernetic one. That way, his heart will beat twice as fast. You can easily tell that Mauga is in his natural state.

Your eyes began to feel heavy after observing him for some time. You weren't sure if it's due to fatigue from watching him, or simply exhaustion from your duties as a medic.

Before you knew it, you fell asleep.

When you awoke, you find yourself staring back into the face of Maugaloa Malosi, whose lips formed into those flashing, same pasted smile as usual. “Ah, Doctor. How nice to see you again.”

You quickly wake up, sitting straight up on the chair. “M-Mauga!" You exclaimed, alarmed. "H-How is you- I mean are you feeling alright?”

He grinned at you. “I am feeling rather fine.” You let out a long, sigh of relief. However, you didn't anticipate that this would happen frequently. “I see..." You replied.

Silence takes over for a while. Mauga stared at you intensely before taking a step forward. “Your Y/N, correct? Baptiste little assistant. I've heard much about you, but never expect that I would get to get treated from you.”

You flinched slightly at his words 'assistant' and the word 'little', but you remained calm. “I'm glad that you feel better now. You should rest and recover. If you still need them..."

“I appreciate the concern,” he says as he reaches towards your shoulder. You instinctively raise your hands in preparation of blocking. This caught him off guard, causing him to pause in his movements, then booms laughing.

“My apologies, Teuila. I thought that you might have forgotten what I do here,” he said in that familiar, friendly tone.

“If I recall correctly, I haven't given you permission to touch me.” This comment caught him off guard as he chuckles deeply.

He stares at your hand for a while longer. You're beginning to become worried. After a brief silence, he reaches forward and lightly holds onto your wrist.

“That’s a very sensitive spot…” He whispers gently. Your heartbeat begins to accelerate. “And your pulse is fast. Is this normal?” he asks. “Yes,” you respond in a soft voice.

“Then why are you afraid? You know I'm not going to hurt you...” He grinned. His sharp teeth glinted menacingly in the dim light. "Surely you've already made a friend? You also gave him a lot of attention than you do with me. Or have you grown to dislike me?"

"...I... I beg your pardon-" your speech is interrupted by Baptiste with a tired expression.

"Hey... Sorry that I took so long. I went to gather supplies. Mission was a success." He sighed in relief as he approached you.

"Mauga, I'm glad your awake bud." Baptiste sighs in relief and smiles at Mauga. Mauga returned the gesture before looking back at you.

He still has that huge grin plastered across his features while his eyes darted towards yours. "You're crazy out there Mauga. Do you really think that you can defeat the enemies single handedly?" Baptiste says with a chuckle. “You know me Baptiste, I never do things without planning them out.” He grinned, revealing that row of dazzlingly white teeth. “I still don't understand how you've been knocked down so easily. It's hard to believe that you can be beaten like that.” Baptiste gives a half smirk, half frown.

You listen to their conversation, and you try to make sense of it. Mauga laughs at the situation, as if it's all so obvious. "C'mon, Baptiste, we have bigger problems than me right now. The mission is a success because we finally found the enemy camp. But it was a close call, and we needed your medical expertise to treat the wounded," Mauga explains to Baptiste while looking directly into his eyes with a sly smile. "I carried your massive ass in this camp with support of your weight alone. You ought to be pleased to have a subordinate with such skill." Baptiste smirks. He was referring to you. Mauga laughs at his friend's criticism, displaying his amusement at the circumstances.

"So yeah. It was pretty rough, but we managed to secure the objective! Isn't that great news?"

It's not really a surprise to you.

Mauga does tend to put himself in danger, especially when he's in an unfamiliar place.

This guy is completely reckless, which is why you can't believe that he managed to survive so many battles without falling apart or breaking down.

"Your a loose-canon, but I hope ended well..." you say calmly, hoping that you sound convincing enough.

"I can assure that I have the highest respect and admiration for your abilities as a medic. I would never doubt your skills, even if I hadn't personally experience how skilled you are in dealing with wounds." Mauga comments, he sounds sincere as ever.

Baptiste grins again. "That's a big ego of yours, my friend. You should consider giving a few compliments to the people who did more than you."

"I would love to, my friend, but there's nothing wrong with being modest about our accomplishments."

"Alright," Baptiste said, sounding annoyed.

--------

After several hours, days, months of treating your patients at base. You cannot help but wonder seeing Mauga quite often, whether that is purely because of duty or something else. Although it is difficult to tell what he's thinking, there are moments where you notice the way that he is constantly staring at you. Like he's trying to figure out something about you:

studying your appearance, facial expressions, mannerisms. Sometimes he gets lost in his thoughts, sometimes he appears to be lost in his own world, occasionally, you could catch him smirking knowingly, or even smiling to himself. These small gestures usually only occur during times when it's with you with him. Sometimes, the man is just too cheerful, or too energetic in general.

You could hardly handle the stress of handling all these patients in the infirmary on your own. You're starting to miss having Baptiste around to keep him occupied while you go through patients. You sighed loudly not until Mauga appears behind you

You found him with wounds on his chest and torso. You turn to look at him, "What happened?"

"Nothing serious..." He grins, showing his sharpened teeth.

"Just a minor injury, eh?" You raise an eyebrow at the mercenary, crossing your arms over your chest. Mauga simply shrugs as he sits on a table.

There was another period of silence between you two, and the atmosphere seemed to tense up considerably. This time, it's you who breaks the silence. "I'm sorry that you got injured. I don't know how I should react seeing someone else getting hurt so casually. You could have died out there. And that's not the worst thing that can happen," you said sarcastically and sternly.

