chloe's corner

⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆ the city, she loves me

[whereisloe]

𝕔𝕙𝕝𝕠𝕖’𝕤 𝕔𝕠𝕣𝕟𝕖𝕣

────୨ৎ────

info > masterlist > rules

>Info

𝑡𝑤𝑒𝑛𝑡𝑦 • ℎ𝑒𝑎𝑙𝑡ℎ 𝑠𝑐𝑖𝑒𝑛𝑐𝑒 𝑚𝑎𝑗𝑜𝑟 • 𝑖𝑛𝑓𝑝 • 𝑔𝑒𝑒𝑘𝑒𝑑 • 𝑏𝑙𝑎𝑐𝑘 𝑤𝑟𝑖𝑡𝑒𝑟 <3

>Masterlist

𝑐𝑦𝑏𝑒𝑟𝑝𝑢𝑛𝑘 • 𝑐𝑜𝑚𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑠𝑜𝑜𝑛

𝑗𝑗𝑘 • 𝑚𝑒𝑔𝑢𝑚𝑖 𝑣𝑎𝑚𝑝!𝑎𝑢 • 𝑛𝑎𝑛𝑎𝑚𝑖 𝑑𝑟𝑎𝑏𝑏𝑙𝑒

𝑑𝑒𝑎𝑑 𝑤𝑟𝑖𝑡𝑒𝑠: 𝑎𝑟𝑐𝑎𝑛𝑒 • 𝑠𝑒𝑣𝑖𝑘𝑎 𝑑𝑟𝑎𝑏𝑏𝑙𝑒

𝑏𝑔3 • 𝑎𝑠𝑡𝑎𝑟𝑖𝑜𝑛 𝑤𝑟𝑖𝑡𝑒

𝑟𝑑2 • 𝑎𝑟𝑡ℎ𝑢𝑟 𝑚𝑜𝑟𝑔𝑎𝑛 𝑤𝑟𝑖𝑡𝑒

>Rules

just don’t be weird, mdni w/ nsfw works

𝑴𝒂𝒏𝒚 𝒎𝒐𝒐𝒏 𝒃𝒍𝒆𝒔𝒔𝒊𝒏𝒈𝒔,

𝒕𝒐𝒐𝒅𝒍𝒆𝒔! <3

[joolapopola]

The Patterns On Our Arms

HELLO HELLOOOOOOOO (do we get da ref?) Anyways I just realized I need a day more for this chapter bc I've been really busy butttttttt of course I have something for yall. I propose to you all the aesthetic of my fic.

ALSO MA TIKYTOK IS @joolapopola. UMM YUR YEAH YES. IM SO SO TIRED AND SO SORRY THAT ITS NOT UPLOADED TODAY BUT I REALLY AM BUSY SO JUST DROP WHATEVER YOU WANT IN DA COMMENTS. THANK YOU FOR THE SUPPORT I REALLY APPRECIATE ALL OF IT!!!!! 187 FOLLOWERS IS INSANE FOR BEING ON HERE FOR LESS THAN A MONTH! IM JUST REALLY HAPPY SOME PEOPLE ENJOY MY WRITING AS MUCH AS I HATE IT. AND IM RANTING OFF AGAIN IMMA SHUT MY SHI UP.

[whereisloe]

𝐋𝐞𝐚𝐝 𝐊𝐢𝐧𝐝𝐥𝐲, 𝐋𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭

megumi fushiguro x reader + vampire au

slow burn, baby! don’t shoot the messenger ;) !! warnings: mention of dying animals, tw: n*oya zen’in (ik real scary), probably typos sorry babes.

𝐈. 𝐈𝐈.

The dying fire crackled, its soft, uneven rhythm pulling you from your dreams. For a moment, you only watched the shifting shadows crawl lazily across the walls before your gaze settled on Fushiguro. Barely touched by the firelight, he was already dressed. He’d been quiet and cautious. Like he hadn’t wanted to disturb the room more than necessary.

You didn’t even hear him move.

He adjusted his uniform in small, precise motions. Straightening his button-down, settling his overcoat, and fastening the clasp of his cloak. Nothing hurried. But, only when he finished did he pause before turning slightly toward you.

“…You’re awake,” he said softly. When you didn’t answer, he stepped closer and gently rocked your shoulder once.

“Wake up,” he murmured, quieter still. “We’re leaving soon.”

You pushed yourself upright, still caught somewhere between sleep and wakefulness. But, he was already crouched by the end of your bedding, pulling on his boots.

“I’ll get the horses,” he said after a brief silence. Then, almost as an afterthought, his hand paused on the leather laces. “You can take your time getting ready.”

A moment passed.

“I’ll be waiting for you outside.” Before you could protest, he was gone.

The room fell quiet once more.

You let yourself sink back against the mattress for a fleeting moment, staring blankly at the timber ceiling while gathering the will to move. The warmth trapped beneath the blankets tempted you to stay, but eventually you forced yourself upright.

The instant you threw the covers aside, the mountain air seized you.

The midnight chill bit mercilessly at your bare shoulders, stealing every trace of warmth as you hurriedly searched for your button-down. Fingers stiff from the cold, you dressed as quickly as you could, layering each piece with little care beyond keeping the freezing air at bay.

A quiet sigh escaped you as you settled before the modest vanity tucked into the corner of the room.

You smoothed your curls back into place, brushed imaginary wrinkles from your coat, straightened the drape of your cloak, then reached for the rest of your gear.

Satisfied enough, you slipped out of the room.

Your boots thudded heavily against the worn wooden floorboards as you descended the staircase, each step echoing through the otherwise silent inn. The common room, lively only hours before, now sat abandoned. Chairs remained pushed beneath tables, forgotten mugs rested where weary travelers had left them, and the dying hearth cast the only light across the empty space.

Everyone else had long since retired, leaving the inn wrapped in a peaceful stillness.

“Ready?” Fushiguro asked gently as midnight’s breeze spared neither of you any mercy. Without answering, you took your horse’s reins from his gloved hand and gave the animal a quick inspection. Your palm landed in a firm pat against her neck before your gaze drifted between the two horses.

Yours was white, speckled with black spots.

His was as dark as midnight.

You’d noticed Fushiguro’s preference for darker things long before now, but it still amused you that he’d put any thought into choosing a horse.

“Your left stirrup…” Fushiguro pointed out the issue. You looked down at the leather

“…Too short?” You questioned, unsure of what he saw. He kneels without asking, loosens the leather, adjusts it, then stands back up without further clarification.

“There.”

“Thank you.”

With one smooth motion, you swung yourself into the saddle, clipping your leather bag behind it. Fushiguro remained close enough to catch you should you slip, though he quietly mounted his own horse once it became clear you didn’t need the help.

The ride down the mountain was peaceful. Neither of you had quite shaken the heaviness of a warm meal, leaving the journey wrapped in comfortable silence.

You let your partner lead, trailing only half a pace behind as you rubbed the sleep from your eyes. When the wind finally settled into something gentler, your curiosity won out.

“Did the stable hands name them?”

Fushiguro slowed his horse with a light pull of the reins until the two of you rode side by side. He glanced over, a faint crease forming between his brows. “No,” he said after a moment. “I don’t think so.”

“Oh.”

You looked back toward the village, though all that remained was the snow-covered mountain the two of you had just descended.

“Yuuji likes naming the horses.”

For a brief moment, your thoughts wandered back to your partners in the capital, and with them came a quiet ache for the familiarity of home. Beside you, Fushiguro’s gaze flickered your way.

You’d called Itadori by his given name.

The observation lingered longer than he cared to admit. He looked ahead again before the feeling had a chance to settle, his expression unchanged as the conversation carried on.

“How is it?” he asked after a brief stretch of silence. At first, you frowned, unsure what he meant. Then it clicked. It had been your first time on horseback since training. Your hand drifted over the mare’s neck, fingers combing gently through her mane.

“I miss the dogs back home…” you admitted quietly. Fushiguro watched you from the corner of his eye. Your voice had softened, and before he realized it, his gaze lingered on your face a second longer than it should have. “But I like it,” you added, giving the mare another affectionate pat. “What about you?”

“…It’s quiet.”

A smile tugged at your lips. “I figured.” He glanced over at you, one brow lifting slightly.

“Why’s that?”

“You strike me as someone who prefers conversations with animals.”

A quiet laugh escaped you. “It explains why you always volunteer for the mountain patrols instead of staying in the Capitol.” He looked ahead again.

“…You’re not wrong.”

The admission earned another small laugh from you. Fushiguro didn’t answer after that. He simply let the sound settle between you, surprised by how easily it eased something in his chest.

Hours passed in relative silence, broken only by the steady rhythm of hoofbeats breaking into icy snow. The trees gradually thinned, giving way to open land. “We’re here.” Your head lifted. The breath caught in your throat.

A colossal stone barricade stretched across the horizon, disappearing into the distance in either direction. It towered over everything around it, its weathered surface climbing so high you had to crane your neck to see the top. Guard towers jutted from the wall at regular intervals, their silhouettes standing watch over the land beyond.

It was your first time being stationed this far from the Capitol. Nothing had prepared you for it.

