#( but i hope this was a delight to read regardless !! )

[chitinleg]

so if someone was theoretically going to write a fic based off of the tags on that one very excellent garashir artwork you did... what would be a suitable villain role and/or scheme for garak to play? i know basically nothing about spy media and even less about james bond. i googled "most homoerotic james bond villain" and that was interesting but not helpful for this scenario... idk i want to really do this justice so i figured i could ask, since you came up with the idea in the first place and i guess that means this is a gift for you? and everyone else who liked that piece? thank you for your time :)

this is SUCH a charming question to receive!!! it's an honor that my art might inspire others to create! that said, here is my advice: i think you should follow your heart, mainly! i say this to everyone about everything but its very true, with writing especially, i think, you might want to write things that are especially interesting to you so that its exciting to keep going with them

personally, i don't watch a lot of spy media, i disliked james bond as a kid and i still dislike him now, so the character archetypes and plots from that wouldn't interest me enough to write a fanfic off of—i could read ds9 fic based off of them easily bc i love the ds9 characters!!! but. i couldn't write like that. therefore, i can't give you useful answers from that canon. i can give you this, but i don't know if it will be helpful: i think i would first start with the question—what about garak excites you? what puts you on the edge of your seat with him? what about julian—what actions do you like to see him take? what decisions of his make you giddy? how do you like to dig into his character? how do you like to dig into garak's? if you write down the answers to your question, it becomes the puzzle of how you can get everything you want out of the fic. the beautiful thing about the holosuite is that anything can happen at all, and while you're telling a spy story, it doesn't have to all be spy tropes. you could, if you wanted, play out a shakespeare play (your favorite shakespeare play, assuming you don't hate them all) as if it were a spy thriller! Sure, what's Twelfth Night as a spy thriller? We already have many characters playing with the fluidity of identity, going by different names, taking on different roles, gaining trust and acting on their own best interests. Just raise the stakes a little. is this insane? i feel insane. is it worth anything? i hope so. my ending point is: i am not so good at writing advice! i'm a much better drawer than a worder, but it's a gift already that you've said my art has motivated your desire to create!!!!!!!!! from there on—don't worry about what i want at all, don't worry about doing my work justice!!! take what excites you about the idea, take what excites you from your own ideas, and build it into something that makes you giddy to work on!!! i believe in you, and you have the world at your fingertips!!!!!!

[nicksolemnlyswears]

STAY WITH US

this oneshot can be read as a standalone.

COMFORT ME, STAY WITH ME

COMFORT ME, STAY WITH ME (PT. 2 HELAENA'S TURN)

pairing: aegon targaryen x targaryen! reader x helaena targaryen

word count: ~2.7k

warnings: spoilers for s2e2 of HoTD, mentions of death of a child, mentions of blood, light cursing

a/n: so i lied, so sorry, my apologies, remember how i said i wanted this part to be smut? well it didn't happen. in the end it didn't seem right because these oneshots originated form a place of care and comfort [not horniness like usual]

that being said i am open to doing a series of small oneshots based on their relationship that are more spicy because regardless it lives rent free on my brain and i'd love to share the pervertedness they'd get up to. also i've never written a threesome and that seems like a good writing exercise.

hope you like this oneshot. it's really sweet and when i was thinking of what else to do with them it simply clicked. my only wish is for it to have the same comfort provoking feeling as the other two. while this little series was written as a way for me to feel better about these characters it makes me happy to know it served the same purpose for a lot of you guys. also this was my first time writing for HoTD and you're all so nice ;) THANK YOU THANK YOU THANK YOU FOR ALL THE LOVE.

enjoy!

Without Jaehaerys by her side, his twin sister Jaehaera must adjust to being alone. Her lifelong playmate is gone, and now she ought to find her place as an only child.

The silver-haired girl restlessly jumps through different activities, searching for the one that will entertain her long enough without company. It is difficult because each time she successfully gets distracted, she turns to catch her brother's attention, only to find he's no longer there.

Queen Helaena watches her as she stitches together a new embroidery piece for a dress. The Queen spent her days with both her children, but now that one of them is gone, she spends nearly every waking moment with her daughter. Observing. Protecting. Alert.

"The three-headed dragon shall rise once more," Helaena mumbles under her breath. The maids ignore her mumblings. The Queen's words don't make sense half the time.

A squeal of delight from her daughter prompts the needle to pierce Helaena's finger and a bead of blood forms at the pad of it. Looking up, she finds you picking up Jaehaera and kissing her chubby cheeks. The girl is enamored by her cousin and the attention you provide.

"Good morrow, 'Laena," you brightly greet her, setting down Jaehaera and sitting by her on the floor. "Have you broken fast yet?"

Helaena places a hand in yours as a greeting and nods kindly, assuring you she's been eating all her meals. At times, her appetite turns into nausea as glimpses of her dead son invade her senses, but she tries fighting through it.

She closes her eyes and thinks of anything else—primarily you. You who distract her and treat her with such care without judgment of her eccentricities. It's odd how she's caught herself multiple times seeking your approval.

As Helaena returns to her stitching, Jaehaera bounces over and falls into your arms. "I wish for my hair to be like yours."

"Allow me, Princess," Jaehaera's nursemaid intervenes. She does not wish to be seen as lazy and incapable of her job to care for the children.

The small Princess holds tightly onto you, hiding her face on your chest as she settles on your lap. "No, I want my cousin to do it. She's a Princess, and I want Princess's hair."

You giggle at her words and gesture to the nursemaid that it's alright. "Come on, sweet girl, sit," you coo, positioning her in front of you.

One of the maids hands you a hairbrush, and you begin your work. As a Princess, your hair is mostly styled by your maids, but every lady should know how to style it appropriately.

"You're such a pretty girl, Jaehaera. Did you know that?" You talk to distract her from squirming too much. She's an impatient little thing, like her father.

Jaehaera giggles sound throughout the room. She hasn't laughed like that since her brother died. It brings a sad smile to Helaena's lips.

"You're prettier," Jaehaera whispers bashfully, her cheeks a healthy hue of pink.

"Oh, I don't know about that. You're much more beautiful. Do you know why?"

Jaehaera shakes her head, causing you to hold tightly onto the intricate plaits you're weaving in her hair. You inadvertently smile at her benightedness.

"Because you look just like your mummy, and she's very beautiful, and she's a Queen," you gasp lightly, creating a tone of excitement in your voice.

Although she's kept her nose down while stitching, Helaena's cheeks burn just as brightly as her daughters. Your words continue to flatter her. You have a way with words that can make even the most ordinary of townsfolk feel special.

With a small, excited gasp, Jaehaera asks, "Will I be Queen one day?"

"There's always a possibility," you hum, pining the remaining plait into her hair. It is hard to explain the complexities of succession and legacy to a child when there is a current war debating that same subject. "All done, go over to the mirror."

"She adores you," Helaena sighs as she watches her daughter fawn over her new hairstyle.

"And I, her. She's the sweetest girl ever."

Helaena turns to look at you and sees the soft smile gracing your lips. Your eyes then catch hers, and your smile broadens. It makes her wonder what her life would be like if you were not around. How would she have dealt with her emotions?

"I must go, but can you come to my bedchambers tonight? There is a matter I must discuss with you," Helaena says timidly, casting aside her embroidery.

"As you wish, my Queen." You can't fault her for preferring to speak in the depth of the night when the castle sleeps, and there are no wandering eyes to pass judgment.

It gives Helaena whiplash when you effortlessly switch from calling her name to calling her 'my Queen.' She rather enjoys both terms, especially when you call her yours.

Helaena bids you farewell with a kiss on the cheek, blissfully unaware of its effect on you. Such displays of affection are not rare in court, but lately, their significance has changed for you, as Helaena has never been one to indulge in court etiquette when it involves physical touch.

When the sun has disappeared over the horizon, and the castle has quieted down, you make your way to the Queen's bed chambers.

You have always been inclined to stay in the shadows, where it's safe. You are a sheep amongst a den of wolves, and if you draw too much attention to yourself, danger will follow.

You have failed so far, considering you enjoy the company of the King and Queen. Grief unexpectedly brought you together and made your bond steadfast, but wherever Aegon and Helaena go, watchful gazes follow, thus making you part of the spectacle as well.

Otto and Alicent Hightower are taking the reins of this unnecessary war, but you feel safe under Aegon's and Helaena's careful watch. You believe they will protect you from any danger coming from within the castle walls, at the very least.

You're doing your mother a great disservice as you strengthen the bond of the King and Queen. The ache of losing a child will forever remain in their hearts, and waves of pain continue to crash, but that thick fog of grief that was cast upon them has slowly started to lift, thanks to you.

Pushing open the door to Helaena's bedchambers, you step into the room. It's well into the night, and the candlelight illuminates the room. You stumble over your steps when you notice Aegon and Helaena standing close together as if they were about to kiss.

"My apologies, your graces. I believed the Queen to be alone," you bow your head, red painting your cheeks. It's a gesture that originates from embarrassment rather than submissiveness.

"Do not apologize. We wished to speak to you," Aegon speaks, beckoning you deeper into the room.

He offers you a goblet of wine, which you accept gracefully to alleviate the dizzying wave of nerves you're feeling. You've never been alone with Aegon and Helaena. People have always been around, and up to a fortnight ago, they barely spoke to one another.

The ruling couple sought your counsel regarding their marriage, recognizing you as an intermediary. You offered your advice to the best of your abilities, considering you have yet to marry.

With time and encouragement, they reached out to each other for comfort. Piece by piece, they were able to speak and share the emotions that troubled them. Nonetheless, they kept you closer than ever.

You're the calm amidst the storm.

You take a drink of the sweet wine to busy yourself. Helaena and Aegon stand side by side, his hand on the small of her back as Helaena plays with her fingers. They're backlit by the fire burning by the fireplace. It casts a warm glow over their figures, making the situation seem much more intimate. You're certainly intruding.

"We wish to thank you for everything you've done for us recently," Helaena breaks the creeping silence. She's just as nervous as you are, if not more.

"Helaena and I have been thinking about how to repay you for your generosity," Aegon continues, staring intently back at you to gauge your reaction to his words. He's afraid of reading you wrong and fucking things up—like he usually does.

You instantly shake your head, "As I said before, there is no need-"

Helaena's following words cause silence to befall as you stare back at them in surprise. A sort of surprise they cannot read. "We wish to wed you," Helaena blurts nervously, her fingers twisting together.

This is not a moment to speak in riddles. Helaena is fully aware of the situation before her and wishes nothing more than for you to stay by their side, no matter the cost.

For once in her life, she hasn't felt lonely in the castle. She has an ally she can trust and confide in.

You've been the subject of Aegon and Helaena's conversations for numerous nights. At first, it was difficult to understand that they both held deep affection towards you while caring for each other. They debated for a long time about what to do about it and they agreed on one thing wholeheartedly—you only deserved the best.

Then, it came to Aegon.

He's named after Aegon' The Conqueror' Targaryen. The King took over the seven kingdoms with his sister wives by his side.

A simple Valyrian tradition would solve their dilemma while strengthening his claim to the throne. It's poetic, a part of history being re-enacted.

"Pardon?" Your voice is barely above a whisper. You stare back at them with wide eyes as they jump from Aegon to Helaena and back to Aegon.

The goblet in your hand lightly shakes along with your hand. You place it on a nearby table, afraid of spilling it. Surely, you misheard.

"Our affection grows greater day by day. More than we ever thought possible," Helaena confesses, desperately reaching for your hand.

Your gaze falls on Aegon to seek his opinion, and he nods in agreement. There is not much to say. You have proved yourself valuable to them in a way that is much too important. You serve to keep them sane and emotionally stable. A feat no one has cared to accomplish before.

You do not use Aegon as a puppet or manipulate him to achieve sinister goals on behalf of his name, much like the rest of the court does. Those people only care for power, even if they break Aegon piece by piece. They destroy him while you take the time to pick up the pieces and put him back together.

"Such drastic actions must not be taken. I merely offered you comfort when you needed it because I care for you both," you stutter, pressing a hand to your forehead. All of a sudden, the room is warm, and a layer of perspiration forms on the back of your neck.

Aegon grunts and approaches you, cupping your face in his palms, "That is precisely why we wish to do this. You have cared for us like no one has before, including ourselves. You planted yourself in our souls, and now we cannot let you go lest we go insane. If you do not feel the same, say it, but do not lie to us."

His tone is firm, yet he cannot disguise the pleading behind it. He's never wanted something as much as he wants you.

"I-" Your palms ghost over the top of his.

It is all too much. The prospect of being wed looms over your head like a threat. Otto Hightower will have no qualms about using your lack of a husband as a war strategy. It should not be his decision in the first place, but it is out of your hands as you're considered a prisoner to him.

You would be a liar if you said you did not reciprocate their feelings. They've been present for a while now, it is why comforting them comes so easily to you. Seeing them hurt only pains you.

With this new opportunity, you will no longer be used. You will not be sold to some old lord in the countryside for the gain of a few hundred men. You would be protected.

Most importantly, you will marry a man and a woman who love you. Yes, they are broken, but with you by their side, they will thrive and rise to the occasion.

Aegon's lilac eyes beg you to accept their proposal. "I feel emotions I thought impossible. They are confusing and overwhelming, but they are real," you admit.

Relief floods over Aegon, and he can't help but release a sigh of relief. He presses his forehead against yours, whispering a silent thank you to the old gods and the new.

"Will you become our wife? Our lifelong companion?" Helaena asks, coming up behind you. You feel her breath on your neck as she leans her head on your shoulder.

One word is enough to respond. One simple word will change your life. For good or bad is to be determined.

"Yes," you breathe, reaching for her hand. The smile on Aegon's lips and Helaena's giggles in your ear make it all worth it.

Aegon needed to do things right so no one could argue against your union. He contacted the Septon himself, and only a day later, after his proposal, the Valyrian ceremony took place.

He clearly instructed his guard and the Septon that they must not tell anyone, or there would be consequences.

The ceremony is quick and private amongst the gardens of the Red Keep. You wear the traditional red and gold robes and headpieces that match Aegon's.

A red dragon decorates the front of your garb, matching Helaena's golden one on her dress. She stands to the side with a faint smile, Jaehaera clinging to her dress.

Aegon carefully cuts your lip with the dragon glass. As blood surges to the surface, he presses his thumb to the cut and later spreads it across your skin. You repeat the same on his lips, staring apologetically back at him, yet the burning pain does not compare to the pain he's felt before. It's almost pleasurable as he takes in the symbolism of the gesture.

Cutting your palms, you let the blood that will bind you together for eternity fall onto the goblet. You lock eyes with Aegon as you take a drink from it, passing it to him a moment later.

He was not raised surrounded by Targaryen customs, but he has a new deep appreciation for them. The ceremony is deeply intimate as they share the blood that will mark them as one.

With a couple of final words, the Septon concludes the ceremony and with the knowledge that you are entirely theirs, Aegon crashes his lips against yours.

Aegon stayed firm in his words. He did not wish to sully your name, so he waited until the moment was right. The reward is much too sweet.

It is the first time you've shared a kiss with Aegon, and it is unlike anything you've felt before. In the past, you've snuck kisses in dark corners of the Red Keep, but none have ever kissed you with the intensity Aegon has to offer.

Helaena approaches your tangled embrace, and as you resurface for a breath, she presses her much more delicate lips on yours. The kiss is so different yet the same simultaneously. The intent behind it is identical while the pace is slower and sultrier.

Yours and Aegon’s blood coats her lips and it’s as if she also partook on the ceremony. Your heart beats intensely inside your chest but you’re happy.

Finally, you three are bonded, destined to stay together for eternity.

Jaehaerys will forever be missed. His life has become a mystery; Aegon and Helaena will never see it fulfilled. But in this tragedy, the gods were kind to Aegon and Helaena and provided a new person to love, cherish, and join their family.

were you expecting a good old throuple situation? eh, eh (pretend i'm wiggling my eyebrows and nudging your side with my elbow). im just saying she's perfect for their little dysfunctional family and the drama it will create with the Hightowers and Targaryens? immaculate.

if you enjoyed this oneshot please don’t forget to like or comment (i accept keyboard smashes, emojis, words of encouragement, praise, virtual hugs and gushing about hel and aegon) and if you want more of it feel free to let me know!

[peppermintquartz]

Canon divergence in that Buck does call Tommy the next time he's free, asking to go up in a chopper (instead of the harebrained scheme of going to the BBPU game)

+-

"And that's my favorite view," says Tommy, angling the helicopter to face the Pacific. It's late in the morning so sunlight glitters on the water like diamonds scattered on blue silk.

Buck shields his eyes with his hands. "It's beautiful!" he exclaims, almost giddy with delight at the panorama.

"It is. And at night, I like to look the other way, at the city spread out before me." Tommy's aviator sunglasses hide his eyes but his big smile is on full display.

Buck can't help the shiver in his belly every time he looks at Tommy. It's clear the air is his element. Already Buck knows that Tommy is very competent - they wouldn't have pulled off the rescue otherwise - but here, without anything to distract them, Buck sees how the chopper is an extension of Tommy himself. A deft touch, a slight adjustment, and the vehicle moves smoothly for Tommy to point out different landmarks from the sky.

By the time they land, Buck's spirits are still soaring. He's spent forty minutes flying with Tommy, who not only talked about the mechanics of flying, but also answered almost all of Buck's questions without ever sounding bored. In fact, he seems happy that Buck has done some research before he came for the ride.

"Okay, now I really need to buy you that beer, and also a meal." Buck wants to bounce on his heels. He feels lighter than air, like he's just a balloon full of happy emotions.

Tommy grins, shrugging as he tucks his aviators into a pocket. "I'm free for the rest of the day," he says. Ducking his head, he adds, "Didn't feel too good leaving you alone the other day to go watch the fight, but I didn't think we'd take two hours to tour Harbor Station either."

Buck's cheeks flush. He remembers being irrationally angry when Eddie and Tommy flew off, and he did go home to pummel his pillow a little before sulking. But he's done the mature thing, which is ask Tommy for a flight demo, instead of something insane like figure out what other activities he would be doing or events he would attend and try to show up there like a toy surprise.

"Well, that was because I wanted to find out so much, and it's really your fault, because you answered everything in detail." Buck falls in step with the older man as they head to Tommy's car. "You have to be accountable for your mistakes."

Tommy laughs. Buck feels tingly and proud that he's made that happen. Daringly, he nudges Tommy's elbow with his.

"So, what would you like for lunch?" Buck asks. "My treat, as thanks for the flight."

"Sure," says Tommy with an easy smile. As they approach the car, Tommy halts.

Buck stops as well, a little concerned. "Everything okay?"

Tilting his head, Tommy studies Buck, and then his expression grows a little more nervous and serious. "I... I don't wanna presume anything, and I want you to know that, regardless of anything I'm about to say, I wanna be your friend."

Buck blinks at the older man. "Okay, um. What's this about?"

"Evan, before we go to lunch, I kinda wanna know what's going on here? I mean..." Tommy licks his lips, and Buck's gaze snaps to Tommy's mouth. "You're adorable and you're funny and, well. You're a gorgeous guy. I'm not... I'm not really sure why you wanna spend time with me. And I don't wanna get my hopes up if this is just me reading the signs wrongly."

"Uh, signs?"

Tommy's face falls. He glances away, wiping his hand over his mouth, and licks his lips again. "Shit. I've read you wrong."

Buck reaches out to touch Tommy's wrist. "Tommy, I'm not sure what you're saying."

Tommy looks back at Buck, blue eyes taking in the younger man's expression, and sighs. He flips his hand over to hold the tips of Buck's fingers.

"Hell. Might as well lay my cards out," he mutters, mostly to himself, and then looks - really looks - at Buck. "Evan, I'm gay. And these couple times we've met up, I really, really like how we click. I like your energy, and how earnest and open you are. And it doesn't hurt that you are one of the most attractive men I've ever met, and I really like spending time with you, and I'm hoping... I'm hoping I can ask you out for a date and maybe we can... find out if we could. If we could be more than friends."

There's an anxious cast to his features. Buck can see Tommy's jaw clench and the nervous swallow, and a part of Buck's mind is screaming static. Another part of him is frantically stammering, "I'm just an ally!!" But thankfully that part of him has no control of his mouth, because he instead steps closer to Tommy and-

Oh. Oh.

So that's how it feels to kiss a guy.

He pulls back slightly, but is stopped by the touch of fingers under his chin, and Tommy draws him back for a second kiss, his head angled, and-

Wow. Wow, okay. They're near the airfield in the parking lot and the breeze is cool and the sun is shining nice and warm and they are kissing, Buck is kissing Tommy and this feels right.

When they finally separate, possibly two centuries later, Buck blinks at Tommy. His face feels hot and his skin is tingling. With a small, happy grin, he says, "I would say yes to the date, if that helps."

Tommy chuckles. He licks his lips again and Buck forces himself to look away from those lips. "Okay. I'd like to ask you out on a date on Saturday night, if you're free."

"I... I'm free." Buck's grin grows brighter. He tilts his head. "Lunch, now?"

[kquil]

Hi lovely hole your well!

Can we get a hufflepuff reader x sirius

Your partnered with him for charms class that's all I've got

HER SMILE | PART 2

LENGTH : 1.4k

TAGS. : sirius being a simp ; cutie pie reader ; oblivious reader ; ravenclaw reader (im sorry for the switch!) ; fluff ; jealous sirius

A/N : hello darling! i'm finally doing well enough and not overthinking enough to tackle my requests, I'm sorry it had to take this long omg! your request is the perfect prompt to a continuation of one of my timestamps though, i hope you don't mind that i had to switch reader to a ravenclaw and enjoy the read regardless <3

PART 1 | NAVI.

