pafu

being a new supporter at cleaner hq and believing tamsy is a woman for the first couple of weeks.

you don’t remember spotting her once you joined the band of weirdos, and upon laying eyes on her for the first time at a mild distance—navy overruled by blonde tresses, hung loosely in a burgundy claw clip, thick lashes that curtain tender butterscotch, peach tinted lips pursed for the rounded corner of porcelain, quietly sipping on contents suitable for the evening—you twiddle your thumbs and watch how long you go for before retreating back into your room.

you don’t function well around pretty women.

♡headoverheels!follo who is constantly making fake scenarios with you. when he’s lying in bed at night he’s ideally playing out all the things he’d love to do with you, sleep always coming sweetly after. or from time to time when he sees a couple on the street he replaces the pair with the two of you instead.

♡headoverheels!follo who can’t leave off on a mission without a kiss. it’s like his own good luck charm, you never know what’s going to happen after all. he likes to take his time, but if in a rush he’ll run to you and get by with just a quick peck—but best believe he’ll want more when he returns!

♡headoverheels!follo who spots the engagement rings on display in the jewelry store and automatically thinks which one would look best on you. he’s no where near ready for marriage, but the simple thought was so lovely to daydream about.

♡headoverheels!follo who gets jealous embarrassingly easy! you’re spending way too much time with that other supporter who grins too much around you? he’s hovering near finding excuses to butt in the conversation, or staring from afar and clenching his jaw. he knows you’d never be disloyal to him, still the thought of you with another guy is enough to make him hurl.

♡headoverheels!follo who can’t function right when you’re mad at him. sleeping and eating refuses to come easy when all he’s worried about is you and the unsettling feeling in his stomach. he’s easily distracted, mind tracking off until the moment he’s all over you, profusely apologizing.

♡headoverheels!follo who gets overly frantic when you’re gone for too long. extended missions? staying out past the time you said you’d be back? he’s on the verge of pacing around until he hears your voice once again, soothing anxieties he couldn’t even process.

♡headoverheels!follo who gets a major confidence boost for days when you compliment him, smile even still lingering hours after. if you compliment his outfit he’ll definitely start rewearing it more, or if you say you like his hair he’ll slow down infront of a passing mirror to check it 

♡headoverheels!follo who still gets flustered over the tiniest of things. amateur pick up lines have him folding like they were crafted by shakespeare himself. and teasing him, especially while in public? he may be stumbling over his words then but he’ll do his best to get you back later.

♡headoverheels!follo who can never find the words to match his abundance of feelings for you. you’re so very special to him that sometimes he can’t believe you’re all his. but in the end a simple “i love you” will always do.

"I love you and I hate you,"

"And I'm losing my mind."

Using you ~Mars Argo

Tamsy x Gn!Reader

Jesus this bitch his down bad, some spoilers about Tamsy and his act of love (iykwim), denial of feelings, slightly suggestive, there's genuinely something wrong with this guy, not proof read, no use of y/n

A/n : short drabble I got sidetracked on while writing a hc req

Wc : 915

“Are you okay?” You ask after noticing how he's been spacing out staring at you blankly while you talk about something mundane. “Is there something on my face?”

“No, not at all.” He reassures quickly, cursing himself for getting carried away in his thoughts. “Do continue what you were saying.” 

“You've been kind of ditzy lately.” You laugh, oblivious. “If there's something on your mind you can tell me, I'll listen.” 

“Forgive me, I was just…feeling under the weather.” He excuses himself, pretending like he needs to do something urgent when he really just finds you worrying about him disgusting. 

“Oh…” You fidget with your hands. “Take care then, call me if you need anything, alright?”

He waves his hand with a polite smile but doesn't respond to you. He faces away from you and rolls his eyes in its sockets. Honestly, what do you even get from caring so much?

He exits rather quickly—even when he doesn't really want to.

That was close. If you'd only paid a little more attention you would've noticed how he was eye fucking you.

The signs were quite literally blaring red and right in your face.

You could be watching tv and he'd be admiring the sound of your laughter, the way some strands of hair shift out of place and how you throw your head back—but in a different context. 