The near by village wavered, almost abandoned and worn down by time, their buildings sagging beneath years of neglect. Families moved quietly between them, and local merchants began setting up stalls as you passed through in the early morning.

Then there was the wall itself.

Immovable. Unforgiving in its presence. And now, you were standing at its protective gates.

Reserved for royal soldiers and hunters, the entrance was guarded by a pair of watchmen stationed beside a heavy iron gate set into the stone. At Fushiguro’s approach, one gave a nod before the two men pulled the gate open with a long, protesting groan. You exchanged a glance with Fushiguro before swinging your leg over the saddle and dismounting.

“Check in with Okkotsu, you two.” The gruff soldier stepped forward, collecting the reins from both horses before leading them toward the stables.

Fushiguro retrieved both of your bags from the saddles with practiced ease, slinging one over his shoulder as he carried the other. He then tipped his head toward the open corridor.

“Come on.”

You fell into step beside him.

“Yuta Okkotsu is stationed here?” you asked, unable to hide the unease in your voice. Meeting someone of his reputation wasn’t exactly how you’d imagined spending your first day beyond the barricade.

“He only takes patrol assignments at or beyond the barricade,” Fushiguro replied.

Together, you passed through the interior. Unlike the villages outside, the fortress was alive with disciplined movement. Soldiers crossed the stone walkways carrying supplies, hunters returned from patrol with light snow clinging to their cloaks, and messengers hurried between offices without slowing their pace. All while, Fushiguro led you toward the command office.

“Okkotsu.”

His monotone greeting drew the hunter’s attention from the reports scattered across his desk.

The moment you stepped inside, the air shifted. Your chest tightened, as though the room itself had grown heavier. An involuntary breath escaped you as your hand instinctively found the cross hanging around your neck.

“Fushiguro.” Okkotsu looked up with an easy smile. “It’s been a while.”

“Only a few months.”

“Mm.” His gaze drifted to you. “You must be new to the barricade.”

You nodded, unable to ignore the pressure pressing against your skin. Your fingers absentmindedly rolled the cross between your thumb and forefinger. Yuta’s expression shifted with immediate understanding.

“…Oh.” He glanced toward the long sword resting across his desk.

“Sorry about that.”

He reached over, lifting it with practiced care before sliding the blade fully into its sheath. Ancient paper seals wrapped around both the hilt and scabbard, while strands of prayer beads clicked softly together as he secured it at his side. The suffocating pressure eased almost instantly. “You’ll get used to it,” he said apologetically before stepping around the desk and offering you his hand.

You introduced yourself before returning the handshake.

“Gojo mentioned you’d be joining one of my patrols eventually.” He smiled. “It’s nice to finally meet you.” A small yet nervous laugh escaped you.

“I hope he only mentioned good things.”

“Of course.”

The answer came so naturally that you couldn’t tell whether he was being polite or completely sincere. Yuta turned toward the door, motioning for the two of you to follow.

“For the next rotation, you’ll be patrolling inside the barricade. Nothing too exciting.” He glanced over his shoulder with a small smile. “Just make your rounds from checkpoint to checkpoint and make sure no civilians get any bold ideas. You’d be surprised how often they try to sneak into the base.”

You nodded, taking in the influx of information, but paused when Yuta turned back toward the two of you. “For now, you both can rest. Or perhaps Fushiguro would like to show you around the barricade.”

Before leaving, Yuta brought his hands together in a single clap, the sound echoing faintly through the stone corridors.

“Your barracks are just past that door. I won’t be joining tonight’s patrol, though. The military has requested an audience with me.” The words were simple, but something about the way he said them made you glance up. Yuta’s expression remained polite, almost unreadable, but the brief pause before he continued gave away his reluctance. “I shouldn’t be too long.”

“…Now?” Fushiguro questioned the legitimacy of this. A Zen'in deployment falling behind schedule was practically unheard of. Yuta nodded at the question. “They’ve had the intelligence report for nearly a week.” You frowned, digesting the information shared between the two.

“Then why wait?” Briefly, you added your fair share of confusion. Yuta exhaled quietly. Giving both you and Fushiguro an alarming answer.

“That’s what I’d like to know.” You glanced between the two men.

“Shouldn’t we already be outside the wall?” A silence followed but, immediately disrupted by Yuta’s voice.

“Protocol requires both Royal Hunters and Military Hunters for any deployment beyond the wall.” Your brow furrowed.

“So we’re waiting for the military hunters?”

“We’ve been waiting.”

Megumi understood immediately. “…And now they’re calling you away.” Yuta gave a small nod. “Which means it’ll be even longer before a patrol can be approved.”

~

Time passed as Fushiguro showed you around the fortress-like wall, pointing out emergency exits, the chow hall, important offices, and the main gate. Before long, the sun had dipped beneath the horizon, leaving the moon hanging overhead. Large, pale, and unnervingly bright. Together, you began your nightly patrol, making your way between the inner checkpoints, keeping watch just as Okkotsu had instructed.

“Fushiguro?”

The steady rhythm of your horses’ hooves had lulled him into a quiet focus. At the sound of your voice, he glanced over, attentive despite his usual reserved expression.

“How long do you think Okkotsu’s meeting will last?” He adjusted the rifle resting against his back before answering.

“I don’t know.” A moment skipped. “Hopefully he’s already on his way back.”

You gave a small nod. “Yeah.”

Silence settled between you again, comfortable enough to let the horses fill it with the soft clatter of their hooves.

Then, unexpectedly…

“Do you miss it?”

You looked over.

“The Capital.” The question caught you off guard. Usually, you were the one filling the quiet with curiosity.

“…I do,” you admitted after a moment. “Everything’s so different out here.” Your eyes wandered across the endless stretch of stone and darkness beyond it.

“I feel lost… all the time.”

His grip tightened ever so slightly around the reins. “Just…” The word lingered between you. For a second, it sounded as though he might leave the thought unfinished altogether.

“…Stay close.”

It came out quieter than the rest, nearly swallowed by the wind.

When you looked at him, he’d already turned his attention back toward the barricade, as if the weathered stone deserved more of his focus than your reaction. A smile tugged at your lips, hidden behind the raised collar of your cloak. Something about those two words settled warmly in your chest.

Neither of you spoke again. You simply rode on, your horses keeping an even pace beside one another beneath the watchful glow of the moon.

The wind only grew sharper as the night wore on. It slipped between the gaps of your cloak and stung at your fingertips where they wrapped around the reins. You’d always opted for no gloves when handling your rifle. A decision you’d soon learn to regret. You flexed your fingers once, then again, hoping the movement alone would bring some warmth back into them.

No such luck.

You tucked your hands beneath your arms for only a second before returning them to the reins, pretending not to notice the chill. Beside you, Fushiguro’s gaze remained fixed ahead as he searched his satchel.

“…Here.”

He held out a pair of gloves, letting his eyes drift toward you. You slipped them on, the warmth settling around your fingers almost immediately. They were warmer than they had any right to be. For a moment, you looked down at them, flexing your fingers against the soft wool before your gaze drifted back toward him.

“…Thank you.”

Fushiguro only gave a small nod, his attention returning to the path ahead as though he hadn’t just spent the last several minutes quietly noticing every small sign that you were uncomfortable. You glanced down at the gloves again, unable to stop the faint smile that tugged at your lips.

“You brought an extra pair.”

“I did.”

The simplicity of his answer almost made you laugh.

Of course he did.

“You really do plan for everything, don’t you?”

“I try to.”

You studied him for a moment, watching the way he rode with the same steady focus he carried into everything else. Even now, his attention moved between the path ahead and the walls surrounding you, always prepared for whatever might come next. It was such a familiar habit that you couldn’t help the quiet amusement that settled over you.

“You know, sometimes I think you’re a psychic. Always ready for anything” His eyes shifted toward you briefly, a small flicker of curiosity crossing his expression.

“Is that a bad thing?” He asked.

You shook your head, looking ahead again. “No. It’s just very...you.”

For a moment, he didn’t respond. The horses continued along the snowy path, their hooves breaking the silence between you.

Then, quietly, he said, “You were hiding your hands.” You looked over, caught off guard. “I was?”

“You kept pulling them away from the reins.” A faint warmth reached your face, though the cold still lingered around the edges.

“You noticed?”

His gaze remained forward, his answer coming as calmly as ever.

“You’re not as subtle as you think.” You couldn’t help the small smile that formed. Instead of a response, you turned your attention back toward the path ahead, letting the silence settle between you once more.

The fortress stretched endlessly around you, the towering stone walls disappearing into the darkness above. Snow had begun to gather lightly along the edges of the path, crunching beneath your horse’s hooves with each steady step.

The cold no longer felt quite as sharp. Maybe it was the gloves. Maybe it was the fact that your heart hiccuped every time your eyes meandered in Fushiguro’s direction. You adjusted your grip on the reins centering your sporadic thoughts, eyes following the faint glow of lanterns in the distance.

Then, your horse stopped. The sudden halt nearly pulled you forward in the saddle, and you immediately tightened your grip, brows knitting together.