Both you and Sirius made for an odd pair; people wouldn’t typically couple you together. An extrovert Gryffindor and a cold Ravenclaw. However, as of recently, many have seen you with Sirius quite often, most notably in classes and especially in partner projects. And it was all Sirius’ doing. 

Your classmates typically hesitated to partner with you, let alone sit by you for classes. They found you boring and rather unnerving to be around. You didn’t appear to enjoy being around people and took work far too seriously, so you’ve grown a bad reputation. It didn’t bother you, though; you understood that you weren’t like other people; your bashfulness manifested into a stone-cold exterior and added to the seriousness underpinning your endeavour for top academic performance. People tend to avoid you but it’s for the best, you like to tell yourself. 

After the transfiguration project with Sirius, however, whereby he was forced to partner with you, he’s kept volunteering to partner with you over and over again. Whether it be partner or group projects, he’s the first in line to be your assigned partner. He finds that the best way of doing this is sitting next to you in Ravenclaw and Gryffindor shared lessons, regardless of whether or not it leaves James, Remus or Peter without a partner. It wasn’t typical of him or anyone to be so eager around you but nobody commented on it. As it happens, many eagerly sat back to watch what would unfold.   

In the extra time Sirius has willingly spent with you in lessons, he’s confessed to the reasoning behind his odd behaviour. “I want to know more about you,” 

That was the first time he or anyone else had seen you so flustered and adorably shy. People couldn’t believe their eyes. However, owing to Sirius’ playboy reputation, it was no surprise that he was the one to draw such a reaction out of you. This was also the first time Sirius had seen a favourable increase in his class grades. Your work ethic and drive for high grades have positively influenced his performance in classes. When Remus pointed this out to him, supportive of his new friendship with you, Sirius was surprised but didn’t linger on the fact too long. He didn’t really care; he was too busy figuring out how to make you smile again and engraving the beautiful image into his brain. 

“He’s just as bad as you are James,” Peter commented, noticing the familiar lovesick look on Sirius as he’s seen with one, James Potter. You and the eldest Black brother were sitting at a distant table in the library, thoroughly going over the material before committing to your project for Charms. 

“What was that?” James comes out of his daze staring at a certain redhead. Peter and Remus share an amused look before shrugging off James’ question. Naturally, James returned to admiring an oblivious Lily Evans as Remus resumed his reading and Peter doodled on the edges of his semi-finished divination essay. 

“At least Sirius is finally focusing on one girl,” Remus comments under his breath. 

“Yeah, it was tiring,” Peter sighs in agreement and leans back with a relieved look on his face. 

“Oh! How interesting,” you comment, leaning into Sirius’ side so as to look over his book, “I didn’t know that…” As you take a moment to read over the passage, Sirius carefully observes the way your pretty features go from enraptured to delighted. Your smile is so pretty… “We have to include that in our joint essay; I’ll note it down, quickly. Good job, Sirius,” your smile is even prettier when it’s turned to him and you praise him openly like that. 

“Do I get a reward?” he asks before he can stop to think about what it is that he’s said. 

“A reward?” you tilt your head in the most adorable fashion, “Our reward will be getting the highest mark in the class,” typically, girls would jump at the opportunity to flirt back and sneak in a kiss or two but your impervious, genuine nature gives Sirius pause. Though, he’s soon throwing his head back and laughing boisterously. The panic on your face, however, reminds him of the library setting and immediately stifles his amusement.  

“You’re odd…” you comment on his strange behaviour and return to your work. But Sirius is unphased and holds his chin up with his palm to shamelessly stare at your side profile. He’s tempted to reach up and tuck a stray strand of hair behind your ear, “Get back to work, Sirius.”

“Yes ma’am.”

You won’t admit it out loud but you quite enjoy Sirius’ company. It isn’t so lonely having him around and he helps you get good grades. He’s also very funny and nice to look at. Though, you suppose that was the main downside. He can prove to be quite the distraction if he wants to be. Nevertheless, you’re happy he has the confidence to sit next to you and willingly volunteer to be your partner for all collaboration projects. Everyone in Hogwarts has admitted to having a favourite marauder and you’re not afraid to admit that he’s your favourite; he’s the easiest to smile around. 

⋅˚₊‧ ଳ ‧₊˚ ⋅

Sirius was a lover of pushing boundaries. Seeing how far he can push before high-tailing it when the first signs of danger appear was his favourite activity. That was why he was a marauder, that’s why he loved pranks, that’s why he’s been able to see you get flustered over and over again. 

Over every good thing he’s done to contribute to your projects together, no matter how small, he pleads for a reward. After some months, he’s been able to escalate the ‘reward’ from praise to a congratulatory head pat (his animagus influence), to a hug, to cuddling for extended periods to sitting on his lap and kissing him on the cheek. You become lovably ruffled every time and Sirius savours each reaction as if he’s seeing it for the first time. He always stares at you and smiles brightly when you look away. 

He wants to see more of your reactions. He wants to see you do it every day. And he likes knowing that it’s because of him. 

⋅˚₊‧ ଳ ‧₊˚ ⋅

In the year that passes, Sirius hasn’t failed to be your partner for every project you have in shared classes with Gryffindor. It was only natural that he be your partner for the final term project in D.A.D.A too. As soon as the partner project is announced, you immediately look up and meet eyes with the dark-haired Gryffindor, who had been pressured into sitting with his iconic group of friends. The two of you share a knowing smile. Everyone knows that you’re each other’s partner, nobody would dare interfere with that. 

When the teacher finally allows the class to partner up, however, you’re confronted by a boy you do not know. He looks at you expectantly and asks if you would consider being his partner for the project. You didn’t know what to say. It was utterly lost on you that the more Sirius pulled you from your cold timidity, the more you’ve willingly smiled and showed your sincerity. In turn, the more observant your other classmates have become. 

It became clear to them that you weren’t as cold as you first appear but, because of their ignorance, they overlooked that simply by the unfriendly look you routinely wore. This discovery has led to many of your male classmates growing a new appreciation for you and your unrecognised beauty; they didn’t know someone so cold could be so warm and look so beautiful. It irritated Sirius but he had been able to tolerate it. 

Up until this moment, that is…

“So… will you?” the boy prompts one more time. You don’t know what to say, your innate timidity taking away your voice and rendering your response to a mere shake of your head. ‘No’, the answer was clear. You immediately turn away from the boy and hurry to Sirius, who had observed the boy's audacity with clenched fists and a tight jaw. 

As soon as you are close enough, Sirius pulls you into his arms and tucks your face into the crook of his neck, “you’re mine,” he whispers.

“Wh-what?” You couldn’t believe your ears. 

“I mean– you’re my partner, no one else’s,” smiling up at him, you nod affirmatively and he smiles, tucking a stray strand of hair behind your ear. His gentle touch lingers and travels down to trace the line of your jaw. 

“...Do I get a reward for not punching that tosser in the nose?”

“Not punching what?” he laughs at your wide-eyed stare of disbelief.

“For being a Ravenclaw, you’re not very smart,” 

NAVI.

A/N : again, i'm so sorry for the switch but i hope you still enjoyed reading this x

TAGLIST : @marauderssmut @ohmylordydordy @n1ght-vngel @ddeathday (the darlings that wanted a part 2 and had to wait the longest time -- it's a short list so it's an exception to my no taglists rule)

[mothwingwritings]

Can we have Ren/Fox (TPOF) and Mc with a child?Long after Fox decided to stay with MC, they both had a daughter (probably not something with consent and a bit of Stockholm syndrome).The daughter asks her mother how she got the scars and this makes MC have memories of post-traumatic stress.

I was so tickled by this ask that I started manically typing out a response for it nearly as soon as I saw it in my ask box (which at this point, was quite some time ago. Forgive me, I am a mess lul). I wrote the whole damn thing in a fit of passion, excited to release it into the world… But ultimately hated it and thought it was garbo, so I scrapped it and tried again. Wrote a second iteration and thought ‘hell yeah, this is it!!! Sick!’, but then I read it AND HATED THAT ONE TOO AAAHHH!!!

I rewrote this… so much…

But I never give up on my dreams, and you shouldn’t either! Persevere! Don’t give up on yourself! Here’s your daily motivation for the day! Keep writing even it makes you cry!!! :D

Anyway, so I wrote this third one, comprised of new stuff and the stuff I actually did like from the first two stabs, and it ended up being the one. Truly it is a Frankenstein of a fic lol. Regardless of all the reworking, I had a lot of fun writing this and enjoyed the prompt very much!!! I I hope you enjoy reading it just as much. :)

I’m sorry if the writing seems a tad too mature for the reader’s daughter in this, writing children isn’t my forte. ^^;

Due to the nature of this fic, IT IS 18+ ONLY!!! Thank you!

WARNINGS: Incessant mentions of abuse of all kinds for reader and mentions of physical abuse for her child!!! Reader is heavily scarred from said abuse and that’s a main theme in this fic so please avoid if that is upsetting to you. Also, though not the main focus, there are multiple mentions of child abuse in this fic, as well a part where reader goes off verbally on her child, so please be mindful of that as well! Other things of note: reader is a parent in this (which you can probably tell by the prev warning lol), reader getting hurt, blood, manipulation, Stockholm syndrome, being held against your will/isolation, mentions of noncon, sad family stuff :(

Diminishing rays of afternoon light splayed through the open window of your quaint living room, casting a comforting orange glow over everything they touched. The light gave the environment an ethereal and nostalgic feel, wrapping you in peaceful warmth as the sun sunk lower and lower. The loveseat you occupied was plush and inviting, and a mug of your favorite tea stood at the ready on the small coffee table beside you, steadily cooling with help from the last hurrah of winter blowing in gently from the outside. Besides the slight chill, the wind brought with it the heavy scent of freshly bloomed flowers, a delightful precursor to the oncoming spring.

Relishing the rare moment of serenity, you couldn’t help but wish that all your days could be this lovely.

You smiled down at your daughter who sat perched in your lap, happily flipping through the newest gift she had acquired from her Father- a thick picture book full of bright illustrations highlighting various exotic animals. As it lay sprawled across her tiny lap, her chubby finger pointed out each animal she took an interest in, her high pitched voice chirping away as she explained what she liked about the creatures. She got particularly excited when she spotted the page full of foxes, jabbing at the red one feverishly as she exclaimed “its daddy!”

Spotting the foxes began her down a path of assigning an animal to not just herself, but you as well. She didn’t find it fair that only her father had kin in the animal world, even though you pointed out that she technically did as well by sharing half the man’s blood. Your revelation did little to deter her, she wanted something new, something just for herself, and she wasn’t going to stop until she found her perfect soul animal. So she continued on, scanning each page in earnest until she found a creature that suited her.

She ended up picking a bunny for herself, supplying you with a comprehensive reason as to why she chose it. As she explained in great length, skimping no details, you couldn’t help but hold back laughter. She spoke as if she were a professor teaching a class, and you did your best to keep a straight face as she yammered on with her shoddy reasoning, deep down knowing she only picked a rabbit because of how cute they are.

After she was done waxing poetic about bunnies, she continued scouring the book, coming to a halt once she reached the wild cat section. She stopped with a gasp, beaming up at you as she pressed her finger firmly against one of the images on the page.

“Mommy this one is you!”

Your eyes traveled to the picture she was rapidly tapping, “An African Wildcat, huh?” You smirked down at the little girl in amusement, “Why did you pick that one for me?”

“Because it looks just like you!”

You chuckled at her enthusiasm, “It looks like me? How so?”

“It has marks just like you do!”

Her innocuous words sent a chill up your spine. Eying the stripes that crossed the cat’s legs, you felt a great unease begin to overtake your body. Her reasoning was not lost on you, the cats coat did quite resemble the jagged scars that covered nearly every inch of your body, and just like the feline in her book, your limbs were the most prominent location of said ‘markings’. You quickly shook your head, not wanting to dwell on it further. In hopes of moving on from the subject, the outpouring of words that flew from your mouth were jumbled and messy.

“O-oh, I see,” you stuttered, clearing your throat to steady your voice, “well you certainly picked a cute animal for me! Thank you baby, it was a good choice.”

She smiled at you innocently, a gesture that usually made your heart melt with affection. But as her tiny hands moved from the book to your arms, that smile did nothing but fill you with dread, the realization that you wouldn’t be getting out of this sticky situation hitting you like a brick to the face. 

“Yeah mommy, the kitty’s marks are just like these ones,” her stubby fingers gently traced the old wounds, a look of reverence reflected on her cherubic features. “They make you look like that kitty mommy,” her little voice cooed, “I like them a lot!”

Your muscles constricted at her words, a slight tremor coursing through you as you involuntarily tightened your grip on her. She took note of this, looking up at your strained features with a puzzled expression on her face.

“Don’t be sad mommy,” she spoke assuredly, “I really do like them! I think they are pretty!”

Her words burned you, scorching the inside of your frozen shell of a body, leaving you feeling sickly and discombobulated. The room around you started to spin in a hazy blur, a wave of nausea making you nearly wretch. Your breathing grew erratic as you tried to calm yourself, inwardly repeating that your daughter was just a child, a little girl barely four years of age who had an incredibly limited view of the world. Her words were not meant to upset you. Her opinions were coming from a place of total naivety.

Yet still, the mental assurance did little to help with the extremely uncomfortable position you now founds yourself in. It wasn’t as if this was her first time noticing your scars. She had mentioned them before, her curious mind trying to piece together the reason that her arms appeared different from your own. Each time she brought your old wounds up you couldn’t help but feel flustered, responding with weak explanations and misdirection to try and quickly brush off her questioning.

The marks came from a silly mistake, or a childhood accident, or from a careless moment when mommy should have been paying more attention. It was always excuses on repeat. How many lies had you told her on this topic alone?

But even if they were lies, it beat telling her the truth. You didn’t want to have to explain where the scars on your body actually came from to anyone, let alone a child, and especially not to your own daughter. How could you possibly word it gently, or in a way that she would understand, when you barely understood why you had them yourself? How could you look her in the eye and tell her that these markings were a permanent sign that you had been very, very hurt and that it was her own fathers hands that inflicted the pain?

Reliving the horrific moments that left your body in such a state was overwhelming enough on its own, but to also have to lay bare her father’s sins, relay to her the unsavory proclivities of a man who she idolized and adored, was not something you were keen on doing.

She didn’t know her daddy like you knew him. She was ignorant to the constant state of concern you lived in, unaware of the worries that plagued your mind and kept you up each night. All the troubles of the hell she had been born into were completely lost on the small, carefree girl.

But honestly that was for the best. You had made an unspoken promise the moment she entered your life that you would protect her no matter what. From the day of her birth onward it became your mission to keep her as happy and healthy as possible.

Ren had broken you, but she did not have to suffer the same fate.

At this point in her life, your daughter knew nothing of her daddy’s profession or ‘hobbies’, and you wanted it to remain that way for as long as possible, if not for the rest of her life. You dreaded each time Ren came home from an auction, terrified he may let casually slip too many details about his ‘lively client’ or that he would carelessly step through the door with the stains of his liaisons still littering his clothes. Your daughter was at an age where she was brimming with questions, and she was relentless in getting answers to each question she asked. Everything had to be explained in complete detail for her to be satisfied, drop the subject, and move on. She was a smart little thing, possibly too smart for her own good. You highly doubted a silly joke or wave of the hand would assuage her whirring mind should Ren grow too impetuous in her presence.

And should her questioning become too pesky, you fretted over what Ren’s reaction to it may be. The more you tried to avoid thinking about it the more you seemed to fixate on the topic, pondering just how much goading it would take from your daughter before his temper would rear its ugly head.  You, above anyone, had firsthand experience in just how volatile the man could be, the scars that littered your body a testament to his turbulent emotions and violent outbursts.

Looking back on it now, it’s a wonder you survived any of it at all.

Ren often told you he loved you, each confession spoken through honeyed words that spilled from his lips easily and often.  And while you didn’t doubt those words (you knew better than to, at this point), you also knew his sweet nothings weren’t merely a term of endearment, they also served as your curse. He loved you, but he also loved your fealty to him, your adoration and worship of him and only him. Should you not reciprocate his feelings as quickly or ardently as he expected, the mere thought of whatever punishment he would concoct was enough to send you into a debilitating panic attack.

There were few things he loathed more than when you flinched from his affection or if you exhibited any sign of distress towards his presence, especially after he had spent so many years going above and beyond to provide for you, devote himself to you. You had learned early on to keel any feelings of aversion you had to his advances, several of your more prominent scars a brutal reminder of that misstep alone.

 If your daughter uncovered the truth and saw her father for who he truly was, if she began to fear him the way you feared him, how would he respond?  If not only his partner, but his own daughter started shying away from him, what length would he go to to correct this behavior?

Dwelling on it made your skin crawl.

But perhaps all of your worries were asinine. Despite his inclination for cruelty, Ren had never so much as raised a hand towards your daughter, even when she did act up. If anything, he was overprotective of her, barely letting her move faster than a brisk jog lest she fall and hurt herself. He hated seeing his little girl experience even a modicum of physical pain, mentioning to you previously that were he able, he’d keep her locked up in a padded room all day and night to prevent any foreseeable accidents or injuries. Surely it was just his idea of a joke, but the insinuation still made you cringe.

It was almost comical, just how greatly the manifestation of his affection for her differed from how he showed his love for you.

His domineering nature shielded her from experiencing any true pain. Every scrape, bruise, and cut she ever received was superficial, nothing that caused major bleeding or left a lasting impression. She had no way of knowing what had been done to you to cause the scars that marred your form, the torment and hell you experienced with each slash, smack, burn. Hell, she probably didn’t even really understand what a scar actually was. All she knew was that her mommy and daddy had strange marks on their skin that didn’t follow any kind of set pattern, weird jagged lines and indents that her soft skin was curiously free from. The mystery of it all was as puzzling to her young mind as it was enticing.

However, some mysteries were best left unsolved, and just as with each other time she brought up this hot topic, you found yourself unable to look into her clear, bright eyes and tell her any semblance of the truth. She may have been forced upon you, but she was your daughter. You loved her, and you refused to be the one to shatter her innocence. You would keep her ignorant for as long as possible, shielding her to the endless nightmare of your daily lives, even if it cost you your sanity.

“Mommy,” her voice jarred you, dragging you from your thoughts, “mommy did you hear me? I said I think they are pretty!”

“T-that’s… I…” You stuttered, struggling to find the right words to say, your voice coming out much smaller than you intended it to. The room felt like it had dropped thirty degrees, your body twitching in response to the sudden chill.

“Daddy told me he gave some of them to you, like this one,” her pudgy, cold finger pressed into the faded heart that resided on your chest, the first of many indelible sins he had etched onto your form. Only the top half of the carved symbol was viewable above the collar of your shirt, so she tugged at the loose hem until she could see it in its horrible entirety.

“Daddy said he gave you this one because he loves you so much,” her voice grew quiet, a thoughtful look in her eye as they drank in wounds you wished you could forget, “Daddy loves me too, right mommy? You think he’ll give me a cute heart someday too?”

You felt as if you had been hit by a train.

“S-top,” the words were forced from your throat, airy and breathless, as if someone was wringing your neck to make them come out, “p-please, just stop talking.”

“What did you say mama,” your daughters sing-song voice responded as her fingers continued to trace and prod your scars, “You are whispering, is it a secret?”

“I told you to SHUT UP!”

As if following your command, your booming voice instantly silenced the small girl. Unused to such a violent outburst from her mother, her happy-go-lucky nature quickly shifted to one of alert, her tiny body going rigid as she stared up at you with fearful eyes.

Seeing her in such a state and knowing that you were the cause of it would normally have killed you inside, making you fall to your knees to beg for the child’s forgiveness. But right now, the thin thread that had been holding you together had snapped, and your words rushed out in a torrent you couldn’t begin to quell.

“Shut up, shut up, shut UP!” You seethed, clasping your hands to your ears to try and block out your own intrusive voice, “Just STOP TALKING about it! What are you even saying? Why would you ever want to look like this?!”

Tears started to flood your eyes, blurring the image of the girl who had quickly jumped from your lap and was now cowering before you. Through your bleary vision, you could see tears were brimming her eyes as well.

“You… You have no idea,” your voice warbled, shaking in equal parts grief and frustration, “You have no clue what you are saying, so just STOP IT. KEEP YOUR MOUTH SHUT AND DON’T YOU DARE SPEAK OF IT AGAIN!”

You slunk from the chair down to the floor, burying your face in your cold, stiff hands. The soft blubbering of your daughter could be heard through your own sobbing.

“I-I’m sorry mommy. I didn’t mean to make you cry.”

Hearing her broken voice began to shatter the spell you had been under, instant regret jerking you roughly back to reality. Your head sunk lower, your body scrunching itself up as tightly as possible to hide from this cruel reality.

Your screams were born from deeply buried feelings of hatred, tucked far, far away as a means of self-preservation. For a moment, you felt as if you despised your daughter, her existence tethering you to this wretched excuse of a life, binding you irrevocably to Ren. But as you lifted your heavy head, glancing up to stare into her young face, a face so very similar to your own, a face contorted in panic and sadness over her mother’s abrupt descent into madness… you realized it wasn’t her that you hated.

It was yourself.

Your daughter didn’t deserve this. She deserved normalcy. She deserved a father that didn’t pose a threat to her. She deserved a mother that wasn’t ruined by his hands. She deserved a happy and untroubled life, not to be stuck being raised in a barbed cage, navigating her way through life with nothing but the shattered remains of a battered woman to guide her.

“I’m so sorry,” you choked under the weight of your overwhelming emotions, snot and tears running freely down your ruddy cheeks and chin, “I’m so, so sorry baby…”

“What the hell is going on?”

