#he has vowed Never to be at the mercy of others again | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

ponderingmoonlight · 7 months

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Honestly, I'm thinking about what if sukuna's s/o(in his og era and when he's still human) died and they vowed that they meet again in another life and they will love him again

MANY many many many years later, itadori become sukuna's vessel and sukuna met his dead s/o who's reincarnated. They have exact voice, face, attitude and everything. The only thing that changed is their last name and THEY HAVE WEDDING RING AND THEY'RE MARRED TO SATORU

And worst of all, sukuna is still inlove with his s/o and LIVID

Jsdijscusncjsnfjdnfieixjeifndfjjeks😭😭😭😭

When I tell you I had to run home and write this IMMEDIATELY I mean it. What a absolutely amazing idea for a fic, there you go! Please let me know what you think<3

PS: I changed it up just the tiniest bit because it fitted better in the story I had in mind, hope you still like it though

Promises you can't keep

Pairing: former!reader x Sukuna; reader x husband!Gojo Word Count: 2,5k Synopsis: When Sukuna realizes that you did not only break your oath to wait until he returns back to you but married Gojo Satoru after 1000 years of him waiting for you, he goes insane. Warnings: pretty rough language, heavy hurt on Sukuna's side

„Ryomen“, you breathe out, whole body shivering in nothing but grief.

A thick veil of rain and teardrops pours down on the lifeless body of your lover without any mercy. How did this happen? Who on earth would be able to defeat the strongest jujutsu sorcerer of all times? You always thought that this would last forever, that nobody is able to take this blessing away from you. But there he lays, covered entirely in his own blood while you clearly feel that his strength is leaving him with every passing second.

“You need to look at me, (y/n).”

He had so many enemies, countless people who wanted to defeat him. But no one could ever hold a candle to him – no one until now.

“(y/n). Look at me”, he gasps again urgently.

His hand gently caresses your cheek, a grin plastered on his face. You want to bury yourself against his body, close your eyes and pretend that none of this is actually happening, that your lover isn’t dying in front of you. But you know that look on his face all too well – the stare of death. After all, you took enough lives with your own hands to know how this feels.

“You have to promise me something.”

“I’ll promise you everything”, you cry out, holding onto his hand for dear life while the pounding rain seems to soak through your bones.

This is all too much to bear. You want nothing more than stabbing yourself and lie beside him, waiting for death to finally wash over you. But you know he wouldn’t allow that, that he has other plans.

“I taught you how to use cursed technique, use it. And when you do, we’ll meet again, you hear? No matter in which live, I will find you. Promise me that you’ll wait for me.”

“Of course I will. O-of curse I will wait for you”, you mutter.

“This isn’t enough. I need more assurance. Show me that you mean it”, he demands.

Without thinking twice, you use your powers to cut a gaping wound into your very own forearm, running blood mixing with the rain in an instant.

“I swear I will find you in another life and that I’ll love you until that! I insist by my blood, by a blood oath!”

He smiles while you can sense that life slowly begins to leave his weak frame.

“That’s what I wanted to hear…Don’t break your promise, (y/n)”, he mutters, lids so heavy that he’s barely able to keep his eyes open.

“I would never do that”, you reply, determination filling you gaze.

You will do what he told you. You’ll turn yourself into a cursed spirit and live on until you finally meet again.

Until you are finally able to hold Ryomen Sukuna in your arms again.

“Fuck”, you mumble to yourself, scratching your head while you desperately fight against the pictures of Sukuna that occupy your mind.

Even after more than 1000 years, it seems like this man put a spell on you, haunting you even in your dreams. Well, given the fact that your husband just found out one of Sukuna’s fingers disappeared, the wave of your past seems to catch up with you faster than you thought.

Your phone buzzes violently on your nightstand, making you sign in frustration. Who the hell is this? What could be important enough to contact you when you definitely have more urgent problems at the moment?

“I’m busy sleeping”, you mumble into your phone.

“Gojo-san, you need to come here immediately…I found the cursed object”, Megumi’s unusual bothered voice explains briefly.

“Where’s Satoru? I thought he’s around that area too”, you mutter.

“He’s buying sweets at the moment. Can you please just come here? I wouldn’t call you if it’s not urgent.”

You know that Megumi’s right, that he’d never call you if not necessary. But why on earth is your husband out there buying sweets when this is actually his mission?

“Sure. Give me 5 minutes.”

To be honest, it doesn’t really sit right with you to get in contact with Sukuna again, even if it’s only one of his fingers. But he has to be naïve if he thinks you waited for him, right? After all, he was gone for more than 1000 years, swallowed by earth without any sign. When Satoru Gojo came into your world a few years ago, he showed you what life really is about and even accepted the fact that you are half curse half human, protecting you from the elders with every beat of his heart. Yes, you love this man with all your heart. So much that you gave up the idea of getting back together with Sukuna and started a new life with your now husband.

None of this matters, though. Sukuna is sealed, forever trapped in 20 of his fingers. Even if he’s not over you, he won’t have a chance to confront you anyway.

With a swift motion, you get into your car and drive to the location Megumi has sent you earlier. Everything will work out just fine, like always

______________________________________________________________

“Sorry for keeping you waiting Megumi-chan, got stuck in traffic. Oh, who’s your friend?”, you question while eyeing the pink-haired boy in front of you up and down.

“And why on earth is he half naked?”

Meanwhile, Sukuna laughs to himself inside Yuji hysterically. Finally. Finally he found another vessel. Finally he’s able to search for you again. Oh, how much he missed to hold you in his arms, to hear your sweet voice. How have you been? Did you wait for him like you promised? Of course you did. After all, you told him over and over how much you lo-

“Something really bad happened, Gojo-san”, the black-haired boy that caught Sukuna’s attention earlier speaks out while scratching his head.

Sukuna needs to take a closer look. Who is this woman? She surely is attractive, looking almost like…

“Come on Megumi-chan, stop being so shy and call me (y/n) already.”

You. His heart drops, gaze hungrily soaking up your striking sight. Oh, you didn’t change at all, looking exactly like he remembers you with your wry grin and delicious curves. He waited for this exact moment more than a thousand years.

Finally.

Finally he’ll be able to hold you in his arms again, to rule the world with you by his side like the both of you always imagined. Can this day get any better?

“I prefer Gojo-san, though. After all you’re married to Gojo-sensei.”

…

What was that? Married? And that name…He heard it before. It belongs to the current strongest jujutsu sorcerer.

His stomach turns. This can’t be true, it has to be a misunderstanding. Back then, you made it very clear that you’ll wait for him no matter what happens, he showed you how to reincarnate yourself, he is the one responsible for you still walking on this earth.

You…You wouldn’t betray him like that, right?

“Anyway. What is so bad that you had to call me? And where’s the cursed object?”

“I ate it”, Yuji explains briefly.

Time stands still as you can only stare in disbelief at the boy in front of you, too stunned to speak. Fuck, this is bad. This is very very bad. Not only because that poor teen will probably die, but because it means that he’s reincarnated. Sukuna is back walking on this earth, free to do whatever he pleases. And you know well enough that this could be the end of everything.

“He ate it?”, you repeat with low voice.

Your heart seems to stop beating, your usual so confident smile fades away in the wind.

“Yup”, both boys confirm your worst nightmares.

You need to take a step back, to get a hold on yourself while your finger plays with your wedding ring. This is bad, this means trouble, this is the worst thing that could have possibly happen.

“Gojo-san, are you okay?”, Megumi asks, voice filled with concern.

It’s like you’ve forgot how to breathe, your lungs refusing their service. The eyes of that boy, that orbs that are filled with nothing but innocence and kindness. If you look close enough, you can tell that he’s inside him.

“Get that moron here right now”, you hiss, turning around to face Megumi so fast that your head begins to spins.

Fuck, what are you supposed to do? There are exactly two options:

1. Ryomen forgot about you anyway and will continue his cruel plans

2. He does in fact remember your promise very well and still has feelings for you.

While option one is pretty bad already, you are almost certain that option two is equal to the end of the world. Ryomen is fucking cold-hearted, sadistic and selfish. The only time he ever opened up in his entire life was for you. Oh, you just knew how to make him soft, how to make a thoughtful lover out of a man that wanted to burn the entire world down.

“Long time no see, (y/n).”

You feel like fainting, mouth dry like the desert. It’s his voice. And god, it sounds as horrible and unpromising as 1000 years ago.

“You look younger than I expected”, you comment dryly while turning around.

The worst thing you could do right now is showing him your weakness. You know this man all too well to be aware of the fact that he’ll use everything against you he can grasp.

“And you look like a cheating whore.”

His voice makes the blood freeze in your veins in an instant. He isn’t just mad. No, he’s absolutely furious.

“Ouch, that are some rough words to say.”

Before you have time to even comprehend what’s happening, he grabs your wrists and forces you to look at him, tight grip making your skin burst.

When you look into his eyes, you can see nothing but hatred and disgust in them – a mixture that makes your guts turn.

“Is this a wedding ring on your finger, (y/n)?”, he hisses through gritted teeth.

“You were gone for over 1000 years. How long did you expect me to wait for you?”

Your voice isn’t more than a fade whisper, completely swallowed by the threatening way he stands in front of you.

“You swore. You fucking swore.”

“I moved on. I found a man who truly loves me and I love him with all my heart, without any fear or pursuit of power. He accepts me the way I am, he fights for me-“

“And I didn’t do that?”, he yells so hostile that you flinch.

“He showed me that I don’t have to subjugate people. The jujutsu sorcerers at Jujutsu High accept me the way I am, I would even say they like me. And admiration is so much better than submission. I changed my view of the world and this view doesn’t match your fucked up one at all.”

Sukuna can’t believe it. All these fucking years, he waited for you patiently. You were the only thing that occupied his mind, the empire you could have built together. Are you really giving that up because of a random man that put a ring on your finger? Are you giving this life of luxury and nonchalance up for some brats? This doesn’t sound like you at all.

“The (y/n) I knew gave nothing about all of these things”, he spits atyou.

“The (y/n) you knew died a long time ago”, you reply.

He hates the way his heart burns in agony because of your words and how he feels like falling apart. He is the king of curses, the strongest jujutsu sorcerer of all times. You should be happy that he chose you to stay by his side, to support him while he reaches his goals. Why on earth do you choose a miserable life like this over him?

It doesn’t matter.

“Then you are my enemy and I’ll kill you.”

“Here I am everybody! Look what I’ve bought!”

There has probably never been a moment in your life when you were so happy to hear the voice of your husband.

“That boy eat the finger, Satoru”, you explain briefly without breaking eye contact with your former lover.

“Really?”

“Really.”

“So you’re Sukuna, huh?”, Gojo mutters besides you.

Something inside Sukuna snaps. Instinctively, he lunges himself at Gojo, over and over trying to punch into his pretty face. Is this really the man you chose over him, the man you decided to marry despite the promise you’ve made?

“You have something that belongs me”, Sukuna states, pure hatred dripping from his voice.

“I know you want my woman back because she had a thing with you a thousand years ago. But I need to disappoint you: she’s mine now”, Gojo replies with a cheeky grin.

All the countless nights you spent together, the humans you killed on each other’s side, the empire the two of you built back then in your era. And this is your replacement? He can’t help but feel…

Grief. Fuck, even if he’d never admit it out loudly, you were the only thing besides his powers that Sukuna really valued, maybe even loved. He shouldn’t care about things like this, about your new lover. But he’s absolutely livid, the thought of this man touching the body that belongs to him making him see nothing but red.

Over and over, he tries to beat Gojo Satoru, to show him that he is not to be trifled with. But even though that annoying brat acts as his vessel now, there are still 19 parts of him missing. To beat this man, he’ll definitely need more than one part of his soul.

“C’mon, get back on track boy, don’t let this old fart take over your body”, Satoru speaks to Yuji.

Slowly but surely, Sukuna feels the control slipping through his fingers. No, he isn’t done yet, he has to kill the man that proclaimed you, he has to force you to stay with him at any cost. He waited to damn long for this moment, he can’t lose control now-

“Man, that is really annoying”, Yuji speaks out with his usual voice.

You can tell immediately that he’s gone, almost falling backwards in relief. That was a damn close call. If Satoru wouldn’t have made it one time, who knows what would have happened.

“Are you alright, sweetheart?”, Satoru asks softly, hand placed on your back in order to support your trembling body.

“Yeah. Just a little surprised to see my ex after 1000 years I guess”, you breathe out.

All Sukuna is able to do is sit down and watch as this fucker wraps his arms around you and places a small kiss on your forehead, asking you over and over if you’re okay and what happened.

This is unacceptable. You are his and his alone. He will not allow another man to touch you, let alone marry you.

He leans back in his chair and lets himself close his eyes for a brief moment. No, Sukuna won’t allow you to be happy. Even if it’s the last thing he’ll do, he’ll kill Satoru Gojo as soon as an opportunity presents itself.

“I’m coming for you, (y/n).”

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dindjarindiaries · 3 months

Text

Doomsday

summary: You and Din are interrogated by Moff Gideon, who has quickly realized you’re the best weapon he has to use against the Mandalorian.

pairing: din djarin (the mandalorian) x reader

tags: intense physical & emotional torture (incl. choking), injuries (incl. dislocations & blood), trauma, hurt/comfort, angst

word count: 5.197k

main masterlist • din djarin masterlist

Doomsday had finally arrived, but at least you and Din would be going down together.

Your hands and ankles had since been bound by yellow fibercord, strong enough to resist every effort you tried to make to break free of them. The same had been done to Din, leaving even the galaxy’s most formidable warrior helpless. There was nothing else you two could do than allow the Super Commandos to drag you through the corridors of Moff Gideon’s base.

The thought alone twisted a sickening knot inside your stomach. Somehow, it had come to that again. You played yourselves right into Gideon’s filthy hands.

Of course, you and Din had been the only ones to survive the trap on your side of the blast door. He had acted as your shield, and maybe if he hadn’t needed to block so much of the Commandos’ blaster fire, he would’ve been able to take them down easier. You were quickly finding out that you were more of a liability in Din’s life than a partner, even if your shared vows said otherwise.

The Commandos brought the two of you into what you assumed was the briefing room Gideon had mentioned before. Each pair of troopers had set you and Din on your knees across from each other, forcing you to face one another. You couldn’t bear to look at him, no matter how much the mere sight of him comforted you.

You had only been at Gideon’s mercy once before, but never like this—and that one time was enough to almost take Din away from you forever.

“Cyar’ika.” Din’s modulated voice was soft, but due to the tense silence in the room, it nearly made you jump. Your gaze still darted across the floor. “Cyar’ika, look at me.”

His words weren’t a plea. Instead, they were a comfort, as if he was verbally trying to lay his own cape over your shoulders. It earned him your gaze, and despite how disheartening the sight of him tied-up was, the sweet familiarity of his visor began to ease the unsettled knot within you.

“It’s gonna be okay.”

You swallowed hard, wishing you could borrow his strength for once as you instead dreaded the shadows turning the corner towards the room’s entryway. “Promise?” Your voice was no more than a whisper.

Din nodded. “Promise.”

You fought to ignore the amused huff one of the Commandos let out, but Din couldn’t do the same. He shoved his side against the trooper’s leg, earning him a hit of the trooper’s blaster against his helmet. Din grunted, and you winced to yourself, staring at the floor once again.

Gideon’s bootsteps manifested from the shadows, presenting you with the vision of his full figure. His new armor was still a lot to process, especially with the knowledge that it had been inspired by the Dark Troopers that had nearly taken all of you out on Gideon’s light cruiser. He stopped once he entered and let the door slide closed behind him before he raised his helmet from his head and offered it to one of the troopers at his side.

“And so we all meet again.” Gideon sounded overjoyed at his proclamation, his arms raising at his sides as he chuckled in cruel delight. “If only it was under better circumstances.”

You and Din remained silent. You could feel the heat of his gaze on you, but you still couldn’t quite return his look. You steadied yourself with a deep breath and hoped the sudden wave of nausea would go with it.

“Ah, yes, I see how it is. You’d like to get this done quickly.” Gideon’s sickening smirk remained as his arms fell back to his sides. “For once, our desires align.” He gestured over to Din. “Remove his helmet.”

“No!” You couldn’t bite back your instant protest as it clawed its way through your throat. You set your jaw and stared Gideon down with a lethal gaze. Your chest burned with the flame of hatred as you tugged on the troopers’ grasps.

Gideon’s gaze sparkled at you as he set his focus in your direction. “Is there another option you’d like to present at this time?”

Your gaze slid down to Din, who was somehow as composed as ever. His visor had never strayed from you, as if he was studying every inch of you to make sure you were okay. You let out a defeated exhale. “What do you want from us?”

Gideon raised an eyebrow. “What makes you think I’m desiring something?”

“There’s no other reason why you’d have us here.” You scoffed and shook your head, using the logic Din had often praised you for. “You have everything you’ve ever wanted. A shiny beskar suit, a fully-equipped base on Mandalore itself, the ability to make even the strongest of warriors yield to your demands.” You frowned as you sifted through everything. “There’s nothing we could offer you.”

You looked at Din again. His armored chest suddenly stalled, and yours did the same at the same time. Oh shit.

“Bait.” For Bo-Katan, certainly, but mostly for Grogu—for another shot to take more of his blood.

“You’re asking and answering my own questions for me.” Gideon gave you a smile of approval. “That’s a brilliant mind.” Gideon’s attention shifted to Din as his smile widened. “Must be why you decided to wed.”

Din’s chest began to move again as he calmed himself with steady breaths. Still, he presented no response, remaining silent in a way that clearly brought Gideon heavy frustration.

“What do you think, Din Djarin?” Gideon tilted his head, his smile straightening out into a look that had haunted your nightmares longer than you cared to admit. “Should we keep this easy and slip off that helmet now?”

Din only raised his chin higher at Gideon. Your heart twisted in your chest as you realized the motion gave Gideon and his men easier access to the lip of his helmet.

“I can’t let you do that.” Your voice was low, rough, and bitter, as if it had been squeezed out of your tense throat. You narrowed your eyes at Gideon as his gaze met yours again. “I won’t let you.”

“Is that so?” Gideon hummed and strolled closer to you. “And what do you intend to do about it?”

You circled your jaw. “Whatever it takes.”

Gideon’s gaze sparkled again. He knelt down in front of you and held your chin with his fingers. “Anything?”

You jerked your head back, forcing his grip away from yourself as you snarled at him. “Anything.”

Gideon smiled in satisfaction. “There we go. Compliance.” He kept his voice soft as he tilted his head at you. “All I need to ask you is a simple question, then.”

You kept your anger at the forefront of your mind, knowing that if it faltered, fear would surely give way. “Fire away.”

Gideon nodded. He asked his question like it was the easiest thing in the world to answer. “Why did you come to Mandalore?”

Your expression didn’t falter. “For fun.”

The corner of Gideon’s mouth twitched. “Ah. Yes.” He stood back to his full height and stepped back, nodding at one of the Commandos. Next thing you knew, your cheek was burning from the trooper’s blaster hitting it, and the stinging it left behind promised not only a forming bruise but also a bleeding cut.

“Gideon.” Din spoke for the first time since Gideon had entered, though his voice was more a growl than anything else. It was the angriest you had ever heard him. “Keep your hands off them and focus that energy on me.”

Gideon turned his head towards Din. “Is that a treat?”

Din tilted his helmet, a slow and calculated motion. “It’s a promise.”