“Easy…”, You tried to soothe the riled up horse as she trotted in place, anxious of the unknown. She shifted beneath you, breath leaving its nostrils in a cloud of white against the freezing air. You looked around, searching the darkness beyond.

“What is it?” You spoke moreso to the animal than your partner. Beside you, Fushiguro’s horse reacted the same way, shifting beneath him as a low, uneasy sound left its throat.

Still, the darkness offered no answer.

“Might be wolves…or coyotes.” Not even Fushiguro sounded convinced by his own explanation.

You didn’t answer.

The uneasy shifting of both horses filled the silence instead, their ears pinned back as anxious whines escaped them. Beneath you, your mare pawed nervously at the snow, her muscles wound so tightly you could feel every tremor through the saddle.

Beside you, Fushiguro had already unslung his rifle, one gloved hand steadying the reins while the other kept the barrel trained toward the darkness beyond the wall. His eyes swept slowly across the tree line, searching for movement.

There was nothing. Nothing except the wind.

Then almost immediately your horse dipped beneath you. Before you could react the mare pulled back, sending you into a quick plummet straight into the icy snow. You could only watch as your horse cried in a panic, galloping away toward the mountains.

As the world slowly settled back into place, you heard Fushiguro calling your name.

By the time your vision cleared, he was already off his horse. His stallion shifted uneasily beside him, tossing its head as he kept a firm hold on the reins with one hand while extending the other toward you.

“C’mon.”

The urgency in his voice cut through the ringing in your ears. You reached for him instinctively.

The moment your hand met his, he pulled you upright. Before your legs had the chance to find their balance, his hands came to your waist, lifting you toward the saddle in one smooth motion. You caught yourself against it, swinging your leg over with his support before settling into the seat. Satisfied you were steady, he pressed the reins into your hands.

“Stay on the horse.”

The order was calm, but left no room for argument. You swallowed, reaching over your shoulder to pull your rifle free from its sling, resting it across your thigh as your eyes searched the darkness with his.

Only then did he step away.

His own rifle was in his grasp again almost immediately, his attention fixed on the churned patch of snow where your horse had been standing moments before. The wind swept across the path, carrying nothing but silence.

For a long moment nothing happened. The silence was almost convincing. Then the snow shifted. It was subtle. Barely enough to notice.

Fushiguro’s shoulders stiffened. You saw it too.

“…Fushiguro.” Your voice came out quieter than you’d intended.

He didn’t answer.

Instead, he took another careful step forward, lowering his rifle as the barrel tracked the disturbance. The snow shifted again.

This time, several feet to his left.

Then another. Your breath caught this time. One disturbance became two. Then three. The ground around him seemed to come alive, snow rolling in uneven waves as though something beneath it was clawing its way toward the surface.

“Fushiguro!” Your voice called with more urgency this time. But, before the warning could fully leave your lips, a pale hand burst through the frozen earth.

Another followed.

Then another.

Long, bloodied fingers clawed desperately at the snow, dragging gaunt bodies upward one after another. Frost clung to their pale skin as darkened eyes blinked against the moonlight, adjusting to the world above them. The stallion beneath you let out a sharp, panicked scream.

At the same moment, Fushiguro fired.

The sound echoed through the dead of night, the silver bullet tearing through the darkness before burying itself deep within the nearest creature’s chest. The impact sent it staggering backward, stopping its advance toward you. But the others kept coming. Megumi's horse reacted before you could.

Its entire body lurched beneath you, muscles tightening as it backed away, nostrils flaring while more figures continued to pull themselves from beneath the frozen ground around Fushiguro.

You tightened your grip on the reins, trying to steady the animal, but the stallion was already overwhelmed by the unfamiliar scent, the gunfire, and the movement surrounding him.

Fushiguro’s head snapped toward the sound and for the briefest moment, your eyes met. “We need to lea—”

The stallion reared before he could finish.

You clung to the saddle as its front hooves cut through the air before crashing back into the snow. The reins burned against your gloves as you fought to keep your balance, your heart pounding against your ribs.

“Easy, boy.”

The command came out strained, swallowed by the chaos around you. The stallion refused to listen. With another terrified cry, it wheeled around and bolted into the darkness, snow exploding beneath its hooves as it carried you farther from the area.

“Quit it—”

You pulled desperately at the reins, but the stubborn animal only pushed forward harder, following the patrol route it knew best. You twisted in the saddle, looking back over your shoulder. The distance between you grew with every passing second. Fushiguro remained where you’d left him, rifle raised as the creatures closed in around him. For a moment, you could still make out his silhouette beneath the moonlight.

Then the darkness swallowed him.

And the stallion carried you toward the final checkpoint.

The journey back was brief.

Still shaken, you barely gave yourself time to catch your breath before explaining everything to the soldiers stationed at the checkpoint. Your words came out uneven, rushed, each detail met with increasingly grim expressions as they exchanged looks with one another.

Within moments, the entire base and nearby villages were alerted.

A warning horn echoed through the fortress walls, deep and commanding as the sound carried into the night. Lights flickered one by one as soldiers were pulled from their stations and the quiet routine of the checkpoint was replaced with sudden movement. You were directed back toward the patrol route immediately.

This time, you weren’t going alone.

A member of the royal guard accompanied you, his sword drawn and his expression tense as the two of you hurried back toward the place where you had last seen Fushiguro.

Your dominant hand held tightly to the reins while your other remained wrapped around the crucifix resting against your chest, the metal striking softly against your armor with every movement.

You told yourself he was fine. You had to. The thought barely had time to settle before something cut through the air.

A gunshot split through the air. Fushiguro’s horse reacted before you could.

The animal cried out, its body collapsing beneath the force of the shot as the world tilted violently forward. You barely had time to brace yourself before you were thrown from the saddle.

You hit the snow hard on your side.

The impact knocked the breath from your lungs, the cold biting through your clothes as you struggled to regain your bearings. For a moment, all you could hear was the ringing in your ears and the heavy, uneven breathing of the animal beside you.

Then you realized you couldn’t move.

The horse had fallen with its weight trapping your right leg beneath its body, pinning you against the snow at an awkward angle. You pushed against the ground with your free hand, trying to kick yourself loose, but the angle and the animal’s weight made every attempt nearly impossible.

Panic began to settle in. Not because you were helpless. Because you were exposed.

Your eyes lifted toward the sound of approaching footsteps. The one responsible stood several feet away.

Unlike the creatures you had encountered before, this vampire looked almost untouched by decay. His skin was pale, but his figure was fuller, stronger. He carried himself less like a beast and more like someone who had simply been.

A lord, perhaps.

Dark markings covered his arms and face, remnants of a life that belonged to a time before these lands were swallowed by the vampires. A criminal from a forgotten era. Someone whose name had likely survived longer than the world he came from.

A crooked smile tugged at his lips as he tossed the silver rifle aside. Another hunter’s weapon…

Your stomach tightened.

You kicked weakly against the fallen horse, trying to free your leg before he could reach you, but the movement only earned a quiet chuckle from the vampire.

Slowly, he continued forward. Your fingers brushed against the familiar wood of your rifle. Just inches away.

With a desperate reach, you grabbed it and pulled it toward yourself, the cold metal pressing against your gloves as you aimed.

You fired.

The silver bullet struck deep into his shoulder. And did nothing. For a moment, you could only stare. The vampire looked down at the wound almost curiously before lifting his gaze back to you.

The color drained from your face.

Because the weapon that had protected every hunter before you had failed.

The creature did not hurry. That was the first thing you noticed. It should have.

A vampire should have been desperate. Starving. Feral. At the least angry. That was what you had been taught to expect. But he moved through the snow with a calmness that unsettled you more than any scream could have.

Your breath came unevenly as you pressed your shoulder harder into the frozen ground, the weight of the horse trapping your leg beneath it. Your fingers tightened around the rifle, though the tremor in your grip betrayed the confidence you tried to force back into yourself.

You had fought before.

You had seen things crawl out of the darkness.

You had watched men twice your size freeze when faced with the undead. But you…

You were not supposed to be afraid. But your body did not care what you were supposed to be.

Your breaths came sharp between clenched teeth. Your heart pounded so loudly you wondered if he could hear it.

And judging by the faint curve of his mouth, he could. The vampire stepped closer, boots sinking into the snow as he studied you. Not like prey. Like something unexpected.

“You’re still aiming at me.” His voice was quieter than you expected. That was worse. You swallowed, refusing to lower the rifle.

“And I’ll shoot again, should you come closer.”

A small pause.

Then his smile widened.

“Interesting.” Your grip tightened. The silver bullet remained lodged in his shoulder, the wound barely more than an inconvenience. You knew what that meant. You knew exactly what you were looking at.

A lord.

But something about him felt different.

Older. Far older. The outdated ink markings were a dead giveaway. The stories never described them like this. They were meant to tolerate silver to an extent. It was supposed to weaken him. Why is he still standing?

“You know what I am,” he said.

It wasn’t a question.

Your silence answered for you. His eyes dropped briefly to the rifle in your hands, then back to your face.

“A hunter.” The word carried a strange weight. Almost nostalgic.