He hates how you're starting to rub off on him, how your careless little mistakes in battles result to scars infuriate him. He refuses to acknowledge that he might be a little attached to you. After all, you are just fun to tease and get a reaction out of. 

And that's what he wants you to be. Just another person in his life who's fun to be around. He never planned for you to be more that that.

He concludes it up to the fact that your weakness is pathetic. ‘I can't stand to humor weak people’ and ‘Why do I feel responsible for this?’ plagues his mind.

Your sweetness also gets on his nerves. It'll only take a matter of time where your true colors show. But despite you already being a cleaner for almost a year, you've yet to reach his ugly expectations of you. 

He can't decide if that angers him or softens him around the edges. 

He also hates how easily you can see right through him. It's as if you're just reading a book, sounding out his thoughts like a well written paragraph while he struggles to even decipher his own feelings. 

No one knows him better than he does. So why does he feel like he has a headache every time he sees you? His chest tightens when you smile too easily, his face flushes when you notice him too casually.

When will this damn forsaken fever go down already? Every time he makes a slight mistake when holding a conversation with you, he feels like ripping the skin off his face. He wants to drag his palm down his face and roll his eyes in annoyance.

When did the line of hate and love start to become unrecognizable? Maybe it's when breaking and reducing something to it's rawest form equals loving them. 

You can't truly love someone without seeing them at their lowest, so all he needs to do is push someone to the brink of insanity. Then and only then can he justify his actions and truly seek love. 

But there's something different about you, he doesn't feel the need to see you break for him to view you in that light. If anything, he wants equal parts in seeing you at your lowest and also at your highest. 

He returns back to his room, shoulders slumped and expression sour. He's so grossed out at himself for even entertaining the idea of someone like him being with you.

A devout cleaner who quite clearly doesn't see anything with him, and he's over here beating himself on the inside because he can't get you on his mind. 

If this goes on he might just end up using the Watchman's book to erase you from his memory. His hands trace the edges of the tattered leather, his nails grazing the shape of the logo before he plops himself to his bed face first. 

It'll make him forget but he'll probably still remember this nasty feeling of being drawn to you. It's as if no amount of brain washing can make him possibly forget the gravity of being pulled to your presence. 

Ew. He cringes.

He buries his face deeper into the pillows. Okay, yuck that was so not what he wanted to think about. The book may call out to him, but your voice in his mind will forever sound out a little louder to silence his thoughts. 

So he chooses to ignore his flushed cheeks and his stupidly loud drumming heart. Even if his heartbeat starts to spell out your name to show how you've encased him in this awful curse.

Wait, isn't that what being in love is like?

He groans and places his hands on his ears, no one better be out gambling tonight because there's no chance. No way in hell, even if another Sphereite falls from the sky there's just no inconceivable way that it'll happen. 

If he could take a lie detector test right now he could. Even if the needle will jump and sputter exactly as how you'd laugh.

Okay, no wait now that was really gross. 

— yandere! tamsy caines x reader

— tags: yandere, stalking, obsessed behaviour, obsessive tamsy caines, manga spoilers (ifykyk), oblivious! reader, slight breaking and entering lol

— word count: 1,922

— lowkey a writing exercise too (wink wink)

— came across this audio on tiktok and immediately clocked it to this beautiful man

─ ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──── ♡ ─── ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──

TAMSY NOTICED YOU the moment you first stepped into the Cleaners' headquarters. He was being briefed by Semiu on his next mission, which coincidentally was the perfect opportunity to test a potential new Cleaner.

Tamsy x f!reader | No y/n | "Dove" = reader-insert nickname | Reader has vague appearance

No major spoilers. Suggestive warning, nothing explicit. Again, this is from a fic I'm currently working on. May reference scenes and chapters I haven't published yet. The onsen is a location I made up.

You and Tamsy go to a relatively new bath house facility in the outdoor Cleaner HQ courtyard after floating him there with your Vital Instrument. He continues to be a menace.

...

The onsen sat at the back of the HQ grounds where the building's industrial angles softened into something else entirely.