You hadn’t heard the front door open, nor had you heard Ren’s jubilant greeting as he entered your home. He had no doubt been upset by the lack of welcome-it was one thing to be ignored by a child, but his doting wife? That was not something he was not apt to look past.

But surely any feelings of annoyance or frustration fled from his mind the moment he entered the room, his eyes falling upon your crumpled, messy form collapsed on the floor. You cursed his arrival, upset that he entered the scene at such a compromising time, right as you were struggling to regain an ounce of composure and properly apologize to the little girl who had done nothing wrong.

“D-daddy,” your daughter’s voice warbled as she barreled towards him, colliding into his waiting embrace. You wiped at your face in a desperate attempt to hide your previous outpouring of emotions, doing your best to avoid eye contact with Ren as his sharp gaze quickly flicked from you, to his daughter.

This had already become enough of a scene without Ren’s interference, it was best to try and begin damage control now. 

“Daddy I-I made mommy cry!” Tears continued to pour from your daughter’s eyes, her face twisting into a look of pure dismay. Her misguided admission of guilt made you recoil, knowing full well it would grant her no favors with the person she seeking comfort from. “I’m really sorry daddy! I didn’t mean to!”

After several endless seconds of silence, Ren spoke.

“… You made her cry?”

His voice was far sharper than it needed to be, further agitating the precarious state of affairs. In most cases he would have offered your daughter leniency, letting her get away with far more than she probably should. However that leniency was null and void if you ended up suffering in the process.  Ren could not forgive anyone that caused you any duress (himself, of course, being the exemption) even if that person was his own flesh and blood.

“What do you mean you made her cry? What the hell did you do to her?”

“I-I don’t know,” she wailed, a fresh wave of tears spurred on by the accusatory tone of her father’s voice, “I just told mommy I thought her marks were pretty and then she started crying! I wasn’t lying daddy, I like them! I think they make mommy look really pretty!”

“Her marks…?” Ren’s look of vexation began to dissipate as the meaning of her words donned on him. He lifted his arm, rolling up his sleeve to reveal his own scars to the little girl. Pointing a clawed finger to them, he leaned down until he was looking her in the eye, “You mean like these?”

As she nodded her head vigorously in confirmation, Ren tutted, “That’s the reason for all the water works? An innocent compliment started all this fussing?” He scoffed, shaking his head, “Isn’t that a little bit… silly?

You tensed at the sound of his barking laugh, your frown deepening as an amused grin spread wider across his lips. You wished that you could say it was shocking for him to have such disregard after finding the two of you in such an agitated state, but it was painfully in character of him to shrug off your misery and suffering as inconsequential.  How he could so nonchalantly normalize this hellish situation he kept you and your child ensnared in, you would never understand.

Your daughter was apparently sharing similar thoughts, as her face began to once more morph into a pre-sobbing scowl. She was no doubt wounded that her father was not offering her the comfort she was seeking, her emotional state already greatly weakened by her mother’s venomous tantrum.

To help quell another round of tears, Ren pulled the child closer, wrapping her up in his arms so that her tiny form was nearly enveloped by him.  “Shhh, no more tears angel,” he cooed sweetly, patting her head gently to appease her, “There isn’t any reason to cry, especially because… Well, you’re right! Mommy’s whole body is pretty, isn’t it? Her marks just compliment the beauty that’s already there.”

Slowly but surely, her tears began to dissipate. Hunched over shoulders loosened, and sniffles and hiccups gave way to even breathing. Like clockwork, her father’s gentle handling soothed her, the same touch that destroyed you offering her salvation.

As if under a spell, the turmoil that had overcome your daughter quickly began to vanish, her sobbing fading into quiet sniffles. Once she was fully calmed, Ren continued speaking, “That’s all you meant to say to mommy, right angel? I’m sorry she took it the wrong way, she’s probably just tired or hungry, you know how mommy gets. She’ll get over it in no time flat!”

Heat spread through your body at his flippant dismissal of your feelings, an indignant blush lighting your cheeks as you gripped your hands tightly at your side. Your previous emotional episode left you all but drained, but your will to fight back against his callous commentary could never truly be contained.

“In fact, I bet she is already over it now,” Ren’s voice took on a jovial tone as he directed his focus solely on you, “Aren’t you, pumpkin?”

With the ball suddenly in your court, you flinched as both sets of expectant eyes fell on you. Your own eyes darted from Ren’s piercing glare, down to your daughter’s wide-eyed look of unbridled hope. You felt much like the rabbit that had been caught by the fox, stuck in a lose-lose situation. Seeing him hunched over her small body as she clutched to him as a life line, openly concerned that her mother may once more reject her while her father remained a bastion of strength and understanding, left you reeling. Either you would get heated again and stay the villain, but possibly hold on to an ounce of your dignity, or concede to Ren and have yet another piece of your soul wither away and die-the price to pay so that your daughter could remain in blissful ignorance for another day.

“Aren’t you, pumpkin?” He repeated himself slowly, enunciating each word. The kindness in his voice serving only as a mask for the threat buried beneath.

“Y-yes,” you responded quickly, shooting them both a smile you hoped was convincing, “I am very sorry, baby. Daddy is right. Mommy is just… tired.”

A serene smile lit her face, your words placating her. Seeing her happy once more helped relieve a bit of the ache in your own heart, making the lie worth it.

“Good, good,” Ren affirmed with a nod, carefully detaching himself from your daughter as he stood, “but you know little one, mommy deserves some love too, don’t you think? She may have been in the wrong, but it’s not nice to make her cry like that. Why don’t you go give her a hug, hm?”

With no further persuading necessary, she quickly padded over to you, hopping on your lap with so much enthusiasm that it nearly knocked the wind from you. Her arms tightly latched around your torso as she smushed her face into your chest, rubbing it back and forth like she was trying to burrow beneath your skin.

“I love you mommy,” her voice spoke clearly, any hint of previous sadness long gone. You sighed, relieved that this dramatic chapter was over as you pulled your daughter closer to you.

“I love you too.”

During this show of affection, Ren had made his way behind you, slinking so deftly you hadn’t even known he had moved until you heard him chuckle softly behind you.

“This is what I like to see,” he spoke with a sickeningly dreamy sigh, “nothing makes me happier than when my two girls are happy.”

He placed his hands gingerly atop your shoulders, trailing them down until they rested on your arms. His thumbs pressed gently against the marred skin, rubbing in a small circular motion in an attempt to subdue you. His claws grazed your flesh, uncomfortably scratching against you as they snagged against your skin.

He planted a firm and lingering kiss to the side of your head, pulling away just enough that his lips grazed the shell of your ear. “There really was nothing to cry about,” he whispered breathily, his words quiet enough that despite your daughters’ proximity, she would have no chance of hearing them. “It’s almost unfair how gorgeous you are, scars and all. But you must know that, right my sweet pet? I tell you all the time.”

Ren took in a deep breath, releasing it in a shaky sigh, “Seeing these scars reminds me of all we have been through, all that we share. They are a symbol of our bond.”

One of his claws pressed down sharply, a small bead of blood pooling around the piercing. Leisurely he began to drag his finger up your arm, a thin red line following in its wake. You shivered at the burning sensation, but deigned to give him any reaction further than that.

“Don’t forget pumpkin, these pretty marks are a reminder of my constant love for you.” He chuckled softly, peppering a few kisses to the back of your neck while his claws slowly sunk deeper, “And right now I am feeling  terribly sentimental, so for old times’ sake, why don’t I add a few more to remind you just how precious to me you are~?”

[babydaddyleorio]

hiii i hope you’re having a good day!! i was wondering if you could write how reader meets ging and silva (maybe kite if you’re up to it?) and what their first impressions on reader is and all that! you write hxh so so well and there aren’t nearly enough writers for silva and ging!! thank you so much and have a good day/night!!

❤︎

—

Ging

You met him strictly by chance.

The most likely way you came in contact with Ging is when he finally decided to let loose and make his annual appearance to the world — so basically when he was drinking.

While sitting at a bar, he glances over to notice your silence and casually starts a conversation with you. A stale one-liner such as “You come here often?” or “That drink looks awful, you should give it to me” leaves his lips as he's already become tipsy.

He jokes a lot with you throughout the night, will probably read you like a book if you came to drink away your problems, and pulls you onto the dance floor if he's really had too many drinks.

Ging has a hard time getting close to others, so if he does find you attractive, it simply stops there. Though, Ging is often riddled with boredom, so if your personality does manage to intrigue him that night he would be drawn to you and want to stick around for the thrill.

It’s hard to get in contact with him afterward, but he always remembers you after that encounter. 

Silva 

Silva is hard to just... meet. He keeps his life very private and rarely makes an appearance unless absolutely necessary. You have to have some sort of connection such as being an esteemed assassin with affluence or working in his estate to be noticed by him and even then it is unlikely. 

If you were to take the assassin route, you would need outstanding talent to catch his eye. Maybe you’d meet in a business meeting, your confident posture and demeanor catching his attention instantly. He most likely already read your file and was thoroughly impressed at what he found and saw in person. 

If you took the estate route, you would have to be really good at your job to stand out to him. You would have to be skillful in combat, or if you visit his hideaway and serve him often, you could possibly spark a relationship in that way. Though, if Kikyo is in the picture, you would be an immediate target simply for being too close to Silva.

Kite

You would probably meet in an outdoor setting. Maybe Kite stumbled upon a floral shop just as you were browsing the shelves of flowers, or maybe he saw you sitting peacefully at a park feeding the birds just as he was studying the different insects in that area. 

Regardless, Kite would like that you appreciated nature. He probably wouldn't speak first because he's more on the introverted side, and if he did finally come up to you, it would take him a while as he had spent his time observing you.

Kite's impression of you would be that you were sweet, and he would be delighted if you shared the same interests as him. Overall, if you guys happened to run into each other again, Kite would see it as fate and more than a coincidence and likely ask if you'd like to go on a date with him sometime.

[cursedcola]

Prompt: "Will You Marry Me?" - Proposal Headcannons Characters: Everyone :) Part(s): Heartslabyul (here!), Savanaclaw, Octavinelle, Scarabia, Pomefiore, Ignihyde, Diasomnia(Pt.1)(Pt.2) Fandom: Twisted Wonderland Warning(s): None. I mean, unless you don't want to marry any of them. Just don't read if that's the case. Note: These are all if he is the one proposing btw. I've been thinking about maybe programming a small fan-made mini-otome using these ideas. Just for some practice for school while also being self indulgent hehe

Riddle Rosehearts

Very traditional, but this is expected. He asks your closest of kin (a cat, to his horror) for permission to propose. Regardless of Grimm's answer, there is already a ring that's been purchased. This is merely formality

He comes up with an elaborate plan to execute the 'perfect' proposal. Riddle maps it all out and runs multiple drafts by his childhood friends. Everything must go perfectly - or else you might not accept. Is it likely that not presenting you with exactly 12 red roses with the spikes trimmed and arranged with 6 sprigs of baby's breath will be the reason you decline? Likely not. Will he chance it though? No.

Despite all his planning, he is a nervous wreak. Our red prince is great at masking it though. He plans an entire evening down to the last detail. You both go to a upscale restaurant that serves your favorite cuisine under the pretense that you're celebrating an amazing jab offer Riddle received the day prior. There's dinner, dancing, a romantic atmosphere, and delightful conversation (he prepared conversation topics in advance in case he felt nervous).

Oh look, there just so happens to be an outdoor garden to take an evening stroll through. Would you like to go?

Of course you would, and he asks you to wait outside as he visits the restroom. After you pass through the back door, a nearby waiter slips him the bouquet of twelve roses that he dropped off in the morning. He counts them, checks the stems, the ribbon holding them together, and with a relieved sigh he reaches into his pocket.

Riddle nestles the engagement ring within the core of the center rose, and for a moment his anxiety quells. He looks through the outside door's windowpane, and sees you patiently waiting for him while admiring the garden lights. The anxiety returns, but he's ready. With a knuckle-white grip on the flowers, he passes through the doors.

"My Rose...My apologies to have kept you waiting. There was a matter of great importance to attend to - pardon? No! Not that- ugh. I was not in the restroom! Only you would make such a childish remark on such an important day...No, do not apologize. I was not referring to my career. Perhaps these flowers will provide some clarity? I hope they are to you liking."

When you notice the ring, he gently takes it and gets down on one knee. Riddles heart rattles against his ribcage, and his the mask of calm falters. He holds out the ring with one hand, and the other lightly trembles as it reaches for yours.

"Would you do me the honor of becoming my spouse? I promise that you will be cared for dearly, and that I will work tirelessly to become a husband that you will be proud of. I swear this vow to you on the Rosehearts name."

{Riddle's ring is a mix of new and old. Tradition dictates a diamond for a wedding ring, but he knows better. Riddle wants you to think of him every time you see this ring, so he chooses to stray. Three rubies sit nested in diamonds. The color of his hair, which you love to poke fun of so much. It represents how he is willing to consistently change while still holding on to his core values, all so he can become a husband worthy of you}

Trey Clover

A simple man, and therefore takes a simple approach. The depth of his proposal lies in the timing. He does not know when he will be ready to commit, or how to tell if you are ready to as well.

Trey puts proposing off for the longest time. He acts in baby steps. The idea toys with him for months, until one day he convinces himself that he is ready. After that he slowly begins to look at rings, and think of ideas. He wants to be original, but would that overwhelm you? He would sooner die than do something tacky like a public proposal at a concert or event...but is that something you might want?

If there is one thing Trey is certain about, its that rejection would break him. He knows that your relationship would never be the same if he proposed too early, or if he managed to royally screw it up. He's not a fan of attention. This is awful. Oh Great Sevens it's a pressure that he never dreamed of having to undergo.

But if he doesn't propose...would you? Are you waiting for him? what if you're thought process is the same as his?

Completely out of character for Trey, he ends up proposing on impulse. He woke up one morning and saw the ring tucked away in his sock drawer. For the millionth time he had to face the "I should just do it," thoughts and decided to act on them

The day is new, neither of you had work, and a quick glance over his shoulder proves that you would be soundly sleeping for at least the next hour. So what's he do? Trey puts on his nicest casual clothes. Nothing formal, but also nothing that is sloppy. Then he marches downstairs and starts to make breakfast. He decides to prepare tarts, a reminiscence of your days as students and where you first met. As he arranges them on a platter, he places the ring inside one made with your favorite flavor. It peaks out just enough for anyone to notice, and with a huff Trey steps back to admire his work.

His hands are slightly clammy, and quickly moves to busy himself in fear he might chicken out. It helps for a time, until he hears your footsteps approach the kitchen, followed by a sleepy 'good morning' and arms wrapping around his torso

He steels himself, and turns over in your arms to kiss the top of your head. With a nervous laugh, Trey gestures to the platter of fruit tarts and smiles at how the sight of food causes you to perk up. Like clockwork, you reach for your favorite flavor and quickly notice the metal chunk inside

He reigns in panic as you dig the ring out and eye it with a quirked brow. A moment of silence passes before it clicks, and you whip to gawk at him with the largest bugeyes he has ever seen. Wordlessly, Trey takes the ring, wipes off any crumbs with his shirt, and takes your hands in his

"I'm sorry to spring this on you so early in the morning. It must be quite the wakeup call, huh? Haha...The truth is, I've wanted to give this to you for such a long time. I simply did not know how. I had a burst of courage this morning, and am honestly running on pure adrenaline. I love you...I want to spend our lives together. Will you marry me?"

{Trey's ring is a single pearl on a gold band. He feels that the ring should reflect it's wearer, and you are one of the most naturally beautiful people he has ever seen. There is beauty in simplicity - in seeing things as they are with no modifications. You do that for him, and he loves how your relationship is authentic}

Cater Diamond

Marriage? Huh. See, in the past that was a no-go. Very constricting and he didn't enjoy the idea of getting linked to someone in that regard. An s/o with no legal binding? Sure. It's just a title anyways, right? That kind of thing shouldn't matter in the long run.

Except it did end up being relevant, and now Cater wants to beat himself up because he explicitly told you once things were getting serious that he wasn't interested in marriage. You were fine with doing either and left the decision up to him. Very nice of you to be so nonchalant , and now he knows that marriage isn't 'off the table'. There is a chance.

A chance that requires him to both propose and take back his initial stance. Which is kind of humiliating. The take back part, not the proposal. Cater is confident that he can blow you away. He doesn't need shoddy internet advice, or to to do extensive research to be perfect. Nope. It's all in his noggin. He knows you like the back of his hand and therefore can concoct a speech to woo you easily.

So what comes first, the chicken or the egg? Does he try to casually tip you of that he's interested in getting married before trying to propose? No. That would be incredibly dull and ruin the element of surprise. Cater always hated those crappy half-baked romance films where the loser male lead is all 'oh honey I promise I will propose. Just give me time,' because hello???? You spoiled it??? Also don't make promises that you don't plan to keep, douchebag. How dull.

He decides that it's all or nothing. Cater spends an entire night online shopping for a ring. He already knows all of your sizes...don't ask how or why. Anyway, ordering is a cinche. Just ignore his eyebags the next day and his snappy attitude. He can't even whine about how tired he is because that would mean he has to say why he didn't sleep and -EUGH. He is torn between his two loves. Complaining for attention, and wooing you for attention. It's rough.

It comes in the mail, and after checking the package he decides to seal it back up again. It looks untouched thanks to his skills. Then, he sets up the living room to look like he is filming a video for his magicam. Specifically an unboxing video, and makes sure to let you know that it's from one of your favorite companies.

You take the bait, and he asks you to join him. Even if your camera shy, he insists that for just this one video you hop on. He might be a bit tricky and give you ideas about the product in the box (making sure to align them with a hobby or fandom that you're into). He sets the camera to record, plops down casually at your side, and hands you the box cutter. Go crazy.

Cater can't help but giggle when you open the box - just to pull out another small box. You eye it cautiously, now suspicious that this might be a prank. He urges you to open the box, and you do so while holding it at arms-length away from your face.

The ring's gem sparkles in the camera light, and he watches amused as you pull it closer. With a shaky hand, you take it out of the box and inspect it. With the way you side-eye him, Cater can tell that you're wondering if this situation is a cruel prank...

"Tada~~ You like? -- WAIT! Before you get upset just let me explain! There is no video. That was a lie, and I'm sorry for it. I surprised you good though, right?...ahem, uhm. I'm not pranking you. If you feel the same, then I want for us to get married! I know what I said before, and I take it back. The time we have spent together made me realize that I only felt that way - well, because I was unable to imagine liking someone enough to share my life. At least until I met you. So...do you want to marry me?"

{A diamond for a diamond. Diamonds are reflective. They glitter, and are clear. They are also viewed as the best choice for a ring, but in actuality they have are not. They're only considered perfect because of marketing. In actuality, they're quite the opposite. This same reasoning applies to Cater - and you understand. Yet, you still love him. The diamond represents himself, and the heart shape is to remind you how much you mean to him}

Deuce Spade

He may be young, but he is not stupid...alright. Deuce is not always stupid. Sometimes? Yes. He makes poor decisions and lets his emotions get the better of him.

This? Not a poor decision, and he will never EVER think twice about it. From the moment the idea entered Deuce's head, it was decided. HE would become your husband. Nothing would stop him.

It began during his final year at Night Raven College. Graduation approached, and everyone was excited. Everyone, except for one person. You. He didn't notice it at first, being too hung up over how he actually managed to do well in school. Get this, he even became Heartslabyul Drumhead after Riddle graduated! What an honor! His mother was proud of him, and he was proud of himself! He had career aspirations, plans to get a home back home, and even a lovely s/o to flaunt. Life was great.

What...do you mean? That you're not going back with him? The Queendom of Roses is such a beautiful place! He's certain that you'll love it and can become adjusted. Why do you want to stay at this academy? Was three years not enough?

Deuce has never gotten mad at you before. A little miffed, sure, but never frustrated. He didn't like it. Not these feelings, or how he failed to notice that you planned this from the start. He was so wrapped up in his own happiness, that he failed to see that you felt troubled over his assumptions. It stung. In a moment of weakness, he left you alone, scared that he might raise his voice at you.

He needed to think. Alone. Thankfully he moved past sharing a room with Ace when Deuce became Housewarden. His phone rang many times. Some calls from you, Ace, his mother...for once, Deuce didn't think her advice could help him. Not when he was so confused.

He thought over his dreams for after college. They were the same that he had since prior to enrolling. Nothing changed...except for you and the other unexpected friends he made along the way. It began to settle within him that the unpredicted parts were more important to him than what he initially planned. The image of him as a successful worker, on his own, and being successful were all hollow if they didn't include you. Deuce wasn't upset that you planned to stay at NRC, he was upset that you didn't plan to stay with him.

Or did you? He interpreted it as such in the moment, but he's not so sure. All Deuce knows is that you're his best friend and the love of his life. If you stay here without him, will that change? He doesn't want to find out.

The next day, he's determined. It's impulsive, this he knows. Yet it's what feels right in his heart and Deuce has always trusted his gut instinct. This choice is entirely on him. No one's advice to excuse it if you don't reciprocate, and yet he isn't afraid. He might not have a ring, or fancy offerings. All he has is his love to offer, and a willingness to work around any obstacle. The hurt from the night prior sill aches in his chest, but he has done difficult things before. The pain merely serves as a reminder for how he hurt you, and what his future might be like if he doesn't act.

He finds you before breakfast. When the first rays of sunshine peak over the horizon and the air is still moist with morning dew. You lingered in the hall of mirrors, specifically near the portal to Heartslabyul Hall. Your presence startled him, and he nearly headbutt you from the speed he was going through the portal. Were you...planning to visit him? His heart shuddered in a mix of guilt and happiness. Even after the way he behaved, you still cared.