“You people have changed.” He was bored. The mundane tone he had only represented a fraction of the utter disappointment he felt. “Dumber, weaker, softer…”

The snow shifted beneath his feet as he stepped over the fallen horse. You adjusted your aim despite the pain shooting through your leg.

“Go ahead, shoot me, hunter.”

He stepped closer. Your body betrayed you before your mind could stop it. A fearful tremor escaped your quivering lips, your breath catching as he continued forward without hesitation.

His chest pressed firmly against the barrel of your rifle, his frozen heart aligning perfectly with the weapon pointed at him. Yet he didn’t flinch. His smile widened, revealing fangs that were impossible to mistake. There was something taunting in the way he looked at you, as if he was waiting to see whether you would follow through.

For half a second, you hesitated. Then instinct took over. Your hand moved quickly, reaching for the small dagger attached beneath your rifle. In one swift motion, you pulled the blade free and aimed for his neck.

But before the silver could reach him, his hand shot forward. His fingers closed around your wrist. The strength behind his grip was immediate, bone-crushing pressure radiating through your arm as he held you in place effortlessly. Eventually, you’d drop the blade, defeated. “Please,” You whimpered. Such a pathetic, human response.

That was when he saw it.

The crucifix.

A symbol as old as time itself. A symbol his mortal self had once worshipped and the very same symbol that had become tied to the curse that condemned him.

For the first time, his grip loosened.

He released your wrist, not out of mercy, but out of fascination. His attention shifted entirely to the chain resting against your chest, fingers reaching for the symbol that hung from your neck.

“Do you still believe your god will save you now?” His voice carried no anger. Only curiosity.

His thumb brushed against the deep red rubies embedded within the crucifix, studying the piece with an almost unfamiliar sense of wonder. The silver caught the moonlight, gleaming against his pale skin as if it belonged to another lifetime.

A lifetime he had buried long ago.

“He won’t.” The words were quiet. Certain. His gaze lifted from the crucifix back to you before he yanked at it, the fragile chain breaking from your neck. “Tell me, hunter… how many prayers do you think were answered before the world became what it is now?” You laid there frozen in time. Like prey, once he tossed your necklace aside.

“Perhaps he’ll answer your final prayer as you beg for salvation.” A slow, cruel smile stretched across his face.

Before you could react, his fingers tangled into the roots of your hair, forcing your head back and exposing the vulnerable stretch of your neck. Pain shot through your scalp as he pulled you closer, his fangs glinting beneath the moonlight.

“Be sure to cry,” he murmured. He leaned closer, his voice brushing against your ear.

“The heavens have always loved the sound of a desperate prayer.”

As though he had commanded them, hot tears spilled freely down your face. You struggled hopelessly beneath his grip, hands clawing at his wrist as your free leg kicked wildly against the horse in a desperate attempt to escape.

“No… no—”

The words dissolved into incoherent pleas, your voice breaking between ragged breaths as he lingered over your exposed neck, savoring every frantic struggle and futile attempt to free yourself.

Then the vampire hissed. Warm blood splattered across your skin. His grip vanished and at once, you dropped unceremoniously into the unforgiving snow, the impact knocking the breath from your lungs. Before you could gather yourself, the thunder of hooves surrounded you.

Military warhorses.

You forced yourself to look. The vampire was no longer standing over you. He was engaged with a Zen’in.

Naoya. Military Hunter.

A dagger rested firmly in his grasp, its hilt wrapped neatly in weathered scrolls and aged prayer beads. Each strike carved into the vampire with a violent hiss, the wounds searing black where your silver had barely slowed him.

The lord took a single step back, raising his hands in feigned surrender as an entire cavalry formed behind the Zen’in, rifles trained squarely on him.

“Clever hunter…”

His crimson eyes drifted to the deep sears marring his skin. He traced one of the wounds with his thumb before letting out a quiet hum of amusement.

“I’ll be sure to remember you… Zen’in.” He practically growled the family name. For the briefest moment, surprise flickered across Naoya’s face. Then it disappeared beneath his usual cocky grin.

“Running away so soon, demon?” Naoya lifted a fist, silently ordering the soldiers behind him to hold their fire.

“I’ve seen enough.”

The lord’s smile lingered for only a moment longer before he turned, disappearing into the white curtain of the blizzard as the remaining vampires melted into the storm after him.

Naoya made no attempt to follow. Only once the last of them had vanished did he turn his attention to you. He spoke your name as though the very syllables tasted sour.

“Where’s your knight in shining armor?”

One brow lifted as he stepped over “your knight’s” fallen horse. You ignored him, struggling instead to free your trapped leg. “Not bit, are ya’?”

Without waiting for an answer, he caught the collar of your cloak and jerked it aside, exposing your neck. His eyes swept over the unbroken skin before he gave a single nod.

“Good.”

Bracing himself, Naoya lifted enough of the horse’s deadweight for you to wrench your leg free. The moment you cleared it, he let the carcass fall back into the snow with a heavy thud.

He dusted his hands together as though the effort had inconvenienced him.

“You can tell everyone that Naoya Zen’in saved you from the Ancient One.”

Pssssssst, i’m writing a lil drabble abt higuruma very close to being finished. okie, toodles.

love,

chlo.

[falsetactic]

how it feels to read self insert/xreader fics of any media that follow the canon plot line

[zayleeishereagain]

Yall I tell you I've been sitting on this for A WHILE.

LITERALLY THE ONLY OTHER THING IN MY DRAFTS.

[whereisloe]

sitting on peak for one whole year smhhh

[whereisloe]

𝐋𝐞𝐚𝐝 𝐊𝐢𝐧𝐝𝐥𝐲, 𝐋𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭

megumi fushiguro x reader + vampire hunter au

warnings: slow burn, don’t hate the player hate the game

𝐈. 𝐈𝐈.

The train rolled forward with a steady, mechanical rhythm, steel wheels grinding against frozen tracks somewhere beneath the quiet hum of the whistling winds.

“Last civilian stop! South City!”

The ticket keeper’s voice cut through the car like a blade.

You jolted awake.

Around you, the last remaining passengers stirred at once. Bundling coats, gathering bags, rising with the weary coordination of people who had done this too many times to feel anything about it anymore. Cold air leaked in every time the doors shifted open at the next stop, carrying the faint crunch of snow and iron.

Across from you, Fushiguro hadn’t moved.

He sat with one arm resting along the edge of the long bench seat, gaze angled toward the window. Outside, the world blurred into a wash of pale gray and heavy snow, mountains dissolving into distance like they no longer mattered.

Calm. Quiet.

You, on the other hand, couldn’t stop your foot from bouncing against the floor.

It tapped once.

Then again.

Faster than you meant it to.

Two black leather bags rested like anchored weights at the end of your benches. Everything you’d been trained to carry. Everything you’d been trained to use. Alongside more personal items.

You tried to still your leg. It didn’t last.

Fushiguro didn’t look at you at first. Not until your fingers drifted unconsciously to the small chain at your collar.

A habit. Not a thought.

Your thumb pressed into the crucifix beneath your cloak, feeling the cool metal settle against your skin as you exhaled slowly through your nose. The drag of air was unbearable as you felt the unstable race of your heart and your shoulders tightening. Only then did Fushiguro’s attention shift.

Not fully. Not suddenly. Just… subtly.

His eyes left the window. And landed on you. Watching you fidget with shut eyes, seemingly pale as ever.

“You two got some sort of verification?” The ticket keeper stood in the aisle, hand extended without urgency. Fushiguro didn’t break his gaze from you immediately. Not until the question hung long enough to demand it. Then he reached into his bag and pulled out the sealed documents.

The papers were stamped, signed, and folded with neat precision. Royal authorization. Border clearance. The kind of paperwork that could get you anywhere.

The ticket keeper barely looked at them before stamping them once and moving on.

“Welcome to No Man’s Land, hunters.” The words lingered after he walked away. You repeated them under your breath.

“No Man’s Land…”

Outside the window, the land had already begun to change. Civilian buildings grew thinner, more tired. Roofs sagged under snow that no one bothered to clear. Smoke rose in uneven threads from chimneys that looked barely maintained.

“A bit tasteless,” you murmured, eyes tracking a leaning row of houses as the train passed. “All things considered.” Fushiguro shrugged slightly.

“Accurate, though.” Simple. No judgment. Just observation. That was usually how he spoke.

The train slowed again. The ticket keeper returned, his tone sharper this time.

“Military checkpoint coming up. Have your weapons and papers ready.” Steel screamed softly as the train came to a halt. Your posture tightened before you even realized it. “For our weapons?” you whispered.

Fushiguro was already opening his case.

“I didn’t think they were stationed this far out.” His voice was low, meant more for you than anyone else. Curiosity aroused in his tone, he thought on the notion. The compartment door was quick to open, introducing three soldiers.

Their uniforms matched yours in function, if not in refinement. Navy winter coats, heavy boots, clipped insignias marking border authority. One carried a clipboard. One a medical satchel. One kept his hand resting near his blade without fully drawing it.

You straightened instinctively as the table between you became a display space.

Weapons.

Documents.

Silver-edged tools.

Everything laid out in silence.