Gideon huffed, clearly amused by Din—as if he wasn’t on the receiving end of one of the galaxy’s greatest warrior’s threats. Before he could speak, you filled the space with your own voice. “It’s all right.” You rolled your shoulders, ignoring the way the Commandos tightened their grip on you. “I can take it.”

Gideon lifted his brow, genuinely impressed. “I believe you.” His lips spread in a slow smile. “But the question is,” he turned towards Din, “can he take it?”

“No.” You shook your head at Gideon and hoped your pure desperation wasn’t obvious. You couldn’t handle watching them hurt Din at your expense. “There’s no need for that. There’s no need for any of this.”

Gideon waved a gloved hand towards you. “Would you like to plead your case?” You tightened your jaw, and Gideon offered a dramatic bow, giving you the floor.

“You already know why we’re here. It’s why you sent your forces after the fleet. You need us alive if you intend on using us as bait, and given the fact you somehow know about our marriage, it seems there’s nothing about us you don’t already know.” You tilted your head at Gideon, narrowing your eyes as you assessed him. “So why did you ask me about coming here, and what the hell do you really want to know?”

Gideon hummed. “Ah, you misunderstood. I don’t want to know why you’re on Mandalore now. I want to know why you were here before.”

Your blood ran cold, but you kept your face unchanged. “We weren’t here before.”

Gideon chuckled. “Whose TIE interceptors did you think were following you?”

You swallowed hard and looked at Din. His visor, however, was stuck on Gideon, something that made the knot in your stomach tie tighter. There was more that you weren’t getting.

“That’s not the only thing you misunderstood.” Gideon was smug as he went on, clearly proud of himself for outsmarting you. “You thought I intended on hurting him.” He paused for a moment and shrugged. “In a way, I suppose you were right.” You froze as one of the troopers at Gideon’s side stepped in front of you. “Just not physically.”

The Super Commando tossed his blaster to the floor and swung his fist before you could process the action. You took the hit with a gasp of both surprise and pain, feeling the sting of it on the side of your face they hadn’t already hurt. You were ready for the next one, and you had braced yourself before it hit your other cheek that had already gone sore.

The sound of a struggle was somehow louder than the blood roaring in your ears. “Gideon, if you value your life, you’ll stop.” Din’s warning was so terrifyingly ruthless and genuine that it made a shiver run down your own spine. The breathless way it was spoken due to his constant struggle against the Commandos’ grasp on him only made it more threatening.

Gideon remained unshaken. “Answer my question, then.”

“Don’t.” You bit back a whimper at the soreness of your jaw as you gave Din a determined look. “I can take it.” Din’s visor met your gaze and that time, you were the one who sought to comfort him. “It’s gonna be okay.”

The trooper disappeared behind you. You knew better than to think it meant you were in the clear. A moment later, his arm wrapped around your neck from behind, closing your airway more and more as he slowly pulled you in tighter. You tried your best not to make your struggle obvious, but eventually, you couldn’t help it. You fought to keep your gaze on Din, who had started pulling even harder at the Commandos’ grasp.

“Make them stop.” Din’s words were a pure growl once again. You accidentally let your gasp for air escape you in a way that made Din repeat himself much louder. “Make. Them. Stop.”

Your vision began to go spotty. You blinked an apology at Din if he could understand it before you let your eyes fall closed to focus on staying awake—staying alive.

“All you have to do, Din Djarin, is ans—.”

“Get the hell away from them and take my damn helmet off already!”

That was Din yelling. But, it couldn’t be. Din never yelled. He was never afraid. And he sure sounded afraid just then—but also very, very angry. You needed to breathe. Please, please…

The arm at your neck fell away, and you fell with it. Your body crumpled forward as you coughed and gasped for air, your neck and throat burning. The troopers pulled you back up, forcing your lungs to work even harder, but at least letting you see Din again. He was fighting to maintain his composure, and you noticed that right away, but his steady breaths indicated that he was getting closer to calming down again.

“So.” Gideon was smiling again as he looked at Din. How the hell was he smiling at that, at inflicting such horrible pain upon people? “That’s the choice you’re making.” He shook his head, as if he was disappointed with Din. “Breaking your precious Creed instead of answering a simple question?”

Din remained silent. Just like before, he held his chin up higher, offering his helmet up as if it was the easiest thing in the entire galaxy to do.

Gideon gestured for one of his men to step forward. You shook your head, your chest still heaving as you spoke with all the air you had managed to gather back into your lungs. “No, Din. Please.” Your voice was so hoarse even you could barely recognize it. As the trooper stood in front of Din, your panic rose, and flashes of every moment that led up to Din’s redemption in the Living Waters hit you in a single second. “No, no! Please.”

“Just tell me what I want to know, and I’ll make it stop.” Gideon had the audacity to act honorable as he nodded at you with a wrinkled brow, as if he was pitying you. It took all your self control to resist spitting in his direction.

“It’s okay.” Din’s voice was soft again, just as it had been when he first spoke to you in this horrible, terrifying room. You found his visor and lost yourself in it, for once in your life praying to the stars that you wouldn’t have to see his brown eyes anytime soon. “Just like I promised.” He nodded at you, then he turned his attention to the trooper at his side. “Do it.”

The Commando waited for Gideon’s command, and once he earned a nod from the Moff, the trooper reached forward to grab the lip of Din’s helmet. That’s when Din slammed his helmet forward, hitting the Commando’s hand at an angle perfect enough to make it bend and break at the wrist. The trooper cried out in pain and fell back a few steps, grabbing at his limp hand.

You smiled to yourself. Of course Din had a plan. You were foolish to think he wouldn’t.

But that sense of victory was short-lived. Gideon gestured to Din’s shoulder and the Commando on Din’s right side followed the unspoken order. You had no time to prepare as you watched the trooper grab Din’s arm tightly with both hands and pull it as far back and away from Din’s shoulder as he could.

The sickening crack couldn’t be heard over the sound of Din’s agonized scream. You squeezed your eyes shut so tight it made your temples throb, your stomach so sick that it threatened to expel any contents it had left onto the floor. Your lips trembled, the devastation that flooded your being overwhelming you in waves the more you heard Din’s pained breaths and quiet whimpers.

“There we go.” Gideon was satisfied. Of course he was. He delighted in draining the strength from those who posed a true threat to him. “It should be safe to remove his helmet now.”

You managed to open your eyes once again, but you almost wished you’d kept them closed. Din’s right arm was entirely limp at his side, but the Commandos still held him up anyway, no doubt adding more painful pressure to his dislocated shoulder. The trooper at Din’s left side was the one who made the move for his helmet, foregoing any sense of decency as he tore the beskar from Din’s head.

There was nothing but pure pain written all over Din’s handsome face. It contorted every feature in a way that made you fight the grasps holding you down, even if you were aware of how pointless that fighting was. Your chest heaved in panic for him rather than a need for air, and you didn’t care if Gideon noticed.

Then Din’s brown gaze met yours, and you realized there was actually a part of him that wasn’t in pain. His eyes were full of concern and comfort, both of which he aimed in your direction, his gaze never once straying from yours. He wrinkled his brow in a way that somehow differed from his look of agony. Are you okay?

Your lips continued to tremble, but you pulled them tighter in a vain effort to stop them. You offered a small nod and wrinkled your brow to ask him the very same thing.

Din’s brow relaxed, and with all the true determination and strength of the Mandalorian you wed long ago, he nodded as well.

For that moment, you believed him. You always did, and you always would. No matter how damn painful a dislocated shoulder was, especially with so much pressure on it, Din had certainly experienced worse pain before.

“Now we can get some answers.” Gideon sounded relieved as he turned his attention to you. “Are you ready to talk?”

You looked at him with all the hatred you felt for him in your heart. “Hell no.”

Gideon raised one corner of his mouth. “Your resilience is impressive, I must admit.” His head lowered, but his gaze remained in yours, looking deeper into the true feelings that hid within it. “But for as much as you’ve composed yourself, you’ve given just as much away. Nervous glances are saying what your tongue doesn’t have the courage to.”

Gideon paused, looking over at the Commandos by Din and nodding. One of them kicked Din in the ribs, making him grunt in surprise as an immediate punch to his cheek earned a pained gasp. Your eyes squeezed shut. They had already given enough away.

In all these years of being one of the galaxy’s greatest warriors, Din had never gotten a hit to his face without his beskar barrier—until now.

“That’s it.” Gideon’s victorious voice ran a horrible chill down your spine. “You won’t let him talk if we focus on you. But you…” you chanced looking at him again just to see another conniving smile, “you will comply if we focus on him.”

Your gaze found Din’s. You expected to find disappointment and pain there, but in true Din fashion, he offered nothing but comfort yet again. He gave you another nod, just like before. It’s gonna be okay.

“Fine.” Din’s gaze flashed with panic as you spoke with a resigned voice. You let your eyes fall to the floor in defeat. “I’ll tell you.” You swallowed hard and looked up, unable to face Din as you focused on Gideon. “I’ll tell you what you want to know.”

Gideon smiled in victory. Stars, he was so arrogant that he wouldn’t have been able to see your mask slip even if you let it. “Let’s hear it.”

You looked at Din, painting guilt on your expression in a way that wasn’t completely a lie. Just seeing the pain that continued to remain on Din’s face, as well as the concern he held for you, was enough to make that guilt a little more real. “Beskar.” Din’s brown gaze flashed with understanding, but only for a moment. He quickly began to mask as he dropped his head in feigned disappointment. “We wanted beskar.”

Gideon didn’t buy it right away. “That’s it?” He scoffed. “After years of exile, you returned for… beskar?”

“We needed a large supply. An endless one, really.” You bit your cheek and paused. “I… I wanted my own suit of armor. Our people didn’t have enough for that. So, we took the risk and came here ourselves.”

Gideon’s gaze gave you a less-than-impressed once-over. “Clearly, that plan of yours didn’t work.”

“But our mission was worth it.” You raised your chin, selling your act with the true confidence you felt budding in your chest. “We may not have mined any beskar, but we discovered the planet was breathable, habitable. We were the ones who brought Bo-Katan back, and we were the ones who helped her to unite all Mandalorians—despite your best efforts to keep them apart.”

Gideon’s lip twitched. You didn’t bother hiding your smile of success. It would only sell your lie even more. “In doing so, you still made one critical failure.” Gideon nodded at one of the troopers next to you. “You never got your armor.”

The Commando slammed their knee into your ribs, not even to break them but certainly to bruise them. You gasped at the feeling, and a split second later, Din cried out in pain himself as he fought the troopers’ grasp on him, despite his heavily wounded shoulder. His eyes were screwed shut in an agony you couldn’t begin to imagine, but he fought anyway.

“Don’t forget, Din Djarin.” Gideon’s attention shifted to Din with another one of those sickening smiles. “You can’t hide your pain from us, now. Your face is even more expressive than theirs.” He pointed a lazy hand towards you.

Din reopened his eyes, a brown blaze of fury that would have terrified you if you weren’t so familiar with his softer and kinder nature. He spoke for the first time since having his helmet removed, his voice somehow even more threatening than before even amidst his hoarseness from his screaming. “You think you’ve won something by doing this.”

Gideon shrugged, smiling wider—and confirming Din’s words in the process.

“You think you’re the first Imperial who’s ever seen my face.”

Din huffed, an amused sound that matched the growing smirk on his blood-encrusted lips. Gideon’s expression began to falter. Din raised his chin and lowered his voice in a tone you’d only heard him use one other time before his duel with Paz.

“You’re wrong.” When Gideon’s brow furrowed in disbelief at Din’s words, he nodded. “That’s right. I’ve broken my Creed before.” Din chuckled and raised his brow at Gideon in expectation. “More than once.” He tilted his head. “Does that make you angry?”

Gideon himself stepped forward to deal Din his next blow. You braced yourself for it, closing your eyes as you heard the sound of Gideon’s fist meeting Din’s face. Din, however, only let out a grunt, a sound that immediately transitioned into a laugh as Din gave Gideon a less-than-impressed once-over.

“Really? That’s it?”

Gideon scowled and kicked his boot towards Din’s dislocated shoulder. You closed your eyes before you had to watch Din scream in pain. Hearing it was bad enough. Your lips had started trembling again, especially as Din’s pained whimpers continued with each breath he took.

“I’m satisfied for now.” Gideon rolled his shoulders and nodded at the troopers. “We’ll leave them in here, seal the door.” Gideon’s signature smile returned as he looked pointedly in your direction. “I have a feeling the worst for them is yet to come.”

A chill ran down your spine at his ominous words. With that, the Commandos at your sides all but threw you against the floor. You sprawled out as they filed out of the room behind Gideon, struggling to push yourself up with your bound wrists as you heard the door slide closed. Instantly, you looked at Din, who they had so graciously left on his injured side.

“Oh, Din.” Your voice was a broken whisper as you crawled your way over to him.

Every breath Din took was pained, but there was nothing he could do to help himself. His gaze found you when you got closer, and your shattered heart fell apart within your chest as you saw the tears of pain there he had clearly been fighting to keep away from Gideon.

Your own eyes welled with tears. “I’m sorry.” You couldn’t stop apologizing as you lifted your bound hands to his face and held it the best you could. “I’m so sorry.”

“Don’t apologize. You didn’t do this to me. You got me through it.” All of Din’s words came through gritted teeth as he fought the agony that attacked him. Still, he nodded at you with determination. “Can you help me up?”

You returned his nod, biting your cheek as you held his left arm with your bound hands and pulled. Din barely swallowed back his cry—and part of it still escaped—as the pressure on his shoulder released. You wanted to empty your stomach again at the sight of his limp arm, but before you could process it, Din spoke again.

“Are you okay?” Din looked as if he was trying to raise his bound hands to your face, but his shoulder wouldn’t let him, causing him to close his eyes and growl at the pain. “You’re bleeding. And…” his inhaled, reopening his eyes and revealing his pain—though this kind wasn’t physical, “your neck…” He trailed off, circling his jaw in evident anger.

You didn’t have to see yourself to know there were already bruises forming around your neck from the trooper’s tight grasp. “I’m all right. I promise. Like I said before, I can take it.” You covered his bound hands with your own. I’m not the one we need to be worrying about right now.”

Din’s gaze fell to your hands as he heaved the best breath he could manage. “I need your help again.” His eyes met yours. “It needs to go back in.”

“I…” you choked on the words you intended to say, “I can’t.”

Din’s gaze searched yours with a desperation that left you breathless. “Please.”

You closed your eyes and steadied yourself with a breath. “Isn’t it gonna hurt you?”

Din nodded, refusing to lie to you. “Badly.” His forehead fell against your own in his effort to comfort both of you. “But you’ll be fixing me.” Din’s voice was a soft, intimate whisper as his lips brushed over your own. “It’s okay.”

Your lips began trembling again, so Din steadied them with his own. His mouth slotted over yours, as if you were the only remedy that could truly fix him. It alleviated all of the horrors and worries if even for just those precious few moments, your shaky breaths strengthened by his own before he pulled away and kept his forehead against yours.

Din nodded. “It’s okay.”

You tightened your jaw, returning his nod before you leaned away. “Here.” You managed to tug the leather off one of your hands as you lifted it towards Din’s face. “To help with the pain.”

The corner of Din’s mouth lifted in the best smile he could manage. You helped him bite down on the leather and waited for another nod that would be your cue to work on his arm. Even though you weren’t quite ready yourself, you were going to help him, just as he had asked you to.

“On three.” Your grasp on his arm alone caused Din to growl into the leather, but the material at least worked to muffle the sound. “One… two…” you closed your eyes for a moment and inhaled sharply, “three!”

You corrected Din’s shoulder placement in one swift move. The popping it made as it fell back in place could be felt under your fingers, but once again, all you could hear was Din’s own agony—even through the leather. You lifted your hands and saw Din’s eyes screwed shut as his head hung in pain and exhaustion, each grueling sound still cutting through the leather.

You maneuvered yourself in front of him again and held his face the best you could with your bound hands, running circles over his tightened jaw as he began to relax more and more. There was a single tear that had escaped his eyes no doubt caused by his agony, and you were quick to wipe it away as you held him until he was breathing evenly again.

When Din’s gaze met yours, you took the leather and removed it from his mouth. He was quick to lean forward and kiss your cheek. “Thank you.” His voice was nothing but an exhausted rasp. “I love you.”

Your lips and your voice wobbled as you responded. “I love you, too.” You shook your head, the devastation hitting you in waves as it brought a flood of tears to your gaze. “I’m sorry they’ve done this to you.” Your gaze flickered to his helmet that still laid on its side many feet away. “All of it.”

Din raised his bound hands to your face despite how badly it hurt him, something that was clear by the tight growl he released as he did so. As if you were his tether of safety and comfort to the galaxy, his grip on you made him relax once again. His voice was so quiet you almost missed it. “You say that like it’s your fault.”

You tried to steady yourself with a breath, but you hiccuped on it instead. Din’s forehead pressed against yours; he was just as much your tether to the galaxy as you were his. “If you hadn’t had to defend both of us from them…”

“No.” Din shook his head at that, minding your own as he kept your foreheads together. “You should have never been in that situation to begin with.” Din’s gloved fingers ran over your cheek. “Neither of us should have.”

You heaved another breath. “Your Creed… after everything you did…”

Din shrugged, wincing as he moved his bad shoulder. “We’re still on Mandalore.” He managed a half smile. “I’ll just go back to the Living Waters when we’re free.”

You didn’t dare voice your fears about ever getting out of there. Instead, you lowered your head to the space between his good shoulder and his cowl, tucking yourself underneath his bound hands so that his arms could be around you. His hands still held the back of your head the best they could.

You hated how small your voice was, but with all the hours you’d experienced in such a short amount of time, you couldn’t help it. “Can you tell me it’s gonna be okay again?”

Din’s face rested upon your head as he did just that. “It’s gonna be okay, cyar’ika.”

You closed your eyes. “Promise?”

Din nodded. “Promise.”

And despite all the odds stacked against the two of you, you believed him.

main masterlist • din djarin masterlist

#been meaning to write this one since april 2023 #din djarin #the mandalorian #din djarin x reader #din djarin fanfiction #din djarin fic #the mandalorian fanfiction #dindjarindiaries

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gingernut1314 · 6 months

Text

Little Game Pt. 2

Dracule Mihawk x F!Reader

Summary: Mihawk has found you once more after a month of hunting after you--a month of playing your little games. Found you in yet another poor excuse for a bar, except it seems you have forgotten all about your game. Forgotten and were dulling your usually sharp sense away with drink after drink. But Mihawk hasn't forgotten. Your game is still on and he plans on winning.

Tags: angst, fluff

Word Count: 4.9K

Setlist:

Emotions

I Wanted to Leave

A/N: I'm soooo sorry it's been such a long time! I'm in my last year of college and it's absolute hell on earth and the work is insane. Anyywway, there's no spice again, but I'm slowly getting there! I hope you all enjoy! 🩷

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Mihawk had traveled thousands of miles from his Marine-ravaged home. Had smuggled himself onto cargo ships and luxury vessels to get to island after island. Had begged to join the first pirate crew he could find so he might learn to sail and build his strength. Had begged on his knees, forehead bowed so low it had touched the ground with anger-fueled tears in his eyes to the first swordsman he could find to teach him the delicate art of the blade.

Had begged on hand and knee to every swords master he came across to teach him. To help him draw closer and closer to that end goal he would do anything to achieve.

He would become strong. Become the greatest swordsman the world had ever known and then he would lay waste to the Marines. He would spare them no mercy, just as they had spared his home no mercy. Just as they had spared his mother no mercy.