Upon closer inspection, you appear just as disheveled as him. He must have caused you a great deal of worry...damn it. He can't even be mad at himself. Not with things as they are.

Before you have a chance to speak, he hushes you. Deuce's jaw sets in determination and he reaches into his uniform pocket. He pulls out a paper ring. One that children often give each other on the playground when playing family. He then gets down on one knee, and holds it out with both hands.

"I am sorry. I never intended to hurt you, or push my ambitions on to you. I simply love you more than anything else, and was afraid that you did not want to be together anymore. I was afraid...that being apart would take away what we have. I realize that I was wrong. I didn't see it happening, but being with you has caused me to develop dreams beyond what I initially planned. Nothing I imagine feels right, unless you are in the picture. I don't have a proper ring prepared just yet...but will you marry me? I promise that no matter where we are - for better or worse, I will make you happy. I swear it!

{Your initial ring is made out of his most recent homework assignment. It's frail, and one drop of water will break it. However, he meticulously folded it and it is the byproduct of many imperfect prototypes. The paper ring truly represents who Deuce is. It's rushed, fragile, and full of love}

{He chooses a vintage ring. With both of your initials engraved on the center, he hopes that this ring attests to a promise no matter where you both are. It's rose-gold, not as bright as pure gold but still beautiful. The mixed color represents the different worlds you both come from, as well as your melded life}

Ace Trappolla

Ace tends to get comfortable, and when that happens it is difficult to ignite change. However, he is also headstrong. More than many give him credit for. So once the problem is identified, it's only a matter of time until he does something about it. What he does isn't necessarily always the best solution, sure; however, when threatened he will indeed act.

Initially Ace did not plan to find love. For a long time, he rejected it and passed his feelings off as a small crush. You're attractive, he's a man, a lil of this and a lil of that - who wouldn't feel a little heart throb once in a while? It only became an issue when you became one of his best friends. It felt like he was betraying you with these thoughts. They became a problem.

His first solution was to repress them further. Like stated, he noticed a problem and so he acted. Was this the best choice? No. It ended in a dumpster-fire. Any time another student even remotely expressed interest in you, Ace felt threatened. He couldn't spend time at your side without indecent thoughts popping up. Not like 'that' (geez, get your mind out of the gutter people), but more so domestic. Ick. What was happening?!

He couldn't hold it in, and his confession will forever be known as a feels-dump that started with you sharing half of your grilled-cheese with him because he missed lunch.

Yeah. Humiliating. Ugh.

Now you're his partner, of a long time. A very, very, very long time. Years post graduation. You both have settled into life together, so why tack a title? It's not like those mean anything, right? Everything was perfect as is, and weddings are expensive. You never brought it up either, so why worry?

Well, those titles do mean things in the eyes of the law. Ace never thought to get documentation about emergency contacts and whatnot updated. So when hit his head and got a concussion when jogging? The hospital wouldn't let you in. Not until he woke up, which was the longest four hours of your life.

You didn't express how much it bothered you, but words weren't necessary. The muted panic that you tried to hold back was enough. He expected you to enter his room angry, but instead all he got was defeat. That sight alone hurt worse than the leg.

The event got Ace thinking about things he hadn't in a long time - like marriage. He got too comfortable after letting the thought go once. To him, you were already irreplicable. Years do that, and he's certain that you feel the same way about him. If his young self could see him now...pah, he was such a turd. All 'I don't need anyone,' and empty words to play tough-guy. Little did he know that the person he would need the most in life was only a dimension-hop away haha.

It's that simple, really. No panic or nervousness. Ace decided definitively that he was going to marry you, and it only took years of being an airhead to figure it out.

He spends the night in the hospital for surveillance, and the staff is kind enough to prove you with a cot to sleep on. He stubbornly drags it next to his bed, and once you're sleeping soundly he 3slips a bandage over your ring finger to take the measurement

He planned to go buy the ring instantly after being discharged, but you wouldn't leave his side. Nagging about bed-rest and taking it easy...ugh! He needs to do this thing! No, he can't tell you about it. It's a secret!.....ugh, fine. One more day. Just because he loves the attention.

The next morning after, he's excitedly going to the nearest jewelers. He doesn't have a particular ring in mind, but he's done some research! It's the idea behind the ring that's important anyways....alright. Maybe he'll call up Cater.

Ace does nothing extravagant. He sticks to comfort. You, him, both eating dinner while watching a movie on the TV that evening. He quickly scarfs down his meal within the first 10 minutes and runs to your shared room after ditching his dishes. Stashed in his wallet, he pulls put the ring and hides it in his palm.

Ace tries to be smooth. He dims the living room lights, and sits down closer to you than before. He moves to take your hand with the one holding the ring, and sneak it on to your finger.

It fails, obviously. Who wouldn't notice someone trying to shove a piece of metal on their finger? You pull away on instinct, and the ring falls between the couch cushions. He freaks out for a moment and sifts through them as you continue to eat between giggles. Only when he holds the ring up in triumph do you quiet down.

"Not so funny now, is it? - Nah, just kidding. It was pretty funny....although I wanted this to be a bit more romantic. Eh. It's fine. From the look on your face, I'm guessing that you know what this is?...Uhh. Yeah. I thought it was a good time, y'know? We've been together so long that I already do think of you as my partner. I think you feel the same? Feel free to jump in if not....but, yeah. I love you. A lot. I'd really like to make it official, and I'm sorry it took me so long to get the guts to ask. Will you marry me?"

{Tradition is for chumps. Ace wanted to get something fun and eye-catching. Many suggested otherwise, but this felt right. Your relationship has never been conventional and never will be. Hell, screw 'conventional,' because it's perfect as it is and so is this ring. He knows that this ring will draw your attention, and that's all he cares about}

End Note: None of the ring pictures are mine. I pulled them off of google images because - well, I had ideas and tried to find rings to match them. I write fanfic, not weld jewelry.

[psychedelic-ink]

ㅤㅤㅤ❤︎ 𝐇𝐀𝐕𝐄 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐑 𝐒𝐄𝐄𝐍 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐑𝐀𝐈𝐍

ㅤjavier peña x plus size f!reader

genre: smut, strangers to lovers/fwb, minors dni

word count: 4.5k

summary: it's the 80s. when the dig you've been working at has to take a short break due to escobar and politics, you decide to wait it out at medellín. while hitchhiking, a charming stranger pulls up.

warnings: mild weed usage (reader), car sex, nipple play, dirty talk, dry humping, age gap, piv, creampie, unprotected sex, brat taming if you squint, some weight-related insecurities if you squint but mostly she's just vibing and living her life

a/n: i would really consider writing more of this so please let me know what you think! a special shoutout to @inklore because i feel like i wouldn't think about hitchhiker smut on the bus if it wasn't for her fic roadside delight which all of you should go and read rn because it's amazing, ily bby 💗

**dividers by the amazing @saradika xx

Raindrops land sparsely over your skin, most of the wetness caught over your cheeks. Sliding down your neck, they sneak beneath the sweetheart neckline of your olive green dress. The skirt dances with the wind, teasing the inner curves of your thighs as it playfully flutters in your wake. Despite the rain, it’s still warm. However, that doesn’t stop the chill of the gray clouds from settling over your skin. With a deep sigh, you lift your thumb once more. 

You have no idea how long you’ve had your thumb sticking up; maybe it’s been only ten minutes or an hour, regardless, you’re frustrated and want the wait to end. 

Some cars had slowed down but upon seeing the men that were driving, you had quickly hidden your thumb away. You knew what they were thinking. Thanks to the rain, there was only little left to the imagination. The dress that already hugged your breasts and hips hugged you even tighter now, the fabric almost sheer as it exposed your tight nipples. You should’ve brought a jacket with you but honestly, how were you supposed to know it was going to rain today? 

“Fucking hell,” you mutter, pushing your wet hair away from your neck in frustration. Not a single car in sight after what you thought had been at least ten minutes of waiting. Clicking your tongue, you reach into your bag, retrieving a lighter and a joint thoughtfully rolled by one of your colleagues at the excavation site. It was greatly appreciated since you weren’t the best at rolling. 

Taking a drag, you sigh, the smoke mingling with the misty air. The excavation site had declared a short break due to some unforeseen issue related to the escalating Escobar problem in the region. It's hush-hush among the team, but you've caught snippets of worried conversations about increased security concerns and the need to lay low for a while. 

Your shoulders relax as the smoke swirls in your lungs, your body now feeling rejuvenated instead of cold under the rain. In the distance, you hear the soft hum of a car approaching and narrow your eyes as you look at the distance. Your eyes light up when you see a car approaching and this time, no matter who’s in it, you promise yourself you’ll just get in. 

The cigarette still between your lips, you lift your thumb with enthusiasm, taking a step further into the road, you giggle slightly thinking you might just as well jump in front of it to make it stop. You want to get out of the rain, want warm clothes and blankets. 

The car comes to a smooth halt. 

You lean towards the already open window, you quickly pluck the join away from your lips and smile broadly at the dark-haired stranger. 

“Hola,” you say, hoping your accent is decent enough. “¿podrías darme un aventón?”

The stranger gives you a curious look, his lips curl upward, eyes dropping to your cleavage before lifting them back up to meet your gaze. Your breath catches in your throat, chest heaving at the sight of him. He’s beautiful. Dark hair, dark eyes, plump lips. Blinking, you swallow and press your legs together, thankful he can’t see it. 

“Where you headed?” he asks. 

“Medellín,” A timid chuckle escapes your lips. “Did my accent give it away?” 

“A little,” he jerks his head to the side. “Hop in. You must be freezing like that.” 

Grateful, you open the car and slide yourself inside. Warmth immediately envelops you like a cozy blanket and you sigh happily, leaning into the comfort of the seat. “Thanks,” you say, offering your name along with it. “What’s your name?” 

“My name’s Javier. But you can call me Javi.” 

“I think I’ll stick to Javier, I like the way it hits my tongue.” 

He grins, “Do you, now?” 

It takes you everything to ignore the delicious roll of his tongue and how it would feel on your skin. You lift your hand suddenly, the joint visible between your fingers. 

“Is it okay if I smoke this in your car?” 

He looks confused for a brief moment. You notice him taking in deep breaths, sniffing the air, his eyes go slightly wide with realization but then the surprise in his eyes molds into amusement. 

“Go ahead,” he says. “You’re awfully bold to ask that without knowing who I am or what I do. What if I was a cop?” 

“Cops don’t look as good as you do.” 

Shit. 

“I look good?” 

You hear the mirth in his voice and quickly change the subject, “You want one?” 

“No,” he answers firmly. Confusion furrows your brow and his tone quickly softens. “Let’s just say I’m not a fan. And it’s illegal.” 

“Oh, sorry. I can put it out, you don’t have to be nice about it.” 

He thinks about it for a while but shakes his head. “You don’t have much of it left anyway,” The car starts moving and you look at the spot you’ve been waiting at for god knows how long one last time. Good riddance. “So, Medellín, what business do you have there?” 

“No business,” you answer promptly, taking another drag. You blow the smoke out the window, the wind whisking it away. “I’m studying archeology. I was doing research at Ciudad Perdida but we had to take a break for safety reasons. We might still go on so until I get a firm ‘go back home’ I was thinking to wait it out there.” 

“It’s not really safe there either, you know. You gotta be careful when you get there,” he gives you a side glance, eyes moving up and down your curves. Your heart rate escalates and when you press your legs together once more, it doesn’t go unnoticed. “You’re awfully squirmy there,” he says, voice low and all gravel. “You okay?” 

Your veins buzzing, you throw the remainder of the joint out the window. Your head is swimming pleasantly, the smoke loosening your tongue and making you eager to confess all the dirty things you want to do with him. But along with that, uncertainty creeps in. You don’t even know if he wants you that way. He seems older than you. He might’ve just been looking after you and the lust you heard in his deep voice might’ve just been in your imagination. 

“I’m not squirming,” you say quickly. He doesn’t look convinced by your answer, hands tightening around the steering wheel. “How long until we get there?” 

“A couple of hours,” his eyes catch your lingering gaze and he smiles. “There’s a gas station a little ahead so I suggest you go to the bathroom, sweetheart. If you have to go.” 

“Yeah, okay.” 

“You hungry?” 

Your hand wanders to your stomach, you can’t tell if he’s asking because of your appearance or if it’s a genuine question. He speaks up before you can decide. “I’m starving,” he says. “I also need to buy a pack so if you want anything just tell me. I’ll pay.” 

“I have money.” 

He laughs at that, and laughs even harder at your pout, “You’re a student in Colombia, hitchhiking. I doubt you have much,” he shrugs. “Besides, you’re a guest in this country, let me treat you.” 

“You’re being awfully nice.” 

“Am I? I don’t think so.” You see the gas station coming into view. “But mamá always did say I had a soft spot for pretty girls.” 

“You think I’m pretty?” you answer, hoping to have more a sultry tone but your words come out breathless. Excited. 

The car slows, his eyes are glued to your neck, he slowly moves them down. His dark gaze eating you up. You can almost feel it caressing your skin, heating you, and licking over the waterdrops that stubbornly remains on your skin. 

“Don’t say it like you don’t already know.” The car stops along with your breath. He pulls the keys out and leans close, lips almost touching your pulse. You feel his breath on your ear, warm, it coaxes goosebumps to rise across your skin. His eyes trail over the curve of your lips. “Do I make you uncomfortable?”

You shake your head, “No.” 

His lips touch your cheek. It happens so quickly that you feel you might’ve imagined it. The rough hairs above his lip tickle your skin and you instinctively chase the heat of him as he moves away. 

Before you know it he’s out of the car, the patch of skin where his lips touched still burning with delight. Stunned, you touch your cheek with the tips of your fingers. 

Maybe waiting in the rain for someone like him wasn’t so bad after all. 

You should’ve known it would end up like this. 

Him, to park the car in a semi-remote spot. 

You, to cradle his lap, your dress pushed up all the way up exposing your soft thighs with his hands all over you. 

You should’ve known. 

The soft pitter patters of rain hit the top of the car, you’re too occupied by his mouth to realize the sun had slowly started to peek through the clouds, warming the damp concrete. Javier’s tongue is awfully skillful. He slips his tongue between your lips, licking himself deeper into your mouth, his hands pull at your neckline, exposing your bare breasts. He flattens his palms against them, your nipples tighten against the heat of his palm. 

He breaks away with a groan, “I knew you were braless,” he rasps, dipping to your neck. “I fucking knew it.” 

“And I knew you were staring,” you tease and expose more of your neck. He nips at the tender skin playfully, a shiver runs up your spine. “Here I thought you picked me up out of the goodness of your heart.” 

“Tell me to stop and I will.” 

“No—god, no. I don’t ever want you to stop.” 

And that’s all he needs to hear as he lifts your breasts towards his mouth. He dips his head, swirling his tongue over the pebbled flesh. Your body seizes. Your breath caught in your lungs, burning like wildfire. He twists the other with his finger and you moan loudly. The fabric of your underwear grows damp, sticking to your skin. He sucks harder. The thick outline of his cock rubs against your core, a feeling like electricity shooting up your spine, your head falls and he bites. 

“Fuck, fuck, fuck—” you whimper, grinding down. Another wave of arousal washes over you, the effect of the weed you inhaled pounding between your thighs.  

Javier glares up at you, “Such a dirty mouth,” he grunts and holds your tongue between two fingers. Your brows furrow with pleasure, the hard denim of his pants growing damp thanks to you. “I don’t like bad girls. And you seem to be walking on the edge of it, sweetheart.” 

“I–I’m not bad,” you whimper, your words slurring thanks to his hold on your tongue. He lifts a brow, unconvinced. You don’t know why you’re hurt by him calling you bad, but you want to make it up to him—why you do, you have no idea. “I’ll. . . I’ll be good.” 

“Promise?” 

You only nod and he pinches your tongue, pain blossoms over the soft muscle. 

“Promise,” you slur. “I’ll be your good girl.” 

Satisfied for now, he releases your tongue and brings his hand back to your aching nipples. He sucks on one while pinching the other, both sensations making your mind whirl. 

“You like it when I play with your tits, hermosa?” he groans at the way you rolls your hips, pulling away his lips, he starts playing with both with his fingers. Twisting, pinching, and pulling. You’re trembling. A sopping, wet mess. “So sensitive. You think you can come like this?” 

You only moan, your lids fluttering like a butterfly’s wings as you look at him. He smiles, something dark crossing over his handsome features. “I think you can,” he says. “Because you’re my good girl, aren’t you?” 

Slack-jawed, you answer, “Y–Yes.” 

Javier guides the sloppy roll of your hips. His mouth on your neck, he teases the flesh there while mercilessly playing with your tits however he sees fit. Your nipples are so hard from stimulation it almost hurts, Every twist of his fingers prompts a fresh wave of arousal seep into your underwear. Your body is out of control. Burning from the inside out. You’ve never felt it this intense before, never felt your orgasm nearing so viciously. 

His lips hover an inch away from yours, you part your mouth for a kiss but he smiles cruelly, you can smell the hints of tobacco when he speaks, “I can feel how soaked you are, baby. So wet and all for a stranger you just met,” he nips at your chin, gives your nipples a hard pinch that makes you see white. “I wonder if you’d do this with all the others who would’ve stopped for you?” 

“Others did slow down,” you say followed up by an elongated whine. Javier thrusts his hips, the rough denim of his pants catching against your clothed clit. He licks your bottom lip. “But they gave me a weird feeling so I hid away my hand. So. . . I wouldn’t do this with just anyone.” 

“Fuck, preciosa, you’re saying all the right things,” with one hand, he slides your dress up further, fingers teasing your slit. “It’s an honor to have this cunt all to myself.” 

Only then does he kiss you. It’s hungry, depraved. He sucks on your tongue, presses his lips hard into yours. The hand toying with your core moves to your hip, he squeezes your love handle, tugs you down as he thrusts his hips into the air. You cry out and he swallows the wanton sounds that rattle your throat. 

“That’s it, come for me,” he purrs, his hips pressing into yours. You grind down helplessly, aching to feel the hardness of him. Your ears begin to ring. Your body tingling and tensing while the taste of your nearing release stains your tongue. Your eyelids flutter closed, his lips once again drawing an aching nipple into his mouth. He sucks and sucks and sucks—and you finally break down, gushing and squeezing around nothing. You feel the wetness bleeding into the fabric, your legs shaking around where they frame his narrow hips, your head falls over and the soft locks of his hair soothe your burning cheeks. 

Javier is still moving against you. His cock painfully strained against his zipper, coated in your slick. Both his hands drop to your waist, squeezing as he finds your lips, giving you a tender kiss. 

He doesn’t say a word, his hand sneaking between your legs, he slips them under the elastic and pushes two between your folds. You swear you feel his cock throb when he realizes how wet you truly are. 

“Shit,” he breathes out. “Fuck, you really did come. Such a good girl,” he lifts your head by the chin and stares into your eyes, your pulse races again. “Good girl,” he repeats, watching as your lips tighten and eyes go wide. “You feel so good on top of me, making a mess out of these shitty pants. You come so pretty, querida.” 

“Javier,” you moan, your nipples tightening again. 

He pulls his fingers out out and tastes you in earnest, he moans around his fingers, “So sweet.” 

You moan again, the fire between your legs roaring to life. He cups your breasts and pushes them towards you, watching the way your eyes roll, “Let me fuck you in the backseat,” he says, as if you would ever say no to that. “I wanna see this ass bouncing on my cock.” 

No one ever mentions how awkward car sex can be, especially when you need to move around. 

You try not to show it to Javier but you have a sneaking suspicion your face is basically an open book. He slides to the back first, moving between the middle of the front seats. Moving around in a car already makes you awkward, it’s even worse when your tits are out in the open, moving side to side. 

But you guess it can’t be too bad since Javier is staring at them instead of you. 

“Is it bad that I want to play with them some more?” he chuckles.

“Definitely not,” you smile back, the light-hearted conversation gives you the courage to finally move between the seats. He quickly slides to the side, his lips on yours before you can even sit. He strokes his cock through his jeans, tongue dancing along yours, he sucks the air from your lungs. 

“Take off your dress,” he orders, watching, he unbuttons his jeans. You strip quickly, your body already aching to feel him deep inside you. He hums with approval when you’re bare to him, he doesn’t bother taking off his clothes, instead, he slightly pushes down his pants and frees his cock. 

A bead of precome glistens at the head, the head of his cock swollen, a hint of red adding color. He’s thick enough to have your pussy already throbbing. Your mouth waters. Javier wraps a hand around his length and pumps it under your lustful gaze, more precome gathers at the slit, slowly trickling down the side. Your breath hitches when you notice him smiling. 

“You want a taste?” 

You immediately lean down with your tongue out, sucking the tip, you clean him and push yourself further down. Your lips stretch around him deliciously. 

Javier doesn’t allow you to taste him further though, with his hand on your nape, he squeezes, “If you do that I’ll come in seconds.” You look up to him between lowered lashes. “And I’d rather come somewhere else, preciosa.” 

“How do you want me?” you ask, voice horse. 

“On all fours.” 

Again, a bit tricky because you have the constant fear your leg is going to slip and you’re going to fall, but the backseat is comfortable enough for that not to happen. His hands slide up your back and he holds you by the shoulders, bringing you close. His cock pushes between your thighs, parting your folds, your slick wets his cock, making the glide easier. 

“You know,” he says, his voice dropping dangerously. “Anyone could see us right now. Anyone who decides to drive by is gonna see us fucking.” 

You don’t expect yourself to clench at his words but you do, a soft whimper echoing from your lips. You can’t see it, but you know he’s smiling from ear to ear. “Does that turn you on, hermosa?” When you don’t answer, he leans closer, breath tickling the shell of your ear. “Don’t worry, it turns me on too.” 

