#Let the poor man have a peaceful life

[maxdibert]

What if Severus had survived, had a daughter, and she ended up falling for James Sirius Potter? How do you think he would react?

Having a heart attack

[defiledtomb]

IM DA KING OF THE PARQUET

I got an apartment. I GOT AN APARTMENT!!!!!

[chuluoyi]

𝐉𝐄𝐀𝐋𝐎𝐔𝐒𝐘 𝐈𝐍𝐂𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐀𝐓𝐄

- sylus x reader

more than friends with benefits, definitely lovers. your relationship is one filled with banters, steamy nights, and secret strings attached... but when someone shows an interest in you, sylus won't hesitate to stake his claim for everyone to see

genre/warnings: 18+ suggestive content—minors do not interact!—jealousy, crack, fluff, smut, a dash of comfort, assassin!reader (not l&ds mc)

note: loosely a sequel to strictly (un)professional. how this snowballed into 3.8k... i don't really know :')

“Missus, please spare us!”

You shot an unamused look at the twins before you, who clasped their hands together, pleading for you to let them go.

“Why is it so difficult for both of you to say?” you hissed, crossing your arms together. “I’m not asking for much—just a recount of what happened!”

“Boss will have our tongues for this!” Kieran looked up at you, quivering. “No way, I want to live!”

“He’s terrifying…” Luke shuddered in fear, hugging himself. “You don’t know how frightening he is!”

You were holding both Luke and Kieran hostage, the tender preys, all because Sylus refused to reveal what you had been wanting to know these past few weeks.

“So you’re afraid of Sylus…” You fixed them with a steely glare. “But have you ever thought that if you don’t spill it now, I will be the one taking both your tongues?”

“—?! Missus, please!”

“Why are you bullying the twins?” A deep voice cut through the twins’ pitiful laments, and you let out an exasperated huff as your chance slipped away once more.

Speak of the devil, and Sylus shall appear. He looked at the scene before him as if you were all a bunch of kindergarteners.

Luke and Kieran immediately flocked to him. “Boss! Save us! She’s scary!”

And now you were suddenly the scary one. You rolled your eyes. "Your henchmen are useless."

Sylus glanced at you with a half smile, knowing what information you were squeezing the twins for. "Sweetie, just give it up. You'll find peace faster that way."

Was it wrong to be curious about what Sylus had been up to during the three weeks you were unconscious after the attack that literally took your life? Why was he being so secretive about it anyway?

“I know, you were so worried sick you didn’t even eat or sleep,” you taunted your lover with a wicked smile. “That’s why you won’t tell me about it.”

Sylus laughed outright. “Pftt. You’ve got quite the imagination. Good to know.”

Nothing much changed after that night of his confession—if you could call it that—to you. You were indeed no longer strictly his bedwarmer, but your banters stayed the same, if not even more sarcastic now.

“Chop chop, we have an auction to go to, sweetie.” Sylus placed his big hand on your head, amused. “Stop being a hissy kitten towards the poor twins and get ready, hmm?”

“I’ll definitely uncover it,” you shot him a resentful glare. “Just you wait and see.”

Such were your days with your true kindred-spirits lover. He would tease you during the day and turn you into a hot mess at night, and you wouldn’t have it any other way.

In tonight's auction, you had one target: the broker for a new rising star firearms dealer. Sylus had been eyeing him, deducing his goods could be a nice addition to his armory.

And so, you went up to him. However...

“...Are you single, miss?”

Here we go again.

You forced a tight smile. “Sir, I’d appreciate it if we can stick to subject at hand.”

The man blinked, then quickly plastered on a wide grin to mask his surprise. “Oh yes! Yes, I-I’m sorry, I got distracted— well, I’d say this is a pretty solid MoU... but I’ll need to contact my boss first.”

This weirdo... you thought with boredom, is so transparent.

This wasn’t the first time you’d dealt with a situation like this. Granted, you were pretty and you knew it, but usually, more distinguished men would be a bit more subtle about it.

“Take all the time you need,” you encouraged smoothly, your eyes crinkling in an attempt to look friendly. “As you can see, Mr. Sylus has proposed the perfect bargain for this kind of dealings.”

“I wouldn’t argue with that. I assure you we’ll certainly try to accommodate his request.” The man nodded and gave you a meaningful look, before coughing awkwardly. “Uh, sorry, what was your name again, miss?”

Your faux smile remained perfectly still as you replied, “Mephisto.”

The man’s eyes roved over you, and he grinned roguishly. “Right. Still, I never expected Mr. Sylus’ secretary to be as beautiful as you, Miss Mephisto...”

This was tedious. Your patience was tested with every leering look he gave you. Sylus must know this already, and he's somewhere laughing at the sight of you dealing with this creep.

“You flatter me too much, I’m average.”

“No, no! I mean it!”

He knows... yet he wouldn't do anything about it. Not that you would expect Sylus to barge in like a man blinded by envy, but still, he was insufferable for not coming to you just like he had for Miss Hunter back then.

The man kept droning on and on about himself and everything else that had nothing to do with the business deal, and you were this close to dropping him and using your Evol to shut him up when—

He then turned to you expectantly. “Oh, there is a dance! Miss, would you mind if I have your first dance?”

“Oh...”

And it occurred to you... why not spice things up a little?

Sylus’ dark crimson eyes narrowed silently as he watched both of you from the island table while savoring his glass of wine, before he let out a loud snort.

That vermin doesn’t have a clue he is playing with fire.

For most of your interaction, the firearms dealer’s broker kept giving you suggestive looks, and occasionally brushing his hand against yours on purpose. He wasn't even trying to hide it, and it was amusing to see how aggravated you looked the entire time.

Adorable. Sylus found you incredibly endearing these days, from your pouts to your glazed eyes whenever he thrusted into you—

You were oh so delectable… at least until he saw you holding that lesser man's arm, as he led you to the dance floor.

A deep frown immediately formed in his forehead.

“What are you scheming now?” Sylus scowled, half exasperated and half in disbelief. “You naughty cat.”

He was even more irked when he saw how casually you wrapped your arms around that vermin, twirling and pressing yourself against him in a waltz. Seeing him trying to hit on you was one thing, but for you to reciprocate was just plain unacceptable.

—and to his ire, your audacity continued throughout the night.

. . .

“Miss Mephisto, do you play pool?”

“I do.”

“Then, will you play with me?”

Sylus was now burning with tendrils of anger, watching you from a closer corner. He had seen the broker put his hands on you so many times that he had lost count—during the dance, mingling with other guests, and while sharing hearty laughs. All in all, you were acting as if you had forgotten he was even here.

You were threading on a very thin ice and whether you realized it or not... you didn't seem to care.

"Ah, I think your stance is a bit off..." And to make it worse, the broker was definitely seizing every chance he could, as there was nothing wrong with your form—you often accompanied Sylus playing pool, so you were a pro—and yet he still got behind you, trying to drape his arms around your body.

That was the last straw. Enough is enough.

Before Sylus realized what he was doing, he stormed over to where you were, yanked your arm forcefully, and effectively separated you from him. He didn’t give a damn about the horrified shout from the broker or the judging looks from other partygoers as he dragged you by the hand out of the ballroom.

“Sylus!” you nearly shrieked when he kicked open a door to a meeting room and locked it with his black-red mist. He pinned you against the wall, and crashed his lips against yours in a searing kiss.

“Mmph!” You tried pushing him back, but he was stronger and held you in place, his tongue forcing your lips open as he pressed the back of your head toward him. His other hand slipped inside your dress—between your legs— two fingers in—

“—!” you couldn't even squeal as he devoured your mouth and the shock set in, feeling yourself getting aroused by the minute when his fingers did that scissoring thing and edged you further.

After he was done with your mouth, his hot lips trailed down to your neck and shoulder blades, sucking hard on several spots, making you gasp and moan.

"Hah... this... is the price to pay for testing me, sweetie," your lover growled his nickname for you with satisfaction as he noticed you trembling body, nibbling on your shoulder. "You want to get punished so badly, huh?"

"Ahh..." you threw your head back, clinging to him, grinding yourself against his fingers.

"Is it funny to you? Watching me see him touch you?" Sylus' unforgiving ruby eyes stared down at you like a lion eyeing its prey. "What an insolent little kitten you are..."

His fingers kept moving and thrusting inside you in an alarming speed, mercilessly hitting that one spot that could make you cry. He was seriously teaching you a lesson by forcing you to come undone right then and there.

"I-I...!" you tried to refute, but then you felt the knot inside you burst, and in the next second, you could feel yourself coming all over his fingers, shuddering, your breaths coming in pants.

Feeling faint, relief washed you when he pulled out his fingers. You leaned and clung onto him, pulling him closer, and Sylus finally saw what a mess he had turned you into.

Your glassy eyes focused solely on him, seemingly pleading—and those swollen lips, as well as the sizzling heat creeping up your cheeks—

“Ha,” he let out a low chuckle, a wicked grin curling his lips. “If I can still make you look like this, then I suppose I can forgive you.”

“You’re a meanie,” you mumbled breathlessly.

“You’re the mean one,” Sylus tutted with narrowed eyes, starting to pull away from you.

But then you pulled him close again and pressed your lips to his, this time with a gentleness that surprised him.

There was no malice or burning desire in your kiss. Strangely, it felt far more intimate. You pulled away, the heart-stopping swirls of his red eyes captivating you as you pressed your foreheads together.

“Needy, aren’t you, sweetie?” Sylus whispered, holding your gaze, his breath hot against your skin.

But right now, all of a sudden, you looked so vulnerable to him, as if any wrong word from his lips would shatter you. It made him almost feel guilty for manhandling you so roughly.

You didn’t respond, just wanting this closeness with him. Behind your snarky words and little schemes, this was what you wanted more than the release you just got. Sometimes, you still worried—did he want this too?

“What is it?” Sylus asked with a frown, seemingly concerned. “Talk. Tell me.”

“Nothing…” you replied in a small voice.

“Do you feel sick? Want to go back?”

You shook your head.

You weren’t usually this quiet. Sylus couldn’t help being restless at your sudden change. It felt awkward for him to do what he was about to do next, but instinctively, he figured it would comfort you a bit.

You felt a pang in your heart when he pulled away, but in the next instant, a wave of warmth enveloped you as he pressed you to him, burying your head against his sturdy chest.

For someone who deals with blood and gore, your body felt too soft and fragile, yet still fit perfectly in his arms. Though he had held you and made love to you many times before, it was only now that he truly noticed how small you were.

“You’re warm…” you murmured, your voice carrying a hint of a whine.

So needy and pliant… for him.

“My woman is such an enduring mystery.” Sylus mused, sounding almost as if he were lamenting. “Sometimes she’s a brazen kitten without a shred of shame, but then she pulls stunts like this.”

Your heart picked up the pace. You are... his. That was right. You were his woman in every sense of the word now, and he wasn't shying away from it.

But to cover your embarrassment, you could only come up with, “Can you not refer to me as cat...?”

He shot you an irked glance. “No.”

“He calls me by your bird’s name.”

“...”

“Sylus, you can’t murder him. Your deal will go down the drain.”

“Tch.” Sylus blew out an annoyed sigh, glaring at you. “By the time I get back here, you’re going back with me.”

You rolled your eyes. “Yes, yes.”

Honestly you were exhausted, and you wanted to nothing more than a good sleep. But you couldn't just leave the broker without preamble because this deal depended on him, and Sylus too had some loose ends he had to tie before the two of you left.

Strangely, all eyes were on you when you returned to the ballroom. You wondered why as you navigated the crowd until you met the broker you had fooled in so many ways.

“Oh, Miss Mephisto, you’re back!” he was visibly and utterly drunk, and you cringed at the strong smell of alcohol on his breath. But then you noticed his eyes seemed to be fixated on your—

Neck. You realized in horror.

“Oh... hic, t-that... I-I see,” he blabbered, coughing awkwardly as he stared at the marks on your neck. “Miss... so that man is... y-your lover...?”

“Uh...” It was a wonder he didn’t recognize Sylus at first glance. Perhaps it was because he was so infamous, but it astounded you how this person couldn’t even tell that it was him.

"I-I thought... w-we..." he hiccupped again heartbrokenly, before snatching a glass on the table. "Oh, I need more drink!"

You observed him, half cringing. "Sir, I just want to remind you that once the documents are signed—"

"Yeah, yeah! It will be done by the end of the week!" he yelled at you. "Miss, how about you have a drink too!?"

Suddenly, a glass of gin was shoved into your hand, and you let out an irritated sigh. Yeah, he might be right. A glass of alcohol would help you sleep better tonight, you figured, so you chugged it down.

"Huh...?" And it didn’t take you long to realize something was amiss. The dizzying sensation set in far too quickly, you felt so hot, and you had to lean on the table next to you to keep from falling.

“Are you okay...?” a waitress asked you with concern, but the only sound you could hear was your own violent heartbeat. Before you knew it, the glass in your hand slipped from your grasp and crashed into the floor.

"Oh, miss! Are you okay?!" the broker suddenly got a hold over your body. "Oh! It seems you aren't feeling well! Let me escort you to you room!"

Room? You barely discerned what happened when he led you out of the crowd. Your head spun terribly, and then suddenly throbbed, making you clutch it and cry out in pain, "Ah!"

It didn't make sense, no matter how you saw it. You had a pretty good tolerance, so for you to get hungover from a gin was just—

“Oh, does it hurt much?” he suddenly asked in your ear, making you shiver. “Don’t worry... it'll be bearable soon enough... I’ll make sure you will feel good…”

It's him! You realized. He spiked your drink!

His arms were now locking yours, steering you to go into the elevator. You took a deep breath before directing your speech manipulation evol on him— "Let go!"

He was immediately jerked away from you, but as a result, you almost crumpled, your vision swimming and your head pounding intensely. The pain made you feel close to passing out, and yet you managed to trek forward, leaning on the wall for support.

You had to get away from him before he could catch up to you. Panic set in, and when strong arms caught you, you convulsed, thinking he had grabbed you—

“Stop thrashing!”

“S-Sylus...?” You looked up, trying to focus on his face, but everything was so blurry.