It was a goal--no, a vow bound by blood and death herself that led him here to this small island. An island covered in ancient, towering trees. An island home to a secluded and unknown people. Home to the greatest swordsman of a long-ago era. A swordsmen who had lived 180 years and had never lost a fight.

His yellow eyes scanned the dark wood he had been warned was full of monsters--devils waiting to tear any traveler brave enough to enter its thick, fog-filled brush. His last master had warned him many men had gone in looking for the great swordsman to learn from him, just as Mihawk, but they never reached his log cabin at its center. They had hardly stepped foot into the wood before its guardian attacked.

Mihawk calmly stated he would be the first to make it. Would face this Guardian of the Wood and all its devilish monsters and win. He would find the great swordsman and prove to him he was worth his teachings.

The forest hardly looked dangerous. Especially when he spotted the yellow-gold petals of marigolds that he could see littered the leaf-covered floor.

No monster in sight. No devil. No Guardian.

Mihawk placed his hand over the hilt of his sword at his side and started into the dark forest. Had just passed a rather large bunch of marigolds when someone landed on the ground before him, having hopped down from their spot amongst the treetops.

Mihawk scolded himself for not having spotted the figure, knowing he would have seen them had he not been so preoccupied thinking about devils. The tip of a naginata pressed into his chest.

“Are you a pirate?” The voice that came from the figure was silky and calm, yet held dark danger within its melody. It was a voice unlike any other Mihawk had heard and its wielder was just as rare. You looked like some wood nymph. Like the mystical yet deadly creatures Mihawk had heard sung on the lips of pirates and sailors alike come to life.

“I am here for Rivers Achilles.” You frowned deeply, that sharp blade never leaving Mihawk's chest. He looked you over carefully. Looked over your well-trained stance, one only gained from practice and patience Mihawk knew all too well. Took in the fact you must be around Mihawk’s own age of fourteen. No. He could tell you were older. A year--maybe two.

“Do all you pirates have a monthly meeting to discuss such originality?” Mihawk narrowed his eyes the slightest bit. Watched your eyes spark like you enjoyed his small reaction.

“I do not have time to waste on some dirt-smug girl.” Mihawk saw you were hardly dirt smugged. You were pertinently clean as if you had washed before climbing up into that tree. He said it to snuff out that spark of enjoyment you had gotten from baiting his temper. An anger he was slowly training himself to wrangle away. “Now. Move before I move you.”

You laughed. A small thing that grew into an all-out bellow. It was a laugh that matched your darkness. Your rareness. It had Mihawk blinking, as if stunned at its sound.

“You step another inch in my wood, pirate, and I will break your nose.” You threatened, that dangerous tone laying in the background of your voice pooling thick like venom to its forefront. It was--intoxicating to hear. A sound Mihawk wanted to drag from you again and again.

“Are you the Guardian of the Wood?” Your shoulders rose and pride swelled in your eyes.

“If you have heard of me then you have heard of what I have done to many a pirate such as yourself. I make them disappear--vanish them from the face of the earth.” Mihawk watched you slowly. A slowness that sparked anger in your eyes.

It was an anger that Mihawk knew too well. An anger that matched his own in intensity and fury like some twin flame. Someone had hurt you--had taken someone from you, just as those Marines had taken his mother. Had left you feeling so weak and empty it left that anger to fester and grow out of control in you, just as it had in him. It was an anger he wanted to lash out at. One he wanted to direct his own anger at.

“I thought you would be--” He paused, letting his eyes roam over your body again in a bored manner. “--more.” That fiery anger flared brightly. Had your knuckles going white wrapped as tightly as they were around the staff of your naginata. “How disappointing to find you are just some feral, dirt-covered girl.” Oh yes--yes there it was. Such anger. Anger to match his own. Anger that would rival him like none other ever could.

Mihawk had hardly seen you move before you were bringing the staff of our naginata to ram into his nose. A sickening crunch sounded in Mihawk's ears as pain flared in his face, nearly blinding him.

A pain that blinded him from seeing you move to kick him hard in the chest, sending him flying out of the woods and back onto the black sand of the beach he had just landed on near minutes ago.

His anger flared then, but he could only blame himself. He had been distracted by your own anger. By your dangerous voice and your rare beauty. Stupid, idiotic distractions on his part.

“A runt such as yourself should know his place.” You hissed as Mihawk shoved himself to his knees, wiping the blood from under his broken nose as he laid his yellow eyes on you once more. Found you had left the darkness of your wood and stopped before him looking like some vengeful goddess fallen straight from the heavens. “My father does not wish to waste his time training the likes of pirates. Weak pirates such as yourself, runt.”

Your father was Rivers Achilles--yes, it made sense now. Your rarity made sense. Your strength and skill. Your father was no ordinary man, therefor his offspring would be just as inordinary--spectacular.

“I am no runt and I am not weak. I will pass you. I will bow before Achilles and he will train me.” Mihawk declared, cold sea water spraying at his dark leather boot-covered feet. “Your little game will do nothing to stop me from becoming the greatest swordsman this world has ever seen.”

That excited spark flashed in your icy eyes again. A spark that flickered and twirled with your anger. A wicked, cat-like grin crossed your face--a grin that was so stunning it nearly stole Mihawk's breath away--did steal it.

“Game on.”

Mihawk had been tracking you for a month now. A month longer than he liked, but you never gave up the chase. Never slowed or stopped long enough for Mihawk to grab hold of you. All he ever saw of you was the trail of perfect chaos you left behind.

He had followed you through the North, South, East, and West Blues. Had followed you into the Grand Line, full of all its dangers, and back, only to follow you right back into its mysterious waters. And just when he thought he had caught up to you, would have you within his grasp, you had disappeared like smoke between his fingers.

Despite how long his pursuit of you had taken, he found it excited him. Had him looking forward to the coming dawn, something he had long ago started to dread.

He assumed it was because you excited him--had always kept him on his toes. You were a rare woman. One that had always challenged him in skill and wit--that matched him as perfectly as one could match another.

Part of him wished you would just give in. Come with him back to Kuraigana Island and let him indulge you in every luxury he had ever wanted to give you. It was a foolish wish, but one he held regardless. One he knew would never come true unless he won this little game of yours.

A game you seemed to have forgotten for the night, because here you were, in another run-down, dirty, overcrowded bar on some backwater island in the Grand Line, drunk out of your mind. It was unlike you, to be this careless. Not when it came to your games--when Mihawk was playing them just as you had wanted.

But there you were, downing the last of your beer, hardly grimacing at the taste as he knew you usually would, too drunk to even taste it. There you were, looking so--exhausted. It was an exhaustion Mihawk knew too well--that weight heavy on his shoulders as it seemed to do you. An exhaustion that had Mihawk pausing. Almost had him leaving this too-small bar and all its too-drunk inhabitants.

Almost.

A drunk man bumped into Mihawk with a slurred apology, but he hardly heard it. Hardly even felt the pathetic man running into him. Not when he was so close to you. Not when he was so close to winning the game you had started.

“Why is it you continue to frequent such nightmarish establishments?” Mihawk's voice should have had you sobering up. Should have had you scrambling to escape back out to sea and leave him and this island far behind. But his voice--so smooth and calm and utterly bored had you tingling in excitement.

You had missed his all-too-calm dementor. Had missed him, his face, and his stupid hat.

On a small hiccup, you turned to look up into those piercing yellow-gold eyes you had missed the most. Eyes you wished you could look into forever.

With your thoughts fogged nicely thanks to the copious amounts of alcohol you had consumed, you had no embarrassment or strength for good decision-making when you placed your palm over top of his hard-earned abs. The warmth of his skin seeped into your freezing fingers as you ran them over his skin.

“Mi-hic-hawk.” You purred up at the unamused man, all but fighting against your hiccups. You flashed him a sly grin. “How’d you find me?” You slurred horribly.

“You are being sloppy.” You hummed as you brought your other hand to run along his skin, taking in his warmth and power that all but radiated off of him in dangerous waves.

“You always know just how to--hic-- sweet talk a girl.” You said, running your hands around his waist, where they disappeared under his dark jacket. Where they felt the equally as strong muscles lining his lower back. “Say something mean to me again, Mihawk. Pretty--hic--please.”

Mihawk blinked down at you for a single moment before swiftly removing your hands from his body. You pouted, going to grab for him again, but he brushed you off once more. “Stop.” You whined pathetically, “You’re being mean.”

“You asked me to mean,” Mihawk said the fact simply in that overly bored manner he hid behind. With a huff, you stopped your attempts at touching him and crossed your arms over your chest.

“I didn’t say sh-hic-oo me away.”

“You are drunk, Y/N.” You rolled your eyes dramatically, turning back around on the bar stool you sat on to find the bartender again.

“And you’re not. It’s --hic-- boring.” You hissed as the bartender came over. “I will have your finest beer and my --hic-- best friend will have your oldest wine.” The woman’s eyes darted to Mihawk making you fix her with an icy glare. Her eyes looked a little too long in Mihawk's direction. Had looked over his face and body for too long. “Don’t look at him. I can only look at him.” She was quick to snap her eyes away, her face going pale in utter fear.

“Y-yes ma’am. We-we only have a red blend from a year ago.” You sighed.

“He will deal with it.”

“Y/N, we are leaving,” Mihawk said as the woman rushed off. You gave another dramatic sigh, turning back to face him. Those yellow-gold eyes had never once left you and you couldn’t help but enjoy being in their sights.

“Mihawk, we are--hic--not. I just ordered.” He continued to look unamused. Continued to fix you with his own sharp stare. One that never quite seemed to overpower your own. “Is it because I ordered you bad wine?”

“Bad wine or not we are leaving.” You narrowed your eyes up at him. Narrowed them so sharp you willed them to cut him open.

“It’s my--hic--day off. If you are going to be a party pooper then you should --hic-- leave.” It was the exact opposite of what you wanted him to do, but you had landed on this island to get drunk. So drunk you would hopefully wake up with dark spots in your memory.

“I will. With you.” He insisted. You rubbed your eyes roughly, that exhaustion you had come here to escape returning with a vengeance.

“You are such an --hic--asshole.”

“Poetic.” Mihawk monotoned. You hissed, yanking your hands away from your face and flinging them up in the air.

“I’m drunk, Mr. Smarty-Pants. Leave me be.” Your beer was placed before you and you were quick to scoop it up. The bad glass of wine went untouched by Mihawk. “Do you want to know --hic-- something?” You asked the bartender who hesitated. Hesitated and stayed after you fix her with your icy glare once more. “This--hic-- guy acts all tough but really --hic-- he wants to leave because all these people are making him--hic--itchy. He’d rather just sit on his pert little ass in the dark.” You said, a giggle leaving your lips.

The bartender’s eyes darted back to Mihawk and you slammed your fist on the countertop, making the glasses rattle and the bartender nearly jump out of her skin. “I said don’t look at him.” You watched her chest heave up and down in fear as you took a long sip from your beer. “Talking about pert little asses. Mihawk once ran naked--”

“Enough, Y/N.” Mihawk all but commanded you, making you tense. It was a command you bristled at--made your anger begin to heat in your chest rather quickly. Too quick for you to grab hold of and control, especially when you were this drunk. “We’re leaving.”

“Fuck you! Fuck you and fuck the Marines and --hic--fuck you again.” You hissed, standing from your stool only to nearly fall off it in the process. Mihawk stayed planted in his place, even when you ran into him during your oh-so-graceful fall. “You can’t tell me what to--hic--do.”

“You are stumbling around like a no-good drunkard. Collect yourself.” You stomped your foot and pushed Mihawk with another hiss like some child. The swordsman hardly seemed to even feel your attack. A fact that had you seething and going to do it again, but he grabbed your wrists in a tight hold. “Enough.” He commanded again. You yanked against his grip but it stayed strong.

“Let me go.” You hissed at him, yanking again.

“We are leaving. Whether you do so on your own two feet or I carry you out makes no difference to me.” Your anger surged in your chest. Surged in defiance at his orders. You were not one to be ordered around. Especially by him.

“You will unhand me this instant or I will--hic--break your nose.” Something flashed in Mihawk's golden eyes. Something--sad. A sad that called to your own sadness which had been welling and pooling within your chest for years now. Pooling to the point of near flooding. A flood you resorted to drinking to dam it up.

Mihawk’s grip around your wrists fell, but he made no sign of leaving. Made no sign of moving a single muscle from his spot before you. Made no sign of giving up on his declaration of leaving this bar with you in tow.

In your drunken state, you thought this was a perfect opportunity to draw your black blade, which you had left uncovered at your hip. You swung, your muscles moving on near memory, at the frustrating swordsman before you, causing the bartender and a few people around you to scream out in fear.

Mihawk sidestepped your attack and before you could blink, your sword was skillfully pulled from your grasp and you stumbled forward with a roar. “Give it--” Your words were cut off by a yelp as Mihawk grabbed you up in his strong arms, throwing you over his shoulder.

Your right shoulder hit Yoru’s hilt painfully and you had to quickly throw your hands out to stop your face from colliding with the black blade strapped to his back. Mihawk wrapped an iron-like arm around your thighs to keep you in place before starting for the exit.

Your vision blurred from the sudden movement, but it didn’t stop you from pounding on Mihawk’s powerful back and kicking your feet as best you could in your weak attempt to escape. His hold on you never lessened, only seeming to tighten in your struggle.

“Let me go, Mihawk!” You shouted, pulling yourself up enough to try to catch of glimpse of his face, only for his stupid hat to hit you in the face. You gave a frustrated little growl. “This is not fair! I’m drunk!”

“Drunk or not, you started the game. I plan on finishing it.” You huffed in frustration, punching his back once more to no avail.

The bar fell away and soon you were being carried through the night-filled streets of the backwater village you had found. You continued to fight against his hold until your stomach stirred nauseously and your vision blurred to the point you could hardly see.

With a pathetic moan, you let your body go limp against his back, your body bouncing with every graceful step he took. It only made your nausea grow, but you were too dizzy to do anything about it.

“Tire yourself out?” Mihawk asked something like amusement finally filling his smooth voice.

“I’m going to vomit all over your fancy little sword.” You murmured, making the man sigh deeply through his nose.

“Are you serious?” You moaned, feeling bile rise in your throat. Your world spun and blurred around you as Mihawk dragged you off his shoulder, a movement that only had that bile rising sharply and your mouth filling with hot spit. You were placed on your feet, but your knees gave out with little warning. Tiny rocks dug into the flesh of your palms and into your kneecaps.

You cursed, taking deep breaths of the chill night air, hoping to settle your upset stomach. Maybe you had overdone it on the drinks--but unfortunately for you, this is what you had set out to accomplish, and sober you knew she wouldn’t have to deal with all of this nastiness.

You had just opened your mouth to relieve your aching stomach when strong hands collected your hair away from your face. Hands that held your hair in a manner so soft you hardly felt it. You vomited before you could think much more on whose hands were holding your hair up.

“Why were you in that bar, Y/N?” Mihawk asked, voice low and so--gentle. As gentle as the man could make it seem. You huffed in and out deeply, catching your breath.

“Why do most people go to --hic -- bars? To get drunk.” You hissed as best you could between breaths. Bile rose in your throat and your stomach rolled once more. Gods--

“Yes,” He sighed, annoyed at your comment. “But you don’t go to bars to get drunk. Not when you are set on a task. Not ever.” You huffed a moan before throwing up once more.

“I’ve changed.” You huff out, catching your breath once more. Mihawk was quiet behind you. A quiet that ate at you more than you wished to admit. Your vision blurred again. But it was a blur that had nothing to do with the alcohol and everything to do with the tears welling in your eyes.

You had drunk too much. Way too much if it was bring you to tears. Tears you could do nothing about to control, not in the state you were currently in. Not when the man making you cry was behind you, holding your hair like there was nothing wrong between the two of you. Like you were back on your home island, stealing alcohol from your father and sneaking off to the only bar on the whole island.

Your home. Your father. Your forest. All gone. Just like that in the blink of an eye. How had it happened? How had you let it happen? You had been your home's Guardian, just as your mother before you, and her mother before her. It had been your job, your responsibility to protect it from such dangers.

It had been your life's purpose and you had failed. Failed and lived. Lived when you should have died protecting it.

“Y/N--” Mihawk started, but you swatted his hands away as you turned your body away from your puke. You buried your face in your hands to keep the swordsman from seeing your tears. From seeing your weakened and broken state.

“Leave me be. Please.” You all but begged. Gods you were pathetic. So far from the proud and strong person you had once been in your youth. So old and angry and tired.

“I’ve seen you at your lowest. Some sick and a few drunken tears are hardly going to deter me.” He said on a sigh like you should have already known that.

You pulled your face from your hands to glare at him where he knelt behind you. To tell him to leave on a venomous hiss--to throw insults his way, but his hand disappearing into his jacket pocket caught your eye. It reappears with a golden hair clip, diamonds sparkling in the lamp lights as he showed it to you.

“That’s my--” You started in disbelief.

“You forgot it on my ship when you left.” He said, handing it to you. You took in gently in your hands and before you could even begin to process everything, his hands were in your hair once more. He gently pulled and twisted it, mimicking how you had done your hair a million and one times before without so much as a thought of his ever-watchful gaze. His free hand plucked the golden clip from your hand and nestled it securely in your hair.

He had kept it. Had not only kept it, but had kept it on his person. Kept it close and ready to use if you ever needed it once more.

When he was done, you turned to stare bug-eyed up at him, tears still refusing to halt their endless fall. Calm. He was always so calm. A calm that frustrated you and grated on your nerves to no end, but was such a familiar, comforting presence. A presence you had yearned to be around more than you yearned to hunt down every last Marine you came across.

Hesitantly, he reached for you. So hesitantly he gave you enough to slap him away, but you made no move to do so. Made no move to stop him as he brushed your tears away with his thumb.

His touch sent your eyes watering all over again. His touch and his actions were so gentle and kind and so utterly unfair. So unfair because you couldn’t give in. Not now. Not for a long, long time.

Gods how you wanted to give in.

“I can’t--I can’t go with you.” You said in a low, grave tone. Mihawk brushed his thumb over your cheek once more before pulling away, making you feel that cold aloneness you had been trying to chase away with drink. He gave the slightest of nods.

“I know.” He said just as lowly, his face seeming to harden further. You watched him grab your black blade, which he had placed on the ground beside him. He resheathed it at your side skillfully and reached for you again, grabbing you under your arms and lifting you to your feet. You swayed like a great gust of wind had blown into you, your drunkenness having yet to wear off.

Mihawk hardly made a single sound before he was lifting you off the ground once more. Made no sound as he prompted you to wrap your arms around his neck and your legs around his waist. You did so without much thought, the action having been memorized by your body.

It was something the two of you had done many times over the years, whether it be you clinging to his back or front. Whether it be because you were too drunk or injured to walk, you would cling to him and he would hold you tight. It was something he had grumbled endlessly about the first few times you’d insisted upon it, but had slowly grown used to it to the point he would pick you up as such without your prompting.

Your eyes catch his own briefly. Eyes so bright they were like the sun. A sun your soul begged to orbit one more, but your pride beat it down. Had you looking away and placing your cheek on his shoulder, taking his rose and expensive cologne scent deep into your nose so that you might hold on to it for that much longer.

Mihawk felt like a teenager again, holding you like this. It was--refreshing, though if anyone of importance saw him in such a way, there was sure to be trouble. But for now, in this small village in the middle of the Grand Line, he could get away with it. Could hold you close and keep your seemingly ever-cold body warm.