He chuckles. "Oh really? Tell me more." He leans closer to your face, gazing deeply into your eyes. "Ah. So that's how it is."

You glare at him angrily, but he ignores you as you continue working. "Are you seriously going to mock me for worrying about you?"

"Not at all," he replied, with a hint of sarcasm. "But there is one thing that concerns me."

"What? You're going to insult me too, aren't you?" Mauga laughs while Y/N tends his injury.

The felt of your touch sends shivers throughout his entire body. He tries hard to suppress the sudden urge to grab her hand and hold on tightly. It's becoming harder to control these urges though. He shakes his head rapidly as he pulls away from you. He looks at you with narrowed eyes. "I'm not mocking you, you know?"

Your gaze flicks briefly to his. "Hm."

There was a short silence between you two, until you began to clean a cut on one of his legs. You noticed his gaze follow every movement of your fingers. "Why are you staring at me like that?"

"I'd prefer that you didn't ask questions so frequently, Teuila."

"Teuila?" You face him. "You know, I never asked you of this... But why do you call me that?" He lets out a deep chuckle and replies. "Because you look like Teuila. It fits well, doesn't it?" He flashes you a warm smile before turning his head away again.

You shrugged of his answer, continuing your work without saying anything further, although you were extremely curious. "Teuila... What does that word mean?" There's a brief moment of silence in between the two of you once you finished cleaning up the blood staining his leg. A faint smile plays across his lips again. "I thought you were better than that."

"And you think that you're better than me?"

"Yeah," he replies smugly.

"Then... You've obviously underestimated me, don't you?" You give him a challenging smirk. He returns the smile with a smirk of his own, but he then turns serious again. His eyes narrow. "Let me enlighten you. That name means 'flower'. Do you understand what kind of flower it means?"

You gave him a blank stare. He continues to smirk, waiting for you to understand his meaning. Eventually, you sigh, putting your hands on your hips. "Do I look like I care to know?" You scoff, rolling your eyes lightly.

Mauga laughs. "Well, I guess it doesn't matter what you think of it..."

There was silence between you two for a few seconds, and you looked away with furrowed brows.

You finish patching up the mercenary, placing some bandages around him and securing them securely. "Now that I finished helping you, you're dismissed." You professionaly said after you made sure that everything was covered properly. Mauga laughs at this. "Really? Now? Just like that?" He asks mockingly.

"Yes Mauga, I don't have any other duties besides tending to your wounds. I've been doing that for quite some time now," you responded coldly.

Mauga raises an eyebrow at this. "You know, if you start beginning to care about those wounds, you might find yourself losing them. If you want me to leave your clinic quickly, then you'll have to earn my trust first, which requires some work."

You sigh heavily. Of course Mauga will insist on making things difficult for you. "I am no doctor Mauga, I cannot cure your injuries." You sarcasticly said.

"Oh I know that. But you're still willing to take the risk." He chuckled.

"You wouldn't had to waste precious time coming here in order to talk shit."

Mauga laughs at you again, grinning like a cat that ate the canary. "I wouldn't waste too much time coming here either, but I also wouldn't be able to enjoy it quite as much because you'll be gone by then," he says confidently. "Besides, you're not exactly known for your patience." You roll your eyes, turning back to the table in front of you.

"You know I've always wondered what it feels like to be your patient," Mauga mused. "To be the one receiving the attention of the most skilled medic in your battalion."

"You must be joking," you replied, you know what he meant, not wanting to think that you would ever become his patient.

"No. You know me... " He grins. You groaned. "Don't' make such assumptions, we don't know each other all that well yet."

"Yet..."

You glared at him as he laughed. "Whatever. It seems like there's no stopping you, is there? We haven't even officially met yet, and already you're acting as if you have a good relationship with me." You sighed exasperatedly, massaging the area of your forehead in irritation.

"Listen, Mauga. My job is simple, I care for my patients and treat them well. Nothing more, nothing less."

"Oh yeah? Well, maybe I'm different," he said cockily.

"How? Are you not afraid of dying?"

"No... No I'm not... I've done so much more reckless things than death." His expression suddenly shifted to an emotionless one. For a moment, it felt almost as if he wasn't looking at you anymore. Then he chuckled softly, giving you a playful wink. "But I'm no saint."

"It must be hard to admit being human." You shook your head slightly.

"Sometimes." His grin returned to his features.

You couldn't help but stare directly into his eyes for a little longer, taking in how dark they actually are.

Mauga shows a huge plastered face. His still wearing his dumb smile.

You blinked at him.

He blinked back.

You rolled your eyes. "Stop smiling so much." He continued to laugh, as you turned away from him again. Mauga stood up and stretched lazily, "I have something to attend to, I'll be seeing you later," Mauga teasingly said as he made his way towards the door. He opens it, but he glances back.

A small smirk forms on his lips.

You watch him disappear outside the door, closing it behind him with a click. Once the door closes you let out a heavy sigh, resting your back against the wall behind you. Your heart is racing a mile, a minute, both at the prospect of having finally been alone with Mauga again, and the strange feeling within you after you spent several hours alone with him.

This feeling...

It's definitely not normal.

End of part 1

Part 2- ???

#mauga #maugaloa malosi #mauga overwatch #overwatch mauga #overwatch #mauga x reader #ow mauga #mauga ho'okano #overwatch x reader

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