“I’m here.” His voice was ragged, and you’d recognize it anywhere. “What happened to you? Are you hurt?”

“M-my head...” Your voice came out as a broken whimper, clutching at your throbbing head. “Hurts...”

You were feverish, trembling against his hold, and you reeked of alcohol. Sylus instantly realized something was seriously wrong and pressed your head into his chest to provide comfort. “Just a little bit longer—” his deep voice carried a subtle hint of alarm as he hoisted you up to his arms. “Hang on, alright?”

But just as he was about to bring you back, he caught the sight of a fleeing silhouette in the corner, and realizing who it was, his right eye blazed, black and red mist swirled in the air and restrained the broker, engulfing his screams.

“S-spare me! P-please!” the man pleaded tearfully, pinned on the ground, and Sylus approached him silently, looking down at him with so much spite in his eyes.

“A roach that doesn’t seem to know his place…” The corners of his lips twisted into a sadistic smile. “Whether you survive or not depends on you. Best hope you’ll last.”

Despite his pleas, he paid it no mind as he walked away with you in his arms.

When you awakened, your head was no longer pounding.

It took you a moment to realize there was a cool compress on your forehead, you were now in a clean oversized sweater, and someone was holding your hand.

Sylus. You looked up to find him asleep, sitting with his back against the headboard beside you. It was rare to catch him sleeping. In this moment, he looked defenseless, yet a faint frown lingered on his handsome face.

Has he been waiting for you like this, holding your hand all night...?

You tried to get a better look at him, but the rustle seemed to wake him up instead, as his eyes cracked open.

“You awake?” he asked, voice so sultry it woke all your senses up. “I was just shutting my eyes.”

“Aren’t you uncomfortable sleeping like that?” you asked.

Sylus turned toward you, his eyes still hazy from sleep. “What about you? Feeling better?”

“Mm-hmm.”

He placed a hand on your head, ruffling your hair gently.

“Really, you...” His stare was so withering it made question marks appear in your head. “I took my eyes off you for one minute, and you ended up with alcohol poisoning?”

“—? I didn’t know! But wait, what happened to that bozo?”

Sylus gave you a deadpan look, and you gasped. “You… didn’t kill him and have his body secretly disposed of, did you?”

“Just who do you think I am?”

“…a kingpin of an illegal syndicate?”

Your lover’s scowl deepened further at your response. “Nah, he got lucky. I only returned him with a broken jaw, broken hips, and two missing teeth.”

“Sylus!”

If he looked sleepy before, now he definitely looked wide awake. Sylus always sleeps at dawn, and you wanted him to rest more than anything, but now you were itching to ask him...

“Say... were you waiting for me while sitting like this too when I wasn’t conscious for three weeks?” You avoided his gaze, the question burning on your lips. Sylus had never given you a straight answer whenever you asked him about this.

This time too, he grumbled, “Why do you keep asking that?”

“Because I can’t ask Luke and Kieran, they look as if you’d set them on fire.”

Sylus went silent, not giving you any affirmation at all, and you huffed and unclasped his hand, pursing your lips together. “I see. You don’t care about me at all. Noted.”

You heard him sigh, before his red eyes squarely landed on you.

“When I was shot, you worried about me even when you know I’m going to be alright,” he suddenly posed the question on you. “Didn’t you?”

You nodded, and he tousled your hair again—the action alone somehow made you feel warm.

“Whatever you felt that day, that’s the same to what I went through during those three weeks. Multiply it by ten.”

“Huh!?” you rose up from the sheets in surprise, facing him.

Sylus then turned away from you, crossing his arms and shutting his eyes. “That’s it, sweetie. I’m going back to sleep now.”

“Wait!”

You scrambled into his lap, clinging to his shoulder. Sylus begrudgingly opened his eyes again, a look of irritation on his face. “What?”

Multiply it by ten…? Heh. At this moment, you felt light and giddy, knowing that the two of you were now true lovers in every way that mattered even when you were faced with his sourness.

“Don't scowl too much!” you giggled merrily. You placed your fingers on the corners of his lips, gently lifting them to force a smile. “Honesty suits you much better, Sylus. It’s recommended.”

This cheeky woman... Sylus never thought the day would come for him to experience these myriad of emotions, much less for them to be incited by you.

He pulled you close, one arm around your hips and the other around the back of your head. Your lips met his in a passionate kiss that left no room for further conversation, only parting when you both needed to catch your breath.

“If you want me to, then don’t make me relive those nights,” he said with a sly smile, his crimson eyes glinting in the light and his voice like silk against your ears. “Can you?”

His tone softened your gaze, a warm sensation spreading through your chest. You responded with a playful snort, wrapping your arms around his neck and giving him another peck on the lips.

After your innocent make-out session, you nestled closer to him with a contented sigh, savoring the reassuring warmth of his embrace as you both drifted off again into the morning.

Epilogue

"Do you hear anything?"

"No, nothing..."

Luke and Kieran whispered amongst themselves as they tried to hear anything of importance beyond Sylus' bedroom. After their boss went back home with you passed out in his arms last night, they had totally expected the worst.

“Seems like she’s alright then…” Kieran concluded, stepping away from the door. “We should just go. If Boss catches us, we’re dead.”

The twins backed away from the door and went back to the living room, sighing in relief.

"But honestly, Boss has changed lately, hasn't he? He looks kinder, somehow."

"Are you sure, Luke? Maybe it's just when he looks at the missus. With us, meh."

“I still get chills thinking about when he destroyed the Protofield to dust after he found her following the explosion,” Luke gazed off in wonder. “It was the coolest thing I’ve ever seen, but it was also heartbreaking—especially when he tried to wake her and realized she was beyond help because the steel had pierced her heart…”

Luke and Kieran went quiet at the memory.

“Anyhow!” Kieran suddenly exclaimed. “All’s well that ends well! To be honest, I totally saw it coming that they'd end up together!”

“Ooh, you're right! They did a bad job of hiding it too, no less! I mean, one time, the missus came out of his room while—”

As the twins gossiped about their master and mistress, they were unaware that Mephisto the crow, perched nearby, was dutifully recording their conversation and would report it all to his master later.

[yerchokito]

PRETTY KITTY TURNS PRETTY HORNY .ᐟ FT SATORU GOJO

synopsis - finally you decided to adopt a new friend at the adoption centre! only, he wants to be more that friends…

warnings - p in v, brief oral sex (fem receiving) unprotected sex, slight manipulation(?) creampie, shitty smut, petname: master used mockingly, not thoroughly proofread, talk of potential children, lowk masochist gojo, ect ect. fem reader

notes - yay I finally got this out! lol it honestly did get a bit sloppy at the end but I wanted to get this out b4 christmas!enjoy! the smut is lowkey short but I don’t want to fix it..

edit - I just realised I posted this on his death date

Phew, you did it.

You finally grew a pair and adopted a newly rescued snow-leopard hybrid! After months of your self-pitying you managed to convince yourself to adopt a friend!

You spent many, many hours contemplating on whether to actually adopt. And many hours more watching sad videos on hybrids, how mistreated they are out of the adoption centre.

That was more than enough to convince you.

Now you have an exotic hybrid of your own! And he’s just the cutest little—er big thing! He’s got fluffy little ears, a handsome face, striking blue eyes, and the fluffiest tail in the world!

You’ve learnt a lot about him. His name is Satoru Gojo, around the same age as you! Unfortunately, he spent a lot of his life in illegal fighting rings. Poor thing almost got killed a while back. Luckily, his caretakers at the agency have had no aggression problems with him! He’s affectionate, friendly, reckless at times, but overall great to have as a first time owner!

He’s really—really big. His head just about reaches the ceiling of your small apartment. It's gonna be hard finding clothes for the man. Let alone a bed.

But that’s all a problem for future you!

Packing him in the car was a hefty thing, his tallness being the main problem, a little cramped (he had to lay half his body on the floor) but it worked in the end!

As soon as you bought the little—uh, big critter home, you pampered him with affections. Petting his head, rubbing his ears, scratching under his chin all that stuff that makes him mushy in the brain!

The only problem would be leaving him alone… he’s fairly clingy. You’ll just have to work on that. He seems capable enough. Hopefully…

Note to self: get a baby cam.

˗ˏˋ — ˎˊ˗

Maybe this was a mistake.

Satoru’s a really good guy, he’s friendly, definitely affectionate and really clingy. All good qualities that you love about him!

But, there are qualities you come to… dislike, so to say.

He’s bratty. defiant against your house rules, a back-talker.

He always wants attention. Pushing things off counters or using his tail to block your eyes whenever he wants to annoy you.

He’s very manipulative. Using his wide eyes to trick you—or anyone—into giving him sweets!

He’s also unbearably horny, probably his worst trait. Always trying to rub against you, heck even mount you! For someone so angelic-looking, he sure ain’t an angel.

And you can name a couple of… embarrassing incidents.

Incident #1

“Hey—Toru! What are you doing, stop that!” You shout, trying to push him back and away from— wait, are those your panties he has in your mouth!

“Satoru! Bad boy, get those out of your mouth!” You splutter, face flushing red.

But, apparently you adopted the devil.

He tilts his head in an innocent way, ears flopping to the side as he deviously munches on your precious—and very expensive—underwear.

You try to wrestle them away from his maw, unlucky for you, you’ve also adopted an abnormally tall hybrid. His innocent act drops as he dangles them above your head, laughing at your embarrassment.

Of course, he gave it back. Not without it slicked in his spit and now turned crotchless.

It was… not a great moment for you or your hopes of being dominant over him.

Incident #2

It’s a nice sunny morning, you got up earlier than your alarm, made a nice breakfast, and finally got that darned work assignment finished.

A peaceful day.

Until your precious kitty takes his biting urges on you.

“Satoru, do-don’t bite meee!” You whine, once again trying to push away the snarky beast. God, why must he be twice your size.

He chuffs, pining you with his weight as he nibbles at your skin. Tail swaying mischievously behind him.

“Mn—be still, lemme jus’…” He whispers. Devious man he is. His nibbling becomes full-blown bites, decorating your neck and collarbone in a bazillion bite marks.

Satoru only giggles at your pathetic attempts of squirming away. Pfft, you think he’ll let you walk away? Nothing gets away from his keen eyes.

Needless to say, the bite marks were not a fashion statement at work. Didn’t really capture as many complements as it did laughter.

Note to self: Invest in a muzzle.

Incident #3

Now, maybe this is your fault. You did notice the change in behaviour, he’s always been clingy— the staff at the agency did say he was… the possessive type. But! You didn’t notice the possessiveness until now! So it’s not entirely your fault.

Okay, maybe his growling at your friend— male, should you note— was a teensy red flag, the constant butting of his head against you was also alerting you. So you maybe-sorta-should’ve predicted this.

Maybe if you realised that Satoru is not entirely human (even though he acts like it), you would’ve remembered he has an amazing sense of smell.

“aaahnn… mornin’ Toru’, how did you sleep hm?” you yawn. The lack of response is unnerving, and rude.

“Hey now, ts’ not nice to ignore me, Satoru.” Again silence, wait—what the-?

“Oof! Satoru—gah!—get off!” You struggle, your overgrown hybrid kitty has decided to pounce on you, his full weight crushing you.

“H-hey—oh!” Did.. did you feel that correctly, is your boy.. oh gosh.

“Mrrow…mn, you smell s’ good.” His breath is hot against your neck, sniffing at your throat, his fuzzy ears rubbing under your chin.

“Mnh—heat, in heat? mrr..” He purrs, big hands encasing yours as the big idiot rocks his hips against your backside— oh my.

“H-huh? No, down Satoru! Bad boy—ooh!—don-don’t!” You try not to moan out as he ruts against you. Licking at the nape of your neck, almost mockingly.

“Heh— shh, I’ll take care of ya. Aw’ you’re so small compared to me..” Satoru breathes, chuckling like he always does.

…

Lets just say, Satoru has become real good friends with the spray bottle.

Note to self: Get him neutered.

˗ˏˋ — ˎˊ˗

And there are way more incidents as… sexual as these ones. You love the big guy, he’s cuddly, got a fuzzy head, really warm, but he seems to really enjoy mounting you. Like, really badly.

He’s become a menace! I mean, you knew he wasn’t neutered, but you didn’t think he’d be interested in you!

It's almost everyday he tries to get in your pants! Gotta hand it to him, he’s really persistent.

Well, you won’t be taking any of his nonsense today!

“Satoru! Breakfast!” You yell out. You hear him scurrying around the corner, jeez food fein.

“Heh, mm waffles..” He purrs at your feet, nuzzling against the back of your knee.

He wraps his tail around your ankle, hands gently kneading at your leg. Nose twitching at the sugary smells.

“You hungry, sweetie?” You coo, petting the big oafs head.

Awh, maybe you’re being too harsh on him. He’s your baby, he doesn’t know any better!

˗ˏˋ — ˎˊ˗

Oh who were you kidding, of course he knows what he’s doing! Why are you so gullible?

What was supposed to be a nice, calm, peaceful, non-sexual breakfast, ends up with your mischievous kitty munching on your pussy instead!

He’s got your legs up, knees having small-talk to your shoulders whilst he —quite literally— devours you.

“Satoruuu!— don’t do thaah! Oh!” You squeak. You weakly push on his head, trying to get him away from your front.

Unfortunately, Satoru is a determined cat.

“Mnn, be still. M’ hungry.” He purrs between your legs, the vibrations of his voice send tingles up your spine.

For Satoru, that delicious nectar leaking out of you is heavenly. Until this thin, pathetic piece of fabric ruins his meal. If only he could just…

rripp!

“H-huh? S’toru! Those were expensiveee— haa!” You scold. well, try to. It’s hard to speak when you’re literally breathless.

He tongues at your now naked pussy, slurping all that gooey goodness you so graciously produce. So sweet.

He pulls back, your cunt and his mouth connected by a sloppy string of spit. He coo’s and presses a kiss hard against your clit, making you twitch and moan.

Out of the corner of your eye you see the devil incarnate smiling so sweetly, his tail curling around your ankle. What was once a sweet gesture is now no longer reassuring.