Pushing the tip of his cock into you, your chest begins to move with labored breaths. He buries himself to the hilt with ease. A loud moan escapes his lips as his hips are snug over your ass. Your elbows give way, your head dropping to the leather sheets. It feels too good, too full, too intense. Your body breaks in sweat, your body fluttering around and clamping desperately around his cock. His hands follow the curve of your back, laying on top of each ass cheek. 

“Love this ass,” he mutters. “Are you alright? Can I move?” 

“Y–Yeah,” you choke out, desperate. Javier begins to move. Slowly pulling back his hips, he slams into you, ripping a moan from your chest. The leather seats creak as he thrusts into you, his pace gradually picking up. Each time he snaps his hips forward, you feel like your world is spinning. He grips onto your hips, his fingers digging into your skin as he pounds into you.

“Come on, sweetheart, push those hips back. Prove to me how good you’re feeling on my cock.” 

All coherent thoughts leave your mind as you surrender yourself to the sensations. You meet his thrusts halfway, your body screaming at how deep he is. Your eyes roll to the back of your skull, your hard nipples grazing against the leather, it adds to your pleasure. The sound of skin slapping against skin echoes throughout the car. He leans forward, his lips brushing against your neck as he groans your name.

You can feel the tension building up inside you, your body on fire. The coil in your stomach tightens, your legs starting to quiver, you gasp his name, barely able to breathe. “Come on my cock,” he commands, licking the start of your spine. Arousal pours between your legs, slick trickling down his cock. “Show me how good you are—” 

You cry out as your orgasm crashes over you, your walls clenching around him. Your breathing is caught in your throat. You roll your hips desperately, begging him to fuck you harder, god deeper—he does. He hammers into you, groaning over and over about how much of a good girl you are. His praise short circuits your brain and another orgasm washes over you, softer this time, but still powerful, enough to have you dripping over the seats. 

Javier continues to thrust into you, chasing his own release. With one final deep thrust, he spills himself inside you, his body shuddering. He grinds his hips, pushing himself deeper until he’s dripping from where he stretches you. You moan his name, your lips moving against the leather. 

Both of you collapse onto the seats, panting heavily as you try to catch your breath. Javier hugs you tight and pulls you up until you’re draped over his chest. You feel pleasantly lifeless, your lids heavy. He strokes your damp hair, fingers grazing over your cheek, he kisses your forehead. The gesture makes your heart swell.

“Mi preciosa, eso fue increíble, fuiste increíble.”

His words were said heavily as if he was barely keeping himself from falling asleep. You smile, burrowing yourself into his neck, you focus on the sweetness of the fleeting moment and not the come dripping out from between your legs. 

“You were the one that was incredible,” you sigh happily. “I don’t think I’ve ever felt that good in my life.” 

“Let’s just say it was a team effort then,” he grins but his smile quickly falters. “How the hell am I supposed to drive now, I need a nap.” 

“We could. . .” 

He sighs, “Sadly, I have work I need to get to.” 

“You never did tell me what you did for a living,” you muse. “Care to share?” 

His grin is back, lips curling mischievously, he looks you up and down. Your body shudders at the heat of his gaze. 

“We were busy doing other things,” he quickly gives you a peck on the cheek and reaches for your dress. “I’ll tell you later.” 

You pout a bit but shrug it off quickly as you take your dress. To each his own. If he wants to keep his job a secret, that’s fine. You just met him after all. And you’ll probably never see him again after you reach Medellín. 

The thought sours your mood. Turns your stomach. You don’t want to think about that. You don’t want to think about the end. You always did get attached too easily. 

With a sigh, you put on your dress and watch as Javier slides back to the front. You still have a couple more hours with him, you might as well make the best of it. 

The ride had been a pleasant one. You’re pretty sure you talked the poor man’s ear off but he talked a bunch too, telling you about his father, his hobbies—which weren’t a lot—and his dislikes about the city. You had listened with rapt attention, eating up every last detail. But still, you had no idea what he did for a living and refused to ask, not wanting to pry. 

Almost at Medellín, you notice a checkpoint ahead. Your eyes narrow for a better look and groan, these guys meant business, especially when cartels were on the rise. No matter how many times you batted your eyes, you know your bag is going to get checked along with Javier’s belongings. 

“Oh no,” you mutter, prompting Javier’s eyes to shift from the highway to you. 

“What’s wrong?” 

“I still have a couple of joints in my bag. If they search it I’m toast. They won’t let me go back.” 

You’re not sure why but he smiles, did he know the checkpoint would be here? Your heart drops and stomach lurches. 

“You’ll be fine,” he says, then he winks for good measure. “Trust me, querida. You won’t get into trouble.” 

You have your doubts but nod and lean back anyway. The car slows down as you approach the checkpoint, and you can feel the tension building up inside you. Javier pulls the car to a stop, and a stern-looking man walks up to Javier. The officer’s gaze lingers on you before turning to Javier. 

“Documentos e identificación.” 

“Hola,” he greets along with a short nod. “Soy Javier Peña, de la DEA. Estamos de paso.”

Your eyes grow wide when Javier shows his badge to the officer, your jaw nearly drops, blood rushing to your ears. You desperately have the urge to shake your head and yank the badge out of the officer’s hands to inspect it yourself. To feel it under your fingers. 

The officer nods and motions to the others to let you through, “Adelante, buen viaje.”

The car starts to move again and finally—finally, you allow your jaw to drop. 

“You’re DEA?” you ask, upper body rising up from your seat, your tone shrill. Javier doesn’t say anything but he does nod, eyes never leaving the road. “Oh my god,” you say. “Oh my god—why. . why didn’t you tell me? I—I smoked weed in your car! You could’ve arrested me at any given point—I. . . I—” I fucked a DEA agent. 

You drop back down, defeated. 

“You don’t need to worry about me arresting you,” he answers, smiling. “I would’ve if you were a threat but. . . I think we established that you aren’t.” 

“A bunch of criminals fuck with agents you know,” you snap, weirdly offended. “Just because we did it doesn’t mean I’m not dangerous.” 

“Do you want me to arrest you, hermosa?” 

Cuffs do sound tempting but you aren’t playing that game right now, “No. . .” 

“Good, we’re on the same page then,” he drums his thumbs against the steering wheel. “My intention wasn’t to trick you or anything. You already seemed miserable under the rain, waiting for that long. I didn’t want to stress you further. And you can’t really blame me for thinking like that when the second sentence you said was ‘do you want a joint’ you would’ve freaked out. Am I wrong?” 

“No,” you say, clearer this time. “I still feel embarrassed though.” 

“You’ll live.” Finally entering the city, he turns to you, meeting your gaze. It’s a bit ill-advised since he’s driving but you appreciate having his full attention. “Where should I drop you off?” 

Oh. 

“I. . actually don’t know. Do you know any good places to stay? A room I can book on short notice?” 

“You don’t have a place to stay?” 

“I’m a girl who was hitchhiking through a country I don’t know. Do I look like someone with a plan?” 

“Fair enough,” he says, eyes turning back to the road. “Well, this is going to sound weird but you can stay with me if you want to.” Before you can answer, he adds. “I have a spare room.”

Saying yes is easier than you thought. 

[see-arcane]

I am almost fine with people saying he has one brain cell, because I have seen dozens of people make the worse claim that he is "an arrogant, smug, proud of his rationality Victorian who laughs at the locals for their superstitions."

It is such a prevalent assesment that it's now considered a core character trait of his. When today's entry indicates nothing of the sort.

UH OH, YOU’VE ACTIVATED MY TANGENT CARD

(Text Brick Incoming)

Jonathan’s fundamental flaw at this stage does involve looking down on or viewing the locals and their traditions as quaint/idolatrous/ridiculous et al. He uses poor terminology too, owing to the Doylist reason of his author’s knowledge and biases, while the Watsonian reason is easy enough to read as Jonathan 1) Having to rely solely on biased/incomplete knowledge from his homeland’s writings on the place and 2) What I think is him trying to overcompensate as a trained reflex

I’ve always pictured Jonathan and Mina as having not only a lower social and monetary standing, but possibly a hindrance of race. (Case in point, I suspect a certain unique prop Jonathan brandishes later on is something he inherited, not something picked up by happenstance.)

That said—they are poor, they are not the idealized picture of the fair English Citizen…but they are both polite, charming, hardworking, and masters of ~making friends~ as a defense mechanism. And I’d bet money that included relying on what few positive nods their peers allowed.

“You’re so nice! So industrious! Your physiognomy really counters your origins! And you are wise enough to look down on those silly foreigners, aren’t you? Of course you are! You’re one of the good ones.”

Now, regardless of what headcanon is landed on as far as race/ethnicity/other backgrounds go, those last points are key. Because they go towards Being a Good Englishman/woman. Being wiser than to buy into fretting non-English superstitions. Knowing to ogle the people of other lands like curiosities in a zoo. Judging people by their face or the shape of their skull. This is the Norm. This is Good of the Victorian Englishman Abroad.

And we see Jonathan hold to all these stereotypes…to a degree. But we see within these same early entries that his instincts and general good nature chafe against that social training. He’s too much himself to do entirely as a Proper Englishman should.

He went out of his way to study all the limited info he had access to, incomplete or half-informed as it was. He delighted in learning everything he could of the places and people as he traveled, wanting to embrace and be educated on the land. And even when a lifetime of advising against it, of insistence upon derision, tried to take over when the crucifix was offered? He still accepted it. He still wears it even when the old woman departs, whether or not he believes in its importance.

And, vitally, his instincts are very Very awake to the fact that Something is Off. A Proper Englishman (and many an oblivious or stubborn dad in a ghostly horror movie) would shrug this unease off at once. But Jonathan doesn’t. He remains on Dracula’s route only because he has no other choice. All he does is mention quietly that he hopes Mina gets his diary if he happens to die on this journey.

Imagine that. Bracing for and acknowledging the sense that You Might Die on This Little Business Trip and just…having to go along with it. Because what will you tell your boss otherwise? What will you tell your fiancée?

These aren’t the concerns of a well-off stuffy snob of a man. It’s the resignation of someone who understands they live on the lowest rung of the ladder and that they will risk losing what little progress they’ve made if they dare to turn back.

As for sneering at the locals’ superstitions, period, consider: How likely would anyone really be to suddenly believe in monsters after coming out of the background Jonathan has? What could possibly have convinced him of the reality of the situation OTHER THAN SEEING IT IN PERSON? (Note, a key plot point for certain other characters later!)

The point of his being unable to take the supernatural aspect at face value is that, well, Why Would Anyone Immediately Jump to a Supernatural Conclusion in His Place?

What possible context does he have here!? Maybe he should have read Dracula first, ha ha—

Oh wait. He can’t do that. Why?

Because this man has never read Dracula BECAUSE HE IS LIVING AND WRITING THE BOOK DRACULA!!

Anyway.

tl;dr: I am very tired of both the Stuffy Victorian Snobprick and Oblivious Idiotbaby takes on my good friend Jonathan Harker

[silkjade]

alhaitham x mermaid!reader (4)

⤀ warnings: fem!reader, no pronouns mentioned, reader has hair long enough to be pinned, a bit of angst but ends w fluff — ꒰ 3.9k wc ꒱ a/n: recommended to read the previous parts first, since this is a direct continuation. this ended up being way longer than intended lol next ﾉ series masterlist ⋆.ೃ࿔*:･𓇼

There are few things considered perfect, but this night spent among the treetops of Sumeru City, certainly comes close. The cool breeze is a welcomed remedy for a day spent under the sun, and below, the warm glow of the city’s lanterns illuminate the street, alive and effervescent in the serenity of the night. 

“I’ve never been so high up,” you muse, carelessly throwing a smile at Alhaitham who stands a little ways behind you, leaning against a pillar. 

Admittedly, Razan Garden isn’t very high up at all, but he bites back a smart remark, not realizing how his eyes soften as he watches you take in the sights with wonder. You’re radiant even under the low glow of the fireflies, and between the leaves and the padisarahs, even he can’t help but think you’ve walked right out of a children's storybook. 

“I can do you one better,” he offers, jutting his chin upwards, higher up the divine tree. 

Your eyes follow, but your voice wavers in your reply and you hesitate to take his outstretched hand. For one who normally dwells so deep beneath the sea, you think you’re already plenty high up the ground. Alhaitham easily reads into your reluctance, but with time, you too have learned to read the marginal variations in his expressions. 

That tiny curve to his lips and the slight dip in his brow — he teases you when he says, “I promise to catch you if you fall.” But his eyes soften just a fraction, and you know his words are genuine.

“Well you shouldn’t let me fall in the first place,” you shoot back, ignoring the way he rolls his eyes, and taking his hand regardless.

“Hold onto me,” he says simply, and your breath hitches in surprise as he wraps an arm around your waist, pulling you flush against his chest; a stark reminder that he is indeed not a feeble scholar at all. You scramble to hold on, but within the next second you feel yourself flying through the air, clinging on to this vision wielder for dear life. 

Alhaitham rationalizes that such an exceptionally rare visitor warrants an equally exceptional attraction — even if it’s only so that he might chance to see the way your eyes sparkle with delight. And it certainly doesn’t help that he quite enjoys the feel of you latching onto him, but he files the thought away for another time.

“You can open your eyes now.” 

When you’re sure your feet are planted on solid ground, you loosen your grip, untangling your limbs from his. 

“Next time, a warning would be nice.” 

“And where would be the fun in that?” he smirks.

Nestled among the thick branches of the divine tree, is his personal haven: hidden far from prying eyes, and high enough to drown out the noises of the city. He supposes that an overarching view of the surrounding forests is an added plus as well.

“I often come here to be alone. It’s peaceful.”

“And it’s got quite the view. I’ve never seen anything like it.” You keep your tone hushed, as if it might somehow shatter the tranquility.

This place… it’s new and fascinating, just like everything else you’ve experienced since meeting Alhaitham. Before you, vast forests spread as far as your eye can see, and below you, the vantage point makes it easy to people-watch. 

Despite the nearly two weeks you’ve spent here on land, you still find humans so interesting. Maybe not humans specifically, but the workings of human intimacy are… certainly noteworthy. As you peer over the tangle of leaves and branches, a young couple embraces under a streetlamp. You sneak a glance at Alhaitham beside you.

“The city talks about us often. They think we’re lovers.” 

He clears his throat, hoping to catch his choked breath and rid himself of the faint blush that speckles his cheeks; he’s long foresaw this as one possible outcome of your relationship, but he hadn’t expected, much less intended, for your words to still affect him as much as it does. He’s well aware of the rumors and ignores them as he always does, but he wonders what sparked the topic — it’s not a conversation he hopes to delve into. 

Following your line of sight, he too sees the couple below. “Well we’re clearly not, so no need to entertain idle gossip.” 

"Would it be so terrible though if we were…?" It slips out before you even get the chance to reel yourself back in.  

Lovers. The word tastes bittersweet on his tongue. Alhaitham keeps his heart lidded so that frivolous wishes cannot compromise his mind, but just the term itself is able to bring his emotions to a boil, threatening to spill over what he’s so carefully shoved down.

“I don't really see the point in dwelling on hypothetical situations.”

“You’re avoiding the question.” For a second, your brows knit together in worry. “Are you not attracted to me anymore?” Were humans so fickle that even after a night of– 

"It’s not that,” he interrupts quickly, eyes raking you up and down as he turns to face you, the tips of his ears flushed pink as he attempts to fix his composure. 

“And no, it wouldn’t be terrible at all but… it’d be highly irrational,” he pauses to gauge your reaction; a wrinkle in your brow paints your state of perplexity. “What kind of chance would we have under these circumstances? It’d only end in disappointment."

“What if it doesn’t?” There’s a sliver of hope that dances in your eyes, and it aches for him to accept that such are the unfortunate circumstances in which he finally experiences the longstanding debate between the head and the heart. 

Making the rational choice is easy when he has little to no emotional investment in the matter, but even the brilliance of his mind dulls to the way you puppet him like a marionette, tugging at every one of his heartstrings and bending him to your will. A daring voice in his head urges him to just take the risk and deal with any future repercussions when they come, to just take the leap and let himself freely love you as he so desires. 

But the grand scribe—famously aloof, cold, rational—sees the truth for what it is.

“The odds are heavily stacked against us. By the sheer law of probability, it could never work.”

To use a word as definitive as never, he’s not entirely sure who he’s trying to convince: you or himself. Regardless, he believes it'd be easier to just rip the bandage off. It would sting now, but it'd save a world of hurt for the both of you in the long run.

"And probability in itself is only a strong likelihood," you argue, before your voice falls into a quiet waver. "Are we… not even worth the chance?" 

Alhaitham knows the definition of probability, knows that nothing is absolute, save for your obvious physiological differences. It's a calculated risk — one he doesn't believe to be worth taking, especially when pursuing you romantically would bring more than its fair share of obstacles. Inevitable obstacles that would no doubt grow more apparent in the face of these foolish fantasies. Perhaps this makes him a coward, but it’s better than to raise false hopes. He too has a heart to hurt.

"I'm sorry." 

It’s easy to miss the way his eyes are more honest than his words, when your cheeks are burning and your heart is sinking. ‘Shameless mermaid,’ he had once said, so perhaps there is a lesson to learn in the human notions of shame and regret and heartache. 

The following morning doesn’t fare much better. In the aftermath of the night’s events, you couldn’t bare, hadn’t wanted to bare, the sight of your tail in that saltwater bath. Yet despite the fact that you distinctly remember falling asleep on the living room divan, you wake up in the familiar comfort of his bed. If he were more cruel, perhaps your heart would hurt less.

You sit up as the sound of his roommate’s muffled voice seeps through the walls, followed by the heavy thud of what you can only assume to be the front door. ‘For the sake of the Akademiya, I hope you work out whatever lovers’ quarrel you have going on.’ You wince at kaveh’s words, but the bedroom door creaks, jerking you from your thoughts, and opening to reveal none other than alhaitham himself. 

“I…,” he hadn’t wished to disturb your slumber, but now his mouth runs dry trying to come up with something to say, other than a pathetic ‘sorry.’ For once, he’s at a loss for words, so he grabs his keys and retreats back out to the hallway.  

You wait until you hear the front door click before flopping back into the pillows. While your kind doesn’t particularly revere the archons of teyvat, you nevertheless thank Lesser Lord Kusanali simply for the fact that alhaitham returns to work today, leaving you with the freedom to roam the city. It’ll be a good chance to clear your head. 

The air has been suffocatingly thick as of late, and even the sun seems to mock you, beating down hot and shining brighter than ever in your misery. It’s fair to say you don’t make it very far before growing increasingly fatigued, legs beginning to buckle as you walk. 

Beneath the shade of a brightwood tree, you try to recall the amount of days you’ve spent on land. Under normal circumstances, your human body would have given out after a week, but the saltwater baths in Alhaitham’s tub have about doubled your time on land. 

Perhaps it’s good that all things must come to an end. While you can’t force him to love you, you can try to salvage whatever might be left of this relationship. Alhaitham… seemed to be faring fine. It’s you who should swallow your feelings, so for now, distance may just be the best step forward. 

All rivers flow to the ocean, and while it’s too conspicuous to swim there in broad daylight—you scout the banks of Yazadaha Pool until you spot a few eremite mercenaries lounging around a small boat—you could definitely charter a ride. 

“Please take me to the port.”

A gruff man crosses his arms. “You got the mora?”

Not a single one. In the time you’ve spent on land, Alhaitham had readily purchased everything to your frivolous delight. You entertain the thought of talking your way into a free charter, though considering the circumstances, you’re not sure how much allure your voice can draw in this form. 

“That’s a nice hairpin you’ve got though. Must be worth a pretty price.” Tensing, you frown as your hand flies to clutch the emerald pin sitting in your hair.

No. You couldn’t possibly give up something you so cherish. It was a gift from Alhaitham; one you hadn’t asked for, but was instead given to you of his own accord. It was… consolation for reading over some random Akademiya papers, you remember.

Your arm falls limp as you tug the piece from your hair. Perhaps now you realize that everything he felt for you was only worth the weight of this pin. Still, it’s difficult to control the tremble in your hands as you toss the ornament to the nearest mercenary.

With one last glance towards the Akademiya, you wonder if he’d miss you in your absence, but you know Alhaitham, and you know he values simplicity and comfort in his daily life — he’d breathe easier without the strained air. 

As the sun begins to dip below the horizon, Alhaitham stalks towards the tavern. Others at the akademiya might describe him as difficult to work with today — even more so than usual. And maybe it would be hypocritical of him, considering all the times he’s scolded Kaveh, but his back aches from a night spent on the divan, and his mind is unfocused, filled only with thoughts of you. It wasn’t right how he had left things with you, and despite his mask of apathy, it eats away at his insides. He needed a drink. 

Just as he reaches for the doors, a sunray hits just right, sending a beam of refracted light into his eyes. He winces, passing an irritated glare to the source, before his eyes widen, freezing in his tracks. His stomach churns as he marches toward the group of eremites gathered at a table.

One of them twirls a hairpin in his hands — brilliant and gold, decorated with emerald gems. He demands to know its origins, and when he learns you had traded it for a ride to port ormos, he grits his teeth.

Knowing you, and based on past experience, he had expected you’d do the utmost to avoid him, but he had grossly underestimated how much his chest would ache in your absence, or how it terrifies his heart that he may lose you, should you choose to disappear forever. He must find you, but first...

“Name your price.”

The cold seawater is quite literally a breath of fresh air, revitalizing you in a way the sun and earth never could. Your head clears and your senses are sharpened, leaving much room for introspection as you sink down onto the ocean floor.

The heavy silence is a far cry from the liveliness you’ve grown accustomed to. Beneath the waves, the stars don’t shine and the moon's brilliant glow is scattered and diffused until it's dim and unrecognizable. It ripples with the water—distorted—like your perception. 