“Woeful greetings, hunters,” the lead soldier said flatly, as if he’d said it too many times to mean anything anymore.

“Likewise,” you replied. The clipboard soldier took the papers without ceremony. “We’ve got a new system going on out here,” the lieutenant said, leaning slightly into the table as though he owned the space. “Too many vampires slipping past lazy station guards.”

At that, Fushiguro’s eyes flicked up briefly. Not alarmed, just listening. “They’ve been wearing uniforms,” the lieutenant continued. “Looking like you. Acting like you. Trying to walk straight into the capital like they belong there.” His voice darkened, as though he was telling ghost stories around a fire. He exhaled through his nose. “Can’t let that happen.

You exchanged a quick glance with Fushiguro. Neither of you had heard about this. “So we do a little… verification,” he said, nodding toward the medic. The man stepped forward, opening his satchel. “Fang check,” the lieutenant added casually. The word landed heavier than it should have.

The medic approached you first. With uneasy eyes, you glanced over to your companion as his glare weighed heavy on the soldier. He was observant, watching the man’s calculated moves. You held still as cold metal instruments touched your face, your mouth opening on command. He worked quickly, precise, practiced. Measuring canines, checking molars, pausing briefly at the silver caps embedded into your teeth.

“Silver crowns.”

A note more than a judgment. Wealth, not weaponry. Just some old damaged, corrected cleanly with riches. He shifted slightly, continuing the inspection without further comment. When he reached Megumi, the rhythm stayed the same. Open. Check. Count. Move. But there, his pause lasted a fraction longer.

“More extensive dental work here,” the medic muttered, almost absent-mindedly.

The silver along Fushiguro’s back molars caught faint light duller in tone and slightly more visible simply because there was more of it. To him, it wasn’t a simple show of wealth to a careless, childhood mistake. It was just history being repaired. Repairs from a childhood lived less inside the barrier than yours had been. The medic didn’t dwell on it. He simply marked it in his mind, then he moved on.

Same process. Same silence.

Fushiguro didn’t react at all, except for the faint shift of his jaw when instructed. He was patient, still, and efficient in a way that didn’t invite questions.

“Rich little hunters,” the medic said under his breath “Good teeth,” he added. “The type to make impersonators obvious.”

The clipboard soldier returned the documents. Interrupting the previous soldier’s commentary.

“Names and birth.”

“Megumi Fushiguro. Winter, 1756.” No hesitation. No embellishment to his words.

You gave your name. Followed by your birth year. A brief pause settled after. The kind of silence that meant nothing.

Finally, you all were finished.

“All done, Lieutenant.” The man stepped back, “Godspeed, hunters.” They left as quickly as they came. The carriage doors shut with the whirling wind howling after you two. The train remained still for a moment longer than necessary. Then the motion returned.

Megumi exhaled quietly as he repacked his gear.

“Ridiculous,” he muttered.

“All these checkpoints,” you added. Your fingers returning to your crucifix again without thinking. Not gripping. Just holding. A reminder. A rhythm. Something to keep you anchored when everything beyond the window started to feel too far away from the familiar. Fushiguro glanced at you.

Not for long.

Just enough.

“…It’ll be fine,” he said, his gaze returning towards the landscape. He wasn’t reassuring you nor, making a promise written in blood. Just fact. With his certainty, you felt your shoulders relax as a wave of relief washed over.

Just racing thoughts.

And somehow, that made it easier to breathe.

“We’re here.” Fushiguro would call, pulling you from your meditative trance. You gathered your belongings and followed your partner to the exit. You traded spots with various other military personnel boarding the train for many reasons beyond your knowledge.

Dim and as lifeless as living may get. You shuddered, unknowingly. Humans, just like you waddling in rags. Knowingly, avoiding piles of snow presumably the soldiers shoveled for the train caring less if it ended up on the walking trail or doorsteps. In the distance, a desperate plea was heard as a merchant rejected a woman’s currency. Children huddled together next to a food stand just to catch the warmth from the fire. Strangers eyes seemed to gravitate towards the two of you but repelled when you noticed them.

Fushiguro took note of your sorrowful look but, carried on. The further you left the marketplace behind, the quieter the district became not in peace, but in exhaustion. Noise didn’t disappear instead, it thinned.

Voices no longer carried for attention, only necessity. The buildings around you leaned inward as if the cold had taught them to conserve what little warmth they could keep. Rooflines sagged under uneven snow, some cleared with care, others left to harden into layered, forgotten weight. Smoke rose from chimneys in thin, reluctant streams like even the fire was rationed here. The smell of the district lingered now.

Rot.

The pungent smell of decay wafted in the harsh weather. You felt your mouth water as you fought the urge to vomit. You swallowed, anyway. Heart racing with what the source could be. Your fingers found the crucifix at your chest once again. Not tightly this time. Just… there. A habit you didn’t question anymore.

Fushiguro walked slightly ahead, but never far enough that you lost his presence. He didn’t look back. He didn’t need to.

His pace adjusted to yours without acknowledgment, he acted as though it had always been that way. That was when it hit you quietly, uninvited.

He’s been out here.

Not just passing through districts like this. Not just on assignment. He understood the people here. Hunters were no idols or heroes. They were the bandaid to a wound, a seed in a desert. In return, he respected the locals, avoiding gazes and giving them the dignity of indifference. He didn’t pity them as you did, he respected them in silence.

The inn came into view at the end of a sloped street. It wasn’t impressive. It didn’t try to be. Stone and wood reinforced over and over again, repairs layered so many times they became part of its structure instead of fixes. A building that had stopped expecting anything other than endurance. But warm light spilled through its windows anyway. Soft, uneven gold pooling onto the snow outside like it didn’t belong there. Smoke rose from the chimney more steadily than anything else in the district. You hesitated at the threshold longer than Fushiguro did. He stepped inside first.

Warmth hit you immediately. Not gentle warmth. Accumulated warmth. The kind that lived in floorboards, in stone walls, in years of burning the same fire in the same place until the building learned how to hold heat. Your breath caught slightly as the cold was pulled out of your lungs all at once. The smell changed just as fast.

Stew left on too long but still flavorful in its seasonings.

Burnt wood.

Herbs that had been reused until they lost their sharpness. And underneath it all bread. Not fresh. Not perfect. But warm. The sound of the inn softened everything else. As quiet conversations paused the moment you entered. The tension was stiff. A chair shifted too slowly, as if the room itself was deciding how to react to you.

Hunters always changed the air. People here knew that.

The innkeeper froze for half a second before forcing movement back into her hands. “Hunters…” she said, voice tightening before she smoothed it over. “Right—yes. Come in, please.”

It wasn’t hostility. It was acceptance. She gestured towards the stairs, maintaining her friendly demeanor “I’ve got a room upstairs. Only one left, if that’s acceptable.” Fushiguro gave a small nod.

“It’s fine.”

Simple in his response, yet tired in his demeanor. A sentiment you both shared. You followed him up the stairs, boots heavier now that the cold wasn’t stiffening your joints.

The hallway was narrow, wood aged and uneven underfoot. Lantern light flickered along the walls, revealing old repairs, patched cracks, places where nails had been driven in more than once. The door opened into a small room. Two futons. A low table. One lantern already lit. Nothing unnecessary. Everything intentional. The innkeeper left quickly, as if staying too long would shift the balance of the room.

And for a moment, there was only silence again. Not the cold silence of outside. But the intimate kind. The kind that made everything inside it feel closer than it should. Megumi set his bag down first. Black leather, worn at the edges from use rather than neglect. He crouched slightly as he opened it, checking contents with quiet efficiency.

The movement pulled his cloak slightly open at the collar. He didn’t notice you analyzing him. Or if he did, he didn’t comment.

“Sit, relax” he said simply after a moment, nodding toward the futons. Not an order. Just his direct way of showing concern. You exhaled slowly and lowered yourself onto the edge of one. The floor creaked slightly beneath you. Megumi stayed standing a moment longer. Then, quieter than his words before,

“You’re thinking too much about the district.”

A clean observation on his part. Like he’d been tracking the shift in you since the marketplace. You looked down at your gloved hands watching the leather fold as you balled your fists.

“I just…” you started, then stopped. The truth didn’t feel simple enough to say without disconnect. “I keep thinking—it feels like we’re not really helping anyone.”

Megumi paused. Then, carefully addressed you.

“We are.”

A beat skipped.

“But not in the way they need.” You protested, looking around the damaged the room. Silence settled again. Not uncomfortable, just honest in its nature. Outside, the wind moved across the district like it had nowhere else to go. Inside, the lantern burned steady. And for the first time since arriving, the air didn’t feel like it was pressing in on you from all sides. Just waiting.

The lady returned with a warm, humble meal for the both of you, served neatly on a tray.

“Delicious, many thanks,” you smiled up at the granny as she set it down. She placed a soft hand on both of your heads and whispered a quick prayer.

“Blessed be the Lord’s shepherds, for they will lead us unto salvation.”

“Coin for your services,” Fushiguro said, offering payment despite her protests. “Oh, please. They could behead me for charging you on duty,” she stammered, but he insisted, pressing the pouch into her hands before turning away. “It’s a generous tip.” And with that, she left.