Your ‘innocent’ kitty now has free rein to your more… primal parts. The stronger scent pulls on Satoru’s will, he whines at the sudden, yet aggressive urge to bury himself inside you.

Hmm maybe he should.

Hoisting himself up, Satoru leans back on his calves, admiring the little mess he’s made of you. Flushed red, panting, drooling, and completely high on the pleasure. His pants tighten.

He’s been blessed with such a cute owner!

˗ˏˋ — ˎˊ˗

Plap! Plap! Plap!

“Haa— d’aww don’t be so shy, master. Heh—fhuck!” Said the devil incarnate, mockingly.

Satoru is a condescending bunch, cute but really full of himself. It’s shows in his way of fucking.

He has you on your back, legs resting on his broad shoulders as he literally folds you in half. Your head is just reeling, your face is covered in his spit, hairline all sweaty, jaw hanging open, and you're burning all over!

His cock is big, too big. It nearly split you in half when he tried to fit it in. He’s never been a patient kitty.

“Awhhh— masterrrr, you’re tightenin’ up sho’ muchhh…” He purrs. Tail swaying mockingly.

Leaning forward, Satoru nuzzles his ears against your cheek, wanting to be pet.

Unfortunately, you’re incoherent to his requests. Too focused on the harsh rutting of his cock into your sticky cunt.

“Heyyy… pet meee,” He whines, “Hm? Heh— tappin’ out already?” His eyes gleam with mischievous-ness as he grins a toothy grin. You’re not gonna make it out alive.

He bites his lip, giggling at your pleasured face. If only he could take a picture, save this moment forever. He cups your face, caressing your sweaty cheeks, then presses a loving kiss to your lips.

“Mwah! Hehe— you’re so cute,” He whispers against your lips.

In midst of this somewhat sweet moment, the pace of Satoru rolling his hips against you increases. Then turning into him full on slamming his hips into yours, huffing as he focuses on pounding you into next week.

All you can do is grip onto him, tugging on his ears. He moans pornographically, drooling as you harshly grip his sensitive ears. The painful yet pleasant sensation sparks something new in Satoru.

With the intent to breed, Satoru turns you over. His chest to your back as he leans his weight on you, arms wrapping tightly around your sweaty skin.

This new position gives Satoru a better chance at giving you some cute mini him’s!

“Oh! Oh!—Toruuu’!” You squeal, tears now brimming in your eyes at the overwhelming feeling that is undoubtedly him.

Without warning, you cum. Hole clenching and spasming and coating his lower body in a translucent liquid.

“Hm—hah— I knew you wan—ahn—wanted me!” He mewls, quickly pounding in and out, creating a wet ‘schlick!’ sound.

Oh you’re so perverted! Letting your precious kitty take you like this!

You’ll never live this down.

Satoru doesn’t seem to care.

“Oooh— m’ cumming, nng— masterrr!” He moans, non-stop humping into your creamy pussy, drooling all over you.

“Not—not insideee! Toru’!” You cry out, pushing your hips back to get him off of you, it does the opposite.

His tail wraps around your thigh as he cums. It splurts frantically inside of you, his cock twitching violently as he whines in pleasure.

It’s hot, sticky and definitely a thick load. It feels endless, liquidy rope after rope. But it feels so refreshing.

He pulls out (you didn’t think he would), nuzzling and purring at the nape of your neck. Innocently licking at your tear-stricken cheeks.

…

It’s been so long since you last experienced this pleasure.

You’ll definitely regret this later.

˗ˏˋ — ˎˊ˗

Oh god, why did you do that!

Having sex with a hybrid is just a different type of low, even for you!

Oh jeez, you're just as perverted as him! Oh whywhywhywhy! He was just supposed to be a companion! Not a—

“Mrr, pet meee..” Satoru whines, pawning at your chest. He’s back to his old self again.

Mostly. He’s become more… confident in his abilities over you. Let’s just say after your regrettable (not in his eyes) playtime with him, he has no restraint on mounting you now. The idiots even started humping you in public!

Which is why you’ve been leaving him at home.

Now more than ever, you two spend a lot of time together. Mostly consisting of naps, him licking you, more naps, eating… recreational activities, blah blah blah. He now sleeps on your bed, he’s more like an overstayed one night stand than an exotic cat.

At Least he’s extra cuddly!

[starkeysbaby]

When the turtle incident at the beach happens the reader gets hurt saving the turtle 🐢 and rafe snap. Everyone sees a different side of rafe

a/n: i LOVE this idea. - Unfortunately i feel like i didn’t do it justice 🥲🥲 but hope you enjoy!! <3

“if i ever see you round my girl again…”

pairings: s4 rafe cameron x kook but not kooky!reader [est. relationship]

warnings: S4 E4 SCENE DESCRIBED/USED (not sure if it’s really a spoiler tho as nothing plot wise is revealed) turtles being hurt, blood, death threat, canon rafe lol, use of swear words. (pls lemme know if i forgot any)

summary: you just wanted peace between everyone, unfortunately you and a turtle became collateral damage over a kook vs pogue contest. rafe is not happy…

navigation ⋅˚₊‧𐙚‧₊˚ ⋅ obx masterlist

You were a kook? Well that’s what your bank account said. However, you were closer with the pogues and basically hung out with them or your boyfriend.. rafe cameron. that was the weird part. It had been awkward since the pogues all returned from El Dorado. You had sort of become the middle man in between rafe and the pogues including his sister, sarah. It was an unspoken rule between you and rafe that you just don’t talk about them with him which you respected. He’ll come around in his own time you thought.

When the swell came in, your boyfriend and his friends were eager to hit the beach and have a surf day to which you wouldn’t turn down. meeting up at tannyhill, you saw that topper had bought his new girlfriend, ruthie who you weren’t too keen on. You had mentioned this to rafe a while back but he said that it isn’t yours or his business to get involved with toppers love life and told you to just stay away from her if you didn’t like her to which you couldn’t argue.

Arriving at the beach you saw your friends, jj, john b, kiara and sarah and quickly told rafe that you were going over to say hi. Rafe just mumbled something as he set up his towel and told you not to be long as he stared daggers at sarah.

“hey!” you wave jogging up to the pogues, hugging sarah then kie. “what’s up y/nn (your nickname)” kie asked. “not much. just thought we’d hit the waves. i told them we should go a bit farther from here but they didn’t listen… sorry” you explained, knowing it’s best if the kooks and pogues don’t cross paths today. “you’re good. it’s them we don’t trust” jj butts in. “yeah, no. i’ll tell them to lay off..” you smile then turn to sarah. “he’s trying. he’ll come around. i know it..” you tell her, referring to rafe. Sarah just shrugs, pretending as if not being on good terms with her brother isn’t bothering her. “wanna surf?” you smile and take sarah’s hand dragging her to the water as you both laugh.

After surfing with sarah and the pogues for a while, you had joined rafe on his towel and spent an hour or so just chilling with him. He showered you in attention and you did your best to ignore ruthies little comments about the pogues and how jj is a poor sport. At one point, rafe saw you side eye ruthie for shitting on the pogues again. “hey. don’t frown.” he mumbles turning your head to face him and pats your cheek. “i don’t get her problem rafe.” you sigh. “yeah it sucks, but cmon” “no. it’s unnecessary. they aren’t doing anything to her.” you tell him, referring to the pogues just minding their business apart from that tiny squabble with jj and topper in the ocean but topper didn’t seem to care too much so why does ruthie? “i told you, ignore her” rafe says a little sternly taking your hand in his, his thumb caressing the back of your hand. “yeah yeah…” you smile as you peck him, letting it go as you didn’t want ruthie to ruin the day.

While you packed up, unknown to you and rafe, ruthie was convincing topper to just ride the truck over to the pogues to mess up their set up. You in the meantime went over to the pogues to say bye, only to find them saving a turtle hatch in which you started assisting with. The next thing you know, you see ruthie driving her truck at a high speed straight at you. While sarah and kie do their best to get the turtles out of the way in time, you stand in front waving your hands trying to get ruthies attention to stop her. “hey! hey!!! stop! there’s a hatch!” you call out but she doesn’t hear you. you can vaguely see topper yell at ruthie, probably to stop but she’s just laughing. kiara notices ruthie has no intention of stopping and quickly pulls you out the way.

Luckily no turtles were hurt at that point but you see ruthie circling around to go again. You stand up again, trying to stop her. Rafe has also noticed this and starts making his way over to get, in his words, your stupid ass out of the way. You realise ruthie yet again has no intention of stopping so you quickly go to pick up a turtle that was in the way but you get hit slightly by the truck, knocking you out.

“what the actual fuck?!” kiara yells rushing to you, she takes the turtles from you and calls for rafe who’s at your side in seconds. He looks up at a shocked, somewhat guilty looking ruthie. “what the fuck is your problem?” he spits “did you not see her fucking standing there telling you to stop!” he yells as he takes off his shirt to wrap around a bloody scrape on your knee from something in the sand. Overall you weren’t too badly hurt but might need some stitches. That was enough for rafe to see red though.

As sarah goes to fetch water to splash you awake, ruthie stutters “i.. i thought she’d get out the way. why would she just fucking stand the-” kie cuts her off “there was a turtle hatch! look what you did! she was tryna save this turtle” kie yells at her, showing her the hurt turtle to which ruthie turns her face away from. “why the fu-” rafe cuts himself off on questioning you to wake you up with the water sarah got. As you felt water being splashed on your face, you sit up. “what happened?” you groan. “y/n im so so sor-” ruthie starts to apologise but rafe cuts her off. “no. you shut the fuck up and stay away from my girl” rafe snaps causing topper to get involved. “hey now rafe-” but again rafe cuts him off. “control your bitch, top” he huffs shutting topper and everyone else up.

He lifts you up and walks towards his truck. “my head hurts..” you mumble. “i know baby.. gonna get you to the hospital aight” he gently whispers to you to which you just nod. With a final “don’t pull shit like that again” from rafe, he places you in the passengers seat before shutting the door and quickly going up to ruthie. “if i ever see you round my girl again… i’ll kill you” he murmurs up close to her face in a terrifyingly dangerous way. Apart from sarah and a few of the pogues, no one has ever seen rafe like that.. so scary.. so threatening… so murderous. Ruthie just nodded which was enough for rafe to leave the scene so he could take you to the hospital.

a/n: hope you enjoyed - kinda struggled to find a way to set the dynamic where reader is dating rafe but close to the pogues at this point in the show cuz i couldn’t see rafes defending someone so furiously unless he was dating her 😭

requests are open!! enjoy lovelies - liv <33

[1mlei]

I absolutely love the idea that Danny kills the Joker (because creepy clowns eww) and Jason happens to walk in right as he's panicking all over the place. Danny is desperately trying to explain it was an accident, while Jason's over here simultaneously feeling the best he's ever felt since his revival and falling head over heels in love at the same time.

Very cute, very fun, wholesome murder, 10/10 will read every time.

----------

Danny: *shoving Joker's body behind dumpster in a panic*

Jason: "Is that a dead body?"

Danny, recognizing Red Hood as someone famous in the Realms for avenging murder victims: "Oh hi Mr. Hood, ma'am, sir.. See this isn't what it looks like, it was a total accident I swear on half my life!"

Jason: "Half your wha-"

Danny, still in shock: It's just he was being all creepy, and I've had bad experiences with clowns before, I and then this one had a gun so I pushed him a bit, didn't mean to kill the dude, honestly!"

Jason: *walks over to check body*

Danny: "Soo, total accident, and I don't feel like being arrested, so I'm gonna go.."

Jason, realizing that is indeed the Joker lying dead behind a dumpster: "Hang on, at least give me-"

Jason turning around and seeing his saviour has vanished: "Damn, didn't even get his number."

...

Jason: *giddily takes selfie with corpse*

----------

Jason: *patrolling in relative peace when he sees some random guy and the flipping Joker in an alley, said Joker has a gun pulled on the poor guy*

Jason: *about to swing in to save the day and take out the Joker*

Danny, faced with a clown pointing a gun at his head while ranting about all the creepy things he's gonna do: "Yea no that's not gonna fly"

Danny: *Goes full on eldritch abomination and eats the Joker's soul, leaving his body as a lifeless husk*

Jason, standing at the mouth of the alley in disbelief:

Danny, turning back into his human form: "Oh eww, so not worth it, that guy tasted terrible."

Jason: *frantically straightens his jacket, tries to fix his hair and realizes his helmet's in the way, then strikes a pose and tries to look natural*

Danny: *turns around and realizes he's not alone*("omg is that Red Hood?")

Jason, using all his rizz: "Hey there handsome, don't suppose you'd let me treat you to some dessert after a meal like that? There's a place down the street ;)"

Danny: "..What?"

----------

Alternatively, Danny and Jason were already dating but got into an argument.

Danny, walking down a street brooding thinking: "Man, I've got to figure out how to make it up to Jason, chocolates, flowers, maybe get him a book, hmmm.."

Joker: *creepy giggling as he yanks a random kid that looks like he could possibly be a Wayne into alley™*

Danny, eyes lighting up: "Ohh yes you'll be perfect, thanks dude :]"

Joker: "Wh-"

..20 minutes later..

Danny, walking into his and Jason's apartment: "Babe! I'm sorry about earlier, but I have something to make it up to you!"

Jason, peeking around the corner with a frown: "Well whatever it is it's not just gonna fix- is that the fucking Joker?"

Danny: "Yep! Don't worry he only looks dead cause I'm holding his soul hostage right now, I thought you should get to do the honours <3"

Jason:

Danny:

Jason:

Danny: "...I have chocolates and that book you wanted to read as well..?"

Jason: "Marry me"

----------

Mmmhhh yes I love this trope so much!!