'Clearly not lovers.' The words replay again and again in your mind. You've seen the way couples in sumeru city behaved, and based on your observations, you hadn’t thought the two of you were much different. 

He had given you gifts, large and small, sheltered you in his own home, protected you when you were most vulnerable. You've kissed and you've lain together and he had whispered sweet words that called you his. It was a wonderful dream, painted in saccharine colors, but a dream nonetheless it seems. You are not who he wants. You’re not even what he wants. You are a mermaid.

'It could never work.' He’s given you every reason to believe there might be something more but deep down, you know he’s probably right. The word human has never felt more jarring, as it seems human intimacy is named as such, precisely because it's where the line is drawn. You spare a melancholy glance at your magnificent tail, but it has never looked more ordinary.

Overhead, a shadow blocks out the watery beams of the moon before a splash breaks the surface and a chunk of crystal ore sinks under the waves. After some time, another follows, and then another — too many to be a mere coincidence.

Every bone in your body screams to leave him be, that no, you shouldn’t come at his beck and call, especially if you hope to nurse your wounded heart. Still, a part of you is elated that he's come to chase after you, and against your better judgment, you swim up, just shy of the surface, hidden by the darkness of night. As long as you didn’t reveal yourself, although… maybe if he begs, you think.

Unfortunately, Alhaitham has studied the water enough times to recognize the subtle movements that give you away. He peers closer, still only barely catching a faint flicker of light — the brilliant gleam of your tail. When you don’t surface, he takes to more drastic measures, hoping you’d forgive him for more than just the bait.  

“If you really didn’t want to see me, you wouldn’t still be hanging around here.”

You scoff, slightly offended by his baseless assumption, yet irritated at the fact that he’s not particularly wrong either. 

“Please, this has been my cove long since before you showed up.” Pulling yourself onto the nearby rocks, you sit opposite him, tail still swishing in vex beneath the surface. With your cover blown, you might as well indulge in your curiosity. “Why are you here.” 

Between the moon and the sea, the pale light glows like a halo around you, like a figment of his dreams — ethereal and out of reach. But what matters now, is that you’re here, and real, and should you let him, he doesn’t intend to let you go again. 

“These are for you,” he states simply, a bouquet of padisarahs in hand. You frown. He brings you flowers as you’ve seen lovers do, but you are clearly not lovers. Your heart can weather the storm of his rejection, but if he’s here to toy with you… then he must have forgotten who is vulnerable in these waters.  

“With the way things ended, the thought that I might never see you again…” 

As his voice trails off, his mask slips just a little, and you wonder if he can recognize the casual cruelty of his words. The dichotomy of being more than friends, yet less than lovers, how he does not wish to lose you, and yet he does not want you. If he was merciful, he’d let you go. Your eyes shift to the waters — it’d be easy to just dive in and disappear beneath the depths, spare yourself the humiliation of whatever might come next, but his gentle grasp on your arm begs you not to go.

"So give me a reason to stay."

“Because I want you to,” he whispers, but you shake your head.

"It's not enough." 

He tries again. "Because I want you."

The air hangs heavy above your heads, the tension like a bow drawn taut. The silence seems to tick for forever before you finally respond, guarded.

“Why the change of heart.”

Alhaitham swallows, his kaleidoscope eyes boring into yours. “There was never anything to change.”

He’s always been apt with his words, but there's a twinge of fear and hurt and desperation in his voice that undermines his normally confident tone. It shakes your resolve to keep him at arm's length but if what he says is true, if there's an underlying message woven between the lines… then perhaps it’s worth the risk to lay bare before him once again.

“And how do you want me?” Your movements are hesitant when your hand smoothes over his cheek, but he relaxes under your touch — turning his face into your palm and letting out a breath as if soothed by your acknowledgment. "Because I want to be yours, Haitham. I love-”

"Not like this," he interrupts. Gingerly, he wraps his fingers around your wrists, guiding your hands back down until his face is left cold without your touch, but he never lets go: not when your shoulders sink and your bottom lip trembles, and certainly not as he laces his fingers through yours.

If nothing else, he must remain sensible. Even if he's to make the most irrational decision in the world, he should at least do it right. 

"I want a life that suits the both of us," he starts. You refuse to meet his gaze, waiting for the inevitable but. But it’s impossible. But it’s irrational.

But it never comes.

“Make another deal with me,” he continues as your brows furrow and confusion clouds your eyes. “Wait for me, and I’ll find a way.”

“You’re very confident for someone who doesn’t know if such a solution even exists.”

A love that hangs on the promise of another deal; how fitting for the two of you whose relationship had flourished on the merit of exchanging knowledge. But he’s confident in his abilities as a researcher and a scholar. 

“Sumeru is the epicenter of knowledge. Our deserts hide many mysteries, even to this day.” 

"And if one day I decide I’m tired of waiting…?" you ask, even though he’s promised to return, and you’ve long decided you’d wait.

“Then I’d come and find you so that my efforts aren’t wasted.” 

“It’d be a waste of effort anyway if you can’t even make it through the currents. And the sea is quite vast, you know.” 

You don’t know what point you’re trying to prove by arguing during an already fragile moment. Maybe it’s a subconscious countermeasure, a last line of defense against your traitor heart, but this back and forth with him shouldn’t come so easily.

“Then I can only pray that a beautiful mermaid might come and save me,” he murmurs, lightly squeezing your hand. “My beautiful mermaid.”

Your eyes follow as he brings your still-interlocked fingers to his lips, pressing a gentle kiss to your knuckles before glancing up from beneath the pieces of his fringe, "Do you trust me?" 

It’s almost difficult to breathe with the way your heart pounds in your chest. Do you trust him enough to take this chance on such a near impossible task? Do you trust him as he calls you his, outside of the realm of pleasure and of his own volition… 

You answer him in the same way he did, when you had asked the same of him not so long ago. Your hand once again reaches up to cup his face, this time bringing him in for a kiss, soft and tender, filled with the whispers of a promise.

His lips curve up just the slightest, the beginning of a sly grin breaking across his face. “I don’t think I got all of that just yet. Care to elaborate your answer?”

And so you kiss him again, the ebb and flow of your lips as smooth as the tides, with your arms draped over his neck, and his hands clasped around your waist, bringing you ever closer. It’s decadent and asphyxiating, you almost don’t care if you were to drown in this fit of passion. 

“I do have feelings for you,” he murmurs, before finally breaking away for air. His chest heaves, but your face is only inches from his and he fights the urge to kiss you senseless again. “Just give me some time, and we can be together for real.”

Alhaitham turns to sift through his belt pouch and once again presents you with a hairpin — delicate and ornate, inlaid with nagadus emeralds. “I couldn’t stand to see it in someone else’s possession.” 

“And why’s that?” You coax, deceitfully coy as you peek up from underneath your lashes, biting back a grin whilst tracing the gem on his chest, one that happens to shine in the same verdant shade of green. It’s a bit silly, but you want to hear him say it again. 

Alhaitham rolls his eyes with a huff of exasperation, although the mirth in his eyes says otherwise. Sometimes you are ridiculously easy to read. 

“Because it’s yours.” A small peck lands on your forehead. “And because the whole of sumeru should know you’re mine,” he finishes with a light kiss to your lips.  

Your head falls to rest against his chest, picking out his heartbeat amongst the sound of the waves. You feel warm despite how the cool ocean air prickles against your wet skin. You’d be happy to let this moment last forever, but ingenuity is a virtue in the nation of wisdom—what is done completes what is thought—and you trust that alhaitham will keep his word, so you guide his fingers, curling them into a fist around the little ornament.

“It'd only get tarnished underwater so... keep it safe for me until you return. Deal?”

Alhaitham catches your lips again, grinning into the kiss. “Deal.”

epilogue

a/n2: i rewrote this SO many times cus i was unsatisfied with it, so i hope you enjoyed :'D it was honestly kind of hard not weaving in anything from the bonus smutfic but also keeping it kinda coherent LOL but if u read that, there was like 1 ref that i thought was fun 'n i hope u caught it (๑>؂•̀๑) ANYWAYS we are almost at the end as the next part will be the last 'n it'll be a little epilogue ! as always, thank u so much for reading + reblogs/feedback are always vry much appreciated ♡

© silkjade — do not steal, plagiarize, translate or repost any content onto any other platform

[chernabogs]

I can see an entire bouquet matching Malleus 😭 Calla lily, Ivy, Red Salvia, NATSURIUM and White carnation with pecks of Daffodil and Fern

Don't feel obligated to use all of them! Chose whichever you find most suitable! I just could stop with one alone, the more prompts i read the more i had this idea for a story in my head

I think you and I had the same idea cooking LMAOOO I hope I did this well! <3 Thank you for the request!!

Sin Eater

Inc: Malleus, Reader, a sin eater, and one advisor WC: 3.4k Warnings: Heavy discussion of grief and coping with loss Flowers: Calla Lily (something at first sight), Ivy (we’ve always been friends but we were never just friends), Natsurium (I refuse to bury you), Daffodil (a god bows before a mortal), Fern (In a world of magic, the greatest miracle was you... subtly implied) Summary: A quiet conversation in a hall between a prince, a starving idol, and a body.

Their arrival is marked with the sombre chiming of Dragon City’s bells, which is the only reason Malleus knows they’re approaching Black Scale. The window of the bedroom you shared is wide open, letting in both the breeze and the song as he stands so still that one may consider him to be a mere statue on display. He feels equivalent to one; his breath is shallow, his body cold, and his expression far away enough that he hardly registers the carriage approaching. 

“Your highness?” A faint voice speaks by his right side. Malleus’ finger twitches at the sound as his emerald gaze slowly slides from the streets below to the advisor who is now anxiously twisting her sleeve. He can hardly remember her name—advisors come and go so often that they’ve become a blur in his mind—but he’s taken to calling her Scops due to the owlish stare that she always seems to wear around him. “The sin eater is here.”

Malleus stares for a moment before he looks back down to the courtyard. The carriage door is open, and a figure is now standing on the stone, speaking with one of the guards. The discussion is brief, ending with the guard walking to the doors and the figure looking upwards at the palace walls. A golden mask conceals their face, capturing the rays of the sun which battle through Briar Valley’s ever-present clouds, and they wear a simple black funeral suit. 

“I see that.” He replies curtly, his voice ungiving on how he’s really feeling. “They arrived quite quickly, didn’t they?” 

“I suppose they have,” Scops steps a bit closer to the window to look down at the sin eater. “Strange, really. It isn’t like their profession is a competitive market anymore.” 

Sin eaters used to be far more prominent in Briar Valley back when it was still Briar Nation, and old traditions were held to a greater esteem. Unfortunately, the changing of times meant the dismantling of old organizations and beliefs, rendering the sin eaters as nothing more than a token piece in a funeral party. Perhaps once they were esteemed in a religious fashion—but not anymore. Now they will sit for anyone, so long as they get their meal. 

You had always admired the old traditions, though. He remembers your avid interest in his family’s history, and the many nights you’d waste away in the library, reading tome after tome in delight. You had been the spearhead of a new age for old beliefs—revamping Briar Valley’s tourism through the demonstration of habits long dead—and you had made a difference. That’s why there is a sin eater here today. 

Malleus dislikes their presence, however. Them being here means that what he’s going through is not just a simple dream. He exhales through clenched teeth and forces his shoulders to relax as he turns on his heel and nods. 

“Regardless, it’s best not to keep guests waiting.”

_____________________________________________________________

The hallowed hall in which you lay is silent, even with the presence of the sin eater looming over your shrouded form. How they managed to move quickly enough that they arrived before Malleus did is something he decides not to question—nor does he question how they knew of the hall to begin with. Their profession is one that draws the most peculiar of magic users into it. Like a bloodhound, they caught your scent and followed it to the room. He’s surprised the guards who have been standing watch over you for a day now permitted them to enter. 

Malleus enters alone and waves for the room to be sealed. He notes the hesitation in his guard’s body language before they oblige, stepping away to pull the great wooden doors shut with a resounding boom that stirs a pair of birds residing in the rafters. Their wings flutter in distress as Malleus spares them a passing glance before returning his focus on the figure ahead. The sin eater has turned to look back at him, and he sees upon closer inspection that the mask they wear lacks a mouth. They incline their head in greeting before speaking in a surprisingly clear tone considering their facial obstruction. 

“Your grace. Forgive me for the intrusion before your arrival; I merely wished to prepare in advance.” Their voice is soft and low as they touch a hand to the place above their heart. Malleus hardly reacts to their words as he brushes past them to where you lay, body enshrouded in a white sheet with a torc affixed upon your neck. His fingers brush along its form; forged of mystium and gifted to you as a token by him. It was the closest he could get to a marriage declaration in the eyes of the Senate. 

“It’s hardly my place to prevent a sin eater from completing their role.” He replies languidly as his fingers skim off of the torc to rest on your chest. Stiff, still, and cold against his fingers. “I just wish you had not come to begin with.” 

He doesn’t wish to have you buried quite yet, but he knows he’s already pushing the limit of how long he can keep you. He kneels by the platform that holds your form as his fingers brush along the shroud that hides you. If he could, he would drag you off of this macabre display and back into the rooms you shared for so many decades together, to wrap you in his arms and pretend this isn’t happening. 

But that was foul. Utterly, utterly foul. Your body would putrefy and decay while he clung to a false hope of resurrection. 

No, the sin eater is here now. He just doesn’t want you out of sight quite yet. 

“Many do not welcome me, but I have never left without gratitude.” The sin eater replies softly. Like a god before a mortal, Malleus’ ethereal features are painted into a stony expression, his gaze still distant. He hardly feels a part of this world right now as he hums quietly in turn. 

“Perhaps.” He muses as his fingers toy with the shroud before he turns to look at the sin eater. Like his own face, their mask is a stony expression, their eyes concealed from his seeking gaze. If they were to not move and speak then they could easily be dismissed as one of the many statues adorning the hall. “How shall we proceed?” 

“Do you feel ready to proceed?” They posit as they gesture to your form. 

Malleus rises back to his feet but doesn’t remove his hand from your body. The pungent scent of flowers—used to disguise the sweetness of decay—wafts up with the abruptness of his motion. “The opportunity to refuse has long passed. I am aware that there is a feast to be had—that, they regaled me of this back when they were still alive.”

You had been enamoured by the concept of Briar Valley funerary rites throughout your time in life. He remembers thinking it to be grim when you would speak of them, and rather anxiety-inducing when you began to plan for your own. He always knew that your status as a human meant that you would join the stars long before he did—he had simply not wanted to think about it, though. In the end, your efforts to establish your own postmortem care had saved him a great deal of distress these past few days.

Your ability to think far ahead had been one of the many aspects he had loved about you. 

“Indeed, and I am delighted to see one is set for me.” The sin eater drifts off of the steps of the platform towards the far side of the room, where a table lay with an array of foods on it. Wine, dates, meats, and a variety of other luxuries decorate pristine plates and spotless cutlery. He had spared no expenses in the lavishness of your memoriam. “Sometimes I have served people who are still cooking the final meal by the time I arrive. But then again, I would expect a prince to have ample amounts of resources available to get things done.” 

“I give nothing but the finest when it comes to them.” Malleus retorts sharply as he goes to sit in the chair on the other side of the table. Before he can properly settle, the sin eater raises a hand and shakes their head. 

“Turn the chair around if you please. You are not meant to see my face when I eat—that honour is for the deceased, and the deceased alone.” 

Malleus pauses, his hand resting on the back of the chair before he obliges and twists it around to face the wall. He then sits down and crosses his legs patiently. Despite the fact that he knows the sin eater to be unarmed, he still feels a prickle of paranoia creep up his spine. Old habits die hard when one has been hunted for so many years. 

Eventually he hears the sound of the sin eater sitting down in their respective seat, followed by something heavy hitting the table. The sin eater clears their throat, and the sound is far clearer now than before. Their mask has been removed—which means the rite has officially begun. Malleus inhales and readies himself for what he recalls the next few steps to be. 

“Tell me about them. Call them to the table where we feast.” There’s a brief pause then before a fork scrapes against porcelain plates. Malleus’ eyes flutter shut as he gives a low sigh. 

“Mira calirh.” The affectionate term flows from his tongue easily as he touches upon memories long passed. How can he summarize you in a simple conversation? You had been a person of many complexities—of devotion, of will, of love as boundless as the sea. To boil all that you were down into a mere few lines felt sacrilegious in his heart. 

“Tell me of your first.” The sin eater prompts, and so he does. 

“I met them outside of their dorm. I thought the place was abandoned, but suddenly they were there before me, sleep-dazed and curious. I remember thinking how calm they were when facing me directly—only to find out they hadn’t a single clue about who I was.” Malleus’ lips curl into a faint grin as he pictures the moment so clearly. He can see you in your youth, eyes glassy with sleep and hair slightly dishevelled. You had not registered in his mind as someone of importance quite yet. 

Oh, how such a thing would change. 

“Tell me more.” The sin eater urges. He can hear the wine glass lifting and being set back down on the table. Malleus’ hands clasp tight as he feels his fingers begin to grow numb. In his peripheral vision, he thinks he sees movement from the pedestal. He resists the impulse to look its way as he considers his next words. 

“It made me feel… alive. For a moment. They would accompany me, speak with me. It was shortly after my overblot that I began to consider them as a friend—although I suspect we never were just that. It was two summers later that I began to consider them something more.” 

Malleus pauses for a moment to gather his thoughts. He remembers that summer—it had been warmer than usual in the Valley, and you had come to visit for a week. He recalls the smell of sunscreen and the sight of you with your hat on your head as you sat in a field of eternal green. The land was lush and abundant with life, but it had been you that had drawn his gaze the strongest. 

The sin eater pushes a plate away before grabbing another. It drags across the wooden table with a bitter screech. “Is that so?” 

“Quite. They stayed with me for a week, and I wished every night that the next day would never come, only so that I could hold onto them for just a bit longer. I kissed their cheek before they departed through the mirror back to NRC—I wanted to kiss their lips, but I panicked and missed.” He can’t help but laugh at that. His palms had been sweating and his mind had been in a panic when he clumsily pressed his lips to your cheek in a kiss of farewell. “Foolish I was. Fortunately, it didn’t turn them away from me. The next time we met, they made sure my aim was true.” 

“Young love has a habit of sending our hearts aflutter, no?” The sin eater muses as more scraping sounds out. “Tell me when you loved them.”

When? Malleus’ brow furrows as he considers the question. When did he not, really? 

“Every day. Every hour. Every minute. I think once they became mine there was not a moment I did not love them, even when we had our disagreements, or the obligations of my role drew me abroad. I loved them in the day, I loved them in the night. And in the sparse moments between, I loved them even more.” Malleus feels his jaw clench slightly. “We could not be married, and so I made sure they knew my devotion.”

“You could not marry because they were not fae. I remember that being a point of contention in the papers.” 

The sin eater must be a fae themself, then, if they can recall the tabloids from that time so easily while looking as young as they appeared. Malleus bristles at their comment. 

“Yes, that was a point of great contention, and one I had to swallow despite working to change the laws. Even my grandmother agreed that such outdated beliefs had no business in and amongst our courtiers.” 

He had fought viciously against nobility for the opportunity to keep you by his side. Eventually it had ended in a standoff, with the courtiers begrudgingly agreeing to permit you to live in Black Scale, so long as you never officially became his consort. Your body hasn’t even been cold for a day, and he’s already heard rumours from Scops that the Senate is hunting for a suitable replacement. 

The knowledge tastes like bitter fruit on his tongue.

He thinks he sees the flutter of white fabric moving at the pedestal again. His brow furrows as he rationalizes it away as a trick of the odd lighting in the hall. Still, the cold breeze that follows makes him shift in his seat uncomfortably.

“Tell me how you loved them.” The sin eater diverts his thoughts and the conversation once more as something heavy scrapes across the table. It may be the plate of quail he saw—or the pig's head. “What did you do to always let them know?” 

“Everything. Anything they wanted I would give to them. If they had asked me to move the mountains we rest on, I would do so. If they asked me to pluck the sun from the sky and fasten it into a brooch for them, I would make sure it was held by the finest of metals. If they wished for the rains to fall and the earth to turn green, then I would drag the clouds from across the world to where they stood.” Malleus shivers again as he feels an ache in his chest. It’s been there for days now. “Magic bends to my whims, but I bent to theirs.” 

“But you couldn’t give them time.” There’s a licking sound and a low hum of satisfaction from the sin eater. “Time will eat everyone in the end—much like how I feast on their memories now. You could give them every precious gem and flower in the world, but you could not give them a second more than what they were meant to have.” 

“If I could have, then I would.” He snarls back, his head turning slightly to glare at the blurred image of the sin eater. “I would have stolen the seconds from anything and everything and given it to them instead. The gods know they would have benefited from it. They had plans, ideas, to improve this nation and now? Now they’re already beginning to decay.” 

“As things do.” The sin eater tosses a bone onto a plate as Malleus looks back to the wall. He feels something cold brush against him again, and then the scraping of a chair to his right. His shoulders tense at the sound and he wonders if the sin eater has changed places. 

Until they speak. 

“How very kind of you to finally join us.” 

The comment is simple and one that draws confusion in Malleus until it finally clicks in place and his entire body plunges into freezing water. The world spins to a stop as he hears a whispering voice by his ear, its words indiscernible. Malleus’ eyes widen and dilate as any words he had to say stutter to a stop from his lips, drawn shut by a cold touch brushing up his arm—much like how his touch had brushed along yours moments ago. 

“One last bite, then.” The sin eater interjects once more as they push another plate away. “Tell me how you will keep them alive. The body may be rotting, but the soul does still linger. Within this hall, within this palace, within the memories stored in your mind. How will you honour that?” 