He had marked where your ship was docked before he had ever docked his own, so finding it again was hardly a chore.

Your ship was just a tab bit larger than his own, still designed for a single crew member to sail, but large enough for a much more spacious sleeping quarters and kitchen. That had been something you had complained about endlessly when having sailed with him on his own ship.

He readjusted his hold on you so he might open the door that led to the inner workings of your ship. It was neat and tidy, just as his own was, though the walls covered in numbers and markings were unlike anything on his own ship.

They were Marine branch numbers, ones you had come across during your journeys. Underneath each number were tally marks which he assumed represented how many ships you had destroyed flying those same numbered flags. The branches you had completely whipped off the face of the earth he found were crossed out.

It was impressive how many Marines you had wielded your perfect chaos against. Impressive and worrisome because he knew as the number grew, the more you would be noticed. And the more you are noticed, the more likely it was they would send another one of the Warlords to slaughter you.

Garp had warned him of this the last time they spoke. Had commanded Mihawk to get you under control or you would be spared no mercy. It was Mihawk's first and final warning to stop you before you got yourself killed.

And as much as Mihawk wanted to take you away to his new home, to keep you out of the prying eye of every last Marine and pirate that sailed the seas, he knew he needed to wait. To play your game and win it, or there would be no victory. No having you back by his side.

You had fallen asleep sometime during the walk, so you made no fuss as Mihawk placed you in bed. You merely grumbled something in your sleeping state as he pulled your boots off and took your sword from your side, propping it against the wall.

He watched you for a long moment. Watched your softened features as you slept.

So rare. You were too rare to let go. To give up on and allow to die. You were Mihawk’s twin flame. A flame he would fight and die for if given the chance. You were the only person alive he would truly bend to.

And bend he did by letting you go. By playing your little game. A game he vowed to win the right way.

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#mihawk #mihawk x reader #dracule mihawk x reader #mihawk x you #mihawk x Y/N #dracule mihawk x you #dracule mihawk x Y/N #one piece #opla #mihawk one piece #mihawk opla #dracule mihawk opla #dracule mihawk one piece #dracule mihawk #dracule “hawk eyes” mihawk #hawk eyes mihawk #little game #divider by saradika graphics #divider by saradika

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hacked-by-jake · 1 month

Text

[MC (they-them) × Jake × fluff]

MC stepped out of the police station, relieved to have finally finished the last report on the Hannah case, feeling the warmth of the sun on their face and the crisp spring air filling their lungs. They glanced at their watch, already mentally mapping out their route to the next town where their expertise was needed. But before they could take another step, a mysterious figure clad in black approached them, sunglasses hiding his eyes, a hood obscuring his features.

"Are you MC?" he asked, his voice low and gravelly.

They nodded cautiously as he handed them a sealed envelope without another word. Without waiting for a response, the enigmatic figure vanished into the bustling street. Intrigued and slightly unnerved, MC tore open the letter, their curiosity piqued by the unexpected delivery, despite already having a premonition about the sender of this letter..

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

𝘔𝘺 𝘋𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘦𝘴𝘵 𝘔𝘊,

I'm sending this letter to assure you of my safety.

As I sit here, penning these words to you, my heart races with both excitement and trepidation. The events that unfolded during our recent mission have left me both exhilarated and wounded, both physically and emotionally. But above all else, they've left me longing for your reassuring presence.

I write to you now, not from a place of despair, but from a place of hope and determination. Despite the close call and the injuries sustained, I want you to know that I am safe and on the path to recovery. The mine left me with several, light injuries. The burns may sting, but they are nothing compared to the ache in my heart from being away from you.

MC, our partnership has been nothing short of extraordinary. Together, we've faced challenges that most would shy away from, and emerged victorious against all odds. The way you fearlessly tackled every obstacle, with unwavering resolve, fills me with an indescribable pride. You are the true hero in this story.

Yet, amidst the chaos and danger, I can't shake the feeling of guilt for putting you in harm's way. Please know that it was never my intention to cause you worry or pain. If anything, I am in awe of your strength and resilience, and I am eternally grateful for your unwavering support.

As we embark on this temporary separation, I find solace in the knowledge that it is only a matter of time before we reunite. I've been informed about the City near Duskwood, where they requested your assistance. Moonvale awaits us with its mysteries and challenges, and I have no doubt that together, we will conquer whatever obstacles lie ahead.

Until then, my love, take comfort in the knowledge that I carry you with me always, in every beat of my heart and every thought that crosses my mind. Stay strong, stay safe, and know that I am counting down the moments until we can be together again.

I, too, will personally ensure your safety. Nymos and I are committed to clearing your path and doing whatever it takes to protect you. I've shared my vulnerability with you before, and in light of the recent events at Grim Rock, I find myself even more dependent and at your mercy.

I'm incredibly proud of you for cracking the case and saving my sister. The challenges you confronted, the horrors you endured, and the loss of Richy... I can only begin to fathom the emotional anguish you're experiencing, but I vow to be your unwavering support, concealed in the shadows, yet ever-present by your side, even if you cannot perceive me. I will never leave you alone.

MC, my love, I promise you, we will see each other again when the time comes.

With all my heart,

Jake

A/n: A little thing after the release of the date, just a little idea. Actually, I just wanted to post the letter, but decided to add the first part, just as an introduction. Letters from Jake are just great, aren’t they? :) I was a bit proud for the wording here. Even if the first part is pretty short and not so detailed. But well, writing Jake is a stress-lovely something. I hope you liked it. Thanks for reading and I hope you will have a fantastic day/evening/night! 💚

#duskwood #moonvale #duskwood fanfiction #moonvale fanfiction #<- wahhhh #duskwood x moonvale fanfiction #duskwood jake #duskwood hacker #everbyte studio #duskwood game #duskwood everbyte #everbyte duskwood #iamjake #duskwood mc #duskwood jake x mc #everbyte game #duskwood jake x player #letters from jake #{hbj(dw)/writes;fanfiction}

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angelcent · 1 year

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More older boyfriend Sukuna? This is masterpiece!

: ̗̀➛ went off the rails after his divorce—embracing a life of nihilism with all the regency of an arrogant king. sukuna took his own personal vows—one, to never ever be fucking foolish enough to marry again. two, show no mercy. the world was his and he hated it.

: ̗̀➛ meeting and becoming infatuated with you wasn't lovely at first—it reminded sukuna of a natural disaster; the earth at her most violent and unexpected, uncaring of who came her way. it struck him amongst his life of debauchery; in the whirlwind of lust, greed, and violence, he took bloody steps towards an angel who looked up at him through pretty lashes.

: ̗̀➛ like a king, he took what he wanted. sukuna captured the crystalline gem out of everyone's reach; the morning light that gleamed with warmth in the frost of winter.

: ̗̀➛ sukuna is shamelessly greedy, so once you give yourself to him he’ll practically consume you with his passion. it reminds you of flames, or a natural disaster—and you can’t explain why it makes you feel so alive. why the love of a man like sukuna is the sweetest you’ve ever known. (you both compare the other to natural disasters).

: ̗̀➛ enjoys when you’re a little possessive over him, thinks it’s cute. a nasty part of him wants to push you and see how far it’d go. for fun.

: ̗̀➛ wouldn’t hesitate to kill his ex-wife if she ever tried to mess with you (and I think she would). the question is if you ever find out that he’s done so, and if you’d care that he choked the life out the woman he previously promised his loyalty to. hint: you don't, and he falls even deeper for it.

: ̗̀➛ he likes when you fall asleep on his lap before bed. your gentle and peaceful breathing settles his heart a little; it tames him for just a moment. you constantly remind him that life is never truly dull.

: ̗̀➛ sukuna is a wayward man so he can't stay in one place too long—the world is too vast. it's not getaways that he takes you to, you two live in mansions throughout the world. when your glasses clink, you often think of the malevolence that the man before you brings. it should unsettle you, but the toothy grin he sends your way only quickens the beat of your heart. you love sukuna with your entire being.

: ̗̀➛ sukuna has murmured poetry into your soft skin more than once. you don’t know this, but the verses that leave his lips are off the top of his head. he’s not reciting anyone else’s words—they’re all born out of his love for you.

: ̗̀➛ he's not a jealous man at all. sukuna is the most secure man you've ever met. he openly laughs at anyone trying to make a move on you right before crushing them.

: ̗̀➛ morning sex, very late night sex, and public sex are his favorite. he simultaneously likes having you when the world is muted and quiet, but also wants you when life is buzzing all around and doesn’t care who’d stumble upon you. you’ve been walked in on and caught more than once but sukuna never stops. he makes sure they know that he’s aware and doesn’t care—sukuna just continues fucking his wet cock into your tight cunt.

: ̗̀➛ off to the races by lana del rey is the anthem to this au.

: ̗̀➛ even ardently in love, sukuna is not a soft man. there are lapses, sure, but he is still him at his core. still, you're sukuna's entire soul. the little lady who can mouth off to him with no consequences. his morning light.

#this is a little rushed i'm sorry but i hope you like anon <3 #sukuna x reader #ryomen sukuna x reader #jjk x reader #jjk smut #sukuna ryomen #starring: sukuna

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spacecowboyhotch · 7 months

Text

Boundless Ch 1: The Rigid Hunter

summary: he’s looking for her— hunting her.

pairing: witch hunter!marc spector x witch!reader

contents: enemies to lovers, mentions of murder/torture, marc is a broken asshole, injury, blood mention

gif credit: @perotovar

wc: 2.4k

an: welcome to the boundless universe! i’ve really enjoyed writing this so far, i love the concept. i’d really love to build it together, so if anyone has any questions, thoughts, headcanons swirling around in your brains please feel free to come talk to me about these two! i hope that y’all like this and i’m excited to hear your feelings on it. 🤍

boundless masterlist | moonknight masterlist

Marc remembers the day he found out the legends were true. Say your prayers, lock your doors, and sprinkle your salt because they’re out there. Witches and wizards walk the streets looking for opportunities to spread pain and suffering. They look like us, and talk like us. But they can’t feel like us, love like us, care like us.

He was 10 years old the first time he witnessed the violence that comes with being in his family . He watched with horror as his parents tied up one of his teachers. She spewed nonsense, objects flew, and fires burned. Each hunter chose their weapons and that day he’d watched his parents use daggers he thought were for show.

He was afraid at first. He didn’t want to kill, didn’t want to be violent like her— like his mother. And though eventually he had succumbed to violence, realizing that there was no way to fight it, that it was in his blood, he always vowed that he would be different. Despite his disdain for witches, he has never been ruthless. He has always killed them quickly, painlessly with mercy, never been one to taunt them as they meet their deaths.

Today, almost 20 years later, Marc’s crossbow is slung over his shoulders, one of his hands resting over the dagger on his hip as he slowly makes his way through the forest. He’s hypervigilant and jumpy, eyes roaming the greenery that fades into orange and yellow and red. He’s ready to defend himself at the drop of a hat.

He’s looking for her— hunting her. The full moon is tonight, and witches always flock to their dens, charging their crystals, infusing their spells with the magic of the celestial being. Her den and a handful of others are in these woods, just on the outskirts of a camping resort so as not to draw too much suspicion. Time and time again witches fail with anonymity— he and his family follow the breadcrumbs they leave and pick them off one by one.

He’s looking for her darkness. He’ll know it when he sees it, he’s seen many dens and killed more witches than he can count. They surround themselves with smoke and blood and evil. This one will go down just like all the others, he’s sure. She’ll be just as vile, conniving. Just as eager to beg for her life when he lines the tip of an arrow up with her eyes. Emotionless and self-serving with a heart that bleeds black.

It’s easy to get distracted by the sights around him. He loves autumn, the symbolism of how even as an organism fails and dies, there’s beauty to be found. It gives him the hope that maybe there’s something to be found in him too despite all he’s been through.

There’s something soothing in the sound of leaves crunching beneath the weight of his boots. There’s a waterfall in the distance that feeds into the creek he’s following. Where there’s water, there’s life.

He continues up the stream, noticing the remnants of a paper sailboat coated in wax tangled in some brush on the bank. He bends to pick it up, noticing words sprawled across the side.

Sail under Hecate’s moon.

The words heighten his senses— she’s close, within walking distance of the area. And while that can mean a wide variety of things, Marc is prepared for the worst, to walk miles and miles if he has to. Standing quickly his eyes scan the area, wary of her. There is no one to be found, not an inkling of life in his sights so he carries on.

He nearly makes it to the waterfall when across the creek he hears the rustle of leaves and his heart lurches in his chest. No matter how many times he faces a witch, there’s always the unpredictable— they could have anything up their sleeves. Thousands of spells and enchantments and potions, each one more horrible than the next. His hands slick with sweat reach back, drawing his crossbow to line up with his sight.

Deer.

Two of them make their way to the bank, bending to drink, paying him no mind. His heartbeat slows and shakes his head, letting out a silent sigh of relief as he lowers the bow.

Marc’s eyes return to the waterfall that’s a short distance in front of him. He could simply go around, and walk a short distance so that he could get to the top of it at a steady incline. But that would be too easy for him. He was taught to never take the easy way, that anything that holds weight in this life is a challenge. It must be difficult for it to mean anything in his mother’s eyes. He still doesn’t quite understand why after all this time, her opinions have a hold on him. He bats the thoughts of her away as he eyes the rocks to the left of the waterfall’s mouth.

They are damp sure, but not completely slick and unclimbable. The summit of the waterfall is much higher than it looked far away, but he thinks nothing of it as he steps forward and begins to climb. The hood of his cape falls as he puts one hand above another, exposing his dark curls.

A bush behind him rattles and he glances over his shoulder, eyes going wide as he realizes how vulnerable he is right now. There’s nothing he could do if he were to face her now, this high up is too far of a jump to do it safely. The best course of action is to finish the climb, it’ll grant him a better vantage point to get his bearings and height is always an advantage in combat. But when Marc turns around, looking up to his goal, there’s a crow— the largest crow he’s ever seen in his life, cawing loudly in his face. He’s startled, losing his grip on the rocks, feet slipping as they try to find purchase and he falls, grunting as he hears his flesh and bone tearing and cracking before he goes unconscious.

When Marc wakes sometime later, he hurts all over. There’s a splitting ache in his head, and a pain much sharper and dangerous sitting in his leg. He can handle pain, he’s been trained his whole life, day in and day out to handle much more than a slip in some gnarly wood. He blinks up to the trees, taking shallow breaths. If he can just lay here and gather his strength he should be able to get up.

What would his mother say if she could see him? All the things she said all his life, he imagines. Baseless shouts of this is not his calling, that he was meant to weld or harvest or research. That his attempts at living for Randall are in vain. Like he wasn’t bred for this. Like the mistakes he made has tainted his blood, taking away his right to hunt.

He tries to sit up and pain screams in his side. Had he broken some ribs? He lays back again, trying to get enough air to his brain so he doesn’t pass out again. His attempts are futile and soon, he drifts out again.

Somewhere in his mind, he can hear the graceful patter of feet near him. He feels when he is picked up by something as large as it is fluffy. A wolf maybe, taking him back to her cubs for a meal. He wonders if it would be such a bad way to go if it meant he’d never see his mother again.

A little while later his surroundings change. He’s somewhere soft and warm. Everything inside him is on edge. His instincts tell him that he’s unsafe, that he must get up and go, but his body is in no state to do so. He can’t even open his eyes, can’t speak a word, let alone take any steps.

Something—someone guides his head up, tipping a cup to his mouth. “Drink this,” A soft voice says to him gently.

He wants to resist but he’s weak to this person’s will. Whoever it is pours a steady stream of the liquid down his throat. It’s thick, warm, and tastes like black currants, mint and citrus. His body goes a little numb, relaxing further into the bed he’s laid in.

His pain waxes and wanes even as he sleeps. Though he isn't conscious, sometimes can feel the way his body cries and aches. He can feel the heat of healing, feel his muscles and bones scraping against each other as they slowly move back into place. He’s grateful for the braviety, happy to sink into a deeper place of unconsciousness, to run from the discomfort.

Marc wakes gradually. He first wiggles his toes, feeling the numbness in his right leg. He taps his fingers softly, enjoying the fullness of whatever bed he lies in. He tries to stretch his neck but he’s quite stiff and decides to just open his eyes. To do the inevitable and face his reality. When his eyes open, he frowns at the sight of paper boats hanging from the ceiling.

Paper boats, covered in wax, sailing under Hecate’s moon.

Marc knows right away where he is. He’s too warm. He can smell moss. The room glows from the outside in, candles lit but somehow he still feels the darkness. Maybe it is the deep dark reds and purples of her linens and furniture. Maybe it’s the white wolf that sits near the fireplace, eyes as dark as the night sky as it watches him. Or maybe the sense of dread as he takes in his surroundings, as he realizes he’s been made. He tenses, turning his head until his eyes meet hers.

Marc’s mouth drops open, going dry. She’s the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen— her soft mouth raised in a smile, her eyes clever. There are no words, just sensations that contradict each other. He feels wonky like his body can’t decide if he wants to stay or go. His brain tells him that he should fight, that he should leave. His heart pounds loudly in his chest as adrenaline builds. But in the pit of his stomach, there is nothing but ease as he looks into her eyes. All of this leaves him utterly confused and then some.

When he continues to stare at her quietly, she says, “You’re awake.”

He’s in the witch’s den and here she is, smiling down at him because she’s got him in her grasp. He’s not sure why she hasn’t killed him yet. He should be more afraid. He should kill her.

Where’s his weapon?

“Don’t. I don’t want to hurt you. Or paralyze you, drug you— maim you. Especially after fixing you up, I’d be destroying all my work,” She muses playfully, looking down into her book.

Marc’s eyes go wide with shock. Is she being funny?

“You know who I am,” He states, ignoring the way his heart starts to beat more quickly.

She nods, looking up from the pages, “The sigil on the crossbow made it pretty obvious.”

“You saved me anyway.”

“The wolves would’ve eaten you alive.”

“That would’ve been better than being taken hostage and killed by a witch.”

“You aren’t taken hostage— I’ve nursed you back to health. If I wanted you dead I wouldn’t waste my energy. I would’ve watched them feast,” She says matter of factly.

“Spoken like a true witch,” Marc scoffs.

She narrows her eyes at him, “You know nothing about me.”

“I know everything about you. My whole life is about you. Your kind,” He corrects.

“News flash Spector, I’m just as human as you are.”

“You might look human but our hearts don’t beat the same. You’re a monster, it’s in your blood.”

His words punch her in the gut. She knows that witch hunters are cruel, she’s been taught that all her life. Spell writing, potion brewing, ingredient harvesting, and the all-important learning to murder witch hunters in any and every fashion. There are many rules to be followed in witchcraft— regardless of one’s craft or coven but the most important of them?

If you see one, there should be one less in the world.

She knows they’re raised to hate her as much as she’s raised to hate them. But the hate never stuck. It was drowned in curiosity, in a yearning for peace and understanding. Because how dare she want to live a life that is fruitful and soft. How dare she see the humanity in them. She blows out a breath, eyes raising to the ceiling as she tries to keep her tears in. Even as her heart aches, it roars, begging to retaliate. Begging to lash out and hurt him. She ignores that urge like she always does, wiping at her eyes.

He sees the way her tears twinkle in the soft candlelight— she truly is beautiful. He quickly bats the thought away again. Beauty can only run so deep in her, she is a witch after all. It stops at the surface, he knows that. But, he feels bad for making her cry. She’s a witch, the bloodsucker of the human race. He shouldn’t care if she lives or dies, let alone if she cries. But before he can think better of it, an apology sits on his tongue. He doesn’t get the chance to say it.