[o3o-lapd-o3o]

people be wondering why there's no appearance from hades in any of the sagas, especially the underworld saga (even if he wasn't in the odyssey itself) i have a theory!

spoilers for vengeance saga and future ithaca saga!

do you not understand how busy that poor guy/god is during odysseus' terrible, horrible, no good, bad journey home™

first he has 7 freshly made pancakes men (14 if you count the club smash noises in survive, but we'll go with 7 for this) sent by chef polyphemus, appearing one after the other.

not long after that, you have 550 very soaked (drowned) men pop through in the blink of an eye, no thanks to his younger brother, mr ruthlessness himself, poseidon.

then while he's still counting/organising the paperwork for them, a young man appears, who happens to be very drunk (talking about pig men?)

not long after that, somehow a warship filled with mortal men breaks into the underworld, ALL ALIVE, and the (king? leader? captain? he's not too sure at this point) starts singing outside his front door about becoming a monster????? but before he can sic cerberus on them, they leave on their own

finally he thinks he has a break when 6 men holding torches (are some missing limbs?!?) have now joined the party down under (granted they're all in no mood to party, they weren't expecting to become snacks for a sea monster)

and just as quick as they'd arrived, in a flash (just like the snap of lightning that took them out) 36 crispy/fried men (gods damn it zeus) appear, weapons drawn like they were about to attack someone (how does that one guy at the front swing such a big sword?)

at this point hades is wondering what the fuck is happening upstairs, because ain't no way these 600 men are all from the same fleet/island under one guy's command (turns out the captain's name is odysseus)

he thinks his prayers are answered because he has had peace for 7 years, just the normal flow of souls into the underworld- (wait whats that chanting)

suddenly those previous 600 souls are flying their way outta the underworld (he didn't know they could do that) while singing "six hundred men! (six hundred)" on repeat

they return though (thank the gods, he didn't need to go soul hunting) and once again he thinks everything will be calm

(he also found out from zeus, that their brother got his godly-ass handed to him by that MORTAL odysseus! WHO USED HIS OWN WEAPON AGAINST HIM (something to help make him laugh over spring & summer and while he waits for his beautiful persephone to return home))

he finally thinks his time with odysseus and the souls that come from him/being around him is over. when in minutes of each other, the souls of 108 men appear, all killed in gruesome ways. then they tell him that they were killed by beggar who then revealed himself as king odysseus, from trying to marry his wife and take over his kingdom (ok very understandable murder then)

at this point hades doesn't know whether he's excited for, or dreading the day he actually meets odysseus in the distant future (yes distant, i don't care about/ don't accept the telegony. let the poor man enjoy the rest of his life with his son and wife!!!)

but yeah, understandable why you don't hear from him throughout the sagas

[undiscovered-horizon]

[Mihawk prefers to keep work and his private life separate. On one rare occasion when these two have to comingle, Mihawk is rather upset at the attention you attract.]

Enjoying my work? You can leave me a tip on Ko-Fi | Have a request?

When Mihawk said "It will be just a moment, my dear", you didn't think the issue would take more than half an hour. Yet here you are, two hours after he had left you in a fussy lounge in the back of Midnight Grove...

...and not a Dracule Mihawk in sight.

You let out an exasperated sigh and take another sip of your mai tai. The band is playing yet another song that sounds vaguely identical to the previous one. Similarly, the mob of other patrons seems to be merging into one, murky background of blurry figures in your eyes. Being used to the peaceful yet refined companionship of Mihawk, the aura of Midnight Grove is beyond unbearable.

Mindlessly playing with a coaster featuring a howling wolf, you don't notice a Marine cadet approaching you.

"I'm afraid I have to arrest you, my lady."

The unexpected and, frankly, unwelcome comment makes you look up from the devilishly fascinating coaster. Your eyes fall on a well-built man with long hair and a smug expression. The glint in his brown eyes makes you tense up in discomfort.

"Excuse me?" you ask him, not understanding the meaning behind his words.

The cadet gives you a bad parody of a flirtatious smile. "You look too beautiful," he purrs out.

You can't help but laugh. Somehow, you're undecided whether his pick-up disgusts or amuses you or maybe both. Perhaps his audacity forced a laugh out of you - the ring on your fourth finger is neither modest nor simple. Considering how the large gem in the golden band shone in the low light of the Midnight Grove, even a blind man could tell from a mile away that you are anything but single.

"Anyone waiting for you at home?" he continues his rather poor attempt at flirting.

With a casual flick of your wrist, you toss the coaster on the table. Feeling both curious and entertained, you decide to play along - for now, at least. "Why are you asking, sailor boy?" you question before taking another sip of your drink. The ice has melted and the diluted drink now tastes mostly of old freezer.

"He must be mighty jealous about you. And considering the gold you're wearing," he makes a point of staring at your cleavage, "a millionaire, too."

"Oh, this?" You look down at the necklace of jewels and pearls. A memory flashes before your eyes, suddenly remembering Mihawk's face, barely visible in candlelight as he clasps the jewellery around your neck, telling you sweet things only men in romance novels tend to say. "Yes, it's a gift from someone. I'm sure you know him," you tell the Marine cadet in a casual tone, already imagining how hilarious his face of terror will be when he realizes whose spouse he's been trying to woo. "Tall, yellow eyes, a rather large sword and...

"Awfully annoyed at your impertinence, boy."

The low, guttural voice laced with withheld anger makes both of you look away. There, standing right behind the cadet, is Mihawk himself. Part of his large physique blocks the scarce lighting, making him look significantly more insidious. In the twilight of the Midnight Grove, with fury burning in his eyes, Mihawk appears closer to a demon than a man.

Although the room is dark, you can clearly see the way the cadet's blood draws from his face and the way his eyes are suddenly bigger than an owl's. He scrambles to his feet, almost falling off his chair. Then, muttering apologies and promises of better behaviour, the young Marine runs off only to disappear in the crowd of Midnight Grove's patrons.

Mihawk's eyes follow the youngling for a moment.

"I should have him strung up and killed," he says more to himself than you.

"Or," you speak up, a playful smile curling your lips, "you could sit down, have a drink with your beautiful wife and gloat about the fact that you're the only man to undress her."

You might just be a witch because the change in his demeanour is instant. There is still something wild in his bright, yellow eyes but it's not bloodthirst or anger anymore. You notice how he glances at the ring and the necklace, admiring his own signs of "ownership". One would think they're big enough to send the message. Alas, some people just refuse to receive it.

"You have me convinced," Mihawk says as he sits down next to you.

[rosenclaws]

Congratulations on the 600 followers!!!

Can I request a smut/NSFW drabble.. I'm thinking worst logan..

Neighbour(?) Reader got asked out as a joke and he finds her upset.. (plus size if possible if not no worriessss!!!!)

Love your work!!

And congrats again on all the followers that's AMAZING!!

warnings: SMUT, MINORS DNI, fem!reader, plus sized!reader, oral (f!receiving), dirty talk, logan low key has a thigh kink, pet names (princess and pretty girl)

600 follower drabble masterlist

wc: 1.3k

a/n: Worst logan my love. Also this is my first time writing explicitly plus sized so please let me know if I need to change anything!! I hope you like it <33 Also this turned into way more than a drabble lol.

Men really were the fucking worst. Actually the fucking worst. What reason could someone have to do something so cruel? For a joke? A laugh? To hurt someone so badly just for fun? You sat at the damn restaurant for an hour checking your phone.

When you finally did get ahold of that asshole he just laughed at you. Told you it was a joke, that he'd never seriously be into someone like you. Your eyes welled with tears but you refused to let them fall in public. God, you can still feel the stares of people around you. The whispers.

How sad, that poor girl.

Did you see her check her phone over and over again?

Don't stare, she probably already feels bad enough...

Their words stung more than that assholes. You aren't stupid, you know that you aren't stereotypically attractive. You don't match the girls in magazines.

But that doesn't mean you don't deserve basic human respect. You didn't even like the guy, in fact, based on his horrible personality you were really doing him a favor.

You angrily stomped up the stairs and through the hallway. You should feel bad about the noise but you just can't bring yourself to care. You slam your door closed and toss your things onto your couch. A knock on the door almost makes you scream. Whoever it was needs to take the hint.

"What." You say as you rip open your door.

"Oh. It's you." You say flatly.

Any other time you'd be thrilled to see your hot neighbor at your door but right now it felt like another reminder of your failed love life.

"What crawled up your ass? Could hear you muttering a mile away." He asks and you roll your eyes.

"Brought you a peace offering." He holds up a bottle of wine and you decide to let him in.

"You're a man Logan. Why are men such shallow assholes?" You take another sip.

"Date gone bad princess?"

"I wouldn't even call it a date." You swirl your drink around in the glass.

To admit what really happened feels embarrassing. Especially to Logan. You had a massive crush on the man. That started the minute you met him. Your nice but weird neighbor Wade introduced the two of you one night. The second you looked into those gorgeous eyes and shook his big hands it was over.

"Hello? You still there?" Logan waves his hand in front of your face and you snap out of your thoughts. Deciding this day couldn't get any worse so you might as well just tell him.

"I got stood up. Turns out he asked me out as a joke."

"What a fucking dick." Logan growls. His hand tightened around the beer can in his hand.

"He said he'd never be into someone like me." You say with a huff. Drinking the last of your wine.

"What the fuck is that supposed to mean?"

“Come on Logan, you’re a million years old you know what I’m talking about.” You gesture to yourself and it seems to click in his head.

“So what? Who fucking cares about that.” The can crushes under his intense grip the longer he thinks about it. You pour yourself more wine before answering him.

“Apparently, most people do.” 

“Well, he’s an idiot. Anyone would be lucky to have you.” He sees you brush him off and it bothers him. He’s not the kind of guy to lie to make you feel better. So why you don’t believe him is beyond him. He sees things as they are.

“I know a beautiful woman when I see one princess.” He smirks as he inches closer to you.

You’ve been the subject of Logan’s wet dreams for a while now. Your sweet laugh and pretty face. The sinful things he’s thought about. He’d feel ashamed but he knows you’ve got the hots for him too. Your staring isn’t as subtle as you think. Plus his super hearing allows for him to pick up on your more…intimate moments. He doesn’t mean to hear them, but he does.

“Logan…” Your breath catches in your throat as he cages you into the couch. His strong arms are on full display for you as you shrink into the couch. He’s got this feral grin on his face that both excites you and makes you nervous.

“Only boys can’t see past that bullshit. I’m a man. A man who knows how to please a woman like you.” He purrs.

Are you dreaming? Is this really happening? His knee nudges its way between your legs. The rough material of his jeans rubs against your panties. The friction makes you squirm.

“You gonna let me make you feel good pretty girl?” He whispers in your ear. His hand slips under your dress, fingers brushing over your clothed cunt. Teasing your skin with his touch.

“Please fuck!” You gasp as you claw at his shirt.

He reaches and tears it to shreds. Your mouth waters as you see his back muscles stretching and bulging, free of any clothing to hide him away. He’s a man on a mission as he lifts your dress up. His massive shoulders push your legs apart. You couldn’t close them even if you wanted to, which you don’t. He pulls your panties to the side and licks his lips.

“Just know she’s ripe and sweet. All for me.” His claws peek out and your heartbeat quickens as the sharp metal cuts through the fabric of your underwear.

“There we go.” He throws the scraps to the side and wraps his arms around your thighs. Hands digging into your soft skin. He squeezes your thighs and you hear a low purr coming from his throat.

“Fuck!” You moan as Logan buries his face in your pussy. There’s no holding back as he laps like an animal feasting on its favorite treat.

“So fucking sweet, god bury me in these thighs.” He mumbles.

His brain fogs with pleasure as he buries his tongue as far as it will go. You’re trapped in feeling his every torturous move. His grip is bruisingly delicious.

“Logan logan fuck don’t stop!” You tug hard on his hair as you grind your hips against his mouth. You’re losing it in pleasure as his tongue flicks across your clit.

“That’s what I’m fucking talking about.” He lifts his head, eyes clouded with lust as he tilts his head back. Savoring the taste of you as he prepares to dive back in. He’d die a happy man just to be suffocated between your beautiful thighs.

“Stupid fucking boys, you don’t need them right pretty girl? Not when you have me. I’ll make you come so hard you’ll never think of anyone else again.” You nod along to whatever he is saying.

Your head is up in the clouds as he sucks on your clit. Determined to make you scream his name. His wish is granted as he relentlessly plays toys with your clit. His tongue works magic as he brings your orgasm crashing down.

“Logan!” Your eyes roll to the back of your head as you lose yourself in pleasure.

Your senses muddle together as whimpers tumble from your lips, body buzzing with a warm and fuzzy feeling. It doesn’t last long as Logan refuses to let up. Working you into overstimulation until you’re pushing his head away weakly.

“Too much for you?” He licks his lips, a cocky smile on his face.

“No, I just. Need a break.” You say breathlessly as you try and control your breathing.

Your eyes travel down his chest. Admiring his muscles and stupidly attractive arms. His cock is straining in his pants. You let out a small yelp as he picks you up effortlessly.

Man, you love his mutant strength. Logan gently places you on your bed. He toys with your dress as he resists the urge to rip it apart.

“What was that guy's name again?” He asks as he unbuckles his belt. You open your mouth to answer but he cuts you off. He didn’t want an answer anyway.

“Doesn’t matter, You won’t remember it by the time I’m done with you.” 

[spainkitty]

How Much Symbolic and How Much Real?

Part 1 of 5

Tags: Arranged Marriage AU, also 'what if Arlathan never fell and the Evanuris were defeated' AU, Cullavellan, slow(ish) burn, mentions of past (like really really past) Sola vellan, basic DA fantasy setting with a lore-twist

There was something amazing about it. A whole world had sprung up while she had slept.

So many nations and races and peoples. So many stories and songs and legends. There were cities that could compare with her home, perhaps not in magic or depth, but in sheer scope and ingenuity. There had been heroes come and gone, wars fought and won. So many that it dizzied the mind trying to keep them all in order.

And something even more amazing was how little her own world had changed despite everything.

Arlathan was home. It was beauty and light and everything she'd ever loved about her People showcased in one place. Spirits taught in grand halls and Elvhen walked boulevards made of magic and crystal. With the Evanuris long defeated and the end of slavery an "embarrassing blight" safely millennia in the past, Arlathan was even more glorious than her earliest years of existence.

But Lanil Surana strode the paths and corridors and parks like one caged. Whether on the outskirts of the Arlathan Forest where her clan resided or deep in the heart of Arlathan itself, Lanil felt the same.