The words become clearer now. Your voice is soft as your breath brushes against the skin behind his ear, making him shiver as a small, painful sound escapes him. The scent of you lingers just beneath that of the roses your body was bathed in before being wrapped for your cremation. He can feel the brush of the shroud against him as phantom fingers touch his back. 

He wants to turn to see you as he once knew—but something tells him that doing so will merely send you away faster. 

“Their legacy.” He offers slowly, eyes fluttering shut again as he loses himself in your touch. “Their memory carries on through years upon generations of work. They brought life back to Briar Valley’s beliefs. They reshaped this old, rotting home—reshaped me—into something better. I may have portraits of them, and statues, and items that they loved dear stored in my rooms—but I think the only thing they would wish for me to do is continue the work they had started.” 

A sensation floods him then like that brought on by a lover’s kiss. It curls around his wounded heart and floods itself through his veins, warming his body in a way that it hasn’t been able to for days. Another pained sound leaves him, but it is not drawn out because of any agony. 

Then, as quickly as it arrived, the sensations are all gone. Your scent disappears, your touch disappears, and Malleus Draconia is left once more to sit in a stiff wooden chair in a large, desolate hall, with a body and a sin eater as his company. He wants to grasp for you and hold you in place like he did so dearly with your body—but the voice screams at him again that this is not the way it plays out. 

The sin eater sets the cutlery down before drawing their mask over their face. They push the chair back to stand, and only when they’re on their feet again does Malleus turn to them. He can feel wetness on his cheeks as he stares at their slender, frail form. He had managed to keep himself from crying so far—but now it’s become a battle he can no longer wage.

“What a delectable meal.” The sin eater sighs as they brush down their suit before stepping away from the table. They pause as they face the prince before bending at the waist in a low bow. The black pits that represent their eyes do not stray from his face as they do so. “They rest—as you should, too. I know you have at least another day of the wake to endure, so try to recover as much energy as you can. They would not want you to suffer on their behalf.”

Malleus doesn’t reply as his gaze drifts to your shrouded form on the pedestal. His love, his partner, his calirh. When the sin eater is already halfway to the door, he clears his throat, causing them to pause and look his way. Malleus stares at their masked face with an expression of neutrality once more. 

“... thank you.” He offers softly. The sin eater tilts their head, bows, and steps out of the silent hall.

[lullaebies]

Aegon II, Helaena, and Historical Counterparts: Hope, Fate and the Doomed

So I had to do a little write up after something came to mind. This is an interpertation of Aegon II and Helaena in regards to how they may see the crown as it effects their relationship. Note that this is based of their characters in F&B, not the show. So needed context for this write up: As we know, Targaryens marry within the family. Keeps bloodlines pure, keeps dragonriding as a Targaryen ability. For the purposes of this write up, the theme is Targaryens marry within the family in order to maintain power. Duty is to keep the dragons within the family, duty is for a male heir to marry his sister in order to keep the literal power (dragons) and figurative powers (the crown) in the family. Historical heirs and rulers married within the family; notably Aegon The Uncrowned and Rhaena, as did Jaehaerys I and Alysanne. These two pairs will be our focus and comparison to Helaena and Aegon, but to begin with, we must acknowledge that unlike Helaena and Aegon these two pairs were either expected to rule, or have ruled for a long time and were praised. For Aegon II and Helaena, they were, as far as I remember, the first sibling couple in the royal dynasty era that had not been expected to take over the Realm (Edit: aside from Baelon and Alyssa, who had been more of a love match, and whose marriage kept their dragons in the family). Helaena and Aegon’s marriage is not advantageous to them, but instead to Rhaenyra and Viserys's hopes for the crown - denying the Greens alliances and hence power to their cause. They don't seem to have/are not mentioned to have dragon eggs, and instead seem to claim older dragons (Sunfyre and Dreamfyre) so they have to gain that power "on their own" in a sense too. [I will note book!Viserys does not seem to discourage the Greens from getting dragons - but alas they still had to go out and claim their own.] With a marriage that seems more purposeful in blocking power from reaching their hands, with already two people who feel pushed aside (Aegon being described as solemn and a grouch; Helaena noted to be less remarkable in beauty to Targs, in an era where she would be compared to her sister who was once "The Realm's Delight"), they seem to be helpless in their place. They are in a position where neither of them have an inheritance aside from their dragon, and where they know they would have to live subservient to Rhaenyra's wishes despite their family not getting along with hers to say the least. Their marriage is a chain around them at the time, and it hurts them. Only teens, Aegon rebels and cheats as he is - Helaena also is rather jokingly cynical, noting that people won't find him in her beds when people look to coronate him. They have an odd somewhat resigned relationship prior to the crowning, despite being noted to sleep in the same bed together regardless and have moments of jealousy [Aegon being mad at Jace for asking Helaena to Dance] - to me at least, they read as if they accepted the hand dealt at life and try to go with the flow of each other. There is struggle and understanding they find in each other. For the longest while, Aegon the Uncrowned and Rhaena are their soft parallels. An Aegon that had been denied the Throne; Helaena is a rider of Dreamfyre as well just like Rhaena. They have twins, and most of all — their story seems doomed.

Then, the coronation time comes, and there is somewhat of a shift. Not specifically in the relationship, but how they try to take it up — suddenly, they are King and Queen, and their relationship is pinnicale Targaryen power. They are crowned with their notably metallic colored, silver and gold dragons marking a new future to them. Aegon II is declaring he is fighting against an usurper that he is sure will kill his family, that in the future will be compared to Maegor the Cruel. Helaena, beloved of the Smallfolk, joins the Council table and argues for peace with her mother, a moderate voice to her more stern king, along with their mother Alicent, [despite this being an admittedly slightly flimsier part] whose name can ring a bell back to Alyssa Velaryon, King Aenys's wife. What I'm trying to lead us to, is our second comparison — Aegon II and Helaena after their coronation, had been hoping to be like Jaehaerys and Alysanne. With their magnificent metallic dragons, they wanted to find their power against someone they consider Maegor-like (Rhaenyra; and soon enough her cause will lead to the death of both her nephews so... checks out). They wanted to find again their power in this union that was not meant to bring them power. They were young adults, accepting the mantle and entering the war with the idea that they are upholding the law and going against violation to the succession from occurring again like in Maegor's case; entering the war with the idea that they must do so to protect their family. Alas, that is not to be. Very soon, that impression of protecting the family with the crown is shattered with the death of Jaehaerys. And now they're back to understanding that a crown and dragons are not quite enough. The struggle returns. They break from each other after B&C and suddenly, they return to the doomed narrative — like Aegon the Uncrowned, Aegon II goes to battle. Unlike him, he does not die, but he may as well be with his condition, and from the eyes of Helaena, who never sees him again after he is smuggled away, it cannot be too different. As she realizes and returns to understanding that there is no hope - she is a black bride, captured by Rhaenyra who is her Maegor while her husband for all she knows is dead - she also realizes that she is living a fate worse than Rhaena too, when Maelor dies. She gives up. The hope is gone and the grief is too much. She and her children are as doomed - there was no power in the crown, only pain. She jumps down to the moat. Residuals of Helaena's image as an Alysanne like figure spark the riots against Rhaenyra, and Aegon II, hides like Jaehaerys I did from Maegor for the longest while, and uses his last bits of power to overthrow Rhaenyra. He still dies in the end, however, poisoned.

In conclusion; Helaena and Aegon's cause had them bolstering the image of Jaehaerys and Alysanne, but they could not escape the tragedy of Aegon the Uncrowned and Rhaena losing it all. There was hope to find power in their union, as Jaehaerys and Alysanne did, but the crown and war for it had brought them immense grief, as it did Aegon the Uncrowned and Rhaena. An arc of hope and tragedy between a doomed pair.

[merakiui]

AAAAA ok so. You're one of my favorite authors here on Tumblr and slkssnlssksn I'm so nervous waaaa thanks for taking your time to brainrot with us <3 I'm in love with your writing and your delicious concepts and how you execute them oh god and when you write about stinky greasy incel Idia OK I'm gonna stop and actually order aaa

Can I please get assorted macaroons with a lacy lingerie along with a hint of sea salt caramels and a finishing touch of a pineapple parfait with Floyd and Jade, together? Something sweet and cute but with a lingering feeling of uneasiness <3 Hope it's well-ordered! Please and thank you very much!! 🥹

yandere!jade leech x (gender neutral) reader x yandere!floyd leech cw: yandere, unhealthy relationship/behaviors, drugging, implied captivity, brief mentions of implied nsfw, obsession note - thank you for checking in, dearest guest! enjoy your order! [lunar love hotel]

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ ᴊᴀᴅᴇ ʟᴇᴇᴄʜ & ꜰʟᴏʏᴅ ʟᴇᴇᴄʜ

☆ Your “wedding” was unofficial, a quiet ceremony without an audience. Jade dressed you for the occasion, prettying you up as if you were a doll. You certainly felt so as you watched your reflection in the mirror, drifting in and out of a daze. Floyd poked at your shoulder to rouse you, giggling about his “sweet, sleepy Shrimpy.” When the wedding bands were slid on your ring fingers—the left for Floyd and the right for Jade—it became official. They kissed you on both cheeks and promised you a future filled with love and happiness. You couldn’t protest; there was no room for such a thing, not when Floyd’s mouth was already closing over yours.

☆ The first five days are for Floyd, and the next five will be Jade’s. They planned it together, all with your and their shared interests in mind. The first five days of your honeymoon are spent at a tropical resort. You delight in local cuisine and beautiful sights, allowing the twins to hold your hands while you walk between them. They spoil you rotten, buying all sorts of clothes and jewelry to add to your wardrobe, trinkets that catch your eye, sweets you seem to fancy. Money has never been an issue, which is why everything feels so grand and lavish. You’re taken to the beach, to a quiet, desolate strip that few tourists know of. Towels are laid out; an umbrella is propped. Floyd drags you towards the sea, eager to shed his human form and swim with you. Jade reads in the shade, occasionally glancing up from his book to watch you.

☆ As the sun shifts through the sky, you tire yourself out. Between swimming with Floyd, sunbathing alongside Jade, and indulging in a picnic with both, you’re plenty sluggish by the day’s end. They snap your picture just as you feel yourself falling, giggling to each other about how cute you look. The twins intend to capture many of your best (and possibly worst) moments during the entirety of this honeymoon. When the secret contents of your lunch catch up to you and render you sleepy, you assume it’s just the result of a long day sapping your energy. It makes you pliable, has you dragging them into bed when you’re oscillating between slumber and wakefulness. The camera shutters, capturing you curled up against Floyd in bed—perfectly, peacefully asleep.

☆ The twins take turns cooking for you. Mornings are for Floyd. He prepares all types of breakfasts, all with your favorites. You think he has too much fun in the kitchen because some meals are decorated cutely—pancakes looking like cats and bears and fruit cut into stars and hearts. Jade takes care of lunch and snacks throughout the day. They work together on dinner. It’s a guarantee that you’ll always feast on delicious meals regardless of which twin cooks. Strangely, the meals are so delicious that they leave you sleepy or, in some cases, achingly hot. The twins take good care of you whenever this happens. Maybe something just didn’t agree with your stomach… It’s nothing to worry about. They’re here for you.

☆ As the days wear on, you find yourself swamped in love. Whether you’re enjoying mornings down at the beach, exploring and shopping in town, touring popular destinations, or enjoying drinks on the balcony at sunset, the twins are always by your side. Floyd clings, his arm perpetually wrapped around your waist. Jade likes to slide his hand into yours, holding it with such a gentle fondness. He kisses your knuckles softly, eyeing the rings on your fingers with a pleased smile.

☆ Jade booked quite the quaint cabin for his half of the honeymoon. For the next five days, the three of you will see endless, sprawling pines from your spot in the mountains. He’s got a vague itinerary in mind, but it’s subject to change as you get through these five days. Surprises are more than welcome. The cabin is so cozy, equipped with all the necessities for a trip such as this one. It even has a fireplace. Jade is much too eager to gather and chop firewood even though it’s already supplied.

☆ He takes you out on hikes through the woods, pointing out flora and fauna as you encounter them. His eyes are sparkling the entire time. Floyd’s not as into it as Jade is, but he does enjoy walking alongside you and taking pictures of your most candid moments. You’ve been feeling groggy ever since breakfast, so you’re not nearly as alert as you usually are. Floyd takes this as his opportunity to snap your photo when you least expect it and to steal quick kisses. Jade thinks it’s so cute that you can hardly keep your eyes open. He promises the lot of you will turn around and head back after he gathers just a few more mushrooms for tonight’s dinner. You’re lying down for a nap by the time you make it back, the sun dipping below the horizon. You think you feel the bed depressing under Jade’s weight, his hands ghosting over your clothes to help change you into something comfortable. You let it happen.

☆ This place is oddly isolated. The locals are sweet, though. When Jade tells them you’re here on honeymoon, they all smile and tell you to have fun, to enjoy these special moments, to feel lucky that you have two husbands who adore you so very much. You thank them with a pleasant smile. Jade and Floyd keep their hands on you beneath the table during lunch. Even if you wanted to say something, you couldn’t. They make sure of that. And if you seem paranoid, they wave it off casually. Jade tells anyone who asks that you just love the variety of mushrooms here, especially the fun kinds. You’re not sure what he means until much later when you’ve digested your meal and your vision blurs. Jade’s there to steady you before you can fall over, petting your head in that affectionate way and cooing at you to calm down. It’s your honeymoon. You deserve to relax. His sharp, overly sweet smile is all you see in your dreams.

☆ Honeymoons are especially exciting because they come with amenities fitting for the occasion. A complimentary bottle of wine, luxury chocolates, condoms… Floyd tosses that last one aside. You won’t need them. If you insist on using protection for whatever reason, Jade will ease your worries with a placid smile. He’ll indulge your request. He wears one, yes, but then it’s not a guarantee that this one hasn’t been tampered with in some way. You’ll never know. Floyd’s a bit more difficult to convince. He adores cumming inside and then felching it out of your slick hole. You shiver through it all, clawing at the sheets as you melt beneath them. Your husbands pamper you excessively, so don’t think about anything and just enjoy yourself.

☆ The mountains are peaceful. Unlike the tropical paradise you previously came from, things are slower here. You enjoy watching the sunrise cut through the trees in the mornings, sitting at the window with Jade and Floyd. You sleep late into the afternoon, sandwiched between both of them. Floyd’s an early riser, so breakfast is always waiting for you when you and Jade eventually wake. It’s quiet bliss. You sit and sketch nature alongside Jade in the afternoon, who adores every little line you make with your pencil. He tells you so, leaning in to kiss the corner of your mouth when you pout and insist his is better. There’s no competition here, and even if there was he will always love yours more. When night falls Floyd prepares a campfire. You roast marshmallows for s’mores. Floyd dances around the firepit, singing gleefully and pulling you up from the log to dance alongside him. Firelight reflects off of your rings. It’s a wonderful honeymoon.

[aoioozora]

Mending Promises

Content: Keegan x F! Reader, Band AU, Civilian AU, second chances, exes to lovers, angst and fluff, happy ending Note: This idea has been marinating in my head for months now. I've never written an exes to lovers story before and I think I did quite well for my first attempt. Put my heart and soul into writing it. Enjoy :) [also why does K look so "🥺" in the gif]

The little puddles of rainwater on the cobbled streets squelched and splashed as you stepped over them. The dark night was clear and damp, filling the air with the light scent of petrichor, sizzling meats, and smoke which rose over the buildings and traffic into an incoherent yet delightful mixture. Flickering lamps passed by you as you walked, the puddles reflecting them.

Genevieve's. That was the place you stopped in front of. The red neon sign flickered and buzzed faintly as you pushed the worn bronze metal handle on the equally worn wooden door and stepped inside the establishment.

You were greeted by faint chatter of the dingy restaurant's patrons, all shrouded in dim darkness in contrast to the band up on the podium bathed in the yellow spotlight as they set up their mics on the stands and adjusted the drums. The lead singer stood out with the bright red Fender electric guitar hanging in front of him by the strap as he plugged the wire in. He raised his head for a moment, sweeping away his sweat-glistening black locks out of his eyes to scour through the dimly lit room as if in search of someone.

You felt an annoying tingle in your stomach as his eyes swept past you, unsure whether or not you were spotted by him. You sat at a table nearest to the door, just in case you wanted to run away from the performance midway. You took out your phone and opened a chat screen.

Keegan: I hope it isn't too much to ask you to see our performance. We may have fallen out, but your support is important to me.

And attached below was a digital flyer of the said performance that you were currently attending. It was sent a week ago, and you left him on read, one of the many messages and concert invitations you didn't want to reply to and didn't attend. Your eyes lingered on the second line of the message, and every single time you read it, it wrenched your heart and made your eyes burn with tears. And it did again as you raised your head to look at him, blinking your eyes rapidly.

Keegan's eyes softened with disappointment. There was nobody in this world he would play for if not you, and not seeing you there didn't make him standing in front of this small, faceless crowd worth it. Regardless, the little concert began.

He tapped the mic twice. "Testing, one, two, three," he spoke softly, and then began, "Good evening everyone, we're The Ghosts. We'll be singing our original songs and a few covers tonight. Enjoy."

The patrons in the restaurant gave the band their attention as he and his fellow bandmate, the lead guitarist, Logan, began to sing their indie rock song Claustrophobic together. Keegan's low, gruff, rumbling voice was singled out by you, and it was all you could hear.

The world's caving in without you, I can't breathe, I can't breathe.

You realised that this was one of their newest singles, as you hadn't heard it before. Resting your elbow on the table in front of you, your eye could see nobody but Keegan. You hated it, but you couldn't resist. Him standing in front of a small audience, head bent slightly over his red Fender, his black clothes, the lights shining over his glossy black hair, his foot tapping to keep time, it was all a familiar sight, but a distant one that you could only look at with sorrow.

Your reverie was interrupted by soft clapping from the audience as they ended their song. You felt a small hint of happiness that they were getting good reception. Even if you associated bad memories with their music, it was still good music. They began their next song, Penguins.

My love, you're all I see; I'll give you a rock When I get down on one knee, And forever in wedlock We will be.

A tight lump rose in your throat as you heard him sing those words from your favourite song. He'd croon the words in your ears at night to lull you to sleep in his arms, promising a future of togetherness, mates for life, just like penguins.

Only for it to all come crashing down.

A tear slipped down your cheek as you watched him sing the upbeat yet poignant song; his voice was full of emotion. He sang like he meant it, just like back then. The suppressed memories came flooding back to you as you stared at the floor with a distant gaze, of dancing with him in the living room, hearing his various renditions of the same song, even pretending to get down on one knee to make you giggle incessantly. But most of all, it was the look of utter adoration and awe in his normally dull steel blue eyes that sparkled like stars when he looked at you, like you were a goddess to him.

Why did it have to go all wrong?

You wiped away the stream of tears from your eyes and your cheeks, dabbing them with a handkerchief as you vainly sighed to get rid of the tightness in your chest.

And why, despite the months, did you feel like your love for him never diminished?

You listened to the next few songs distractedly. You couldn't help but wonder about the songs he chose; out of all the ones in their entire discography, he specifically chose the ones you loved, the songs that were most cherished, and held the most memories.

Your eyes fell upon the vacant ring finger of your right hand. There was a subtle indentation around the base of it, where a ring used to sit day in and day out. When you broke up with him, you took off that promise ring and threw it to the ground in front of him, and now your ring finger was forlorn, throbbing with a dull ache at the unpleasant memory you wished to banish from your thoughts.

"The last song for tonight is not our song, but our cover of Do I Wanna Know by Arctic Monkeys, which is our personal favourite. Enjoy."

His gruff voice pierced through the noisy recesses of your mind, bringing you back to the present. Was it the last song already? Time sure did fly when one was deep in thought.

And it was no unfamiliar song either. It was one you loved dearly.

The drums beat in time with your heart, and the famous riff of the guitar stunned the air into silence, leaving you to hear your pulsating heartbeat in your ears, reminding you why you loved this song so much. You heard him inhale, you saw him raise his eyes to scan the faceless crowd, and in his characteristic deep gruffness, he exhaled out his song,

Have you got colour in your cheeks?

You did now.

Do you ever get that fear that you can't shift the type That sticks around like summat in your teeth? Are there some aces up your sleeve? Have you no idea that you're in deep? His eyes looked searchingly, almost desperately around the room of the restaurant as he sang, I've dreamt about you nearly every night this week How many secrets can you keep? 'Cause there's this tune I found That makes me think of you somehow an' I play it on repeat Until I fall asleep, spillin' drinks on my settee

Almost as if he wanted you to know what he felt.

His fellow bandmate and guitarist, Logan, provided the backing vocals,

Do I wanna know?

And Keegan followed, still looking around,

If this feelin' flows both ways? Sad to see you go Was sorta hoping that you'd stay Baby, we both know That the nights were mainly made For sayin' things that you can't say tomorrow day

He took another deep breath, his fingers switching chords as quickly as his voice switched from sadness to desperation.

Crawling back to you

The guitar groaned over the amplifiers, filling you with a sense of anguish, like a rag being twisted. The rhythmic drumbeats forced the vision of Keegan approaching you in a slow, steady march, wanting, begging, groweling at your feet to play about in your mind's eye.

Ever thought of callin' when You've had a few? 'Cause I always do

Maybe I'm too Busy bein' yours To fall for somebody new Now I've thought it through Crawling back to you.

Those words hit you like a sack of bricks; they, along with the previous songs, only reinforced the fact that he still wanted you despite the falling away. A lump rose in your throat again.

He wanted you back, and so did you.

So have you got the guts?