“You’d prefer to be alone,” She sets down her grimoire and stands, reaching for a cloak that’s hung on the wall. “I’ll go to look for matching wood to repair your crossbow, part of it broke during your fall. Don’t try anything stupid, your leg is still setting.”

The white wolf that hasn’t taken its eyes off of him makes growls under its breath and Marc glares.

“Neither of us is going to hurt you. She simply wants you to be kinder to me. How a wolf knows that and you don’t….” She clicks her tongue in scolding, turning to look at the wolf, “Come along, Nimbus.”

He watches them leave, letting out a deep breath when he’s finally alone. He’s still confused. He doesn't understand her.

Kinder to her? She must not understand their dynamic— she must be out of her mind. That much is clear since she’d brought him back to her den to help him instead of killing him. Could he really trust that? A witch so unstable? She could’ve brought him here to nurse him back to health for a challenge, all to kill him again. That makes more sense, that aligns with all of his previous experiences. There must be ulterior motives for why she’s brought him here. He won’t fall into this trap.

let me know if you'd like to be tagged (18+ only)!

boundless taglist: @campingwiththecharmings, @grogusmum, @ninebluehearts, @mdnigts

#marc spector x reader #marc spector x witch!reader #marc spector x fem!reader #witch hunter!marc spector x witch!reader #witch hunter!marc spector #moonknight fanfiction #marc spector fanfiction #boundless #not sfw #arson writes

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simp4konig · 7 months

Note

My personal thing, if you don’t mind me sharing <3, about König, while I know he has the potential to literally kill you without a second thought, I feel like he has a soft spot of children. Parents not so much, but he always spares the children. Now, for the bad behaved children I feel like he would give a scary talking to 👀

Because König feels very strongly about bullying, so if he heard a kid was bullying the other kid? Would come to their immediate rescue and shut the bully down harshly. For him, that’s a mercy, but he promises that if he ever hears word or sees them acting like that again he won’t be as “merciful”. But to the Victims he would console them, but also give them his harsh reality of “you have to be stronger than your enemies” and as much as he wants them to keep their innocence, he doesn’t want them to be weak either. Or worse killed.

But that’s just my little HC 😌

Anon rhis is such a good headcannon???? 🥹🥹 lemme just..,🤏🤌

No i don't mind qt all!!! 😊 If anuthing, im so glad you shqred this with me 🥰💖 bc I felt IMMEDIATELY inspired by this headcannon !!😽✨💖...

... so jere are MY headcannons for YOUR headcannon 🙈🙈⛅🌻💞💕💓✨🌼 Took me a short while to formulate my answer, so srry for the delayed reply 😿 I saw this as soon as you sent me this an i dont want u to tjink i ignored you at all:(</33

König with a soft spot for children headcannons🥺🥺

+ father König drabbles🤭

Word count: ~2022

*If you ignore my VERY angsty depiction of König's childhood, then it's totally pure fluff all around 💖✨🤗

*General headcannons for König

Writinf block is fuckinf AGONY and im in PAIN 😭😭💔💔 give me time to recover and ill powt two fully-fleshed out fanfics sometime soon 🙏🥺

Tag List ♡ @simpforkonig ♡ @abysslovesyou ♡ @puff0o0 ☆ @rustic-guitar-notes ☆ @happy-mushrooms ♡ @reyner-lee

...

König, having been bullied all of his childhood, is FIRMLY against bullying.

To see a little girl/boy being labelled an outcast is oh too familiar to him, and hits far too close to home than it should. Brings back the insecurities, the feeling of being utterly humilated, a permanent reminder of his not fitting in. Literally.

Primary school: bullied for being a beanstalk, for head hitting the door frame, for being abnormally large, a "mutant"; balls hurtled at him in dodgeball, all competing in finding out who can knock out the "freak"; knees kicked from behind and legs buckling from the attack, a stampede of legs stamping on him as he cowered on the floor, helpless, and no one caring to help, teachers observing idly nearby.

Secondary school: nose broken to "fix" his crooked features, his "ugly" face; cast aside in class photos for "ruining the picture"; people of his own age turning their heads in the other way in disgust, avoiding him like the plague.

As if his "ugliness" was contagious, and if anyone was to touch him they'd catch the disease.

Power surpassing his tormentors, yet too powerless to fight back, he endured, yet didn't overcome.

Lasting trauma changed König's own perception of self completely.

It took a long time becoming the cocky and confident commander he presents himself as. To stand up to his full height and embrace himself for who he was and is, to be self-assured, domineering, and boisterous with others irrespective of their rank. The Colonel; a hardened soldier; a strict man of discipline exerting his authority over all, not at all sympathetic towards anyone.

Deep down, he is still that young boy, vulnerable in the center of a circle of so many pointing fingers and sneering faces. All became a collective body of ridiculing smiles, of sing-song laughter, so many that he lost count.

So, personally vowing to NEVER let his future children (or any children) go through the same turmoil, he would intervene whenever he had the chance to.

For instance, perhaps König was speed-walking home one day, dufflebag slung over his shoulder as he rushed to get back to you as soon as possible after being deployed these past weeks, and maybe he was passing by a playground.

Initially focused on the goal at hand, he couldn't help but turn his head, a small smile under his mask as he felt a wave of nostalgia crash over him. Nostalgic of times before he was forced to integrate with callous society.

Smiling at the oblivious children playing together, kicking their chubby little legs on the swings, sliding down a slide and falling, squealing. All giggling with glee, so innocent.

All except one. His eyes would land on a small girl, bawling on the ground, no older than five years old.

Surrounded by three others, all pointing fingers and laughing, the ringleader making fun of the poor thing as his henchmen stomped the remainder of her sandcastle, kicking sand at her. Hands on hip, chest puffed out triumphantly.

Rubbing her puffy eyes, thick pouting lips drooping in an open-mouthed frown, chin quivering as she struggled to contain her broken sobs, she kneeled on the ground, hugging her knees to her chest.

Usually, in these types of situations, people tend to behave in two very different ways when they see something that happened to them happening before their eyes:

"Why should I help them? I went through the same thing, so it's not my problem" or "I should help! They shouldn't have to go through the same thing".

You can probably already guess under which category König falls into.

He was NOT about to actively play a passive role in ignoring the poor blubbering child, to be downright apathetic like the other adults were in their radius. No way.

Still carrying his dufflebag, imagine the horror of the little shitlings*: seeing an imposing giant 2ft+ taller than them, huge body trudging towards their little troupe; cold, icy-blue eyes half-lidded staring into their bulging ones. Glaring.

Little band of clowns would probably actually shitting themselves fr 💀

Not only does König give the brats a stern talking to (all the while they are nodding their heads with jaws on the floor, knees trembling and nearly caving in on themselves), he later makes it his due diligence to track down the parent(s) and scold them too.

"Was wird deinem Gören zu Hause beigebracht? What do you teach your brat? This behaviour is unacceptable. You have set a terrible example, Du verdammter Idiot. How dare you allow this? Bulling is wrong. Scheiße, are you listening to me? Because you should, Dummkopf. You should be ashamed. I am sure ashamed of you. I swear to Gott—"

Cue 1 hours later, he personally grounds them (the child and parents)... 🤐

...And the child goes with it? Even the adults? 😭

I mean, to be honest, I would too, if a 6'10, body-so-broad-that-it-blocked-all-sunlight-and-did-not-fit-in-the-door-frame Colonel, gesticulating wildly, projecting strongly his German-accented voice, cursing in an aggravated amalgamation of furious English and a spiteful spit of German... Yeah, I'd be pissing my pants not even gonna lie 😭

I'd imagine that the parents would be immediately saluting, images of stupidity on their faces, completely dumbfounded to have their parenting challenged and to learn that their "precious little angel(s) that can do no wrong" actually can do wrong. (sorry guys i hate toddlers with a RAGING PASSION... rant over fyi no more of me insulting shitheads🥰)

As for the sweet, weeping girl, he would crouch down to her height, gentle eyes genuine behind his menacing mask. Slowly lifting the fabric, wary of his facial deformities, his scars, he'd do his best to give her a comforting smile, wanting to make her at ease.

She was not put off by his appearance at all. If anything, she maintained eye contact — was curious yes, so with no filter whispered, "You... you have a nice smile, sir. I like your eyes.

"They're—" a loud sniff, wiping her nose with her sleeve "—they're pretty. "

Taken aback, König's eyes widened. Then, in soft whisper:

"Meine Süße, I'm so very sorry about those— those idiots..."

The girl giggled a little, dimples appearing on her tear-stained cheeks.

"And I'm so very sorry, but there will others. Other idiots," he allowed himself to smile, letting out a dry chuckle.

A tentative hand dropping to her round shoulder, squeezing it every so slightly to emphasise his words. "And you have to be strong, Mädchen. You must be strong. This world isn't a good place for angels like you."

Obviously, he didn't sugarcoat the truth. Situations like this would be unavoidable. He would make that clear.

"I do not condone violence, but—" a wink, acknowledging the irony behind his words. "—if you stick your foot out when one of those brats are walking down the corridors, surely nothing will happen, ja?"

Seeing the girl lighten up, smiling brightly, no signs anymore of crying, he ruffled her hair with a toothy grin.

Letting the veil drop down his face, he suddenly fixed his posture and gave an exaggeratedly goofy salute as he turned to head home, satisfied. All the while the girl waved at him energetically, eyes crinkling up in an adolescent's adorable smile.

On another note: I never really gave it much thought before, but... König as a father? 🥺🥺

Your headcannons unlocked a part of my brain that had been locked. 🤭✨ Needed to upgrade my König skill tree before I got to this poin. 🦸🏼‍♀️ Sure has been worth it, though. 🤩

Ever since he was past his teenage years, the thought of a family was something he longed for. Desired.

Maybe it's because he was taught traditional house roles in his European household, or was longing for something that was out of reach, he couldn't tell.

What he was certain about was that it was his biggest wish. His dream.

Deployed in a foreign country, his favourite past-time was fantasizing about his future with a special someone, to have a big family, and to raise his children, giving them everything good he never had, and to shield them from everything bad he had experienced.

Something in being the breadwinner of the house was so masculine to him, and coming home to so many short, out-stretched arms, so excited to be reunited with their papa clinging on to his long legs brought a tear to his eye.

And, once you two officially became a couple, he knew that he wanted to start a family with you at some point. From the moment he met your eyes, intuition assured him that you would be the right one for him.

If you're a [fertile] female, he wants nothing more than to see miniature you and him running around, sweet cherub faces and their chubby cheeks smiling at him, calling him papa, calling you mama.

Seeing your belly swell up with his baby would strangely give him a sense of pride, proud that you would both bring sacred life into the world together, and would practically worship the ground you walk on. He would want to get this right, for everything to be perfect.

He wouldn't allow you to lift a finger despite your protests, catering to your every need, caring for you in any and all ways he could:

Carrying the groceries, 3 carrier bags in each hand, serving you while simultaneously subtly making you swoon, not missing the googly eyes you made at his strength from his peripheral vision;

Doing the bed, making sure to stock up on additional soft pillows and fluffy blankets so you would rest well, removing all stress from your morning routine, and the discomfort of finding a comfortable sleeping position at night;

Insisting you eat balanced meals, preparing nutritious food that had all the nutrients you would need, the sustenance to feed you and develop a healthy baby.

The gore and guts he had witnessed in the battlefield did not compare at all to the sight of blood staining the hospital bed sheet. The look of horror in his eyes as you went into labour, death grip on his hand, knuckles turning white. He'd be hyperventilating, almost feeling the same pain you were going through 😢💔

Not to say that your agony was worth it, but seeing the beautiful blanketed bundle in your arms, you cooing at the little one, made every single horrific moment combined in his life worthwhile.

All the struggles, the hardships, the troubles; all worth it if it meant seeing you with his child.

If you're anything other ([infertile] female, male, non-binary, etc), König would get so emotional when adopting a newborn with you.

He'd be teary-eyed, unable to hide the emotions.

To think that he'd be rescuing a child, giving them a second chance and making it feel so wanted, so loved. To give it all the love he was missing, the feeling forgotten through years of bullying, abuse, and violence, and war.

He would waste no time building the nursery. Painting the walls, building the crib, buying plush blankets, stuffed teddy bears, toys that would be in no way a choking hazard.

His helicopter parent preparations aside, his dream would be to grow old with you, and be surrounded by children, grand-children, and even great-grand-children, sharing stories as the lively atmosphere was bubbling with life, with a family.

Piggy back rides would be a MUST!! 😡 Or, better yet, his infants (taking turns — dunno if three kids at once is very practical 😭) sitting on his shoulders, seeing the world from so high up. Reaching out, and their head in the clouds.

Bouncing them on his knee, like a train conductor going through heavy turbulence, all the while the little ones would be laughing happily, telling him to go faster.

Every single one of his children cuddled up to him; in his lap, over his shoulders, splayed over his legs, clinging to him like a pack of koalas. 🐨

Reading bed time stories, stroking their head, stood in the door way minutes after his children had fallen asleep. Keeping them safe.

A family of his own. To eventually embarrass endearingly, to squish their cheeks, and tickle their sides, play-wrestle and tease by keeping objects out of reach. His extensive research also included horrible dad jokes, which were made hilarious by their poor translations into English.

Wanting to raise his children the way his mother had raised him while she was still around, to give his children the happy childhood he hadn't had, to make school a positive journey into adulthood. He'd teach them to deal with bullies, to stand up for themselves when he never could...

...And, athough he has good intentions, the truth is that with a father like him no snot-nosed brat would ever dare to mess with the Colonel's children ☠️

...

Note: Omg you. csn tell that i got so carried away w/ this😭😭 you know rhat line where König "fantasized" about a family ?yea that was me the entire time wiritng this...💔 God i need to stop daydreamimg excessively ajd return to reality 🥲 ...

...,,jk i wont 🥰💅✨💫 good mental health??😰😰 guurrl we don't know her 💆🏼‍♀️💫✨🧚‍♀️💓

Functioning like a normal human being💔🤮🤮🤮<<<<< Making up vivid scenarios in my head💓💓 😍😍😍

*fyi, shitlings is a loose translation for "gówniaki/gówniarze", an insult you have for children in Polish (similar to the English "shithead"). Do what you will with that new knowledge. The world is your oyster with that one ig 👍

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the-curator1 · 11 months

Text

Oceans of Time

Vampire!Cardinal Copia x Female Reader

Author's note: This story was inspired by the amazing fic At The Mercy of Time(And Fragmented Memories of you) by @piaart. If you haven't read it yet, I highly recommend doing so! Additionally, this is the first fic that I am publishing on my blog, so it may have some flaws. English is not my first language, so if you notice any mistakes, please don't hesitate to point them out to me.

AO3 Link

Summary: Copia and you love each other deeply, unconditionally. But cruel Fate decides to pull you apart from his grasp again and again. The story of two star-crossed lovers always reaching out to each other through the endless ocean of time. (≈6300 words)

Tags: Angst, so much angst, I put our poor Cardinal through hell, but I swear there is a happy ending (kind of), catholicism, Copia is originally a Catholic Cardinal, death, grief, loss of faith, implied smut, some depiction of graphic violence, vampirism, blood-drinking, some bits of unhinged and feral Copia, revenge, romance, some fluff, mostly Copia's POV, Shamelessly inspired by 1992 Dracula (the title ofc, a dialogue and a few elements in the story)

Vatican City, Italy, August 1677

“You cannot do such a thing.”

The Camerlengo looked up at the Cardinal with a stern expression. His bushy eyebrows were so furrowed that they almost hid his dark eyes. The corners of his thin lips were turned up in a sneer of disgust and anger. The man had the appearance of a hawk, with his long, pointed nose and vicious, sharp gaze.

“Well, of course, I can, Cardinal. Not only can I do it, but I must." growled the Camerlengo.

Copia felt a shiver run down his spine and looked down again at his hands clasped in his lap. Shame. Anger. Fear. Worry. All these insidious feelings swirled in his mind as in a demonic waltz. But at that moment, all his thoughts were focused on you...

Oh dolcezza… Forgive me.

“You have broken your vows, Cardinal, " continued the camerlengo in a chilling tone, "Consider yourself lucky that I am not asking His Holiness to dismiss you immediately. Despite your lamentable mistake, you are still a good asset to our Church. Besides, the family of your... lover has urged us not to cause a scandal. Let's hope that this mission will help you think straight again. May God guide you back to the right path.”

Copia shot his head back towards his superior. His throat was knotted, and his heart seemed to hiccup in his chest as if it was shaking with sobs.

No. No...

They couldn't...

They had no right to keep you apart like that!

The Cardinal's hands tightened violently on his knees. He wished it was not his kneecaps he was squeezing between his fingers, but the neck of that old disgusting vulture. But he repressed these violent urges as well as he could. Without a word, Copia rose from his chair. Like an automaton, he bowed his head and walked towards the door.

Italy, Rome, August 1677

You looked out of your bedroom window, your hand resting against the cold glass. Mother had carefully locked the door to your balcony... she was probably afraid you would run away or jump to embrace the pavement two floors below.

Rome had never looked so foul and so fair, bathed in the glorious light of the evening. The sun cast its golden rays on the facades of the buildings bearing their bold fronts. Everything here was pompous, grandiose. Everything was too much. There was no questioning the beauty and majesty of the city... but how you hated it at that very moment. In your eyes, it was the monster of stone, marble and cobblestone that held the man you loved in its horrible clawed hands. It symbolized everything that was keeping you apart. You could have run away together… But where to go? Your family would not let you run away… never.

Oh, if he had not been a Cardinal...

The foolishness of your inner reflection struck you at once. If he had not been Cardinal... his beautiful green eyes would never have met yours in the first place. Your beautiful, sweet Cardinal Copia. Why did you have to be discovered? Why had Father decided to cancel his meeting and return home so soon? Why did he have to catch you and the man he had hired to be your preceptor in a passionate embrace?

"It was bound to happen one day, amore..." whispered your Cardinal when he had come to visit you after the incident under cover of darkness. You had been able to escape the confinement of your room with the complicity of one of your maids.

"And now, Copia? What are we going to do now?" you had asked, your eyes brimming with tears. Your forehead rested gently against that of your lover. His gloved hands rested on your face, his thumbs drawing delicate circles on your skin.

"I don't know, my love. I don't know. But I want you to know one thing: Nothing can keep me away from you. Not even the Almighty, not even Satan below... I will always come back to you."

You had not been able to find the words... they were stuck in your throat. You had kissed your lover fervently, pouring all the love you felt for him into that kiss. The streets were quiet around you, there was only the distant shouting of drunkards mingled with the ringing of the church bells. But you could almost hear the wild beating of your broken heart.

Always. Always.

Your time had almost run out. You had untied your favourite silk scarf off your neck and slipped it into his hands. You had carefully infused the scarf with your perfume. Copia had studied your gift with his wide bright eyes. There was a consuming devotion in his eyes as if he were holding Christ's shroud in his hands.

Your Cardinal had kissed your forehead one last time. In the darkness of the street where your secret meeting took place, you could have sworn you saw tears in his eyes. He had not said anything after that. Maybe the words were stuck in his throat too. Maybe he was afraid he could not say goodbye anymore if he had said something more.

Copia had taken a few steps back… and almost as quickly as he had arrived, Copia turned on his heels and let himself be swallowed up by the darkness of the streets.