Wood and stone. Low lanterns. A noren curtain printed with a faded pattern of cranes hung across the entrance, shifting in the evening air. Steam rose from beyond it in slow, pale columns. After the dark marble floors and peeling yellow paint of the main building, it felt like stepping into a different country.

It was the quietest corner of HQ. Dove had walked past it before and never gone in. She'd assumed it was Zanka's exclusively, given that everyone else seemed mildly afraid of his reaction when the water line was wrong.

Yandere! Holy Knight x Reader

⤷ TW: dark themes, yandere tendencies, violence, implied coercion & threats.

The people of the kingdom always said the holy knight was not born from a woman, but carved directly from the light of the sun. He was their ultimate savior, a perfect hero built of silver and gold who never tired, never bled, and never made a mistake. When he rode his great white horse through the capital city, the busy streets would instantly go dead silent. Regular citizens, wealthy merchants, and even noble lords would drop to their knees in the dirt just to touch the hem of his long white cape, begging for a scrap of his divine attention. They did not speak to him like a human being. They spoke to him like a god who belonged to everyone and belonged to no one.

But you were just a regular, low-ranking scribe working in the deepest, darkest corner of the Church’s royal archives. To you, he wasn't a god at all. He was just a severely tired man who desperately needed a glass of water and a warm bed.

The first time he ever stumbled into your library wing, he looked like he was about to collapse. The high priests had spent the entire morning parading him through the upper cathedral, demanding miracles and blessings from him while completely ignoring the fact that his knees were shaking under the weight of his armor. When he finally escaped the crowds, he wandered aimlessly down the stairs, ending up in your quiet room. His silver armor was covered in dust, his golden hair was messy and damp with sweat, and his shoulders were drooping.

You didn't fall to your knees when he entered. Instead, you stood up from your desk, bowing your head slightly in a gesture of quiet respect, and pointed to a sturdy wooden chair nearby.

"Welcome to the archives, sir," you said softly, keeping your voice gentle so as not to startle him. "You look incredibly faint. If it pleases you, would you care to sit down and rest for a moment?"

He froze, his wide golden eyes completely shocked. For his entire life, everyone had either looked away from him in fear or ordered him to perform tasks. No one had ever asked for his permission just to offer him comfort. No one had ever treated his comfort as something that required consent. Slowly, with a quiet hesitation, he walked over and sat down. The heavy metal of his armor groaned as he sank into the wood.

You didn't say much else. You walked over to your small stove in the corner, brewed a cup of cheap chamomile tea, and brought it back to him along with a small plate of sweet crackers you had been saving for your lunch. As you set the tray down, you noticed how raw and red his skin was beneath the edges of his metal gloves.

Instead of just grabbing his hands, you knelt right beside his chair, keeping a respectful distance, and looked up at him.

"Your wrists look terribly chafed from the gauntlets, sir," you murmured gently. "May I have your permission to unbuckle the straps and clean the skin for you? I have some soothing ointments here."

He stared down at you, his chest moving up and down with shaky, shallow breaths. His hands trembled slightly on his lap. He had faced monsters and armies without blinking, but your quiet request for consent made his breath catch in his throat. Slowly, he nodded, offering his heavy wrists to you.

You worked with absolute care. You gently unbuckled the leather straps of his massive silver gauntlets and used a wet cloth to clean the chafed, bleeding skin on his wrists. You wrapped them in soft, clean bandages, your fingers brushing against his skin with the utmost tenderness.

"They treat you like a weapon," you muttered softly, frowning as you tied a neat knot on his left wrist, ensuring it wasn't too tight. "But weapons don't get tired. People do. You carry the weight of the whole kingdom, sir, but you are allowed to rest."

He didn't answer you. When he finally looked up at your face, his eyes were incredibly bright, almost glowing in the dim candlelight of the archive. He looked like a traveler who had spent years walking through a freezing, lonely wasteland and had suddenly stumbled into a warm, roaring fire.

From that day on, your quiet archive became his secret sanctuary.

Every single time he had a free hour between his training and his prayers, he would slip away from the grand halls and hide in your room. The moment the heavy wooden door clicked shut behind him, his perfect hero persona completely fell apart. He would take off his heavy helmet, let his massive sword clatter uselessly to the floor, and sink down onto the rug right next to your desk.