Desperately and absolutely bored.

She snorted quietly to herself. She knew exactly what that sounded like. Like a whining child not past their hundredth year. Bored. Bored. What would others say if they heard that?

You're a mage and warrior, Surana. Surely you can think of something interesting to do.

Bored? When the Fade is at your fingertips, when magic and life has no bounds?

Do you want another rebellion, Surana? Do you miss the glory of fighting at the Fen'Harel's side?

Lanil rolled her eyes and barely kept a snarl from her face. It always came back to Solas in the end, didn't it?

"Lane!"

She stopped mid-stride with a slight smile on her face and an uptick in her mood. Only one voice was so young and bright. She turned to see the young, dark-haired Elvhen running through the shimmering corridor of the Grand Hall.

Once, this had been called the Way of Elgar'nan. There had been a lot more ostentatious gold around, too. She liked the look of it now, with its living decorations of trees and flowers and dainty halla running riot and beautiful among the glassy white stone and gleaming blue Veilfire. The Elvhen woman running towards her matched this new look much better; her bare feet all but silent, her clothing of green and brown and black melding with her surroundings.

"Merrill. Or should I say First Alerion?" Lanil said, bowing with a flourish as her friend approached.

Merrill's fair skin flushed cherry-red as she laughed. The twining and complex branches of Mythal's vallaslin on Merrill's face was new, but not shocking. Many Elvhen continued to honor Mythal after her betrayal. Especially mages. It probably helped there was no actual slave binding in the action of it with Mythal long dead; the spark that lit the rebellion.

There had been talk at one point of creating a Fen'Harel vallaslin. Lanil still grinned when she remembered Solas' utter fury and disgust. It had shaken all of Arlathan's beautiful crystal towers.

"Just Merrill, don't be a twit," Merrill retorted, elbowing Lanil's ribs.

"Twit? Sounds like somebody's been in Kirkwall recently," Lanil noted with eyebrows rising, careful to keep her voice low. Merrill smiled happily.

"I have! I tried to invite you, but Keeper Lavellan said you were on one of your 'wanderings'," Merrill said. Her smile, usually brighter than sunshine, dimmed. Ah. Concern. From someone who was actually a youth. "You've been wandering the Fade a lot recently. You're not... you're going to leave again?"

"Not anytime soon," Lanil said, though she wasn't sure how honest she was being. "Maybe whatever the Council has called us for will be interesting enough to keep me awake for another century or two."

"Don't joke. We've barely started becoming friends. I never would've been brave enough to--"

"Not here, Merrill."

"Oh. Right."

Merrill glanced around warily and obviously. Lanil wasn't exactly subtle herself, but Merrill was a stampeding herd of gurgut in comparison.

"So you don't know what the Council wants?" Merrill asked as they continued onward. Owls were perched on the trees, their wide knowing eyes glinting with blue fire as they watched the two Elvhen. The boulevard branched in several directions and Lanil led Merril to the widest branch that twined on and on in a lazy spiral upward.

"No. Neither did my Keeper. She would've told me."

"If even the infamous Stormrider doesn't know, perhaps I should become concerned?" a voice remarked, dry and hoarse. And instantly familiar to Lanil.

"Tabris."

A figure somehow appeared in front of them as if from shadow, although this section of the Upper Walkway was much too bright for a sliver of shadow to exist. Like Lanil, her skin was dark tan, but there were no other similarities (that other Elvhen didn't also have). Her nose was strong and hawk-like, her eyes like pitch and slanted at the corners, her hair thick and straight and as black as her eyes and cut at chin-length. A scar cut all along leftside jawline, as if someone had tried to slice her throat and barely missed. Which was exactly what had happened; Lanil had been there to see it happen and helped heal it. Long, deadly daggers were sheathed at each hip, but there were definitely more daggers hidden out of sight. Despite her suspicious glare and stone-like expression, she and Lanil clasped hands warmly, tightly.

It only takes one time for someone to rescue your life to consider them a friend, in Lanil's opinion. And they'd saved each other countless times throughout the many horrific years of the rebellion.

"Mahariel was also summoned. She went on ahead," Danae Tabris said as their hands released.

"Mahariel? The Rynira Mahariel? The one who--" Merrill exclaimed breathlessly. She broke off. All three of them frowned at the same time, gazes catching.

"That's four of the youngest Elvhen currently alive, and only women," Lanil stated the obvious out loud.

"You think... that's on purpose?" Merrill asked, voice a little squeaky.

"Nothing else connects the four of us. Two mages, but also a dagger-wielder and an archer? Mahariel and I fought in the rebellion, but you and Danae weren't born yet. We both have sworn to Mythal, but Danae and Mahariel never retook vallaslin."

Danae snorted and barely kept from spitting in distaste. "I can't believe you kept yours," she muttered.

"I was a sworn initiate of the Well--" Lanil started hotly.

"Yeah, yeah." Danae rolled her eyes and cut the air with her hand sharply. "The Council is known for patience and all, but I want to suck out the venom and get it over with. Let's move on."

Without waiting, Danae turned on her heel. Merrill and Lanil followed quickly, the younger Elvhen sidling closer to Lanil.

"You don't think they know about Kirkwall, do you?" she whispered to Lanil.

Lanil hesitated, worry and its usual accompaniment of anger wormed its way into her head. She didn't need permission to do whatever she damn well pleased. After a moment of stewing, Lanil shook her head.

"Tabris wouldn't be caught dead sneaking out to play with the quicklings. I don't think Mahariel is fond of anything outside her clan, either. So that can't be the reason why we've been summoned."

Merrill pressed a hand to her chest and let out a relieved sigh. The rest of the walk was in silence, which scratched at Lanil's vaneer of calm. She wasn't good at silence. Or waiting. Or wondering.

Stepping in the huge, circular Assembly Hall and seeing every single Eldest in attendance shattered her calm more. Even honored Spirits of Command and Justice and Law hovered among the Elvhen. Was that a Spirit of Wisdom, too? Yes, in fact she knew that Spirit personally, the distinctly feminine-presenting Spirit was one of Solas' dearest friends. The four young Elvhen that had been summoned walked side by side into the middle of the room. Most of the gathered stood or sat along the benches in front of them and rising above their heads, although some were arrayed on either side or behind their backs.

"I'm sure you four have noticed the commonality among you already," stated one of the Eldest with an infuriating serenity and slowness. Halleon had been an Elder during the Evanuris' reign, and it made Lanil want to snap her fingers in his face every time they spoke. "Today we ask you to consider, with all the due weight and severity that it entails, a proposal from the quickling kingdom of Ferelden."

The four woman glanced at each other in confusion. But Halleon did not continue, just steepled his long, elegant fingers and examined them closely.

"Well? What proposal?" Lanil demanded, hands on her hips. Don't snap your fingers at him. Don't snap your fingers at him.

"A proposal of marriage, little one," said Rhona, one of the youngest on the Council and one of the few who was more warrior than mage.

"Oh," Merrill said on a confused laugh. Then, broke off abruptly. "OH!"

Danae, however, started laughing and didn’t stop, head tipped back and shoulders shaking. Not a single note of it sounded truly amused. Mahariel's blonde eyebrows were so far up her forehead, they'd disappeared behind the loose sweep of her bangs. Merrill had both hands over her mouth, her eyes wide enough to pop.

Lanil was stone. Completely and utterly stone.

A proposal of what?!

"Just so I understand the facts," Mahariel began. Her voice was always so lilting and musical, as if she were more bird than woman. It didn't help that her armor had feathered pauldrons and she wore feathers in her long, pretty, golden hair. For a woman so dainty and pretty, she was one of the most dangerous archers in Arlathan and had a kill count that rivaled Lanil's, probably surpassed it, since she'd once been a disciple of Andruil. "You want one of us to marry one of the quickling?"

"I knew the Ambassador of Ferelden had come, but I didn't know this was why," Merrill whispered.

"The Ferelden ambassador came with an offer of an alliance. A very... persuasive offer," Rhona explained.

"Quicklings are nothing, and we've never needed alliances before." Danae spat on the ground. Several of the Eldest sighed in resignation, although a few nodded in agreement.

"Before we were not surrounded on all sides by powerful nations and empires. Before the quicklings lived in the mud and barely patched together furs for clothing. Before they had no mages that could compare to ours, nor universities in which to flourish their talents. Most importantly, before there was no Tevinter and there was no Qun," Halleon pointed out mildly.

"As long as they continue to fight each other--" Danae started.

"No, listen to them. You live in the heart of the Elvhenan. Many clans do not. For the past few millennia, we have lost border territories while they've chipped away at us like rats nibbling cheese," Mahariel interrupted with her hand in front of Danae. "I've been in skirmishes and lost many good hunters and friends to these quicklings. Especially those that name themselves qunari."

"An alliance with one quickling nation would make the others hesitate," Rhona said. "Or perhaps seek to do the same."

"But why Ferelden?" Lanil heard her voice ask it, but hadn't felt her own mouth move.

"True, it is a young nation..." another voice said. Lanil's eyes darted over to see Tislain. Tislain had once been of Clan Lavellan, and her grey eyes mirrored Lanil's. Lanil wasn't sure it was calming, but she also wasn't sure what emotions were darting wildly in her head. "But it has managed to regain its independence twice despite its... shall we say, underdog position?"

More than several groaned and rolled their eyes at Tislain's horrible pun. Merrill looked at Lanil, who hadn't been able to help her snort of amusement.

"They have a thing for dogs there," Lanil muttered. Merrill groaned in disgust once the pun registered.

"More importantly," Rhona said with a warning look at Tislain, "the newest king has strong ties to Orzammar. The Ambassador has insinuated that a trade for lyrium could be made with their intervention."

Merrill and Lanil gaped.

Orzammar. Willing to trade lyrium. With Arlathan.

Lyrium.

Elvhenan didn't need lyrium. They interacted with the Fade and with magic like other races interacted with... with air. It was incomprehensible to be without magic, even if one weren't a mage.

But long ago, so long ago it made the rebellion feel like yesterday's news, they had access to lyrium. The artifacts they'd created, the spells they'd woven, there were traces of them all over Arlathan. Precious and few traces. Those bits and pieces were hoarded like dragons hoarded treasures and bones. Clans had fallen apart in schisms and blood oaths to never reconcile over debated ownership over lyrium-infused artifacts.

But dwarves despised Arlathan with a hatred as deep as their hidden roads. The Titans might have been lost to their Memories, but the Stone remembered anyway. To think that a quickling--a human kingdom barely out of its infancy could offer even a trickle of lyrium...

Offer a starving person a feast and they will gorge. Lanil herself felt the pang of hunger at the idea.

"But marriage?" Danae asked harshly.

"That's how those quicklings do it," Halleon explained with a negligent wave of his hand. "Their concept of alliances rely on marriage and progeniture--"

"Progen--No. I won't breed with them. I refuse," Danae snapped. She tightened her hands around her dagger hilts reflexively. "You slavering mages can get your lyrium without me."

"That is your right," Halleon agreed.

"Elvhen don't just... leave Arlathan, and elf-blooded quicklings aren't allowed in Elvhenan," Mahariel said. She cocked her hip to the side and crossed her arms over her chest. "How about you explain what exactly you expect from us? Excepting Tabris."

"Consider it more... symbolic. It'll be a human marriage and it'll last as long as the life of the quickling. Any..." Halleon's mouth twisted in distaste, "progeny will remain in Ferelden with no rights or allowances within Arlathan." Halleon paused and sighed. "As long as this marriage lasts, whomsoever agrees to it will not be allowed back in Arlathan. You are exiled as long as you're bound by their marriage contract."

"Exiled?" Merrill whispered.

Danae scoffed loudly. Mahariel frowned and shifted on her feet. Lanil, however, felt her heart beat for the first time since the word 'marriage' was said.

No more sneaking out of the boundaries like a naughty child just to see somewhere, something, new? No more of the same days over and over with the same faces? No more passing like a wraith from eluvian to eluvian to glimpse a world she wasn't allowed to experience and that despised her? No more walking purposeless in Solas' shadow? No more facing the awkward guilt for something that happened centuries ago?

"Me," Lanil said. Every eye turned to her. She squared her shoulders, tipped up her chin, and stepped forward. "It'll be me. I'll do it."

"I told you," Tislain said with a wide grin and glinting eyes. "Surana was the most obvious choice."

"There had to be choice, Tislain," Rhona said, as if she'd repeated it several times.

"You haven't even asked who you have to marry!" Merrill hissed from behind her hand. Uselessly, because everyone could hear.

Lanil raised an eyebrow. "Does it matter?"

"Fortunately, the alliance will be with the commander of their army. You'll have much in common," Tislain said. "Ferelden seems to give their commanders the proper amount of respect."

Several Eldest nodded sagely. Many of them had been leaders in past wars themselves. It was expected of Eldest to have known true combat, to have faced death in a way most Elvhen never would.

Lanil cocked her head to the side. "So we'll spend the few years of this human's life swapping war stories?"

"Exactly."

Lanil snorted quietly and shook her head. But it didn't sound so bad. She hadn't picked up a sword in centuries, but maybe she could learn something new.

Learn something new.

A grin tugged at her lips.

...

Arlathan was more Fade than material world, but many of the clans were settled firmly on the earth. Elvhenan spread across what the quicklings called 'Thedas' like a splatter of inkblots on the map. Perhaps their adversaries would say their borders were like a stain seeping between the lines of all those mostly human nations. While a few clans, and Arlathan itself, had control of a few port cities, Lavellan did not. Lavellan's lands were south of Arlathan, so south most of the quicklings they met were simple Free Marchers who'd accidentally crossed an invisible line into the clan territory without even realizing it. Until they were surrounded on all sides by silent hunters who led them back into their lands like naughty chickens loose from the coop. The Fade made permanent borders tricky or downright impossible, so it happened often.

Merrill had hoped that leaving from Lavellan would mean their journey would lead them down to Kirkwall, but Rialto in Antiva was the closer port. Lanil had been a little disappointed herself. However, the entourage Arlathan had appointed probably would've been impossible to escape for a last night of revels with Merrill's strange friends.