When you heard the stairs creak at the end of the corridor, you snapped out of your thoughts... It was them. You saw them arrive in the courtyard of your house in their austere carriage. You were not surprised. You were fully aware that, regardless of being the daughter of a powerful family, there remained only one destination to seek solace following such disgrace.

September 1677, somewhere off the coast of Italy...

Copia watched the coast disappear in the distance. The sea was calm this morning. But the gentle sound of the waves did not soothe him at all. Copia was well aware of what they must have done to you... and if he had not been so devastated he would have laughed at the irony of the situation. You, who had committed a sacrilege with a member of the clergy, were now compelled to join their ranks for the rest of your life.

He hated every moment he spent away from you and your arms. He hated every breath he took without feeling your skin against his. He hated the people who took him away from you.

Oh, how he missed you...

How he missed your touch, how he missed burying his face into your hair, how he missed the sound of your voice. He felt like a part of him was missing, he felt like they tore a whole limb from him, he felt like they pulled his heart off his chest.

Copia hated the boat that carried him away from the Italian coast. Away from you.

Copia hated the red cassock he wore, it looked like it weighed thousands of pounds. The cross he wore around his neck felt like the chains of a slave

Copia hated the Church.

Copia hated the God that separated him from the love of his life.

But in this whirlwind of hatred and resentment, Copia did not forget the promise he had made. He held the scarf up to his face to breathe in your perfect scent; it was his greatest treasure. Then he held it to his heart...

I'll be back, amore...

Italy, from Genoa to Rome, 16 February 1681

His heart was pounding in his ribcage. It was beating faster and faster as the city of Genoa loomed on the horizon. All those years away from you had been torture. Those years spent in that alien land had been particularly trying for Copia. He had never been able to get used to India and to his mission there. How could he have preached the word of God when he no longer believed in it?

The Camerlengo had been wrong about everything. This mission had not put him back on the right track. On the contrary, all that time spent away from you had only increased his longing for you, his burning desire to be close to you.

All the thoughts that should have been for the Lord were for you. And, God, some of them were anything but righteous. He had not forgotten you, of course. The Cardinal had thought of you every minute of every day. How could he have forgotten your smile? The softness of your hair? The opal of your eyes? The melody of your voice?

He had held your precious scarf to his face every night, breathing in your scent. Sometimes, as his mind lingered on you, he had let his hands roam over his own body. And he had felt no shame for it. Eventually, the scent of you on the scarf began to fade. It broke his heart when he noticed it. But the token was still something that had belonged to you. It had been wrapped around your neck. It had touched the skin of this part of your cherished body, a place where he liked to kiss you... and in the Cardinal’s love-struck mind, it was more than enough.

The Cardinal now had only one thing to look forward to: seeing you again, holding you in his arms and never letting go again.

It hadn't been very difficult to find out which convent your dear parents had sent you to. They were zealous and wealthy Catholics who were graciously giving money to the abbeys and convents of Rome. Especially that one.

He hoped that his authority as Cardinal would give him the right to see you, for even five minutes. His heart had not calmed down since he had got off the boat in Genoa.

Upon returning to Rome, his heart continued to beat furiously in his chest. He did not care to go to Vatican City to announce his return first. The urge to see you was too strong. Standing before the convent gates where you had spent the past four years did little to alleviate his condition. It felt as though his heart longed to escape its confines.

As he had hoped, his red cassock had a great effect on the Mother Superior. She didn't seem suspicious when Copia told her his name. She seemed too focused on this habit to remember that it was the name of the Cardinal at the heart of a scandal within the Church a few years earlier. Even if the scandal did not blow in the eyes of the world, surely she would know about it. There were whispers, even amongst the clergy. But when he mentioned your name and asked to see you, the old woman's eyes darkened

The Cardinal's eyes were still dry when he placed his gloved hand on the tombstone engraved with your name. But he felt as if his whole being was shaking. He felt as if everything he was had been torn to shreds.

He had not been there.

He knelt down on the grass. The cold winter wind was biting at his skin but he did not care. He removed his gloves. His fingers delicately traced the outline of your name in the stone, but they tensed when they reached the dates engraved underneath. Your life was so short... You were too young. Far too young. And good. Far too good. Your family did not even retrieve your body. You were buried in the graveyard of the convent.

He had not been there.

Copia felt an awful pain searing behind his eyes as scorching tears attempted to break through his tightly closed eyelids. It seemed like the rapid beating of his heart, once intense on the boat's deck, had ceased entirely the instant the Mother Superior uttered the words.

Illness. Death.

He could not remember exactly what the old woman had said after "She is gone, Cardinal." He just remembered the feeling of a hot knife through his heart, followed by a dreadful sense of hollowness.

He pulled your scarf out of his pocket and brought it to his face. He knew that he never would be able to breathe in your scent anymore… and it killed him inside.

He had not been there. Copia leaned his forehead on the cold stone as he used to do with you. The realization that you were gone was slowly settling in. It was clawing at what remained of his heart, it was tearing his wretched soul apart.

You were gone and he had not been there for you.

Did you think about him when you realized what was happening to you?

When you had become too weak to do anything but lay in bed, did you hope for him to come back before it was too late? He promised after all…

Did you call out for him when the cold hands of Death seized you?

Still leaning on your tombstone, the Cardinal began to weep. The howling of the wind blended with the sound of his sobs. After a while, Copia stopped crying. He felt like he had no tears left to cry. His sadness had faded. Now he felt a burning anger. A hot anger blazing like the fiery pit of hell. It was their fault.

Those who sent him away. Those who sent you in this wretched place. It was His fault!

The God who had torn you away from his embrace. The God who was doing nothing but taking.

With an almost animalist cry, Copia tore the cross pendant from his neck and threw it away with force. At once, the wind gave a sharp howl, blowing its cold breath in Copia’s face.

“Damn you” the Cardinal snarled, looking up at the sky. “I will avenge her. And not even you will be able to stop me. You will see. You will see”

With that he turned away, not sparing a glance at your tombstone.

The night had thrown its dark cloak upon Rome and the convent. Copia had left earlier without a word, storming out of the convent like a gust of wind. But his madness and desperation led him back there. He had removed his cassock to climb the closed gates of the convent but he had carefully put your scarf into the pocket of his trousers. He had almost impaled himself on the pickets of the fence. But that did not stop him.

The Cardinal was now standing in front of the small chapel, his chest was bare, exposed to the vicious assault of the chilling wind that was howling louder than ever. His chestnut hair was dishevelled. He looked like a madman. Maybe he was a madman. He tried to open the door of the chapel but it was locked. With a growl of rage and frustration, Copia slammed his fists against the wooden door.

Damn it.

The garden that surrounded the chapel and the abbay was plunged into darkness. But the full moon was casting a pale glow, it was enough for Copia to see around. He squinted his eyes. In the dim light cast by the moon above, he saw an axe stuck in a log of wood. The winter was cold, the nuns surely needed some wood to light their fireplace. Copia blessed the cold of winter and the nun who carelessly left this axe here. The Cardinal pulled out the axe of the log and then walked back to the chapel. Without a second thought, he lifted the sharp object in the air and struck the old wooden door with force. He struck again.

Again.

He was breathing heavily. His mind was blank. It was his purpose. It was his design.

He did not care if the sound of the blade hitting the door might awaken the whole convent. Eventually, the door gave in under the Cardinal’s assault. Copia pushed the door roughly and entered the quiet chapel. He walked to the altar, still holding the sharp axe in his hand.

"What are you going to do now?!" Copia shouted in the silence of the chapel. "I told you that I would avenge her! You took her away from me. What do you have to say for yourself?"

His shaky voice echoed in the empty chapel, but there was no answer, no sign. The silence was deafening.

"Well, of course," Copia huffed.

His eyes were wide, his pupils fully blown, as an insane grin curled his lips. Hysterical laughter escaped his mouth.

"You know what, Lord?" he hissed. "I renounce you. You took away my chance to be with her... I know someone who will give me the power to avenge her."

With that, he plunged the axe into the large cross that hovered over the altar. The force of his own strength surprised him as the axe sank into the stone. Suddenly, a crack appeared, and the stone split open. A tiny carmine stream escaped the crack, swiftly rushing down the cross, growing larger and larger by seconds until it transformed into a monstrous red cascade.

The Cardinal instinctively took a step back, yet curiously, he felt no fear. His insane grin spread wider across his face as a strong metallic scent filled his nostrils. Darkness enveloped him like a cloak, and he closed his eyes for a moment. Finally, someone answered his call.

When he opened his eyes again, he witnessed the stream of blood pouring onto the marble floor of the chapel, a sight that ignited an intense sense of thirst as if he had not drunk in ages. He licked his lips. In that instant, the carmine liquid appeared to him like the finest wine. Without hesitation, Copia lunged forward, consumed by greed, and drank voraciously.

Rome, May 1677

You erupted into laughter as your lover pressed himself against you, peppering your neck with a multitude of feather-light kisses. His moustache playfully tickled your skin, sending delightful shivers down your spine. He gently pushed you on the bed.

"Copia!" you exclaimed, unable to contain your laughter, as you wriggled beneath him. "Stop, you are tickling me!"

The Cardinal hummed on your skin, pressing you further on the bed as a low laughter rumbled in his chest. “What if that is my purpose, amore?” he purred in your ear as he planted more kisses on your neck. His teeth were gently nibbling at your delicate skin. His voice was husky and filled with desire. “I love to make you squirm”

Your laughter dissolved into soft moans as Copia tugged the hum of your low cut to press open-mouthed kisses on your collarbone. He was not playing innocently anymore, his playful innocence had subsided with a burning desire for you. His warm lips seemed to leave your skin burning and aching for more. The Cardinal pressed his body up against yours, making you gasp.

“Oh amore, you smell so good, your skin is so soft… you feel so good” he whispered as he kissed your neck and your collaborate with increasing fervor You blushed profusely, running your hands across his back. If this was so wrong, why did he feel so right? "Copia," you murmured, worry piercing in your voice, "My maid is in the next room... what if she hears us?"

Undeterred by your concerns, the Cardinal continued his delightful ministrations, his touch growing bolder as he gently lifted your dress, causing your blush to deepen.

"She will not hear us, amore... she never hears us," he murmured against your skin, his voice was carrying a playful smile. "She thinks I am a righteous Cardinal who teaches you about Roman theatre. How boring…"

You chuckled softly, throwing your head back into the pillow to let your lover devour your skin. But the worry did not leave your mind

“But…” Copia's finger gently pressed against your lips, silencing your words

“Hush, Tesoro… I need you now. Let me love you… please” he pleaded, his gorgeous green eyes filled with longing.

As you looked into your lover’s beautiful eyes, you found that you could not resist him and his warm embrace. You wanted this. As much as him.

But you both knew that the hardest thing to do now was to keep quiet amidst the intensity of your embrace.

Vatican City, later in the night, 16 February 1681

Copia plunged his hands into the fountain, meticulously cleaning the blood from his face and skin. His hunger was appeased. A chilling calmness was surrounding him. Your father's life had been swiftly taken and Copia could still taste his bitter blood on his tongue. The man had consistently treated you poorly, he would yell at you, he would belittle you, and he did not care about your happiness. He had banished you to that wretched convent without remorse. He was one of the people responsible for your cruel separation and he deserved his fate. Copia was certain of it. The pathetic man had begged for his life, but Copia swiftly reduced him to silence when he snatched his throat with his teeth.

The Cardinal gazed at his own reflection in the tranquil water of the fountain, his eyes fixed on the image staring back at him. Suddenly, his heart skipped a beat as he noticed a profound change. His once vibrant green left eye had transformed, now displaying a chilling white hue. Copia stood there in shock for a moment… then a wide smile spread across his face.

He really did answer my call, he mused, I don’t know what I am anymore… but I know I have the power to avenge my darling.

He mused that his new gaze would look so much better with some black paint around his eye. Once he was sure that his hands were clean from the dirty blood of your father, he retrieved the silk scarf from his pocket. He held it to his face; savouring the lingering traces of your sweet fragrance. He found that he could smell those last remnants better than before.

“Do not worry, amore,” he whispered, “I will exact vengeance upon them all, and then I shall uncover a way to reunite us once more.”

With that, he put the cherished scarf back in his pocket and headed toward the clergy’s quarters. He had a Camerlengo to rip apart

Time passed slowly, the seasons changed, and the world kept turning and wavering faster.

But Copia remained.

Copia had found all the people responsible for your separation and he destroyed them all. But once he was done, what more could he do? He was now a creature of the night and he could not go back to who he was before. Copia harboured no desire to do so. He embraced his new existence and the power bestowed upon him by the Dark Lord. He stood there, a timeless observer. He would watch the people around him bloom and wither in the blink of his white eye and then fall into the pit of oblivion.

But Copia remained.

And he would not let you fall into oblivion. The world may have moved on, and Rome may have forgotten but Copia embarked this endless journey through the vast ocean of time, carrying the flame of his love for you. He would not let a day pass without mourning you. Each night under cover of darkness, he would visit you. He would lay flowers in your tomb. He would kneel beside your resting place, whispering words of love and devotion, hoping you would somehow hear them.

You were gone.

But Copia remained.

He remained in his loneliness, in his longing for you. The price to pay for being able to avenge you was high: He had to navigate without you.

Copia remained.

Despair would gnaw at Copia's soul as he grappled with the cruel realization that the memory of your voice was slipping away from him.

Copia remained.

But he did not forget his promise. He knew you were there. Somewhere.

He would sail until he finds you.

Rome, a Garden in the Sun, April 1677

“Amore, you do really have a gift, you know that?” You smiled, feeling your lover's arms envelop you as he rested his chin on your shoulder. The soft fabric of your silk scarf gently caressed his skin. Your hand moved with precision, delicately tracing lines on the paper.

“Hush” you urged, your voice barely above a whisper “You will scare it away…” You gestured toward the small sparrow perched on a nearby branch, its cheerful chirping filling the air. Copia kissed the top of your head. The garden of your parent’s house embraced you both with its serene beauty. You were well hidden behind a massive oak. The gentle ray of sunshine caressed his skin. The scent of the blooming flowers filled his nostrils. The air was filled with the sound of chirping birds and the soft rustling sound of leaves in the breeze

He was supposed to teach you latin right now… but the weather was so beautiful and you wanted to draw. You had pleaded him to let you go outside. How could he say no to you?

“My little artist, so perfect” he hummed contently as he held you in his arms.

In an instant, the sparrow spread his wings and flew away, startled by the snap of a branch. Disappointment washed over you, and you let out a sigh as you set your pencil down on the sketchbook.

“Oh cara…” Copia leaned in, pressing a tender kiss to your temple. At that moment, he made a silent promise to himself. One day, you would both fly away like the little sparrow. He would whisk you away to a breathtaking place, a sanctuary filled with thousands and thousands of beautiful birds, where you could freely admire their splendour to your heart's content.

London, England, October 1808

Copia's existence was lonely, an enduring consequence of his immortality. He had to live alone. He did not want anyone besides, anyone but you. Copia had left Rome for a while now, reluctantly leaving your tomb behind him. He would go from city to city, from country to country, hoping that he would find a sign of you.

But he had been searching for so long now and the former Cardinal started to feel hope falter within his heart. Could he ever find you again? Were you really out there? Maybe his twisted mind had been deluded. You were dead and gone. How could he ever be able to find you again? He held his hand to the pocket of his black cloak, the place where he kept your silk scarf close to his heart… time had damaged it and your scent had surely faded away now but he kept it nonetheless.

Copia wandered in Spitalfields. It was late at night. The moon was throwing its pale light on the grey cobblestone of the street. The sound of silence filled the air only disturbed by the echoes of his heels on the pavements. The market which was usually overcrowded looked eerie at night. But none of those things aroused fear in Copia’s heart. Copia was hungry.

Was there anyone foolish enough to go out at night in such a wretched place? Copia hoped so. But as he looked around, he saw nothing but cats and some rats. The immortal being wrinkled his nose… he had eaten rats a few times before to alleviate his unbearable hunger. But tonight, he did not want to feed on some rodents. He wanted fresh blood. He wanted to feel the thrill of sinking his teeth in someone’s neck. He had become this kind of monster after all... And he had done that many times before. Suddenly, Copia stopped.

There she was. His prey.

The woman was sitting on the edge of a small wall before an old statue, her hair was hiding her face. She was focused on something, blissfully unaware of the threat that was hanging over her. What was she doing out in this place at night anyway? This girl was undoubtedly looking to get herself killed! Copia licked his lips, his hunger growing. He could already taste her sweet blood on his tongue. He would...

Suddenly, the woman turned her head toward him. She gasped upon seeing him, her sketchbook dropping to the floor. In that instant, Copia's cold heart skipped a beat.

It could not be...

This woman wore your face!

Her eyes, her hair, the outline of her lips, the colour of her skin... She was your spitting image. His eyes snapped to the sketchbook on the ground. When it fell, it had opened on the page of a drawing… a sparrow. Copia felt his heart sink into his chest. His eyes widened, and his face turned paler than ever. He took a step back as the woman jumped off the wall

"I have a knife!" the woman shouted. "I won't hesitate to cut you open if you try something!"

Copia's heart sank even further and his hunger disappeared all at once. The woman had your voice, he was certain of it. Even if he could not remember the melody of yours a moment before, he felt it was unmistakable; she was you. He had finally found you.

“I will not hurt you, bella,” Copia said eventually.

He took a step further, knowing that the darkness still concealed him from you. You pulled out a knife from your cleavage and pointed it towards him. A low chuckle escaped Copia’s lips, to his dismay, it sounded sinister. He found that he had forgotten how to laugh gleefully. But he did not let this dreadful realization hit him too hard. He had found you again.

“Oh cara… You don’t know how long I have searched for you” In the dim moonlight, he saw you frown. A hint of confusion and terror flashed in your bright eyes.

“What…?”

Copia stood just a couple of meters away from you. Now, you could see his face.

Please remember me.

The vampire closed the distance between the two of you. You were obviously scared, trapped by the wall behind you. Frozen like a deer in headlights, you couldn't move. He knew he probably looked scary with his dissimilar eyes and the black paint around them. But slowly, and with careful movements, Copia raised his hands to your beautiful face. He was shaking with emotion, his mismatched eyes filled with love and devotion. Please remember me.

"Please do not be scared, amore," he whispered, his voice soft like the murmur of a summer breeze.

You were still holding the knife toward him, but you never struck him. He could see that fear was gripping you, yet did not do anything to stop him from touching you. Eventually, his hands grazed your face as he cupped your cheeks tenderly. It felt like an electric shock, surpassing anything he had ever dreamed of; it was pure bliss. You were here, and he was touching you. The knife slipped from your trembling hand.

Please remember me.

He could see that you were closing your eyes tightly, bracing yourself for the worst, but instead of something harmful, you only felt his gentle touch.

Please remember me.

“I have crossed oceans of time to find you” he murmured, drawing soft circles on your skin Time seemed to stop as you opened your beautiful eyes to look at him. But when he eagerly plunged his gaze into yours, the sharp knife of sorrow pierced through Copia’s heart. You did not remember.

Your eyes were filled with confusion and intense fear. Suddenly, you shoved him away and ran. Almost sounding like a wounded animal, he called your name desperately—or the name that was your many years ago. But you did not stop. You did not turn around. You ran. And let yourself be swallowed up by the darkness of the streets.

Copia stood there for a long, stunned. He felt like his cold heart was bleeding out in his chest. With a shaky breath, he leaned to retrieve the sketchbook and the knife you had left behind in his shaking hands. They would join your silk scarf on his aching heart.