He didn't want to talk about his battles, the monsters he killed, or his divine duties. He just wanted to watch you work. He would rest his chin on the edge of your desk, his large golden eyes following every single movement of your feather pen as you copied old history books.

Sometimes, if you worked too late into the evening, he would get restless. "Are you tired?" he would whisper softly, reaching out a hesitant, trembling hand. He would gently take the pen from your fingers, placing it safely on the table so he could rub your sore wrist. His hands were always incredibly warm, radiating a soft, comforting heat that instantly made your fatigue melt away. "Let me do it. Let me carry your heavy books. Let me copy the pages for you. You shouldn't have to strain yourself like this."

"I'm fine," you would laugh softly, reaching over to pat his soft golden hair. Every single time your fingers touched his head, his face would turn completely red, and he would let out a small, happy sigh, leaning his head deeply into your palm like a pet begging for affection. "This is my job. Unlike you, I actually get to rest when the sun goes down."

"Then let me stay here until it does," he pleaded, his voice small, desperate, and entirely pathetic for someone who could slay monsters. He gripped the edge of your shirt sleeve with two fingers, holding on tightly as if he was terrified you would disappear into thin air if he let go. "Just a little longer. It's so loud outside. Everyone wants something from me. But here, with you, it's the only place where my head stops hurting."

You smiled and let him stay every time, thinking he was just a sweet, lonely man who desperately needed a real friend. You had no idea that to him, you weren't just a friend. You were his entire world, his only source of sanity, and his new religion.

While the holy knight fought dangerous monsters at the kingdom's borders, you were fighting your own quiet battle inside the castle walls. For months, you had been secretly digging through the Church’s old financial records. You had uncovered something terrible: the High Priests were stealing massive amounts of money meant for the poor villages and using it to buy luxury goods, gold jewelry, and expensive wines for themselves. It was an incredibly dangerous secret to hold, and you knew that if they caught you, they would lock you away in the darkest dungeon forever.

But lately, strange things had been happening around you.

Every time a corrupt official started getting suspicious of your research or asked too many questions about why you were looking through old vault ledgers, they would suddenly vanish from the castle. There was a cruel bishop who had caught you in the hallway and threatened to have you fired and thrown into prison because you asked for his department's budget sheets. You had spent a whole night panicking in your room, unable to sleep, terrified of what the morning would bring.

But the very next morning, the bishop was gone. The Head Priest announced to the castle that the man had suddenly decided to retire to a silent, lonely monastery deep in the freezing mountains, vowing never to look at or speak to another human being again.

A few weeks later, a rude royal guard shoved you hard in the stone courtyard because you were walking too slow, making you drop all your heavy library files into the dirt. He had laughed at you, calling you a useless library rat. You hadn't told anyone about it, not wanting to cause trouble.

But the next day, that guard went missing. He had been stripped of his rank and forced into a lifetime of hard labor in the deep, pitch-black salt mines, never allowed to see the light of day again.

Then there was the corrupt merchant who had tried to corner you in the lower halls, threatening to tell the priests about your suspicious archive research if you didn't give him your files. Within twenty-four hours, his entire business empire collapsed due to a sudden, unexplainable audit by the crown, leaving him completely bankrupt and thrown into the city's worst common debtor's prison.

You thought the system was somehow fixing itself. You thought your anonymous letters to the king were finally working. You had absolutely no idea what the holy knight was actually doing during the dead of night.

He never used a physical weapon on those men, nor did he let them stay in those prisons or mines for long. Before their official sentences or relocations were carried out by the kingdom, the holy knight would step into their locked quarters or holding cells while they slept, his silver armor casting a bright, beautiful glow against the dark walls.

When the corrupt men woke up in terror, trying to scream for help, they would find that they couldn't move a single muscle. The air in the room would become incredibly thick and heavy, filled with the faint, sweet smell of church incense. The holy knight would stand over them, his face completely calm and peaceful, looking down at them with soft, genuine pity.