Lanil glanced at the suspiciously glaring Danae and Mahariel's eagle eyes taking in everything around them.

No "probably" about it.

Although they'd denied being the sacrificial pawn in this newfangled alliance, the three other women were assigned to escort her to Ferelden and stay through the confirmation of treaty talks.

Which would end with Lanil's marriage.

She scowled as her stomach turned in knots and it wasn't the unfamiliar smell of the sea. She raised her face to breathe in deep the salty air. Lanil couldn't remember the last time she'd been on the open sea. These past few weeks on the ship had been... wonderful. The first shaking off of the cobwebs on her life. Had the sea air always been so warm and pleasant? The sea so alive? Not even the port city of Highever, greyer and muddier than Rialto had been, dampened her opinion. The gangplank was being set and she wanted to race off the ship, leap through the air and take off through those narrow, jumbled-looking streets. She curled her hands tightly around the railing to hold herself in place. Next to her, Merrill was jumping up and down on her toes. Danae and Mahariel stood like silent and disapproving statues on each side of them.

Lanil's eyes snapped in every direction, nothing too small or beneath her notice. So many humans! And look, dwarves! She didn't know dwarves could leave the Stone! Or sail? There weren't enough to sail an entire ship, so perhaps they lived in Highever or were surface-dwelling merchants? Great white gulls cried and swooped overhead. Ropes and sails creaked and cracked in the wind. A dog as big as a wolf ran down an alleyway, barking and hopping like an eager puppy before racing back the way it had come. The buildings were low, made of stone with wooden roofs and windows were made of foggy glass. The clothing was a mix of rough and undyed, and garishly overdyed with weird puffy sleeves. And everyone wore... shoes? Or were they called boots? Which were boots and which were shoes?

Antiva had been more lively and not so... brown. But even here, languages Lanil had never heard swelled up from the busy crowds. She didn't understand everything! Whole words and sentences that meant nothing! Her eyes widened as Elvhen walked by--No.

Elves. Bor'len

Lost Children.

She couldn't help but crane over the railing to watch them walk by. One of them caught her staring, a look of bewilderment quickly followed by a grimace, and then the Lost Child made an obscene gesture with their hand. Lanil reared back in surprise and scowled at Danae who laughed in her face.

"Look, look! There they are!" Merrill somehow began to bounce even faster. She grabbed Lanil's arm with a suddenness that almost had Lanil recoiling. "Which one is your husband?"

"You are too eager about this, Alerion. It's just a quickling marriage," Mahariel said.

"To a male one," Danae added with a grimace.

"Yes, yes, we all know why you said no, but Lanil likes men, don't you?" Merrill asked, shaking Lanil's arm. Lanil raised an eyebrow at her. "If you're going to have children, aren't you at least interested in what he looks like?"

"You mean she has to breed with it, because everything these quicklings do is about breeding," Danae muttered. Lanil and Merrill both ignored her.

"I planned on lying back and thinking of Arlathan, but I suppose a pretty face in the middle of that wouldn't be too bad," Lanil said dryly, and Merrill laughed. Lanil cared more about the horses and the return of that massive black hound. Everything about Ferelden was so... sturdy and big, not exactly tall or massive, but built on bigger lines. Lanil had never seen a hound so large it could probably snap her spine, not unless it were actually a shapechanger. Merrill barely smothered her laughter as the Ambassador approached them.

"I do hope everything is ready," the woman fretted, watching as the sailors unloaded cargo (most of it not from Arlathan). Strangely, the woman was Antivan rather than Ferelden, but she'd been kind and, no better word for it, efficient during the entire journey. She was also beautiful, sweet, and suffered fools with a cutting sort of grace. A few times, Danae hadn't been able to help the lingering glances she gave Ambassador Montilyet. When she thought no one was looking.

"I don't know how we'd be anymore ready," Lanil said with a shrug.

In Elvish, Danae muttered, "Let's take you to your jailer, then."

Mahariel rolled her eyes and Merrill frowned, obviously about to argue. Lanil shook her head and put her hand on Merrill's arm. Then, the four of them followed Ambassador Montilyet down the gangplank.

...

Cullen tried not to grimace as Cassandra hissed a steady stream of well-intentioned advice beside him. He was pretty sure she hadn't stopped giving advice since Arlathan approved of the alliance Ferelden had proposed with very little hope of success. Queen Aleandria had been sure the alliance relying on the symbolic marriage to a commander rather than a noble or royal would immediately be seen as the insult the council pretended it wasn’t, and King Alistair had been sure immortal beings of magic and mystery would want nothing to do with "that muddy dog country". When Cullen had been told he'd be married off like a pawn in a game of chess after all, Cassandra had been even more offended than him.

And then she somehow channeled his older sister's nosiness and followed him around for weeks to "prepare him" for it.

"Make sure you smile when you meet her. You don't look half bad when you smile--"

"Cassandra, please be quiet," Cullen begged, rubbing at his face.

"Don't do that." Cassandra grabbed his arm and tugged it back down. "What if she saw that? She'll think it's about her."

"Maker preserve me," he whispered.

By his horse's side, his mabari whined and shuffled, ready to run off half-cocked again. Cassandra had said to leave him in Denerim, he wasn't well-trained and barely more than a pup despite his size, but... Cullen had just adopted him. He couldn't let him feel abandoned.

A few sailors came down the gangplank from the ship--The Bodice Ripper? What kind of name was The Bodice Ripper for a ship?--and with them a woman who sauntered and rolled with each step as if she was still at sea. Her high boots and long tunic almost disguised the fact she wasn't wearing trousers. Where in the Void were her trousers? Cullen quickly looked over at the more familiar and more dressed woman speaking with her. Josephine always stuck out in a crowd, but in a good way. All bright silks and smiles and too many ruffles.

And then four elves--No, Elvhen, don't forget everything Josephine and Leliana drilled into your head--came down. He heard Carroll let out a quiet whistle and barely held back a grimace. He'd have to remember to reprimand Carroll later; even if he understood. There was something almost unearthly beautiful about the blonde woman who was all legs and a dancer's sort of grace. But she had a bow and quiver on her back.

Not Lavellan.

Hopefully the darker-haired and darker-complexioned woman next to her wasn't Lavellan either. Not because of the daggers she gripped at her belt. Cullen was more intimi--concerned about the curl of distaste on her mouth and the utter disdain on her face as her dark eyes scanned the crowd of horses.

The next two came down side by the side. The shorter, fairer one with an almost tree-like facial tattoo was tugging at the fourth's arm, grinning wide and pointing every which way. It was nice one of them looked excited... but she reminded Cullen uncomfortably of his little sister despite them looking nothing alike and the Elvhen probably being several decades older than she looked.

The last one, though. She was scowling like the dagger-wielder, but she was looking everywhere her friend was pointing. She was darker, but her short-cropped hair was the color of ivory, spiky and windblown around her face. There was something there, along her cheekbones that glinted, but Cullen couldn't quite make it out. More facial tattoos? He thought Elvhen no longer had them... She was almost as short as her friend and just as slender.

Both wore leather armor, one in green and one in blue. Both carried staves on their backs, one made entirely of wood and crystal, one of smoky grey metal carved into a dragon's likeness at the head.

Cullen couldn't take his eyes off the woman in blue. He wouldn't even let the words form in his head. What would it matter starting a thought like 'please be--'... Nope.

He was trying so hard not to make a fool's wish in his head that he forgot about the mabari.

With a series of loud excited barking, the dumb dog raced towards the women at the bottom of the gangplank. He'd probably caught scent of Josephine, or maybe the scent of a new creature suffused with magic. Cullen bit back an oath and threw himself out of his saddle, Cassandra right after him and not holding her own cursing back.

"Fetch! No!" Cullen shouted as they chased after the damn dog who, of course, didn't even slow down.

Josephine sighed and quickly held up her hands, begging the Elvhen to please not worry. The blonde Elvhen raised a single eyebrow, the angry one loosened her daggers, the smallest one clapped her hands together in delight, and the one in blue stepped forward and knelt. For a woman so small, Cullen winced and expected Fetch to bowl her over. Maybe knock her right into the bay.

Instead, the Elvhen barely moved an inch, gripping Fetch to hold him in place and  talked to him in rapidfire Elvish. The mabari actually sat, wriggling in place, stump of a tail going wild, and let both the woman in blue and her happy-go-lucky friend coo and stroke him.

"Fetch, is it? What a perfect name for such a fiercesome beast," she was saying in a softly accented Common. Cullen skidded to a stop as Fetch licked right across her face. Her friend burst into laughter as she grinned widely.

This close, Cullen could see the subtle gold tattoos along her high cheekbones, the scar that cut down the right side of her face from under her eye, forking towards her jaw and down to her mouth, another smaller scar just under her bottom lip, and her obviously broken nose. It made her... look real. Like a real person, not some ethereally perfect elf goddess. When she looked up, her eyes gleamed silver as the early afternoon's light struck them.

"I wasn't expecting such a warm welcome," she told him, her grin becoming more like a smirk.

It's her. It has to be her.

"What's a Ferelden greeting without a mabari," Josephine said with yet another sigh, although Cullen could see the beginnings of a smile. "Enchanter Lanil Lavellan, this Commander Cullen Stanton Rutherford. And his dog, Fetch."

"I should've left him in Denerim, I know," Cullen muttered. He tried grabbing at Fetch's ruff, but it was a bit hard to do when neither he nor Lavellan had looked away from each other.

"No. This is better," Lanil Lavellan said. She was the first to break the eye contact. So she could smile at his dog and scratch Fetch's ears. "It would've been all grand and stuffy otherwise."

"You mean it would've been a whole lot of etiquette while you tried to pretend like you cared," the blonde Elvhen retorted. She looked a bit like that ethereal goddess idea that had gotten into Cullen's head, even her ears were longer and higher, like in an artist's painting of the Evanuris War, compared to Lavellan's wider and lower ears.

Lanil Lavellan shrugged. She got to her feet and stepped around Fetch to hold out her hand. Cullen stared at her, then gratefully clasped his hand around her wrist and she returned it. His hand basically encircled the entirety of her wrist, but her grip was tight and firm belying her much smaller, thinner hand. He wasn't used to a mage displacing that much strength.

"That's a lot of names," she said, her head tilting to the side.

"Cullen. Cullen is fine."

She nodded. "Lanil is fine."

"What about us?" Her friend with the tattoos nudged Lanil Lavellan away. She went with a grunt, her hand dropping from his. "I'm Merrill, I'm an Enchanter, too. You can tell from the staff, right. Anyway. The other scowly one is Danae Tabris and she's Rynira Mahariel."

"This really isn't how it's supposed to be done," Josephine said, utterly mortified.

"It's too late now, precious," the ship's captain teased. There was a quiet thwap and Josephine startled in place and eeped.

"I'm Cassandra Pentaghast. I'm a Seeker of Truth working in the Ferelden court for a time," Cassandra said. She held out her hand and each Elvhen clasped it respectfully.

"Seeker of Truth? Isn't that the same thing as a Templar?" Lanil Lavellan asked with a frown.

"No, their little Chantry split into Seekers and Templars a few hundred years back," Tabris said dismissively.

"You know nothing, Tabris. It was an Inquisition that split into Templars and Seekers," Mahariel corrected with an eyeroll.

"Oh. That. With the bor'len," she said using a word in Elvish that sounded like an insult. Lanil Lavellan said something equally sharp and cutting, and Tabris crossed her arms over her chest and glared off to the side.

Cassandra and Cullen exchanged a look.

"We're not here to talk about the past!" Merrill clapped her hands together and then shoved Lanil Lavellan forward. Lanil Lavellan glared over her shoulder, but let Merrill push her past Cullen and Cassandra towards the end of the docks. Fetch jumped and hopped and ran in circles around them.

"Wait! We need to get your things!" Josephine called after them.

"We trust you to get it sorted," Mahariel said as she followed her compatriots.

"I'll stay to make sure it's done," Tabris muttered, still glaring at nothing. Mahariel trilled a few words in Elvish and Tabris snapped back. Mahariel only laughed.

"Well, this has been something," Cassandra muttered.

"Yeah..." Cullen agreed, watching Lanil Lavellan get shoved towards the squad of mounted soldiers. He startled slightly and rushed after them. "Your horse!"

Lanil Lavellan glanced over her shoulder at him. And she was still frowning. How is it that Fetch got her to smile and he hadn't yet?

He was not going to compete with his dog.

"I have, um, actually you have a horse. This one." Cullen held up a hand and Captain Rylen tossed him the reins to a Green Dales Feral. Cullen caught them to hand them off to Lavellan.

She took them awkwardly, eyebrows rising, only to immediately drop them. Cullen lurched to grab them while she stepped up to the horse. She stroked down the mare's nose, muttering in a mix of Common and Elvish. Like Fetch, the horse made her smile. Cullen dug in his pocket and cleared his throat. Lavellan turned those eyes on him, now a darker, stormier grey out of the sunlight. He held out his fist and dropped a lump of sugar onto her palm when she offered it. She turned back to the mare and grinned when it lipped the sugar right out of her hand.

"Does she have a name?"

"No, Dennet doesn't bother naming the ones he sells. It's up to the new owners. That's you," Cullen explained quickly.

Finally, she smiled at him. A closed lipped, slight thing, but it lightened her entire face.

She looked beautiful.

Cullen cleared his throat and rubbed the back of his neck, quickly looking away.

"I can't ride."

He startled and stared at her. She was smirking at him now. "You... can't?"

She shook her head. "We travel by eluvian. They can cover long distances in seconds. There's no need to ride horses."

"I thought... the halla?"

"We don't ride halla. They were sacred to Ghilan'nain before... you know, all of that, and now they roam wild," Merrill explained, hands waving around.

Lavellan cocked her head to side, sizing up the horse silently. She walked around, stroking her hand along the mare's neck, then gripped the saddle horn and hoisted herself up in an easy, fluid motion. As if she'd done it a thousand times.

"She's well trained," she said, patted the mare's neck again. "We'll figure it out together."

"These will help," Cullen said as he handed her the reins again. Lavellan grimaced, but shrugged and took them.