He paused, allowing the drums to dictate the length of the silence for the space of four beats. He looked about searchingly again, trying to find you in the faceless crowd. In the dim, flickering light of an old jukebox next to your table, he spotted you. You raised your eyes and met his. A volcano of butterflies erupted in your stomach.

His eyes held yours fast as he sang,

Been wonderin' if your heart's still open And if so, I wanna know what time it shuts

He paused again for a quarter of a beat to let that sink in.

Simmer down an' pucker up, I'm sorry to interrupt

Those same pair of eyes narrowed slightly, momentarily averting his gaze towards his guitar, as if guiltily admitting, It's just I'm constantly on the cusp of tryin' to kiss you But I don't know if you feel the same as I do

He raised his head to meet your eyes again, a glint of hope evident in them despite the distance, But we could be together if you wanted to.

And there was the invitation.

You couldn't bear to stay there any longer. As he sang the bridge and the chorus, you stood up and hastily stepped out of the establishment, rubbing a stray tear off your cheek. Keegan saw it all. His chest seized. He nearly rose to his heels in readiness to run after you midway but he stopped himself, interpreting your departure as the rejection. But the tear he saw you wipe away; did he manage to get through your heart?

As soon as you were out of doors, you were hit by the rain. A fervent wind blew, splattering the heavy drops against you and the shade above your head that you took shelter under. No umbrella; the rain dead-ended you from leaving, and so you waited, holding yourself in your arms to keep warm, refusing to go back inside as his singing permeated the walls, tormenting you even over the noisy rain and howling wind.

The performance ended and the diners went back to chattering away while The Ghosts began to dismantle their equipment. While Keegan solemnly pulled off the strap of his guitar, his drummer, Hesh walked over to him.

"Did she come?" he asked in a whisper as he held Keegan by the shoulder.

"Saw her leave just now,"

Logan also joined in on the conversation as he unplugged the wire from his guitar. "And?" he asked, very obviously expecting something more.

"And what?"

"And are you just going to let her leave after this whole concert we planned just for her?" Logan rolled his eyes exasperatedly as he lectured Keegan, "Go and talk to her!"

Hesh turned to the windows of the establishment and saw the rain beating against the panes. He nudged Keegan. "It's raining pretty hard out there. She must not have left yet. Run!"

Keegan wasted no time in hurrying down the little podium, his heavy steps thudding against the hollow wood. He snatched his jacket and with quick, hasty steps and a rising hope in his chest, he opened the door, stepped out, and looked beside the door.

But you weren't there.

His shoulders sagged, his hand slipped from the worn door handle and fell to his side with disappointment. He was about to turn back inside when the sound of a quiet crunch of gravel under a boot on the asphalt not too far from him stopped him in his tracks. In the dim red light of the neon sign, he had to squint to see the shivering elbow sticking out from behind the wall. He inched closer and peeked into the narrow, dark alley, only to find what- or rather- who he was looking for.

You looked up when he poked his head in and felt your heart stop when you recognized who you were looking at. Both of your eyes widened.

"Wha- What are you doing here?" Keegan blurted, surprised but pleased to see you still around.

"You wanted me to come to your concert?" you said, raising a brow at him as you continued to shiver from the wind and rain.

"I mean, yeah, but..." he paused to take off his thickly lined leather jacket and draped it over your shoulders, "you're out here... in the cold. You could've just stayed inside."

You didn't object to his assistance and he had to hide the surprise from displaying on his face. While you thought of what to say, he nudged you aside with his shoulder, away from the elements and stood next to you by the wall to shield you. He waited in silence for an answer, but to no avail.

"I didn't think you'd come... especially after you left me on read," he began quietly, in a tone that carried no resentment, but sadness. He leaned against the wall and propping his foot up behind him as he crossed his arms.

You let out a sigh as you sunk your face into the fleece-lined collar of the jacket, taking in the familiar scent and feeling the familiar texture of leather and fleece against your arms and your cheeks. He'd always lend you his favourite jacket.

"I didn't want to come here, but I did anyway," you replied.

"You didn't have to force yourself." He shrugged and turned his head away from you to watch the rain pattering noisily on the sidewalk.

"I didn't. I was... kinda drawn here."

Drawn here, he thought, feeling a flutter. "What drew you here?"

A pause. "You."

His jaw laxed and his fingers twitched. His crossed arms loosened and his arm fell to his side, letting his knuckles lightly brush against yours. The brief contact sent a shock blitzing through your fingers, stiffening your hand for a moment. You inhaled sharply, feeling a vortex churning in your stomach; you didn't know you missed and craved his touch so much.

"It means a lot to me that you came," he whispered, letting his hand linger next to yours.

"Why?" A tremor shook your voice. He grimaced.

"I..." he exhaled, "I know I was an asshole to you. I put my band before you and neglected you. I made you sad..." he sighed, his features wincing, "to the point that you left. And I don't blame you for it."

Your throat tightened and burned like a fiery noose had been tied around it. Your thoughts took you back to the past months, remembering how the two of you argued over his preference to spend time making music with Hesh and Logan. Every day was an uphill battle, fighting a tight competition with his band, until you were spread way too thin that you snapped. He was furious when you left, but didn't stop you, calling it a "good riddance", words which left a deep scar that refused to heal.

He continued, "When I told Hesh and Logan you left and explained to them why, they were pissed. Logan was ready to throw hands at me. I was confused until Logan sat me down and told me that nobody and nothing comes before your partner." He shook his head, sighing again. "It was so obvious, but I missed it. I was so stupid!"

He paused his speech for a brief moment to let you have a say. Knowing that you needed time to let his words settle in, he pushed back against his impatience and stayed silent.

You knew Hesh and Logan only a little, but you didn't expect them to stick up for you and scold Keegan about his behaviour. And you had harboured such a boiling resentment for them too. That feeling now started to simmer down into shame and regret.

When he saw that you weren't saying anything, he decided to continue.

"I missed you," he confessed, fiddling with the hem of his t-shirt. "I hoped and prayed you'd come today and you came. You've never come to any of our little concerts after our breakup except for this one. Can I take this as a sign that…" he drew in a shaky breath, "can I be bold and assume that you miss me too?"

The metaphorical noose tightened around your neck, forcing tears to brim over your waterline. You choked out the words, "You have the audacity to miss me especially after saying "good riddance" when I broke up with you."

Keegan drew in a sharp breath as his brows furrowed. "I was stupid to say those words to you, stupid and blind. I didn't value you enough. I can't believe it had to take me Logan and Hesh to drill into my head the weight of what I had thrown away."

You heard the regret in his voice, but it didn't yet move you. A sob choked your throat. "I loved your music, Keegan, but when you started to love your band more, I hated it. I hated your band, you, your guitar, Hesh, Logan, and your songs… I hated it all."

Keegan felt his heart squeeze painfully at your sobs and complaints. He had no right to blame you for it. "I understand…" he spoke, letting out a slow exhale over the howling wind, "I know that me giving more attention to my band has given you a sour taste in your mouth for my music," his fingers brushed against yours and wrapped around your hand gently, "but this concert was just for you. I sang all your favourite songs tonight…" he gave your hand a squeeze, "because I love you."

You felt your heart skip a beat.

"I wrote those songs for you, I sing them for you…" his thumb gently rubbed against the back of your hand, "Even after you left, I couldn't stop thinking of you. I couldn't stop loving you."

He paused, giving you a chance to speak. In the brief silence, he noticed how you haven't pulled your hand out of his very gentle grasp when you easily could. He held on to this ray of hope that you were receptive to his words, though understandably hesitant.

"I know a lot of guys go back to their exes and beg them for another chance, but you know me, I've never done that to my exes. You're the only one I've come back to, and that's only because I genuinely feel like we're connected somehow… I can't explain it."

You understood what he meant. You felt the same way too. You weren't the type to look back once you ended a relationship, but when it came to Keegan, he never left your thoughts, which was why you remained rooted in place, letting him hold your hand.

"I want you back, ____," he finally said, "I'm sorry for not valuing you like I should have. This entire concert was my apology for you. I know this is too much to ask for. I know I've broken your trust and hurt you, but I want to correct that mistake and make amends." He paused, "Once chance is all I need. I'll do whatever it takes."

You sniffled, feeling the first tear roll down your cheek, your body trembling as you frantically tried to wipe the stream away. Keegan's heart wrenched at the sight; he took a bold step in wrapping you in his arms and bringing you against his chest. He breathed heavily, wondering if you would push him away, but to his surprise, you leaned into his embrace.

"Why was it a good riddance when I left?" you squeaked out against his chest.

His chest twinged painfully when you brought it up again, now understanding how deeply those words had hurt you. "I was crazy," he said, chastising himself, "I was stupid and blinded by my anger. I thought you didn't understand my love for music and my band, but I was the one who didn't understand what you needed. It never was a good riddance, darling. I missed you every second you were not in my life." He squeezed you gently, both to comfort you, and for him to cling to you.

Your sobs grew louder; you were both pained and relieved at the same time.

"You're an angel… and I don't deserve you," he murmured, feeling a sob choke his own throat, "I know I'm being selfish but I love you… I want you back."

You let out a weary groan as you leaned further against him. His arms instinctively tightened around you.

"I'm sorry…" you said, raising your hands a little to clutch his t-shirt, "For throwing the ring at you that day."

He hugged you tighter. "I forgive you," he whispered immediately, feeling lighter and relieved that you apologised for your own crime, one that had hurt him.

You squeezed him, and he soothingly rubbed his hand against your back, enjoying the warmth that he missed dearly. But he pulled away slightly and shoved his hand in his pocket, bringing out a small, silver ring.

Your eyes widened slightly. It was the promise ring he had given you. You looked at him, eyes welling with tears again. "You still have it," you murmured shakily.

He looked at the dainty piece of jewelry and sighed, smiling a hint. "I was so mad at you that day that I threw it in the trash, but when I calmed down, I dug it back out and cleaned it up. I kept it because it reminded me of you…" his voice trailed off and then gingerly extended his hand out to you.

You placed your hand in his gently. At the contact, his body flushed with warmth.

With a shaky breath and voice, he said, looping the ring through your ring finger, as tears slipped down his cheeks, "I promise I'll love you more than anything in this world, even myself."

You sniffled and sobbed as you saw the ring fit right in the indentation on your finger like two jigsaw puzzle pieces fit together, the familiar sight of it sending waves of warmth in your heart. Keegan watched your emotional reaction, and he pulled you in his arms again to comfort you.

"I love you, ____. I'll make it up to you a hundred times over..." he stroked your hair softly, voice brimming over with determination and affection.

You buried your face in his chest, his words wrenching more tears out of your eyes. "Do you promise?"

"Wholeheartedly, I promise."

---

More Keegan:

Attracted

Cat Got Your Tongue

---

Masterlist

[808airsoftbros]

Obsessive Step Mother (Bae Suzy)

Author: A yandere oneshot I've written in Wattpad. Hope you all enjoy it and if you want to see more of my works do check out the Masterlist.

To whoever reads this,

I've completely lost count of how long it's been since my stepmother imprisoned me inside our home without any means to contact the outside world.

However, the only way I could eat it was with my stepmother Bae Suzy or her butler delivering me food, it was delicious and nice which helped make my prison more bearable but regardless, I'm always finding ways to escape.

But leaving this hellhole isn't going to be easy or simple as there are security cameras all over the manor and outside. All the windows and the doors are always locked and even if I managed to lockpick the door the alarms will go off as soon as I step foot out of the mansion.

I've learned all of this from my previous attempts of escaping and I was met with harsh punishment by Suzy. Consequences went from being locked into solitary or the basement, nearly starving me to death, and rape.

Yeah, my stepmother doesn't play games or joke around too much, Suzy and I go way back into my childhood days. It all started when my Appa and Eomma had officially divorced due but I don't know the reasons as I was too naive, Appa had decided to remarry and hooked up with Suzy.

What my Appa found bizarre was how addicted and attached Suzy was to me, she wouldn't leave me alone nor let me out of her sight for a millisecond.

At first, Appa didn't think too much about it for a while until I entered high school, and things started to get concerning.

My Stepmother had forbidden me from dating any girls or barely any freedom at all, of course, I kept on protesting and arguing but it all ended with severe repercussions.

My Appa finally had enough of it and attempted to file for divorce for such erratic parenting but Suzy had clever tricks up her sleeve and it turned out that Suzy had sinister plans in mind.

She hired a hitman to assassinate my Appa and inherit all of his income and the whole manor, thus leaving me in her care.

That's basically how I'm here trapped in confinement for a while, I'm currently about 18 years old and I thought being an adult would grant me freedom from this prison but I was more than wrong...

When I tried to start a new life from scratch, I worked at a local grocery store far from home but somehow her bodyguards managed to catch me and bring me back here.

That's all I have to say for today...

Y/N's POV

Concluding writing in my journal for today, I heard a soft knocking on the door meaning it was time for dinner.

The door slowly opens revealing my devil of a stepmother, holding a tray of food and drinks for the two of us.

"Dinner is ready, darling, I hope you're hungry~." She said to me before putting it down on the table.

Looking at the plates of food on the tray, it appears to be curry with rice, ramen, and Korean beef.

Each dish looked delicious and mouth-watering as my stepmother knows how to cook well, she places a towel napkin on my lap and tucked one in the collar of my shirt to avoid getting any crumbs or small spills on my clothes.

"Now, open wide~!" She instructed me as she scooped up some Korean beef and I did what she asked before she feeds it to me.

The beef tasted delightful as always just like the rest of her food, she continues to feed me like a delicate and fragile child.

With each bite I took out of her hand, she watched me like a predator eyeing her prey making eating unpleasant.

It was obvious she has serious mental health problems but I doubt she couldn't give a shit about it as long as I remain here.

After we were finished with dinner, it was time for my stepmother's special dessert, she called in the butler to pick up the dirty dishes on the tray, and once he had taken away the plates for us, he left us alone in my room.

My stepmother goes up to the door and locks it to make sure that I don't try to flee, she was wearing a black bathrobe and she gave me an evil smirk before slowly walking towards me.

"I hope you're not too full, honey because it's time for dessert~." She said to me before removing the bathrobe revealing her lingerie.

Her smooth and silky skin was literally to die for as she takes good care of herself just for her precious stepson.

"On the bed, sweetie and mommy will take good care of you~." She instructed me and I quickly got onto the bed by instinct.

Crawling on the bed towards me, she takes off all of my clothes leaving only underwear before cuffing me to the bed frame.

"You love how mommy takes control of you, huh~? Good, because I love it too~." She whispered to me before attacking my neck leaving hickeys all over it.

One of her kinks is to leave marks on her territory because of how lovesick she is but there's nothing I can do nor do I have a say in anything.

"Oh, one more thing, mommy has something to put on you~." She informed me before revealing a pink collar and my eyes widened in terror.

Putting on the collar around my neck, she latched on a leash as well putting her in a position that allows complete dominance over me.

Seeing no point in the handcuffs, she takes them off before tossing them aside in my room and she places my hands on both of her breasts.

"Now, shall we enjoy ourselves~?" She proposed to me and I nodded.

"I want an answer, baby boy~." She demanded me in a sweet but psychotic tone and I gulped.

"Y-Yes, mommy," I answered her and she smiled.

TIMESKIP

Last night left me all exhausted because of how sexually demanding she was and my legs are bloody sore.

My snowballs have been utterly drained out and I have bruises in places that I thought were impossible.

But I knew all the hell and torture is far from over, as my stepmother has more ideas planned in her agenda.

I have no idea if she was actually safe or not but I believe she would one day want to have my kids. Whether or not it's true.

Today, she was out for another business meeting in a foreign country leaving only her butler,  maids, and bodyguards to watch over me.

Once again, I tried to escape but of course, everything is sealed off and there are eyes in every corner leaving no options for a stealthy escape.

However, there were many tools and resources I can utilize thanks to my training in boy scouts as they taught me to be resourceful and I can make do with anything like ropes, tape, lamps, you name it.

Searching around the room, I found the handcuffs from last night, there was a lamp and drawers full of my clothes.

The door was locked but I had an idea as I looked in my closet to find a broken vintage fan, I yanked off one of the metal blades and used it to pry open the door.

Getting outside of my room, and rushed to the security office to avoid detection by the cameras as they rotate periodically.

Knocking on the door, the guard opens up and I ambushed him before going inside to shut off the cameras and security alarms.

Finally, I got to the front entrance when the coast was cleared and got the door opened with no problems but I was caught by one of the bodyguards.

"Mister Bae, please return to your room this instant!" The guard ordered me and I grabbed a vase.

Throwing the vase with all my might, it landed a direct hit on his head causing him to fall on the floor unconscious.

Walking out of this hellhole, I made sure that the tracker was taken off before I left the manor for good.

Finally, I was free from my stepmother and I begin a new life without her always breathing down my neck.

I grabbed some money from her office so I can buy some food and clothing to last me until I find a job.

Taking a taxi to town that is the furthest from the mansion, I stopped in the middle of a city that is unknown to me but I was excited.

When I thought everything is going well for me, I happened to spot a black luxury SUV parked on the curb beside me.

The window rolls down and I was surprised that I had coincidentally been caught by my stepmother and boy she wasn't too pleased to see me here.

"Y/N, get in the car... Right. Now." She coldly ordered me but I sprinted the fuck out of there and ran deep into the crowd where it will be harder to find me.

I can hear the guards chasing after me but I hear the chatter as they were having a difficult time trying to locate me but I was smarter than them.

Going into a clothing store, I bought some clothes and changed into another outfit to blend in with the crowd.

The idea had worked when the bodyguards had walked past me like I was a nobody to them leaving me free from my stepmother's grip.

From that point on, I started a new life without her by working at a big office building as an office clerk.

A few months passed by and so far everything was going great until I had gotten a meeting with a client.

"Hello, you must be Miss Bae, right...?" I asked until I had looked right at the woman making me freeze.

Getting a closer look at her, I realized that Miss Bae, the client I was supposed to meet turned out to be my stepmother.

"Hehe, thought you could get away this time, did you~?" She asked me as she stood up from the chair.

"Well, shit..." I muttered to myself.

[innbetween]

Question more so for Hannah than Tessa but who knows, maybe podcasts exist in the dnd world.

wanted to know if you had any queer fantasy and/or sci-fi audio drama recommendations. I’ve listened to and loved Welcome To NightVale, Jar Of Rebuke, Absolutely No Adventures, Zoo, The Bright Sessions, and of course, Inn Between. Thanks regardless :]

DO I

Yeah I definitely do. I'm actually one of those cishets myself, so just to be absolutely clear, i'm going to include only shows with at least one main character who's not like. You know. One of me. I'm also looking at your selections and noting a sort of steady pacing, respect for exploration, and character focus, so I'll be leaning toward those.

FANTASY

Dragon's Rest is a sitcom in the vein of ANA and Inn Between--a fantasy inn, a grumpy owner, her hapless hero hopeful busboy, the local lush, a bard who, and I cannot stress this enough, is too dumb to read. It's delightful, honestly.

Eeler's Choice is a strange and beautiful oceanic adventure about magic, siblings, and giant eels. The music slaps also.

Electromancy: imagine if Harry Potter was a) not written by a freakin transphobe, and b) actually asked hard questions about imperialism. Like hey, should we be doing imperialism?

The Kingmaker Histories is hard to describe. I can say "steampunk," and "magic" and "magical politics" and "Collette's got a jewel stuck in her head that explodes people sometimes" but that's not even the half of it.

Sidequesting is like, best friends with ANA. Rion, a brave hero, is given a magic sword for an epic quest...and promptly goes and does literally everything else. It's so nice.

Starfall hey what's up Starfall I love you Starfall, Starfall's about a magic theater troupe and definitely not also about how imperialism is bad, actually. Fel and Leona own my whole heart. Friends.

Sci-Fi

Ask Your Father is one of those shows that hits you in the teeth. When an accident sends an astronaut and his AI bestie way off course, he finds himself lost in space, answering questions from his kids and husband that will absolutely break your heart. I cried. A lot.

Gastronaut is near-future sci-fi about a bougie foodie who goes on a journey to discover the food of the Asian diaspora throughout the solar system. And things go...very bad. This show loves food so much and it loves the characters even more.

Midnight Burger is...everything. How do you even describe it. It's hard sci-fi dressed up in a found family package and served with fries. Or maybe beans and rice, if Gloria's cooking. It is a deeply cynical show that nevertheless insists that the universe is worth fighting for, with everything you've got.

The Pasithea Powder is explicitly written for people who like a gritty, uncomfortable, messy romance. Like, did you like Stucky fanfic? So do the writers and it's amazing. The tagline is that a retired fighter pilot/war hero and a disgraced scientist/war criminal used to be best friends. They still might be, if the other one will pick up the phone.

Second Star to the Left is about colonization and xenobiology and the kinds of connections you can make light years away from each other. It's about rules and when it's okay to break them. It's beautiful.

Startripper!! is also very ANA and Inn Between--an accountant decides to ditch his day job, buy the far-future equivalent of a Millennium Falcon replica, and travel the universe for the rest of his life. It's so fun.

The Strange Case of the Starship Iris is like, if Firefly had real Asians in it. It's about a group of space smugglers turned galaxy heroes, and it's absolutely incredible.

Travelling Light is another travelogue, but this one features a person doing archival work for their community and meeting amazing people and hearing amazing stories while they do it. It's so gentle and wonderful.

World Gone Wrong is a chat podcast between two separated roommates who are trying to make sense of the end of the world. Like what do you do with that extra hour in the day now? Is my community going to lose its mind because some of the trees look like women? How can I throw a poetry jam that's inclusive for my werewolf friends? It's so well crafted and well acted. I think about it every day.

Wow this ended up long. There's a few to get you started!