"Why did you make her cry?" he would ask in a gentle, polite whisper, his golden eyes wide and completely empty of any human emotion. "She was so stressed today because of you. She couldn't even smile at me when I visited because she was worried about your threats. She didn't even touch my hair today."

The men would try to beg for their lives, crying and shaking under the weight of his presence. But the holy knight would only tilt his head, a soft, saintly smile appearing on his lips as a beautiful, blinding white light began to grow from his palms.

"Don't worry," he would murmur softly, his voice sounding like a sweet lullaby. "I am not an evil monster. I am a hero. I am just purifying the world so she can live in peace. Anyone who hurts my precious person doesn't deserve to breathe the same air as her."

With a silent flash of immaculate white light, the men would simply melt away. There was no blood, no pain, and no sound. A faint, beautiful sound of angels singing would echo in the empty room for a few seconds, leaving nothing behind but a neat pile of clean, white ash on the floor. To the rest of the kingdom, it looked like they had simply run away to escape their punishments, but the holy knight knew the truth.

The next afternoon, he would walk into your library wing, looking as innocent and sweet as can be. He would drop to his knees beside your chair, wrapping his arms tightly around your waist and burying his face in your lap, breathing in your scent to calm his racing heart.

"I made sure your day would be peaceful today," he would whisper, his voice muffled by your clothes as he squeezed you closer, his fingers digging into your shirt. "No one will ever hurt you again. I promise. I will clear away anyone who stands in your path, so just stay here with me forever. Don't look at anyone else."

You would laugh softly, running your fingers through his golden hair to comfort him, completely blind to the terrifying, unhinged power of his love.

The High Priests were greedy, but they were not stupid. They quickly realized that their political allies were disappearing one by one. More importantly, they noticed that their perfect weapon was changing. The holy knight was no longer listening to their orders with blank, mindless obedience. He was skipping mandatory prayers, refusing to attend royal banquets, and spending every single night locked inside the dusty archive rooms with a low-ranking scribe.

They realized he had a weakness. They realized you were the one controlling his heart.

"The Vanguard is compromised," the Head Priest whispered to his council during a secret meeting in the dead of night. "He no longer belongs to the Church. He belongs to that pathetic scribe. If we do not cut this cord immediately, he will turn his divine light against us."

They didn't want to just kill you in secret. They knew that if the holy knight found out they had murdered you, his grief would cause him to lose his mind and destroy the entire kingdom. They needed to make him hate you. They needed to force him to destroy you himself, proving to the world that he was still nothing more than their loyal, brainwashed tool.

They waited until the holy knight was sent away on a three-day mission to clear monsters from a faraway valley. The moment his white horse left the city gates, the trap snapped shut.

A dozen heavily armed guards stormed into your quiet library wing. They smashed your wooden desk, tore your favorite books to pieces, and dragged you out of the room in heavy iron chains. They took all the evidence you had compiled against the priests and threw it into a roaring fire, burning your months of hard work into nothing but smoke.

They locked you in a cold, dark dungeon beneath the cathedral, leaving you without food or water. They beat you until your body was covered in bruises, demanding that you sign a fake confession stating that you were a dark witch who had used evil curses to brainwash and control the holy knight.

But you refused. Even when you were bleeding, cold, and terrified, you held onto your pride. You knew you had done nothing wrong, and your respect for the truth kept you silent.

By the third day, the grand cathedral doors were opened wide. The entire royal court, the wealthy nobles, and thousands of regular citizens filled the long rows of stone benches. They had been told a lie that a dangerous heretic had been caught trying to poison the kingdom’s savior.

You were dragged up the long center aisle, the heavy iron chains dragging loudly against the marble floor. They forced you onto your knees at the top of the sacred altar, right in front of the massive golden statues of the gods. Your clothes were torn, your face was bruised, and your hands were bound tightly in heavy iron cuffs that cut into your skin.

The High Priests stood behind you on the elevated platform, looking down at you with smug, evil satisfaction. They had won.

Suddenly, the heavy doors at the back of the cathedral burst open with a loud bang.