"And us?" Merrill asked, bouncing up and down on her toes as her eyes lit up cheerfully. Cullen realized all four Elvhen were barefoot, their leggings that ended wrapped around the arches of their feet the only covering.

"Uh, right. Everyone has their own horse while visiting in Ferelden. It's a long road to Denerim." He motioned at the soldiers leading the other mounts, including Josephine's.

"How far?" Lavellan asked.

"A week at best."

She frowned and leaned towards her mare's ear. "You're beautiful, my friend, but you're not as convenient as an eluvian." The mare snorted and shook her head making Lavellan and the other Elvhen laugh.

Cullen stared at Lavellan, wondering what he was supposed to say or do next. The blonde one, Mahariel, caught him staring. The look of amusement on her face had Cullen's mouth thinning. He nodded his head once and turned away without a word. The Elvhen began to talk in their own language among themselves, sparing no other soldier their attention, while Cullen stood with Josephine, Cassandra, and the stone-faced Tabris to watch his soldiers packing all their supplies. Fetch darted back and forth between the Elvhen and Cullen, barking and leaping excitedly.

The last of the supplies were packed, Tabris was with her Elvhen comrades, and a few soldiers were assigned to stay back to guard the caravan with cargo from several ports. Not quite allies, but not enemies, willing to trade with Ferelden while they had their own sovereignty. As he walked away from the caravan and Captain Rylen, Cullen rubbed the back of his neck and sighed. Josephine touched his arm and he glanced towards her, an eyebrow rising.

"Give it time, Commander. I've been travelling with them for weeks and this is the most Common I've heard them speak," she assured, squeezing lightly and briefly. Cullen huffed a laugh.

"Couldn't have been fun for you."

Josephine tsked and waved it away. "Their language is fascinating, honestly. But you must understand, Elvhen don't just leave Elvhenan. Enchanter Lavellan has agreed to become an exile for this alliance and it'll be decades before she'll be able to return home. She'll need time to adjust."

Cullen leaned in close, voice low and heated. "What? No one told me that! This was already a bad idea, and now she probably hates me, too." He scrubbed a hand over his face and braced a hand on his hip. Cassandra smacked his back hard enough to make him grunt. And he was wearing armor.

"She'll have decades to get over it," she said.

Josephine giggled and quickly stifled it at Cullen's look. She skirted away, her face carefully angled down to hide her expression. Cullen ran a hand through his hair, grimacing when his gauntlets caught. When he looked over at the Elvhen, Lavellan was already gazing at him. She didn't need to hide her face, her expression was already unreadable.

Fetch threw himself against Cullen's legs. Cullen let out an involuntary grunt and his stare-off with Lavellan ended. Shaking his head, he lowered to a knee and ruffled Fetch's ears.

"Yeah, I know. I'll get it together," Cullen promised. Fetch barked and proceeded to slobber all over Cullen's face. Because even his own dog laughed at him. Cullen laughed and shoved Fetch's head away, standing to walk over to his mount.

[troublesh00terfaery]

BELOW 18 PLEASE DO NOT INTERACT. THIS WORK IS NSFW! KEEP OUT! [THIS WORK IS PURELY FICTION] | Pinned Navigation | Chapter one of CREDENCE | [Alhaitham x AFAB! Reader] Synopsis: In the heart of Sumeru, thrives the peaceful and unique kingdom to which governed by the monarchy. A young prince experiences a strange succession of dreams to which a mysterious woman comforts him. Wouldn't it be delightful to make this dreams into a reality? Words: 5.4k (NOT BETA READ)

Tags: AFAB! Reader, slight teasing, Prince! Alhaitham x Goddess Reader. Pronouns for AFAB reader are she/her. Alhaitham slightly obsessed with you. Alhaitham raging thoughts about you (look at what you did to this poor man!) So far, this will be main tags, more will be added on the following chapters. A/N: OKAY, I SINCERELY APOLOGIZE FOR NOT BEING ABLE TO UPDATE FOR MONTHS. I know I should've posted this around August but I was so busy and experienced writers block so I went to travel and did girly stuff just to get back on track so I sincerely apologize for the very late upload. I'm currently working on the third part since I planned on making this having four chapters. Anyway, I hope you guys enjoy this and upcoming chapters! - xoxo Circe𝜗𝜚 [Credits to this beautiful artist for the Alhaitham fanart, this was one of my inspos for this work!]

TAGLIST: @ayumneedsleep @zetianzz @surfacecigarettes @flwerie @yxnnu (If you want to be tagged for the upcoming chapters, comment to do so!)

This was rather unexpected, you thought to yourself. He was different and that bothered you. Was he not satisfied to see the literal woman of his dreams come to life? The thought itself made you furrow your brows as you tagged along him and his pet.

Upon reaching his study, the motif itself was very much like the monarchy and himself. Cabinets filled with scrolls and another separate cabinet that are yet to be filled with scrolls of whatever he is working on. His study was open and wide, the heart of his study was his huge table decorated with weighing scales and papers piled up and two papyrus papers were scattered open in the middle that somehow looked like a map that is yet to be filled up.

"Have a seat," Alhaitham spoke, instructing Jihad to sit down to which the feline responded with a chuff before settling himself down and yawning.

You stood there by the door that was just closed and watched him unfold in his usual setting. I guess Alhaitham would call this his own man cave. He gazed at you and heaved a sigh. "I meant you, of course. Have a seat, don't mind Jihad."

In return, you only replied with a small nod and found a seat just beside the cabinets. You decided not to sit and to stand and observe the scrolls piled up. Your eyes are busy with the tags and labels of each scroll. Alhaitham on the other hand kept sitting by his table and crossed his arms.

The probing has begun, he asked numerous questions to which you replied. He didn't ask where you came from, he was objective, thus only questioning matters regarding the further regions of the sands. From hidden mausoleums to locations to mark, he continued to seek the pursuit of knowledge for the expansion project. It was quite strange, here you thought that he would be asking you rather personal questions. It did bother you but of course, it would not let you falter.

"Your highness..." one of his servants came inside after knocking. "...it is dinner. The young lady is invited to eat as well, said your father."

Alhaitham replied with a nod before the servant left. He then gazed back at you before he stood up and spoke.

"You heard him."

Oh the knock of this guy. You thought.

Dinner was quite fine, the sorts of foods that would satisfy one's appetite. Alhaitham exchanged a few words with his father and his father to you. At some point, the question directed towards you was answered by Alhaitham.

"Please eat, I will answer my father's questions." He whispered to which you only replied with a slow nod as you took a spoonful of the desert.

The following days were the same, this time it was different. You were actually helping him out with the mapping. You could see how delicate and neat he works with the maps. Not only that, he was detail oriented as well. Asking you questions about what was within that small area or what notable features did it possess. He was indeed more than just a prince with a face, he possessed an aristocratic and wise quality.

It was because during mapping sessions, guards and scribes would randomly enter his study chambers and update him with the ongoing plans and treaties that he, of course, would indulge himself and the queries.

"If you'll excuse me, I will return in a short while." He left his markers and tools used for outlining the maps scattered at the table. You replied with a small nod and watched him leave the chambers whilst talking to one of the scribes.

This day, the mapping was almost finished but he was summoned by his father. Leaving you alone in his chamber. It was afternoon and the chamber was filled with rays of the sun that beamed, highlighting small spaces within his study. Come to think of it, no matter how busy this man is, his study was undeniably neat. Not a single scroll was misplaced nor scattered around the floor. You would expect that this man had no time to organize yet his room differs from your expectations.

His study was a wide room with an open space in the middle with a long and rectangle shaped table. Beside it was a red sofa filled with plush pillows on each end. You took the liking of comfortably sitting and observing the space he usually works on a daily basis. A whiff of the incense laced your nose, inhaling the comforting scent. A little while later, Jihad entered the study with a big yawn as he slowly walked towards the sofa.

He was a big feline but such a baby when his prince was near him, demanding for rubs. As you stayed in the palace for quite some time, Jihad has grown fond of you. He would greet you with his successions of chuff or nudge his head against your knees, a cue to pet him to which you spoil him. Surprisingly, Jihad took the big pillow he usually sleeps in by dragging it with his teeth and placing it near your feet and comfortably laying himself for a short nap.

"You know what, Jihad..." you spoke, stretching your arms and back before you took one of the pillows and patted each side. "...a nap doesn't sound bad after all."

And just like that, you lie down and slumber visits you. On the other hand, Alhaitham was discussing with his father. The usual one, expedition and mapping. Not until his father mentioned how you were.

"What do you mean?" Alhaitham asked, not looking at his father as his eyes were too fixated from the pieces of figures in his father's embossed maps.

"Do you even know her name?" The king paused from placing a few more pieces.

"That's rather a strange query, your grace." He took one of the pieces, a triangular shaped piece, and placed it near two smaller pieces with the identical shape.

Of course, he didn't know your name. It didn't cross his mind to know or ask what was your name. Not that it didn't curious him, he simply just didn't feel it. Now the thought of what your name was, he recalled addressing you as 'hey' or 'woman' a couple of days ago. Strange and certainly infuriating.

"Do you know her name then, father?"

"My, of course, son."

"Good for you."

The king only sighed at his rather indifferent attitude. Truth be told, he was genuinely curious about you. Everything about you was a mystery that is yet to be revealed. In an outward perspective, he did not care. To which you and probably the king, finds strange.

He was quite aware of how you and his woman of dreams looked alike and how similar your voices were. On top of that, the little fluid and elegant manners you had as you carried yourself in helping the young prince further expanded his curiosity. He found you rather strange but in his mind, you and that woman of dreams of his were different and he rejected the idea that it was you personified.

"She's quite a pretty woman herself, don't you think?"

"Hm, she is, I suppose?"

The talk about you went on for hours, only for Alhaitham to reply in such a stingy way.  After a few more talks, the prince decided to go back to his study to check the scrolls.

It was the same routine everyday, to the point that it seemed like a loop that never ended. At this point, your plan seemed like a written reminder that you somehow never did.

"The expedition begins in two days, I suggest you get your best sleep since we're heading to the sands." Alhaitham spoke, without looking at you, afterall, he was a busy man with a scroll on his right hand and a pen on his other hand.

"I'm coming?" You stopped petting the feline.

"I will accompany you with a few of my chosen travelers and men."

"Oh..."

"Your ladies have also prepared your tent and things, do you wish to bring anything else?"

"Uh...I-I suppose I'll be thinking about it."

"Hm, tell me what you'll be bringing so I will get them to prepare it. Understood?"

"Yes," you replied, looking at him as Jihad nudged his head gently against your cheeks and chuffled. "Thank you."

Come to think of it, your world revolved a bit of eating savory meals, having to experience luxurious baths almost everyday, a free stroll around the extravagant palace, watch people do stuff for you, dressed up with the finest silk offered by the palace, and of course, having a premium closeness to the prince by being his aid. Suitable just for a goddess like you. But alas, do they even try to know what you truly are? Does HE know or even try to know you? Shame that you will never know.

It was no doubt that the prince had a charming face and a mysterious personality that entices a few faces from different kingdoms. Princesses and high ranking courtesans seemingly throwing themselves to the young prince's feet, offering themselves to him as an act.of devotion. To which of course, he politely declines. These ministrations and how he reacts to it somehow made you curious over the past few days that you couldn't help but want to ask. However, you decided to ask a different and a more serious query.

"Alhai- I mean, your highness, is it okay if I ask something?"

The young prince stopped what he was doing and slowly turned and tilted his head, enough for you to see the side of his face.

"Call me 'Alhaitham', we're in my chambers." He spoke. "I'd like you to call me by my name, so refrain from addressing me formally."

"Why so?"

"Is that what you're initially asking then?"

"No."

"Hm, then I'll only answer you if you do as I say." A small smile formed on his lips.

Truth be told, Alhaitham wasn't fond of questions. It was like a meticulous task for him and it tired him out. However, there are such exemptions to these matters especially when it comes to you. Of course, he could only think of it as a way to return his favour because you had assisted him for almost a month on his ongoing expedition. Think of it as him being a gentleman.

You slowly nodded with his instructions and slowly said his name. It was new, you were so used to calling him with his honorary titles, but the prince himself granted you permissions to casually call him his name. Oh, what a beautiful name, you thought to yourself.

"Alhaitham."

"Hm? What is it?" He slowly shifted his body, dropped his pen and scroll to his table, and faced his body to you. Now he was welcomed with this... rather innocent view of yours. You were sitting by his carpet while his dear feline rested its big head on your lap. Your sincere eyes meeting his hawk-like gaze, plump lips, and such beauty.

Alhaitham wouldn't deny it but your beauty would be considered as the realm's delight. Such beauty you behold, he wonders what kind of alchemy create such ethereal beauty like you. And then he realized something, your beauty alone had a choke hold on him and he realized it late.

"I have come to notice that you have suitors, women coming from different regions." You started slow but with an obvious topic to which you already prepared the rejection of answering your curious query. "Why do you not entertain them?"

You asked, seemingly patting the head of Jihad yet you never really looked at him.

Alhaitham paused for a moment, and pondered, what the real answer is to that question. Was it an academic curiosity that urged him to convince his father to explore the desert that genuinely kept the young prince  in a hectic place? Perhaps the idea that marriage was far from his perspective as of the moment, considering he never was in a position to rush matters that revolved around tying bonds with anyone? Does he even see himself falling for someone? Of course, but when will he start to do so? Was there really a remarkable person that could persuade the heir to the throne?

He only stared at your petting to his Jihad as he sighed, he wasn't really sure what to tell you. Although this question wasn't new to him considering the king has nagged him about it ever since he was of age, he somehow had a peculiar feeling. He silently commended you on how you questioned him about serious matters, but as an outsider to his personal life, you really had the guts to ask him.

Maybe answering you wasn't much of a hassle, after all he had the time in the world to either reject your query or keep your growing curiosity company.

"I suppose if I tell you, then you will keep it a secret?"