His calloused palms met yours, steady and warm despite the cold still clinging faintly to both of you. The meal sat untouched for the moment between you, steam curling upward, carrying the smell of something simple but real. Food that had been made because people still had to eat, not because it was meant to impress. For a brief moment, everything outside this room stopped mattering in the way it usually demanded to.

Your prayer began softly.

Fushiguro didn’t interrupt it. He simply existed in it beside you, as he always did when you brought him into moments like this. And when silence settled again, you realized your hands were still under his as the pads of his thumb quickly swiped at your palms.

A beat too long. You let go first, rejecting whatever flustered emotion threatened to unveil. Though, not quick enough to completely ignore it.

Just enough to pretend it hadn’t existed.

so that was alot of writing. i have more, like it up if i should post more.

love,

chlo.

ps i copied and pasted from my notes app and tumblr mobile is layout hell so lmk if it’s funky looking </3

[whereisloe]

tumblr, would we fuck with a megumi x reader vampire au kinda like yoshiyoshi’s choso story on ao3??

edit: everyone liking better follow ts goin out TONIGHT

ps: it’s published now

[jiimeniita]

[cedarbranch]

sometimes the best fanfics are written by middle aged adults with years of writing experience who simply know how to craft a good story. but also sometimes the best fanfics are written by a sixteen year old girl with something deeply wrong with her

[cryoverkiltmilk]

#fandoms need both

[anonymousedward]

#biodiversity

[ladyananas]

trade secret, the middle aged adults with years of writing experience are just the sixteen year old girl with something deeply wrong with her but all grown up

[catchymemes]

[sugarpiehoneybun]

highly recommended

[lilly-townshend]

chat I have a confession to make. chat.

[archangeldyke-all]

could u pls do more of sevika and reader w/ a child from a past relationship which our child is jealous of both reader and sevika like sev can’t even try holding our hand cuz little fuckers will literally be demanding for sev’s hand and vice-versa

this is so. fucking. cute.

men and minors dni

there are a lot of things you didn't expect when you first introduced sevika to your kid.

you didn't expect them to get along so well so quickly. the moment they met, a bond was forged between the two that you doubt anything could break.

you didn't expect your girl to start referring to sevika as 'babe' the same way you do.

you didn't expect her to call you the same, either.

you didn't expect sevika to become so clingy and attached to your daughter, calling you every night she isn't at your place so she can talk to your girl on the phone and coming to each and every one of her school performances or conferences or field trips.

and you certainly didn't expect your little girl's jealousy.

the first time you notice it, the three of you are walking to pick up your dinner. your kid's a few feet ahead of you and sevika, jumping in puddles and stopping to examine rocks and leaves. sevika's fingers are intertwined between yours, your hands swinging between your bodies as you walk.

your girl turns around at one point, grinning as she holds up a rock she wants the two of you to look at, only for her smile to falter when she sees that you guys are holding hands. she pouts, dropping the rock to her side, and you and sev swarm around her, worried.

"what's wrong, babe?" you ask. your daughter huffs.

"stop holdin' hands without me!" she whines, smacking your joint hands with her little fists.

you laugh and let go of sevika's hand, only for your kid to shove her way between the two of your bodies. she grabs sevika's hand in her left and yours in her right, and only then does her pout lessen.

"you jealous?" sevika teases. your daughter nods.

"'s no fair! i wanna hold your hands too!"

the next time it happens, sevika's playing with your rugrat while you're cleaning up the house. you can hear the two of them laughing, and there's a soft smile on your face while you work.

sevika sneaks away a few minutes later to check in on you where you're cleaning the stovetop.

"you okay in here?" she asks. you smile and twirl around to wrap your arms around sevika's waist, burying your face against her chest. she hums and presses a kiss to your head.

"i'm good. almost done." you mumble against her.

"hey!" a little voice pipes up from behind you. you both turn to look at the entrance of the kitchen where your daughter stands, both of her hands on her hips and a furrow in her brow. "leave sevvy alone mom, it's my turn to play with her!" she shouts.

you snort, and hug sevika tighter toward your body. "you're gonna have to take her from me babe." you tease. your daughter huffs, then runs forward to grab sevika's wrist, tugging her away from you.

"c'mon sev!" she whines. sevika laughs.

"she was mine first!" you cry.

"too bad, so sad!" your daughter responds, sticking her tongue out at you. you laugh, and let go of your grip on your girlfriend, sighing.

"sorry babe, we got a game of dinosaurs to get back to." sevika says as your daughter marches her out of the kitchen. you just roll your eyes and laugh.

one night, sevika wakes you up in the middle of the night with kisses to your neck.

you smile as you roll over, capturing her lips against yours and humming happily against her mouth. she sighs.

"think you can be quiet?" she whispers as her hand trails up your bare thigh and starts fiddling with your underwear. you grin.

"can you?" you ask. sevika snorts as she shoves her hand under your waistband.

"i'm not the one who's gonna be cumming my brains out in a few minutes." she whispers.

"yeah, but you got that dirty mouth on you-- can never shut the fuck up when you got your hands on me." you tease. sevika bites your throat and you gasp.

"fuck off." she whispers as she starts rubbing circles against your clit. you bury your face against her shoulder, muffling your moans against her sleep shirt. "can't get enough of you." she mumbles. you whimper.

"you too." you say. she chuckles.

"what're you doing?" a quiet, tiny voice suddenly asks. you both gasp, sevika launches herself toward the other side of the bed and you shoot up in bed to look at your daughter.

she's standing in the doorway, rubbing her eyes, her teddybear held close to her chest. you blink at her, and beside you, sevika starts to laugh.

"w-we're cuddling." you say. your daughter huffs.

"without me!?" she exclaims. you laugh and lean back down against the bed.

"c'mon." you say, resigned to the fact that you likely won't be cumming your brains out anytime soon.

your daughter laughs and launches herself into your bed, cuddling up against your side, then tugging sevika toward her.

"c'mon sevvy, you gotta make me a sandwich!" she demands. sevika laughs as she rolls over, holding your daughter from the other side, the two of you squishing her between you. she sighs happily. "that's better." she says. you snort, and press a kiss to her head, and sevika follows suit, kissing her cheek before settling down against bed.

"goodnight kid." sevika whispers.

"night sevvy. night mom."

"g'night babies." you reply.

@fyeahnix @sapphicsgirl @half-of-a-gay @ellabslut @thesevi0lentdelights @sexysapphicshopowner @shimtarofstupidity @love-sugarr @chuucanchuucan @222danielaa @badbye666 @femme-historian @lia-winther @gr0ssz0mbi3 @ellsss @sevikaspillowprincess @leomatsuzaki @emiliabby

[stebbed-my-toes]

The Endless Sunrise.

The raid on Piltover starts and the tension rises noticeably amongst everybody in the city. Though for you, it’s different.

Summary: You’re stuck in a time loop; One that repeats your day every time you fail to save Steb.

TW!! Warnings/Content!: TW! Suicide!!! (from the reader), Death, Angst, No happy ending, also ngl there isn’t as much Steb in here as I would’ve liked but eh 🤷

Word Count: 4.1k Quick mention: rushed and not proofread, ngl i got impatient with this.

Now, on with the show!

───• ° . 𓆟 ° ⋅☼⋅ •  . 𓆟 . °───

Pearlescent clouds drag across the horizon, reflecting the new dawn's bronze light brilliantly. From the oceanside to the polished gold atop buildings, the morning landscape would blind you unapologetically; glittering like a beacon of the coast. 

You woke up to a morning that– given different circumstances– would’ve been too comfortable for you to leave your bed. It was an eerie calm that settled in the air of your room, unfiltered light beginning their glow between the cracks of your curtains. 

A resounding knock at the door snaps you out of your reverie, making you sigh wearily as you receive new orders from the messenger from behind the door. Just great. With an annoyed grunt you get up, parting the cloth just a bit to let out the cool remnants of the twilight, marveling at the russet sky burning to brass. Lighting up the white feathers of birds that soar past, taking the chance to admire the sight of what you have before… well, before what awaits you today. 

The Noxian raid against Piltover.

You watched as grand ships sailed towards the jewel of the city. Standing with your back to the hex-gate, hands tightening against the metallic weapon in your hands, ready to defend your home from the foreign invaders.

You unconsciously relax as you catch an aquamarine figure grow in your peripheral. Expression softening slightly as your fingers slide and pull away from the hex-weapon in your grasp, raising an arm to give the blue eyed boy a playful nudge to the side. You turn your head to him, offering a grin, one that only he could manage to draw out at a time like this. 

You have half a mind to tell him that, throw out a comment and make him privy to your affections for him. Maybe you will, one day, when this is all over; as for now, you shall stand unwavering by his side.

“Beautiful sunrise this mornin’ hm?” You muse, though your solemn tone betrays your friendly words. “Hey Steb-,” You sigh halfway, giving up on a witty remark and instead choosing something more fitting. You shake your head lightly, dawning a lax smile as you turn to face the foreboding ships that stalk the waters. “Whatever happens, keep yourself safe Steb, got it?”