The holy knight had returned. He strode down the center aisle, his silver armor gleaming brilliantly under the colorful stained-glass windows. He carried his sacred sword in his right hand, the blade radiating a soft, comforting warmth. To the cheering crowd, he looked like the ultimate picture of divine justice.

He marched straight up the stone stairs of the altar, his face completely blank and emotionless. The Head Priest stepped forward, a cruel smile on his face as he raised his golden staff into the air.

"Vanguard of Light!" the Head Priest shouted, his voice echoing through the massive, high-ceilinged room. "This filthy heretic has confessed to using dark magic to corrupt your pure soul. In the name of the heavens, we command you to raise your sacred blade and purge this evil from our kingdom!"

The crowd cheered wildly, screaming for your blood and waving their fists in the air. You looked up at the holy knight through your messy, blood-matted hair, your heart breaking into pieces. You didn't care about dying, but the thought of him being the one to do it made you want to sob.

"I'm sorry," you whispered softly to him, your voice trembling as fresh tears finally spilled down your bruised cheeks, dripping onto the cold marble floor. "I tried to fix the church... I tried to help the people. I'm sorry I ruined everything for you."

The holy knight stopped a few inches away from you. He didn't look at the screaming crowd, and he didn't look at the proud priests. He only looked at you. He saw the dark bruises on your face, the blood dried on your split lip, and the heavy iron chains cutting into your small, delicate wrists. He saw the tears in your eyes, the very same eyes that used to look at him with so much gentle warmth.

The blank, empty look in his golden eyes suddenly cracked, shattering entirely.

Slowly, deliberately, he lowered his sword. The heavy silver blade dropped from his fingers, hitting the marble floor with a loud, ringing clink that instantly silenced the entire cathedral. The cheering stopped. The nobles blinked in confusion, murmuring frantically to each other.

"What are you doing?" the Head Priest hissed, his face twisting in sudden anger and confusion. "Pick up your weapon and strike the heretic down!"

The holy knight didn't listen to him. Instead, he stepped past you, turning his back to your shaking body. He placed his large, broad frame directly in front of you, completely shielding you from the view of the crowd and the priests. He became an unbreachable wall between you and the rest of the world. No one could see you anymore; they could only see him.

When he looked up at the High Priests, his expression was completely serene. He didn't look angry or vengeful. He looked deeply, beautifully at peace, as if he had just figured out a flawless plan. But his golden eyes were wide, completely dilated, and glowing with an absolute, terrifyingly blinding white light.

The air pressure in the massive cathedral dropped so fast that everyone in the room suddenly gasped for breath, clutching desperately at their throats. The heavy stone pillars began to shake, and a faint, hauntingly beautiful sound of an angelic choir began to echo through the high ceilings. It wasn't a comforting sound; it was heavy, suffocating, and terrifyingly cold.

"You told me that heresy is the act of defying the divine," the holy knight whispered. His voice was soft and gentle, yet it carried flawlessly to every single corner of the silent, terrified room, vibrating in the bones of everyone who heard it. "You told me that anything which threatens the light must be completely purified. But you fools made a terrible mistake."

He slowly turned his body back around to face you. The stoic, unshakeable hero of the empire dropped to his knees right in front of you, his heavy silver armor clattering loudly against the stone altar.

He didn't care that thousands of people were watching him ruin his perfect reputation. He reached out his hands and gently cradled your bruised cheeks. His touch was incredibly soft, but his grip was unyielding. He wouldn't let you turn your face away.

Leaning in closer, his lips brushed against your ear as the choir outside reached a deafening, terrifying crescendo. His golden eyes locked onto yours, wide, unblinking, and swirling with a dizzying, manic light.

"Look only at me," he whispered, his voice dripping with a dark, suffocating possessiveness that made your blood run completely cold. "Don't look at them. Don't listen to their screams. They touched you, so they don't deserve to exist anymore. I am going to erase all of them. I will build a new world where there is no one else left to hurt you. A world where you will never have a reason to look at anyone but me."

He slid his hands down from your face, his fingers glowing with a soft, divine warmth. He gently touched the heavy iron cuffs on your wrists. With a bright, silent flash of heat, the iron simply turned to mist, freeing you completely. He didn't want you in chains. He wanted you to willingly stay by his side because there was simply no one else left in his universe.