The next time Copia saw you, you were living another life, another life that he could have shared with you. Once again, he tried to reach you, only to be met with confusion and fear. His heart broke each time he tried until eventually the pieces of his heart could not be split any further.

It happened again many times after. He met you again. And again. It seemed as though the universe was trying to make up for all the years you had spent away from his eyes. However, it remained consistent in its cruelty. He would encounter you in all your lifetimes..

After a while, he decided to stop trying to get to you, to explain to you that you were his soulmate. Once he discovered you, he would simply watch you from afar most of the time. Every time you drew your last breath, he would embark on another search for you. He would watch you navigate through your lives, sometimes with a darling by your side.

How he wished he could be them...

The jealousy was hard to endure. Sometimes, he would even think of ripping these people apart out of bitter envy. But how could he blame them? You were so wonderful. And, in the end, Copia wanted you to be happy.

But as time flowed, and as he met and fell in love with you repeatedly, a cruel pattern emerged. Each time he discovered you more swiftly than before, fate seemed determined to tear you away from him just as quickly.

In this lifetime, you were a valiant nurse leaving to care for soldiers during the war. He saw you for a short moment on the platform of a train station before you climbed onto the train that would lead you to your ruin. In another, you were an ill girl of the night whom he managed to hold in his arms for one blissful night.

Every time, you were snatched away by Death with increasing haste. And always, you were robbed of your youth. The universe seemed eager to pluck you at the height of your bloom, as if unwilling to witness the slow decay of the magnificent flower you were.

But that meant you never knew a peaceful death.

That one time he attempted to spare himself the agony of finding you only to lose you again, you crossed his path unexpectedly.

The oceans of time were moody and tumultuous. You could never travel on the same boat. Each time he reached out for you, to grab you in his arms and never let go, the storm would snatch you away from him. Whatever he was trying to do, his heart ached. But he found that the pain was more intense when he could not see you...

So he would keep looking for you. Again. And again.

He would find you.

He would lose you. Again. And again.

Italy, Rome, March 1676

"Father, is this necessary?" you asked, your voice filled with uncertainty.

Your father glared at you from across the room, his disapproving gaze piercing through your soul.

"Yes, it is," he hissed, his tone sending shivers down your spine. "You need a prestigious education. You are my daughter. I won't allow you to be a disgrace or a disappointment. Is that understood?"

You remained silent, you knew he did not really expect an answer. You were well aware of your father's harsh and bitter nature. He had always resented you, perhaps because you were a girl instead of the precious son he had desired. But you were his daughter nonetheless, he had to keep up appearances. You knew he would not tolerate anything that could bring shame upon the family.

Turning away, you looked out the window of the opulent living room, yearning to be in the garden, drawing and savouring the melodies of the birds as they welcomed the arrival of spring.

A knock on the door interrupted your thoughts.

You didn't turn around. You heard your father stride towards the door and open it.

"Ah, Your Eminence... it is such a pleasure to meet you," your father greeted with feigned politeness.

"Well, the pleasure is all mine, Signore," responded an unfamiliar voice, smooth and melodious.

A shiver ran down your spine upon hearing it. The voice was as sweet as honey, soothing and enchanting. You dared not turn around. Your father called your name, his tone a bit harsh. Slowly, you pivoted to face the man who had just entered the room. Your eyes met his captivating green gaze, and for a moment, it felt as if time had frozen around you. This man was undeniably handsome. When your father mentioned a Cardinal, you had envisioned an elderly and wrinkled figure. However, this Cardinal appeared quite young and attractive.

Donned in a red cassock, a wooden cross hanging from his neck, he possessed sharp features, with a slightly pointed nose. A small mustache graced his upper lip, while sideburns descended along his cheeks. His chestnut hair peeked from beneath the crimson biretta atop his head.

"H-Hello, Signorina," the Cardinal stammered after what felt like an eternity of gazing into each other's eyes. "It's... truly a pleasure to meet you."

A smile formed on your lips. In the end, you were grateful for your father's insistence on teaching you Latin.

Los Angeles, United States, after years of wandering in the dark…

Copia had finally started another life. Some people had reached out to him, knowing what he was, and they did not mind at all. On the contrary, he became a symbol of their faith. Their Dark Lord had heard his prayers and blessed him with the power of darkness. His immortality and power symbolized the almightiness of Satan. He no longer had to hunt for blood; they provided it for him. Copia had regained the title of Cardinal, offering a slight distraction from his pain.

Years had passed since he last encountered you in one of your many lifetimes. It seemed like the universe had finally ceased its torture, and now Copia sailed on calmer waters. But he had to endure the pain of your absence again. Yet, Copia could not help but wonder why he suddenly stopped meeting you. Was the universe preparing something? What other vicious tricks did it have in store for him?

He tried to dismiss these thoughts and focus on the tasks ahead. But for now, he wanted to make the most of his peaceful afternoon stroll in the garden. Its serene beauty and the sweet smell of the flowers gently enveloped him. The gentle ray of sunshine caressed his skin, and the birds were chirping...

"Um, hello? Cardinal?"

The voice behind him startled him for two reasons—the suddenness of the person's appearance and the oh-so-familiar melody of the voice.

Cara mia...

Copia slowly turned around.

There you stood before him, radiating beauty and sweetness. Your face, your hair, your eyes, the colour of your skin and the beautiful outline of your lips. You smiled at him and his heart skipped a beat. His eyes wandered to the silk scarf you wore around your delicate neck. It looked like the one he had no stop wearing against his heart all these years.

Of all the encounters he had with you, it was the first time you approached him on your own accord, the first time you reached out to him. A glimmer of hope shone bright in his mind. Warmth settled in his heart as he smiled back at you.

Maybe it was finally time. Maybe his journey through the oceans of time had finally come to an end. Perhaps he could finally set foot ashore.

#cardinal copia x female reader #the band ghost #copia x reader #dracopia #cardinal copia #vampire #vampire au #cardinal copia x reader #ghost bc

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anonymousewrites · 11 days

Text

Burden of Truth (Book 1) Chapter Thirteen

Father Figure! Marc Spector x Teen! Reader

Father Figure! Steven Grant x Teen! Reader

Mother Figure! Layla El-Faouly x Teen! Reader

Chapter Thirteen: Against Harrow and Ammit

Summary: (Y/N), Marc, Steven, and Layla face Harrow and Ammit head-on.

In the main chamber of the Great Pyramid of Giza, Ammit turned towards the exit. “Let us purify the souls of Cairo and then the world.”

Sand condensed in the path of the disciples of Ammit. They slowed warily, and their eyes widened as Khonshu and Ma’at’s figures formed out of the sand.

“Khonshu. Ma’at. Time has been cruel to you,” said Ammit, sneering.

“Indeed,” said Khonshu. “I cannot allow you proceed.”

“Not when you seek to harm so many.” Ma’at’s gaze went to (Y/N). “You even had the audacity to try to ask for my Avatar’s loyalty. You’ve stooped so low, Ammit.” Ma’at smiled. “Are you prepared to be the guardian of justice, harmony, and truth once more, (Y/N)?”

“Ma’at!” cried (Y/N), eyes widening in shock.

Before they could make any reply, a burst of purple light hit (Y/N), and they were thrown to the side. They hit the stone wall hard and groaned.

“Stop them from accepting Avatarhood,” said Harrow to his men, and the disciples grabbed (Y/N). “And there is someone else here who released Khonshu and Ma’at. Find them.”

“Oh, Khonshu, Ma’at, for gods, you are low on faith,” said Ammit.

“You’ll never learn,” said Khonshu. He raised his staff.

“You have betrayed the vow we took to judge souls on your scales against my feather. I cannot let you continue this,” said Ma’at, extending her arms. Feathers glinting in metal moved with her.

Ammit growled and struck. Her tailed whipped around and struck Ma’at’s wings. She hit the back wall, and Khonshu swung his staff at Ammit. She blocked it, and they struggled back and forth. She pushed him back, but Ma’at slammed her wings into Ammit’s back. The battle of the gods had begun. Khonshu darted around Ammit like smoke, and Ma’at uses the elegant movement of her wings, but Ammit had the brute force and desire to fight above that of Khonshu and Ma’at. She grabbed Khonshu by the bony neck and threw him back. She pulled several of Ma’at’s feathers out and shoved the goddess to the ground.

“Tell me to spare you, and I will,” said Ammit, approaching her former friends.

“I choose obliteration over mercy,” growled Khonshu. Then, suddenly, he tensed. “Marc?”

(Y/N)’s eyes widened, and a sudden blossom of hope came to life within them. Marc was alive? Steven was alive?

Ammit swung her tail down, but Khonshu disappeared into sand, returning to Marc’s side.

“I will take no mercy from you when you give it to no others,” said Ma’at.

Ammit raised her tail again.

“I accept Ma’at’s Avatarhood to defeat Ammit!”

(Y/N)’s voice echoed around the room. They had bitten down on their captors’ hand, pushed away, and shouted their answer.

Immediately, Ma’at’s body disappeared in a cloud of blue, and an azure light appeared in (Y/N)’s eyes. Ma’at reformed behind (Y/N), and bandages wrapped around them, forming their suit of white, blue, and gold.

“Welcome back, my Avatar,” said Ma’at. She swung her wings, and Ammit was thrown back. “Go. We cannot fight in here.”

Indeed, the minute she spoke, Ammit was upon her again, and the two gods were grappling.

“Go! Began the judgement!” ordered Harrow to his disciples.

“Stop them!” commanded Ma’at.

(Y/N) ran out after Harrow as his disciples. As Harrow climbed to the top of the pyramid, (Y/N) grabbed one of his men and threw them back into the chamber. They hit the wall and went unconscious, but there still so many, and even more numbers waited outside. (Y/N) couldn’t do this alone, and Ma’at lacked the fighting ability needed to defeat Ammit on her own.

The moment the sun dipped below the horizon, Harrow arrived at the summit of the Great Pyramid of Giza. He raised the staff and slammed it down. A bright purple light lit up the sky, brilliant and powerful and evil.

No, no, no! thought (Y/N) desperately as they fought more of Harrow’s men.

The other disciples below saw the light and moved into action, heeding his guidance. They were going to judge the people of Cairo. Even as (Y/N) knocked more of Ammit’s followers down, souls of purple light flitted into the air, ripped too soon from their bodies.

(Y/N) gasped and gripped their heart as pain lanced through them. Looking at the ground below, their eyes widened in horror. Ma’at had been thrown to the ground and was lying bleeding while Ammit absorbed the souls around her, growing larger and stronger. The mixture of their deity’s pain and the unfair judgement of the souls of Cairo sent panic and agony through (Y/N).

“Stop…Harrow…” croaked Ma’at’s voice in (Y/N)’s mind, still pinned down by Ammit as she grew stronger.

(Y/N) heeded Ma’at’s command and leapt from stone to stone, approaching Harrow as he chanted in Coptic to grow Ammit’s power further. A white form slammed into the pyramid next to them, and they jumped, fearful for a moment. Then, their eyes widened.

“Marc!” they cried in relief. “You’re here! You’re back!”

“Kid,” said Marc, abandoning his purpose for a moment to run and embrace them. “You’re alright.”

“I’m sorry, I had to read the rites, I was in pain, I tried, but I—”

“Hey, hey, you’re alright.” The suit shifted, and Steven’s voice now spoke. “We’re together again. That’s what matters.”

Purple energy fired into the stone next to them.

“Bloody hell!” said Steven, jumping.

“Harrow’s coming,” said (Y/N) in alarm.

“Then we fight,” said Marc, returning to the moment.

Harrow leapt towards them, and (Y/N) and Marc prepared themselves. On the ground, Khonshu had arrived and freed Ma’at, allowing the two gods to grow and face Ammit once more. The battle of Avatars and gods grew to new heights.

Harrow slammed his staff at Marc, but (Y/N) blocked it. It threw them from the pyramid, and Marc leapt after them, falling behind them. He caught them, and the suit shifted to Steven.

“Are you alright?” he asked worriedly.

“Look out!” said (Y/N), pushing him away as Harrow, having jumped after them, slashed his staff at them.

Marc switched in again, kicked the staff back, grabbed (Y/N), and opened his cape as a makeshift parachute. The three landed roughly in the streets of Cairo, rolling to a stop.

“You okay, kid?” said Marc, sitting them up.

They nodded. “Yeah.”

“Okay, good,” said Marc, helping them up.

A few meters away, Harrow pushed himself to his feet, his staff glowing ominously.

“Get ready,” said Marc.

(Y/N) nodded, pulling out two daggers and narrowing their eyes.

Against the pyramid, Khonshu had finally pinned Ammit with his staff. Ma’at, finally recovered and stronger as (Y/N) successfully fought, stood beside him. Ammit snapped up at them.

“There is so little difference in what we want for this world,” said Ammit, reaching up towards them. “Why do this dance for the rest of time?”

“You know the answer: we only punish those who have chosen evil,” said Khonshu.

Ammit sneered. “Oh, ‘we’ is it, now?”

“Yes,” said Ma’at. “You forsook my friendship, then you betrayed your alliance with Khonshu’s ways. We are here to prevent you from harming more people.”

“And I prevent people from committing evil. You dare to allow them to?” said Ammit. Her tail grabbed Khonshu ankle and dragged him down. His staff fell, and Ammit stood.

“Khonshu,” said Ma’at worriedly, catching him before he fell.

Ammit scoffed. “Why fight knowing you will fail?”

“Because it is our choice,” said Ma’at, slamming her wings down. Ammit braced against them, and the gods glared at one another.

“The very thing you take away,” said Khonshu.

Harrow raised his staff and fired a bolt of energy. (Y/N) and Marc dodged to the side, and each threw their own daggers at him. Harrow ducked and summoned purple energy to destroy the remaining daggers. Two more bolts of energy flashed towards (Y/N) and Marc. He leapt into the air, and (Y/N) bent backwards, handspringing away. Harrow narrowed his eyes and raised the staff again.

Wham!

A figure landed a solid hit to his side, and Harrow went flying. Layla, clad in Egyptian clothing with metallic wings, stood before Marc and (Y/N).

“Are you two alright?” she asked, smiling.

“Layla?” said Marc in surprise.

“Are you an Avatar?” said (Y/N), furrowing their brow in concern.

“Temporarily. For Taweret,” said Layla.

Harrow stood and fired energy at her. She reacted instantaneously, raising her wings and crossing them in front of her. The energy rebounded, and Harrow flew back again.

Marc instinctively stepped forward and hugged Layla. “I’m glad you’re alright.”

“You’re not made about the Avatarhood?” chuckled Layla.

“Taweret isn’t as bad as the others,” admitted Marc.

“I’m glad you’re okay,” said (Y/N), relieved.

“Come on in,” said Layla, grabbing their wrist and pulling (Y/N) into the hug, too.

(Y/N) felt themself smile as Layla and Marc hugged them. They hugged back.

“I can’t believe you’re alright,” said Layla. “I was so worried, Marc.”

“I’m here,” said Marc. He squeezed Layla and (Y/N) tightly. “I’m here.”

Steven switched in and stepped back to look at Layla. “Wow, you look amazing, Layla! What are you wearing?” Both Marc and Steven were as encouraging and caring as ever, even in their different ways.

“Harrow’s getting up,” said (Y/N), noticing before the conversation could continue. “And he’s got reinforcements.”

Indeed, Harrow had been helped up by his disciples as they crowded to his location, guns and other weapons in hand.

“Right!” said Steven. “Well, hey, I’m really jazzed about showing you guys these new skillsets we have.”

“You guys are working together,” said (Y/N), smiling.

“We’ve started to work things out,” said Steven brightly.

“Show us what you’ve got,” said Layla.

The three of them turned and ran towards Harrow and Ammit’s disciples, a team of people who cared about one another and were ready to defend the world.

Layla flew through the men, slashing them down with the swords at the ends of her wings.

(Y/N) dodged and leapt through the crowd, as agile and quick as a cat. They cut through arms and legs, gave quick stabs, and never let someone get ahold of them. They used everything they’d learned as a thief to work effectively against Ammit’s followers.

Steven slammed his fists into two men, and with his batons, he swung and knocked various disciples down before they had a chance to attack. He fought smoothly, none of the hesitation or fear or awkwardness from before. It was Steven fronting and controlling the body, but a variety of skills Marc had perfected were in the fighting style, adjusted to Steven. They truly had begun to work together.

Frustrated as his people fell to the fighting team, Harrow fired energy at Steven. He leapt and twisted in midair, avoiding the purple bolt of magic. Steven threw a baton at Harrow, btu the Avatar of Ammit hit it aside with his staff. It ricocheted back.

Marc, fronting again, caught it. It transformed into a dagger, and he cut down the nearest opponent. He and Layla nodded at each other and raced forward. They cut down opponents, and anyone that tried to stand again was handled by (Y/N), following as quickly and with as much determination as Layla and Marc.

Layla was the first to come upon Harrow, and she swung down at him. He blocked her swords with his staff, but Marc kicked at him. He was forced to pivot and block the kick instead, giving (Y/N) a moment to slide across the floor and slash at his leg. Harrow dodged, but not far enough, and a cut opened up on his calf. He turned and swung down at (Y/N). They rolled back, and Layla moved in to block it before he hit them. The four battled expertly. Every time one of the trio was attacked by Harrow, another block, and the third attack. It was a never-ending dance, all four vying to land a proper hit.

Harrow blocked another kick and slid back. Raising his staff, he swung down. Layla, Marc, and (Y/N) dodged back, but the staff hit the ground, and purple light exploded from it. The wave of energy hit the three Avatars, and they were sent flying. Layla went through a store window, Marc landed on the windshield of a car, and (Y/N) fell into café tables.

Harrow approached and swung down at them, but (Y/N) raised two daggers and, with their strength, managed to block him. Still, they were straining, and Ammit’s staff glowed with energy as Harrow forced it closer to them.

Steven slammed into him. Throwing Harrow into the wall, Steven grappled with Harrow and exchanged several blows with him. Unfortunately, Harrow’s strength was also enhanced as an Avatar, and he could attack with as much power as Steven. He grabbed Steven’s leg when he next kicked and threw him through the wall and across the street.

Marc leapt back out at him and kicked him back, delivering just as powerful a blow to Harrow. He rose, and the pair glared at one another. Harrow raised his staff, but (Y/N) jumped from a nearby roof and grabbed him. They refused to let go as Harrow tried to wrench it from their grasp. Layla flew down on his other side and shoved him back against the wall. Marc held one of his crescent daggers and swung. Harrow ducked, but the blade sliced at his staff. He kicked (Y/N), and they stumbled back. With his now free hand, he swung the staff at Layla and Marc, who dodged. Harrow darted away from the wall to open territory again.

Layla and Marc charged at him, and Harrow blocked with his staff. They each grabbed it, and the three grappled. (Y/N) ran in, and Harrow fired his staff. They dodged to the side, but Harrow took the opportunity and turned the power of the staff on a van of Egyptians trying to escape.

Layla let go of the staff and flew to help the innocents while (Y/N) leapt back to Marc’s side to fight Harrow. Ammit’s Avatar forced Marc to take a step back, but (Y/N) slammed into him from behind, making him stumble. Near the van, Layla took to protecting innocents as they escaped Ammit’s disciples, who were still prowling the streets.

That left (Y/N) and Marc against Harrow. He pivoted and swung at (Y/N), and they flipped back. A disciple nearby raised his gun and fired, distracting (Y/N) from the fight. They leapt around the man and threw several daggers to take him down.