It was simple– not as personal as you’d like– but hopefully it’ll do the job. He doesn’t seem to mind your choice of textbook reassurance words as he gives you a nod, eye softening as he watches your profile. He quietly decides that he’ll make sure that you keep yourself safe too.

Finally, he resets his posture and stands beside you dutifully. Ready for war.

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌

A baritone war-cry accompanies a hefty silhouette that knocks you down, leaving to you watch in fear as the hulking soldier lifts his spear with the intent to drive it down into you chest– A similar shout is heard from your left as your teal savior drives a dagger between the plating of the Noxians armor, the injury forcing the attacker to stumble and slump to the ground. You huff, catching your breath as you turn your attention to Steb who dashes to your side, careful eyes of a trained medic studying your condition as they look you up and down before eventually looking you in the face with concern.

You return his gaze with a grateful one, “Yeah– yeah ‘m alright,” only half-convinced yourself you try to assure him, shakily chuckling thanks to your nerves, you manage to give him a thankful nod, taking his hand as he helps you up to–

Thwish!

His body falls.

Thump.

“Steb!”

The shout tears from your throat before you can stop it, lurching upward from your place on the ground, gasping for air, eyes wide in shock. instinctively, you raise a hand to drag down your face before pulling away to look at it, expecting to see the same crimson that splattered onto your lap. 

You freeze, reeling your hand back and away from its search as you refocus your gaze. Your bed. Your pillow, your room, your… window? 

How the hell did you get here? Your brow twitches in thought, instantly you look down and rip the blanket off yourself, searching for injuries. No bandages, bruises, cuts, or any sign of physical harm. You weren't knocked out were you? No, you can remember the last moments clear as day. There’s no fogginess to the way you fell, to Steb as you accepted his help, to the arrow that pierced through his neck. 

The arrow.

The arrow that…

Your heart is barely given a second to beat, frozen in place as your eyes widen in shock. Steb. he, he–

Your hand slaps over your mouth in shock, tears unknowingly pricking at the corners of your eyes, you hum and force your eyes closed to re-assess. A shaky breath is all that fills the silent room, your thoughts become a raging whirlpool filled with blame and disbelief, making the world inaudible to you as your ears are stuffed with cotton.

The only sound that breaks through is a knock on the door. A triadic rap that sounds vaguely familiar.

You muster just enough of your composure to call out, albeit frustratedly, and glance up with furrowed brows as you half-listen to the tenor voice beyond the heavy door. New orders about your position, moved to the front of the hex-gate. Word-for-word, you remember them from yesterday morning. An awful feeling rushes through from head to toe, shivering at the inkling of déjà vu, your breakdown slightly suspended as the feeling meddles with your judgement.

Sliding out of bed and tiptoeing to the window, you push the curtains aside, a light gasp is drawn out by the staggering ships. Broad and imposing, you grit your teeth at the sight of them, but somethings off.

The city is unsullied by dust, grime, or even a speck of blood.

Regardless, the ships are returning. Your job isn’t done.

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌

You walk by the day in a daze. 

Over the first half-hour outside your room you’ve come to the realization that you were terribly mistaken in your perception of time. That this was the morning of the raid, not yesterday– in fact your ‘yesterday’ had to have been some oddly lucid dream that you still have trouble believing. Try as you might, there's a feeling of uncertainty that you can’t seem to shake off, even when you hear light footsteps approaching your flank.

You try to remedy your spastic heart the moment you see him. Chest feeling airy as a heavy weight has been lifted at the realization that your baseless concern was proven wrong: Steb wasn’t dead. It seems as though your brain conjured a sick nightmare as the aquatic man you know and love stands beside you again, alive and well. You find yourself smiling with upturned brows, relief practically seeping through your bones, releasing your taut grip upon your arcane weapon. The glittering cobalt orb that sparks below your fingers could never compare to the ones before you.

“Steb,”

You pause as he turns to look at you, his earnest full attention often catching you off guard. Your half-assed cocky comment dies on your tongue as you look at him, rethinking carefully, what should you even say? You could be confident, but that sounds so insincere, if these could be your last words to him you’d rather not say something stupid. Your last words to him…

Oh God… Could you admit your feelings?

To your irrational mind, the dream felt like maybe a second chance, maybe you should take it.

You swallow thickly at the idea, no, of course not. Now would be the worst time to admit something heavy like that, there’s no point in getting him worked up for something that's your problem. You won’t dump that burden upon him now.

“I have something to tell you. So live, alright?” You return his gaze with a determination that swells in your chest, “Survive Steb. I won’t take anything else for an answer.” 

Whatever answer you receive in the form of a look or gesture, you don’t pay attention to it. Gaze turned steely at the thought of your foes, refusing to pass up this opportunity to fix your mistakes.

You decided to use your awful case of déjà vu to your advantage, somewhat testing your luck in the process, but as it turns out– it has come in rather handy in regards to a strike here and there. Finding yourself avoiding a few mistakes you’d made in your “dream”, you ought to think about it later on after the battle, though the itching feeling of misfortune never left you.

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌

You hear a cry.

Your world goes dark.

Your eyes shoot open and in a panic you whip your head to the side, your hands feel empty, frantically grappling for a weapon within reach. Soft bed sheets and plush pillows grace the nerves upon your fingertips, sliding against- Wait, soft? You pause in your scrambling and look down slowly, taking the fabric in your hand as your brain stalls. 

No.

That can’t be right, what sick joke of a nightmare is this? You throw the covers off yourself as you stumble haphazardly out of bed, tearing your way to the window and shoving the curtains away as you look down to the streets. 

Clean and untouched. The polished white stone and golden inlay remain void of scarlet streaks.

A knock on the door.

No, no, no, no. No!

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌

What the fuck is happening.

You walk by in suspicion, haunted by knowledge of the coming events. 

You’re beyond anxious, what kind of screwed up dream could that be? To have a dream within a dream and wake up twice, is that even possible? You let out a breathless laugh, mirthless as your chest feels hollow. “What a bad omen” you manage to slip, your muttering catching Stebs attention as he raises a brow at you before returning his attention forward. Your unfocused gaze follows suit, quiet and eerie, you are unable to discern if the ships look closer this time or not.

Everything was the same. Both times– well, three times now– have just been ghosts of the day before.

Is that it? What the hell is the point of the day resetting if you're just doomed to reach the final destination of this nightmare.

That's not right, you held him this time. 

The world went black before you could feel the warmth seep from his body, thankfully, but you could feel it this time, unlike the days before. His last breath that ended pained gasps and sputters. You got to watch as the light left his eyes. The thought makes you angrily wipe away a tear, but your gaze hardens to one of determination. It was different, it can change.

You were grasping at straws, but with your predicament, it was worth everything in the world to you.

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌

Not him, please, why of all the people did it have to be the one who captured your heart. The aquatic man with gentle hands and eyes too soft for his sharp features. The kind medic who would’ve preferred to help lives over harming them. 

You’ve tried and failed again at following your orders. What good will it do if you can’t stop an army's worth of attacks from killing the one person you care most about in this pretentious city full of high and mighty assholes.

Enough of this running around and expecting everything to go right out of sheer blind luck, you can’t afford to keep getting distracted.

It’s been proven you can change things, now you have to test the limits– without ruining your own image in case it does end up working to break the loop you’re stuck in.

So, time to try something drastic, however stupid and see the outcome.

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌

That little rule of yours didn’t last long, at this point you didn’t give a shit about your “image” anymore. So much for that– how could you even dare to prioritize that over the life of your comrades? Of your friends?

A thump crashes against your back, the wooden door behind you bending back into place after the hit. You wince slightly, remembering where you are now, it’s an increasingly bad habit to space out like this. 

“Hey–” you start out evenly before another bang hits the door, forcing you to stumble forward  before you push back against it, “Hey! It’s me!” You shout in protest, and you faintly hear the man's feet shuffle again. You could only wonder what thoughts ran through his head as he woke up locked in some random enclosed space– a janitor room to be exact.

“Listen Steb! You- You’re gonna die okay? It’s- no, I gotta keep you safe.” 

You stammer for your words, not having found the proper explanation for him if or when he woke up, you did kind of hit him rather hard upside the head. You sigh, letting your head fall back and lightly hitting the door you lean on.  

“I’m sorry, I know that–” Another bang smacks at your skull. “I know you won’t understand! But I have to, alright!?” you plead, keep a tight hold on his tonfas that you took and used interlocked on the door to keep it shut.

You fall quiet as the minutes tick away, the dawn inching so slowly to noon. You consider yourself beyond lucky that there weren’t any passerbys, choosing an unassuming room in a scarcely used passage. Stebs' barrage of attempts to break out were eventually stifled, though the sounds of clattering and shuffling of what seemed to be boxes and bags could be heard. 

He never knows when to give up, always driven. 

The thought, such of little comfort, still brings a small smile to your face. After a moment, you decide to slide down, ignoring how your uniform ruffles unpleasantly at being pressed against the wood as you come to a sit. “Y’know” You start, quiet and muffled to him, but you can imagine his spiny ear flickering. Cute.