"You don't need these filthy things," he murmured, his voice shaking with a manic, obsessive adoration as he took your newly freed hands and pressed them against his cheeks, leaning heavily into your touch. "I will be your shield. I will be your weapon. I will do absolutely anything you ask of me, slay anyone you point your finger at, and burn every kingdom that fails to bow to you. You are my only god now."

He leaned closer, his fingers tightening around your wrists with a desperate, crushing intensity that directly contradicted his sweet tone. The manic smile on his face widened, his dilated golden eyes fixing on yours with a dark, terrifying clarity.

"I want to give you everything," he whispered against your skin, his breath hitching. "I want to let you walk wherever you please in a world I cleared just for you. But if you ever try to walk away from me... if you ever try to leave my side, I will break your legs myself. I will forge new chains out of my own light and bind you to my chest so deeply that we will never be separated again. Please don't force me to do that to you. Just stay with me willingly."

You shivered against his touch, realizing that his warmth was no longer a sanctuary. It was an absolute, blinding force of nature, and the freedom he was offering you was contingent on your total submission to his presence.

"Vanguard! Stop this madness!" the Head Priest screamed, his voice cracking as he began to step backward in absolute terror, his golden staff shaking in his hands. "You are God's chosen weapon! You cannot do this!"

The holy knight stood back up, slowly turning his glowing golden eyes toward the council of priests.

"She is my light," he breathed into your skin, his voice cracking with an intense, desperate reverence that made your blood run cold. "Every single prayer I have uttered for the last three years has been whispered to her name, not your silent, useless gods. If you declare her a heretic, then you have declared the heavens themselves a sin.”

A blinding, immaculate white glare began to bleed from his armor, so incredibly bright that it looked like the sun itself had just forced its way into the room. The intense light began to slowly spread across the marble floor like water, and the moment it touched the edges of the wooden altar and the grand banners of the church, the material simply dissolved into silent, pristine white ash.

He gave the screaming, scrambling priests a gentle, beautiful, saintly smile.

"And as the Vanguard of Light…," he murmured softly, raising his hand into the air as the blinding white glow completely consumed the entire cathedral, erasing every single shadow and turning the world to pure, silent white. "I have no choice but to purge this temple."

tags/tw: mdni + gn!reader + asphyxiation + inappropriate use of vital instrument (tokushin around your neck).

boredom finds you easily. theres only a 15-minute interval until the cracks on the concrete walls of hq start to lack their unique forms and diminish into the ordinary. you suck your teeth.

missions are preoccupied, your friends are busy, and the lights keep buzzing over your head and its starting to drive you insane. fuck, what else is there to do?

call it comedic timing when tamsy pops his head through the crack of your door, his lips already stretched for a smile, “do you care to join me?” he asks. had he always been here or did he just return? your question on his whereabouts remain unanswered as he continues on, “i have a game we can play.” you blink.

you’re in his room immediately after.

tamsy is shitty enough to hide your painkillers when you need them the most, especially during your period. it gives way for his excuse to rub his palms against your lower belly, the softness melding between his fingers. his body heat brings you mild relief. it shows through a sigh. but your adamancy enthralls him, he wouldn’t bother being with you otherwise.

“those pills are better than your scrawny fingers.” your words are trimmed with irritation but you make no effort to move from your spot. said digits trail over your mound, stealthily avoiding the area that’ll turn this into something erotic. he knows you know that blood isn’t his concern, he likes the mess—an artist starts with loose strokes on their canvas before revealing its true beauty.

“i thought you enjoyed it when i did this?” his thumb circles your navel. “besides, those pills are no good for your health.”

“your tenacity is no good for my health,” you look over the valley between your breasts to find wheat embellished in gold. “i can feel the impatience bubbling in me.”

“you might just be bloated.”

you scoff. “get off me,” your body languidly twists to remove him from your frame and you heave an annoyed sigh. “i’ll find them myself.” your gall is molded into entertainment by his hands, you’re too fun to tease to introduce you with a rougher treatment, not as of yet.

he likes it when you get snappy.