As (Y/N) fought other disciples, Harrow and Marc fought for control of the staff once more. Harrow turned and twisted the staff, shaking Marc from it. He was thrown back and rolled to a stop.

Harrow fired a blast at Marc, and Marc blocked it. The purple energy raged, and Marc gritted his teeth, bracing against the pure, concentrated power.

“Had Ammit been allowed to rule, young Randall’s life would’ve been saved,” said Harrow. “Your family would’ve been happy. She need only remove the weed from the garden.” He grunted with effort as he forced more magical energy from the staff towards Marc. The Avatar of Khonshu was forced to his knee. “You,” spat Harrow, losing control for a moment.

Marc pulled out a crescent dagger and tried to lunge, but the purple energy hit him, and he was forced back once more. Harrow savagely directed the energy to turn the blade back towards him, and Marc fought against his own limbs.

Finishing her own fight, Layla saw Marc struggling and leapt into the air. Harrow shifted, and the beam of energy forced the dagger from Marc’s hand into Layla’s wing. She was thrown back, and the dagger pinned her to the van behind her.

Marc stumbled, trying to right himself, but Harrow was already turning the full power of the staff and his rage on him. He let out an angry yell and shot as much magic as he could summon directly at Marc’s chest.

Marc braced himself.

Thump!

Marc stumbled to the side as a body shoved into him. The figure was thrown backwards by the purple light and landed unmoving on the ground.

“(Y/N)!” shouted Marc, eyes wide.

Layla gasped in horror.

(Y/N) groaned and tried to move, but all they managed was a whimper as every nerve fired with pain as purple magic flowed through them. They had saved Marc from the blast, but now they lay defenseless, unable to move. (Y/N)’s eyes fluttered with the effort to stay awake, and their entire vision was blurred.

“Kid!” Marc surged forward but stumbled on exhausted, injured limbs.

Harrow sent a blast at him, and Marc stumbled back. Layla remained pinned to the van, no matter how she pulled. Harrow walked towards (Y/N) and stood over them. He stared down at the teenager. (Y/N)’s lungs constricted.

“What a disappointment,” said Harrow.

He slammed the staff down on the ostrich feather on (Y/N)’s chest. They screamed, and purple energy lit up the square.

“No!” shouted Layla.

Marc’s eyes widened, and pure rage swept through him.

(Y/N) was left in pure agony. Their throat burned as they screamed, and every nerve cried out with them. The scales on their arm burned, and (Y/N) sobbed as the edges of their vision went back. Their back arched in pain, and (Y/N)’s head rolled to the side, but nothing they did could escape the torture Harrow inflicted upon them.

Out of the blurry vision they retained, they watched Layla cower and try to cover herself as disciples approached with guns and fire at her, and their heart dropped.

No…No…

Everything was growing fuzzy, blurry. (Y/N) couldn’t keep track of what was going on. Their lungs felt heavy. They couldn’t get enough air.

Mom…Dad…

Was this Harrow’s staff or the crash sending metal through (Y/N)’s chest? Were they laying dying under the skies of Egypt with their Mom and Dad or with Layla and Marc and Steven?

Were they going to die this time?

Suddenly, the light disappeared. The purple glow illuminating the terrible sights (Y/N) could still see vanished, and they were plunged into darkness. Their body went limp on the ground, and phantom pain floated around them. (Y/N)’s eyes closed, and they fought to try to open them again. Everything felt so heavy.

“What are you—” Harrow cried out, but the sound was far away to (Y/N), like they were falling underwater and leaving all of this behind.

Other screams echoed in (Y/N)’s mind, and the light of flames danced blurrily in front of (Y/N) as they tried to blink, but everything was slow, lethargic.

Then silence.

(Y/N) let out a breath. Blissful silence.

Taglist:

@jaytheaceenby

@severussimp

@dmitrytherat

@slytherinroyalty16

@grippleback-galaxy

@alexpangender

@thewittyfanficreader

@aew-kun-age-regression

@oscarissac2099

@amberforest08

@kyalov

@yyourmotherr

@im-making-an-effort

@the-toskaverse

@wra-1-th

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the-one-who-lambs · 4 months

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"live again" (Hannah writes narilamb for @xmajordumps because their AU absolutely fucks)

A rock is eroded over millions of years. The most minuscule raindrops whittle away at it because they persist. Its razor-sharp edges become soft and rounded, battered by incessant efforts to smooth it.

Retaliatory claws sink into them. They cannot remember how many times his obsidian revenge has anointed their skin. Eternity will meld into forgiveness; neither remembers who spoke it first. Time and time again the Lamb chooses kindness to answer him. Every antipromise he has unearthed about how they should treat him is honeyed, discordant. Mercy does not define the existence he would choose, until it does. Vanishingly small is the line dividing sinners and saints. It blurs: an eclipse of the blood they once drew.

The Lamb spent their entire life running. First from the Bishops as flames guide their footsteps, then charging towards them with ice in their veins. They finally settle and the world moves too slowly beneath their feet.

What stands in his place is now You. No self they have constructed has ever been more true, dormant in that restless grave. Their breath would not have been their own if he hadn’t been so selfish. The biting cold fills their lungs, a hollow defeat. They go back to him. His arms are warm again. They do not ask who inflicted the scars upon them, lest their reflection shows someone else’s face, or worse, their own. A shadow loves the sun for creating it, a monochrome facsimile of its forbearer. Inseparable but never meant to touch. They defied the story yet unwritten for them.

They trace the constellations and map their youth, stellar temples of the versions of each other they will never know.

They don’t fear death. Dying for each other could scarcely be called martyrdom. Living, however, is a vow of sacrifice, a splendor so unmeasurable it perhaps does not exist at all. They don’t need to sleep, anymore. Nightly, they hold each other and close their eyes, and grieve not the eternity they share. It’s a soft peace, a long-fought, raindrop-born glory.

They are sworn to the darkness bright within them and uphold their shared devotion, unrepentant.

#hannah's rambles #Hannah writes #link goes to ao3 because i'm gonna put all the shit i've written for friend art all in one place #poem i wrote for paya is up there too #cult of the lamb #narilamb #cotl

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darkskywishes · 2 months

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Why the "Euthanasia Plan" and not the "Sterilization Plan"?

Something that always bugged me about Zeke's plan was how it was always referred to as the "euthanasia plan", not the "sterilization plan". Euthanasia is most commonly defined as the intentional act of ending life or lives to eliminate pain or suffering—aka, mercy killing. Sterilization, on the other hand, refers to the process of making a person (or people, in this case) unable to produce offspring. With these definitions in mind, it initially seemed to me like the latter name would have been more appropriate. However, upon a more thorough reading of Attack on Titan, it becomes evident that the name of the plan reveals Zeke's true intentions.

What was Zeke's fake plan?

Zeke told Paradis that he had a way of guaranteeing their protection through the threat or activation of a limited Rumbling to act as a deterrent against attacks by other nations for as long as it took Paradis to modernize their military. The process of modernizing Paradis' military was estimated to take around 50 years, as Paradis would provide the nation of Hizuru with ice-burst stone in exchange for their aid in developing technology and weaponry.

To ensure Paradis had access to unleashing the Rumbling for those 50 years, the Founding Titan and a titan of royal blood would have to be passed down. The Founding Titan can be passed down to anyone who lacks royal blood (to bypass Karl Fritz's Vow Renouncing War affecting royal inheritors) and the Beast Titan (although it could be any titan that isn't the Founding Titan) has to be passed down to people of royal blood. Thus, this meant Historia would have to inherit Zeke's Beast Titan and bear as many heirs as she could within her 13-year-term.

What was Zeke's actual plan?

Zeke actually wanted to make contact with Eren's Founding Titan to convince Ymir Fritz to prevent Eldians from being capable of reproducing, as Zeke subscribed to an antinatalist ideology and hence believed that Eldians being born was and is a life of suffering. Again, upon first read, this seems more akin to sterilization.

Why does Zeke refer to it as "euthanasia"?

Remember, in order for the current and directly subsequent generations of Eldians to be protected, Zeke has to pass on his titan to Historia and Historia needs to give birth to multiple heirs. Keeping Zeke's actual plan in mind, it becomes frighteningly clear that Zeke never intended on passing on his titan nor for Historia to be capable of providing heirs.

This means that Zeke fully expected even the current generation of Eldians to be killed, as they would have never been able to enact the limited Rumbling at all to deter other nations. He viewed the active slaughter of Paradis as a mercy killing. This lines up with Zeke's attitude toward murder in general, as during the "Return to Shiganshina" arc, he laughed at his massacre of the Scouts while muttering stuff like "you poor things".

It's not "genocide" or "murder," it's "euthanasia". In Zeke's mind, he's a savior and martyr, so he uses language to justify his cruelty as a mercy. This is why it's the "euthanasia plan" and not the "sterilization plan". Paying attention to Zeke's use of language clues us in early to what sort of person he is and the real intentions behind his actions.

#attack on titan #shingeki no kyojin #zeke yeager #medium: anime/manga #anime: snk #c: zeke yeager #my thoughts

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sunnycanvas · 9 months

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Lost Cause

Baldwin iv x Fem!reader

Warning: agnst

"Please Baldwin" you cried so much that your body and mind begged for mercy. "Please don't do this, I can't live without you" "You are my everything". You were crying so much hoping that this was all a nightmare. Your heart hurt so much. The pain was unbearable. It was more painful than any other injuries you suffered

"My love, please understand". "The High court won't accept you as my queen. Hence they won't accept me as king unless I divorce you". You grabbed his arms trembling and said "There has to be a way" "You can't end our marriage just like that" "What about our vows and about our promise till death do us apart" "Don't you love me?".

Baldwin iv sighed and didn't dare to look at you because he knew if he saw you crying and he will crumble under your gaze. "They gave me choice between my duty to crown and my duty to husband to you"

"And you choose your crown" you screamed at him crying

Baldwin iv sighed. It was painful for him too. Even though he had leprosy which made him immune to physical pain. It didn't make him immune to psychological pain. However Baldwin iv wouldn't admit it. He can't leave his country especially when they are is no one suitable to replace him. He always dreamed of happily abdicating his crown once a suitable successor comes by and living a lovely peaceful life with you. Alas, fate had something else stored for him. His first brother in law William of Longsword died. Even though Baldwin iv wanted to abdicate in his favour his brother in law refused knowing he lacked support of barons. His second brother in law was even worse. He had to stay in crown for the sake of unity of Kingdom. He didn't think that high court would have problem with you. He suspected his brother in law guy de lusignan was behind it but even if he is, there is nothing he could do

"You really are your father's son" you growled angrily

Baldwin iv finally snapped "Don't bring my father in to this". "It's just annulment papers all you need to do is sign it" you scoffed hearing his response and Baldwin iv suddenly felt sorry. He knew that he was very much like his father but this is the first time he felt extent of it.

"Thank goodness I don't have children with you, otherwise they too would have been snatched from me" that pierced Baldwin iv's heart.He always wanted children. Especially with you . One of the reason why he adorned his nephew. Baldwin iv sincerely loved you. Sure he wouldn't hand over his kids since having children despite having leprosy would be huge blessing. One that wouldn't happen again but that doesn't mean he will completely cut them off from your life

"I will make everything right I promise" "Once my sister annuls her marriage from her husband guy de lusignan I will appoint proper successor" "I will abdicate and come back to you" "We can remarry and live happily ever after" you laughed hearing this and Baldwin iv was suprised. You replied "Your sister understands her vow in marriage and wouldn't leave her husband no matter unlike you" "Also don't expect me waiting for you with open arms accepting you back" Baldwin iv was shocked and realised gravity of his situation. He fell on his knees and was greatly upset. He lost the woman he loved for the sake of crown. There was no way he could keep both and he choose crown. He now realised that things will never be same. The life he always dreamed of having with the woman he loved will never happen.

#baldwin iv #baldwin iv imagine #baldwin iv x reader #kingdom of heaven 2005 #kingdom of heaven #kingdom of heaven fanfic #kingdom of heaven fanfiction

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houndslayr · 2 years

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The Kamisato lap dogs 🔞

M.list | Rules | Navi. | Kinktober |

Gender: Male reader

Pair(s): Ayato x Shiba hybrid!Reader x Thoma

Warning(s): 18+, slight bdsm, whipping with crop, tied up reader, dom!bottom Ayato, very sub!top reader, switch Thoma, mentions of blood, buff reader, completely consensual, mentions of knots, slight blow job, slight finger fucking, pet names, slight pet play, both reader and Thoma have collars

Summary: You were a lap dog of the Kamisato clan with Thoma but unlike him, you fucked up a lot, and maybe this time you had fucked up way too much making Ayato a little too mad.

A/N: I have a Shiba Inu and she is horrid if you want to do something she doesn't want to do, wanna wash her? Well, she is gonna have a screaming fit as you try to catch her, stubborn as a bull. Anyway, I might make a pt.2 this was originally supposed to be much longer and go in deeper, so if yall want a pt2 or I get bored enough ill make it. Might go back and change a few things later when I'm not running on 4 cups of coffee and a energy drink that has been left out for a day

Words: 1,479

Fem aligned, yaoi/fujoshi supporters, pro/comshippers, mlm fetishizers dni

[Not proof read or checked]

The two lap dogs of the Kamisato clan, one a foreigner who got lost among the raging howling seas of Inazuma and the other a street rat mutt with no regard for respecting others and doing what he's told. Both are loyal to their master Kamisato Ayato, the fierce ruler of a large clan that controlled the island of Narukami. The two vow to stay by Ayato's side and protect him from any harm that may come his way. Thoma is the more "trained" one, always at Ayato's beck and command while (y/n) is the one often in trouble. The stubborn Shiba-eared human challenges Ayato against almost everything, wanting to do stuff his way.

The two stand on either side of Ayato's "throne", as a leader of a way smaller gang kneels before him asking to make a negotiation with the larger clan. Ayato's face rest against his leaning hand as he speaks with the man, a blank stare resting on his face. The uninterested (Y/n) stared at his master's tattooed hand as he impatiently counts the seconds till this meeting would be over. He was never really interested in listening to these slobs beg for mercy after wronging Ayato foolishly, all he cared about was laying down while Thoma made dinner.

Your ears were pinned back as he starts to get restless, starting to fidget around. A light tug on your collar makes you look over to Ayato who shoots you a warning look, you are on your 2nd strike after almost ruining the previous 2 meetings; one more, and you were fucked. You let out a little whiny huff, settling back down and finally looking at the poor bloke in front of Ayato. He was offering up his wife or daughter for Ayato to marry, you couldn't really care what his deal was, you just wanted him to shut up.

Looking over at Thoma you see that he looked unamused as well, then a thought popped up in your mind that made you smirk a little. You shift a little bit over and nudge him with your foot, at first he wouldn't look over but when he did he shot you the same warning look Ayato did. You just rolled your eyes before pulling him by the collar on his neck, hiding your faces behind the big throne. "What do you want?" He quietly snaps at you knowing that look on your face, the look you get when you are brewing up a plan. "Can you distract Ayato for me pleaseeee?" You pleadingly whisper back to him, with the biggest puppy eyes you could muster. "No, I'm not getting in trouble for your actions again." With a huff you let go, crossing your arms as you return to your previous position beside Ayato.

About halfway through the meeting, something catches your eye, the weaker gang leader's bag is slightly moving. Finally, the culprit shows itself as a small cat, a growl rips out of your throat as your eyes narrow on the small mammal. Before Ayato or Thoma could comprehend the growl you launch at the bag, the leash slipped out of Ayato's hand letting you loose. Knocking the wind out of the man as you land on him trying to get the cat as it shoots out of the bag and into the hallway, you follow right after it growling and barking.

Ayato lets out a frustrated groan, he was through with you messing things up; it was time you learned your lesson. He sent Thoma to catch you as he helped the man who either had a broken wrist or just hurt it really bad. Thoma had finally found you at the base of a tree in your shiba form barking wildly at the cat who was in the branches swatting at you. Thoma picks you up by the scruff scolding you before helping the cat out of the tree, placing it on his shoulders away from you. "You've fucked up this time big boy, the master is beyond pissed," He warned you in a worried tone, he knows it was your fault you are in this position but even then Ayato looked furious.

Thoma drops the cat off with the man who gave you a livid look, his right hand bandaged up. "Look, I am so sorry that this happened and I will deal with him properly." Ayato apologizes to the man before sending him off with a bag of mora, saying that he would love to meet at a later date to discuss some other stuff. You feel piercing blue eyes on you within seconds, the way Ayato looks at you makes you scared shitless, you had never seen him look at you like that; not ever. "Thoma follow me, looks like I didn't train this puppy enough."

"Yes, my lord" Thoma nods at him, as you start to squirm in his arms trying to get out, alarms going off in your mind. The two of them bring you to a room, it was the one you stayed at when Ayato had first brought you here after you were caught stealing from his clan. "Close the door and set him down, Thoma. (Y/n) human form now and don't make me repeat myself." You get set down and not ready to make him madder you shift back to your human form kneeling, your ears and tail drooping down in shame. "Please master please, I didn-" You try to plead only to get cut off by Ayato. "No, you need to be taught how to behave. I thought you were a good boy but you've been so bad (y/n)" He clicks his tongue at the end as he searches for stuff in a dresser drawer, before pulling out a leather crop and some red rope.

"Undress now. And Thoma once he is done tie him up." Ayato tosses Thoma the red rope, and the blond hair male walks around to the back of you. You shake your head in denial of Ayato's request to you, but immediately you regretted it as Ayato shoots you a look before briskly walking over to you. He roughly grabs a hold of your hair making you look up into his eyes, the look in his eyes was dead serious; if you didn't know you had fucked up well you knew then. He grabs Thoma's hand making him hold your head back, as your master summons his water sword and cuts your shirt and pants off leaving you gasping as a small drop of blood runs down your chest from where he nicked you a little.

A gasp was ripped from you as the cold of the air hits the warmth of your exposed body, trying to soak it all up. Thoma lets go of your hair giving you back to Ayato who makes sure you stayed still as the other tied you up. Now you were sitting there on your knees, your hands tied behind your back, the boxers you had on discarded to the side with the other mangled pieces of cloth. "Now, let's get to the real fun." The way your master smiled sent a shiver down your spine as you wiggle around in the ropes. He picks up the black leather crop, running it along your pecs, down your abs, and onto your thighs. Without warning he brings it down onto your soft skin, a yowl of pain comes from you. Not giving you another moment he brings it down on the other thigh, a whimper escapes you as he keeps switching thighs by the time he gets bored your face was tear-streaked, light sobs making their way out.

Taking your chin in his hand, running his pale thumb over your bottom lip signaling for you to open. Not wanting to displease your master anymore you open up, watching him undo his pants with one hand, pulling out his hard cock. He looks behind you with an amused look, "You having fun back there?" You turn your head, ears popped up seeing Thoma jacking off to the sight before him. "If you'd like Thoma, you can start to stretch me out. Lord knows how big this puppy's knot is." Thoma nods and makes his way around both of you, taking off all his clothes and pulling Ayato's pants and underwear down to his ankles starting to prep him. Ayato grips your chin harder, bringing your face closer, resting his cock on your plump lips. His thumb strokes your cheek, pushing his cock slowly into your mouth before he is fully seated in your mouth, your nose soaking in his musk. He lets you rest your jaw and get comfortable before slowly moving back out and in, Thoma getting in rhythm with Ayato as he stretches his master out with his long fingers.

Yeah, that's all I'm doing rn, btw tell me if I need to correct something

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