You note that the sounds cease for a minute before returning, barely stopping his search for something to use to escape. Oh, yeah– you were saying something? He even stopped to listen. It made your heart lurch at his thoughtfulness in even the worst situations.

“You’re too fucking good of a person Steb.” You say, a sudden anger that bubbles in your gut and overflows into a venom on your tongue. “How dare you. I can’t let you throw away your life like this, I don’t care about your duty or honor or whatever the fuck you chose to be an enforcer for,” You gasp, lungs feeling empty as you pay little attention to your blurring vision, “But I refuse to let you die! To let the world lose something– someone so, so–” 

A sharp whistling goes ignored.

In your teary eyed vision, you can’t even begin to make out the concrete that crumbles and gives way to a cannonball.

A strangled shout rips at your vocal cords. 

The sound makes your door-knocking harasser call out in concern.

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌

Facing the floor below would remind you of the blood to be spilled, And facing the sky above you bring all your memories to him and his stupid cornflower colored iris. You close your eyes, grunting in annoyance at his dastardly ways of flooding your mind at any time of day. How silly you are, somehow still getting wrapped up in this awful little crush of yours you can’t stand it. 

“Focus, dumbass”

You grumble kicking a stray rock, face scrunched in frustration at your series of continued failed attempts. You felt like such a stupid fool in disobeying direct orders and ending up in no different a situation in the end.

What an idiot blinded by hope, thinking you could change your new fate by such fickle means. 

Hope? No, desperation.

Even now you feel like a coward. Each step taken to create distance between you and piltover's looming presence etched a cavity into your dignity, your honor, for abandoning your friends. The only thought pushing you forward and away from the fight was the hope that something might happen differently, even if you weren’t a part of it. 

Would you have to label yourself a traitor for leaving? Most likely, but it was a small price to pay.

You don’t even make it halfway through the city before your sight is suddenly enveloped by darkness.

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌

After so many “days”, you picked up your weapon. The arcane thrumming beneath your grasp and reverberating in your mind, the idea flashed for a moment before being snuffed out the second you realized the implications.

What if you were the one who killed him?

Like being struck, you threw the weapon down, careless to the sound of the valuable machine crashing against the floor. You stumble back and swallow thickly, the guilt immediately making itself known. No. You’d live a thousand times over before resorting to doing the very thing you’re trying to prevent.

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌

Could you try explaining it to him? Again? You had tried to allude to the idea on the fourth morning, in the end you sounded more like a paranoid fool worrying about the day– which was understandable. Though on the seventh morning you brought it up without any thought behind your intentions, muddled words and half-baked assumptions that changed his perception of you; mentioning how you’d managed to survive to see what became of Maddie, it was a mistake to try and explain that to him. Oh how your heart squeezes at the memory of the look he gives you, the disbelief and hurt when you tell him Maddie’s a spy. Accusing his friend, one longer than you have been, of being a traitor? His disappointment hurt you more than you could've ever expected.

Your heart beats erratically at the thought, it’s too unprepared– too hasty of a decision. You doubt you’d get anywhere with the limited time you have to explain, much like last time. Strewn out guesses and trailing off conclusions that didn’t get you anywhere, it more often than not put you and Steb in worse conditions. There was so little you knew, as it seems that whatever curse that’s consumed your waking moment has been hellbent on preventing you learning anything useful about your predicament. With no lead to track or even the chance to follow it if you did have a clue, you were absolutely lost.

You slide your hand out, knocking your helmet off the table unceremoniously in an attempt to ground yourself, clutching the oaken hardwood with stiffened gloves that you can only hope lessen the shake that you hold yourself with.

A pained groan escapes you, screwing your eyes shut as your heart tightens, the burn that flares at your closed lids, warning you of tears. You exhale sharply, almost scoffing at yourself for unraveling, shakily inhaling and holding your breath afterwards. Getting your breathing under control wasn’t difficult, but it took a certain amount of patience to allow your feelings to choke out before stuffing them back into a dark corner. 

Your foot madly taps at the resounding flooring, almost losing yourself in the sound before a hollow knock steals your attention. Your head snaps a bit in the direction, pausing for a moment to slowly rise, intending to give the intruder a glare.

 “Can I hel–” 

Startlingly baby blue eyes.

Wide. Dull. They lack their shine.

Your words catch in your throat, the aching feeling that subsided now threatens to return tenfold. You tear your eyes away from him, not willing to fall into the trance his glimmering gaze causes.

You can’t bear to think of his eyes now. Not now.

Half-lidded, they rest unfocused. His muscles relax as his breath is ripped away by an iron blade.

Your face tightens impossibly, twisting in all the fancy words for hurt.

You shouldn’t have to know what he would look like, like that. If it would save you the sight, you’d avoid his gaze for the rest of your life. Oh how your gut turns with every step he takes, approaching you in a way that makes you ashamed for forcing your head down. Forcing yourself away from him.

He tilts his head slightly as glances down at your helmet on the floor. There’s a silence in the air that grows heavier by the second. Seeing your lack of initiative to speak, he continues his approach to your side, stopping within arms reach.

“Steb.” You acknowledge him, loose and in passing– as if bumping into him in a hallway before continuing on. 

The ribbing along his eyes stir, a rather expressive motion in consideration to his otherwise impassive exterior. His ears swivel and flicker, subtle shifts in his face as he determines what could be your issue, his eye flickering between your wavering arms and your stuttering breath. His hand reaches out to rest on your shoulder in a comforting manner, tentative and ready to pull away if needed.

What he doesn’t expect however, is for you to turn and pull him forward, not giving him a second to think as you crash into him. He stumbles back, a grunt escaping his chest as you knock some of the wind out of him. His eyes widen as he looks down at you, keeping your head bowed low and pressing your forehead to his shoulder while his hands hover over your back hesitantly.

“I’m so sorry.” You whispered into the armored shoulder of his navy uniform, feeling the warmth of his hands as they gently came to rest on your back, returning the embrace despite his confusion. 

He lets out a hum, curious, and the sound nearly rattles your skeleton with how much pressure you press against him. You sigh shakily into his shoulder as you allow yourself this one moment of peace, clutching onto the back of his uniform like a lifeline. “Can we just,” you muffle into his shoulder, “Can we just stay here, like this, for a while?” You ask, practically pleading, in a quiet voice that makes him hold you impossibly closer.

After given a moment to think, he hums again in a complaisant manner this time as he tilts his head ever so slightly to rest atop yours.

His comfort nearly makes your heart shatter, and you’re not sure if you can stave off the waterworks this time.

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌

You awaken. 

Eyes shoot open and there’s a flinch that racks your body, but you stay down this time. You don’t make a move to acknowledge your given orders, remaining quiet enough to hear the faint shouts as the city around you as the people ready to arms. You haven’t slept in days, you realize, and close your eyes with a weary sigh.

Facing the ceiling, you’re tempted to fight the tears that begin to arise but you ultimately allow it to pass. You wonder if his tears would be as pitiful as yours, would he be given the chance to cry at all.

Maybe if he were the one crying in your place.

﹌﹌﹌﹌

You stand on the marble balustrade. You’ve stood on this overlook so many times now, and the vertigo has never been worse. 

“Hey Steb..?”

He looks at you. Before you met him, you’d argue that there were only so many ways to describe someone’s eyes. Insist that you could only use the words ‘soft’ or ‘bright’ or whatever obscure color so many times before it all becomes nonsensical. But with this man, you believe even the most illiterate fool could compose a thousand poems with just one glance.

God, please save me from this torment. Save him.

“I love you.”

You don’t take the chance to register his reaction. Ever the coward, ever the fool, you shy away from his answer, too afraid and ashamed of your selfishness. 

Up to this point, you haven’t tried killing yourself. One of your last resorts.

His eyes get lost among the brilliant sky. The roaring hurricane in your ears grows as you plummet, your gut feels the familiar pull down; accompanied by all the guilt you carry. Finally letting it drop, you go right along with it.

He calls your name, though you cannot hear it, his shout becoming lost throughout the wind whipping past your ears. Your blood is the first to stain the floor that morning.

Your vision is as dark as the night that you hope comes to pass.

﹌﹌﹌

.

.

.

───• ° . 𓆟 ° ⋅☼⋅ •  . 𓆟 . °───

A/N: Yello! Damn uh! I finally finished something! I struggle to commit to my projects so i'm surprised i managed to get this out, and honestly this only took so long as it did because i spent most my days playing minecraft 😭🙏

It feels like it has too much plot and not enough interactions which is something i have trouble with but practice makes better 🫶

[whereisloe]

oh my god , beautifully soul crushing😭

[lilly-townshend]

drawing Zaun revolutionaries as kids because I REFUSE to consume more angst

(and bonus slide)

[bebx]

my taste in fictional men is just the unstable, traumatized and dangerous ones who radiate strong "I'm not a bad dog. I'm a wounded and terrified dog who bites to survive" vibes honestly

[whereisloe]

sb needs to track down that mf on ao3 that made a young silco x reader au where he was a pianist and the reader was some type of theatrical dance director and force them to write more bc UGH they just did such a good job only to stop 2 chapters in 😩

[firefrightfic]

to anyone missing my writing please know i am also missing my writing