The answer he gave you made you look up to him, never in beat would you think Alhaitham would set aside his usual work for a question that can be answered with a word or two. You slowly gave him a small nod, signaling that you had your senses focused on him. Alhaitham picked up your nod and took his chair, gently dragged it, and placed it just in front of you. He sat and slowly lowered his upper torso to level your face. The proximity between you and him now closer, finding yourself having a close up view of him and the very details of his astonishing beauty.

"How about this," he whispered, he was serious but there was a hint of playfulness in it. You couldn't tell if he was either serious or not, he was, after all, unpredictable. Something he had naturally. "I'll give you three statements, two of which are lies and one is the right answer."

"...and?"

"Of course, you have to guess the right one. In return, you will be doing the same." He crossed his arms and rested against the comfortable seat of the chair. Laid back and composed as ever. "If either of us had the wrong guess, a dare will compensate for it."

"I never expected the young prince to be playful, might as well amuse me by playing truth or dare?" you let out a low chuckle and caressed the feline's cheek with your thumb. Alhaitham replied with a soft scuff, since when did you start to get that kind of sarcasm?

"I'm keeping your curiosity company, might as well leave you and Jihad alone so I can work peacefully."

Never in a millennium had a man genuinely amuse you in such humor. Come to think of it, he was always serious and never replied much nor replied. You have to conclude that he was like a living machine, so to witness him in such proximity in this situation was never on your plate.

"Alright, young prince," you cleared your throat and now looking at him, your attention undivided. "Entertain me, if you please." a soft reply, you spoke.

Upon your response, Alhaitham let out a ghostly smile before he shifted his position. Alhaitham started, positioning himself by leveling you. He leaned once more, whilst he rested both his  arms at each thigh, arms supporting his weight and legs partly spread.

"The kingdom of Sumeru is vast and yet to be discovered. Despite our lineage being at the throne for years, some parts itself is yet to be uncovered." he started off. Each word leaving his mouth made you gently nod, absorbing the words he said.

He continued his story coming from his past royal lineage being unsuccessful of searching through the vast sands due to the lack of equipment and knowledge of what lies ahead. Among the few of his ancestors have passed because of unexpected circumstances of their expedition during their reign. Fortunately, through the sacrifices of his kin, the present throne is able to push through the expedition and further survey of the area.

"The sands fascinated my curiosity since I was a young scholar." he crossed his arm yet he kept his gaze focused at you, never breaking it. As if he really had no intention of keeping his eyes off you, not that you'll escape. "I have no intention of taking the crown to begin with, I intend to spend my time as a man who seeks knowledge and the grain of wonders of the dunes of Sumeru."

You replied with a hum, that somehow adds to your hypothesis regarding him finding you and how this curiosity and ongoing questions somehow simply align themselves to give you answers. You weren't in a rush nor had the realization you had initial questions about how he was determined to expand his knowledge and the past aspirations of his kin to broaden their expansion.

"That leads me to saying that I do not wish to marry." Alhaitham's tone was relaxed and monotone, leaning by the soft backrest of the chair he sat.

Shifting, he rested his right hand by the arm rest and his left hand supporting his head as he paused. He looked at you, observing your curious face as he took a pause. Surprisingly, he somehow found himself pleased with this view. Not that he felt that he was superior looking down on you, it was more of how you looked. How effortlessly you made him look at you in awe with your beauty. Those curious and innocent looking eyes you had, spoke for you. It felt like you didn't even have to utter a word for him to digest what you're thinking. Perhaps it is true what they say: the eyes never lie.

"Why?" you gazed at him.

"I am not in a rush nor has it ever crossed my mind," he replied.

"I doubt."

"Who are you to doubt me?"

You let out a soft chuckle with his question.

"I don't doubt you, my prince." you replied. "I doubt how it never crossed your mind."

Alhaitham, interested with your answer, slowly let his curiosity tiptoe. Perhaps it was the perfect time to open your subject to him. The reason why you are here, the reason why you're infront of him, and why he even has the opportunity to speak to you. Of course, you didn't want to surprise him with everything. You had other plans, after all, who doesn't like the chase?

"Perhaps not marriage."

"Then?"

"Perhaps you had someone in mind." you lowered your voice but sure enough that Alhaitham heard of it, he never recalled anyone being so pesky in his mind. He was after all a busy man, he was.

"How can you confirm this suspicion then?"

"I think that leads us to me answering your little game, your highness."

Delightful but terribly annoying on how you seem to know or even assume he gave out the wrong statement but alas, he would never know your true potential if he did not give you the chance to speak. He never belittles anyone's academic and intellectual capability, it was just that he never truly had to try hard to prove anything. But here you are, it seems like someone like you knows how to bite.

"Go on."

"Based on the structure of your statements, I concluded that you were telling the truth regarding the matters of your family's lineage dating back and your history with the dunes." you started, confident but sure. You sat upright but never forgot to pet the asleep feline by your thighs.

"This also leads me to sum up that you do not have plans nor initial plans with the crown, I can recall a certain interaction with the king. He mentioned, nonverbatim, that 'the prince truly amuses me for he is the only heir of this dying lineage of kings, yet he spares no time to reckon keeping up this dynasty of honorable kings.'" With a smile, you looked at Alhaitham.

Perhaps the young prince looked down on such a peculiar woman like you. He often had the perception that you were just an odd woman looking for trouble near the site. He wasn't new to women performing such an act just to get his attention. That in case he was presumably correct, he paid no attention at all. Truly, you were more than just a delight to his study chambers, you intrigue the young prince.

Your assertion kept the young prince amused. In a way he could never comprehend with simple words. Something ignited inside him that his chest felt heavy, in a sense that it also wanted to break free. He could hear the hitch of his inhale and heavy yet silent exhale. 

There was something about you that kept Alhaitham's feelings exalted at the present. For such an ethereal looking woman with a peculiar habit of surprising anyone, you did so much aside stir up feelings from him that he could not comprehend what it was. It was warm yet a chill would run his spine. 

“Perhaps you can say that marriage itself has never been in the status as convenient to you but to say that you had no person to think of intrigues me a lot, sir.”

“You're doubting me?

“I distress your majesty, perhaps let us put it in this way…” you sat up and fixed your posture. Surely, this would sound ridiculous but oh well, better have said it then regret it afterwards. 

“You’re assuming then?” Alhaitham argued, keeping up his neutral expression while internally being entertained with her little show. 

“No-” you said. 

“Suggesting?” 

“Your highness-”

“Are you a matchmaker then?”

With his rapid interruption, you heaved a heavy sigh, admitting defeat as his interruption unfortunately got through your nerves. You didn’t wish to be annoyed at the young prince, it was pretty much obvious that he was doing it on purpose. Alhaitham somehow finds it rather…amusing. 

“Your highness, I think we should call it a night.” you closed your eyes, trying to compose yourself. “You have errands tomorrow.” 

Alhaitham let out a low chuckle, seemingly enjoying his small victory of trying to get into your nerves. 

“Ah, and they say escape is defeat.” Alhaitham shifted his seat and made himself comfortable by leaning onto the back cushion of the seat. His eyes gazing at your defeated look, eyes looking away and your plump lips pouting. He was never the type to exasperate anyone just because he wanted to lest he never experience the annoyance from someone who does it randomly. 

But here you are, looking incredibly annoyed yet delicately beautiful without any effort. He must admit that he never came across any woman with such sharpness and wit, still blessed with her beauty and grace. 

“Apologies, I must have you at wits end.” He spoke as he stood up from his seat.

He walked towards the center of his chambers. At the center of his chamber lies a square pool filled with varieties of fresh flowers and lotuses that float the pristine water. He took one nilotpala lotus and a single zaytun peach and sat back at his chair just near you. 

You watched him closely come back to his seat. He placed the zaytun peach just at his table for he kept both of his palms busy with the lotus. 

“I do not think this is an appropriate gift for making amends with you but…” he looked at the damp and freshly bloomed lotus in his palm before he gazed at you. “...allow me to offer this lotus to you, they say it only blooms at night to reveal its beauty.”

He gently took the flower and handed it over to you. Taking the flower, you placed it and carefully cupped the delicate lotus. You never had the opportunity to see it bloom, thus this was a sight to see to you. 

Unbeknownst to you, Alhaitham came to know that you had taken a liking to these delicate lotuses. He observed you sit by the pool of the garden, looking at your reflection and the lotuses that are yet to bloom. He knew you would sit hours just for it to bloom but to no avail, you eventually wasted your afternoon just for it to bloom. 

“This is a nilotpala lotus.” you spoke, observing the intricate parts of the flower up close. You had a waft of its floral and sweet scent. “I’ve always wanted to see them bloom but I do not get the opportunity to see them fully bloom.” You looked up to him with bliss and with a smile.

“Is that so?” He knew, of course. He wouldn’t say it. Perhaps this would be his reward and somehow, he felt a sense of contentment seeing you in such bliss. He took the peach, effortlessly tore it in half, and gazed at you

“Truth is, your answers are all correct.” he admitted defeat with a sigh, he slowly took a bite from the other half of the peach, his eyes never leaving you. Upon hearing him, a little smile formed your lips. 

“So, you have someone on your mind?”

He then propped himself by sitting at the red carpet, just in front of you

“Indeed,” he answered.

You were surprised by the prince’s offering. He was acting unusual in a way that intrigued you. He was the busiest person inside the kingdom and never did he spare time for such trivial matters that would slow him down. And now, he’s eating a peach in front of you. You could only watch him savour the sweet peach, another bite and the juice of the fruit ran down to his chin. 

Instinctively, you wiped the juice from his chin with your thumb. He caught your wrist, guided it near his lips, and pressed your thumb gently to his lips. Upon your thumb making contact with his lips, he briefly closed his eyes before he bore and gazed back at you. Alhaitham’s eyes were half lidded and seemingly focused on you, never did it cross his mind to let your thumb break from his lips.

You were dumbfounded by the sudden action, as much as you wanted to break free from the contact, you found yourself unable to do so. As if you turned into a statue, unable to react nor say a word. For a few moments, the both of you stayed still as if trying to savor every second of the moment. 

He took the opportunity to study your face. There was no doubt that you looked exactly just like the woman in his dreams. There was no flaw, no inadequacy, no spot for him to point out and convince himself that you are not her. You are her, he’s starting to believe. For days, he never had any particular dreams about that woman again. Could it be that the dreams were no longer needed because you are here? The mysterious woman in his dreams was in front of him, thus the dreams were no longer active, he theorized. 

“My prince,” a soft and hushed voice called his attention back and it was you, flustered and heart racing from such sudden intimacy the prince showed. 

He only let out a small chuckle, pressing a small kiss by your thumb before he looked at you. “Who are you, really?” 

He gazed at you with such curious and longing eyes, as if trying to decipher and unravel the hidden divinity of you. He then kissed the knuckles of your hand, to the back of your palm, his lips touching and leaving kisses through your arms, now reaching to your shoulders and leaving a small peck to your shoulder. He then drew his lips closer to your ear, inhaling, before he spoke. 

“Tell me, please.” he rested his forehead to your shoulder, his ministrations leaving you breathless and speechless. Your body started to heat up from the proximity between you and Alhaitham. He left a single kiss by your neck before he cupped your cheek and gazed at you with such intensity. 

He gazed at you, expecting that your eyes might at least give him answers he is looking for.  You could only return the gaze with your doe like eyes scanning his face with visible frustration etched in his face. There was so much intensity between the proximity between the two of you. No words uttered from thereon, only deep breaths and fervent exchange of gaze. 

Your faces were inches away, almost like the space between the two of you was edging the both of you. Alhaitham was the kind of man who knows what he wants, he had no business with being indecisive nor mingling with people being indecisive even at the most little matters. But at this very moment, this proximity had him questioning his ability to recognize and decide. Seems like his logic and to rationalize was slowly slipping away from his mind.

“Won’t you?” he whispered, his cheek against your cheek. This was completely different from the dreams he had with you. This was the closest thing for a dream to come true. You could feel your cheeks and nape heat up. Goosebumps running through your skin, his delicate touch seemingly adding more fuel to the fire. 

And when he couldn’t resist you anymore, Alhaitham left a soft and long kiss against your plush lips. This was beyond comprehension, everything was happening all at once. A while ago you were anticipating a plausible argument and now, the esteemed and sought after prince of Sumeru is at your level and kissed a goddess who hindered herself from the growing world. 

Just before Alhaitham could deepen his kiss, a presence of two women entered his huge chambers. Just by the hallway, stood two ladies-in-waiting. They didn’t dare to interrupt nor get closer to the rather peculiar situation between the prince and you. They couldn’t comprehend what it was since Alhaitham’s back was facing them, and the kiss was angled in a rather hidden manner. As curious as they may seem, they dare not to probe their majesty.

“Your highness, we apologize for interrupting,” one of the ladies spoke, her head hung low.

Alhaitham slowly broke the kiss, his eyes half lidded. You couldn’t deny it; this man was attractive– no, he is a beautiful man. To say that he is simply attractive is an understatement, what more when the prince himself yearns more kisses from you. Upon hearing one of your ladies-in-waiting speak, you quickly hid your face by his side, as if wanting to disintegrate yourself from the embarrassment. 

“Hm,” Alhaitham hushed. “What is it?”

“We came here to escort our lady back to her chambers. It is late and she was supposed to sleep an hour ago.” she spoke, softly. 

Hearing this, Alhaitham let out a ghostly smile. “Yes, your lady here has fallen asleep on my carpet.” 

Your brows furrowed from his answer but you knew it was a better reason than telling them what had actually happened.

Alhaitham looked at the ladies, instructing them with his usual tone as if nothing happened. “Prepare her bed, I will be carrying her to her room.” 

To which they nodded and left his study chambers

And just like that, Alhaitham picked up a soft white linen from his bed and carefully covered your body so that it would not be exposed by the cold breeze of the evening. He carried you in a bridal style and still you never spoke nor looked at him again. Everything was fresh and surreal, you kept thinking about it and you never noticed that you were already being laid by him at your bed. 

You quickly hid your face upon reaching the bed and covering yourself with the blanket. 

Alhaitham only looked at you, but deep inside, he knew what you felt. He could’ve done so much if he wasn’t interrupted but he also knew it was better that things do not escalate as he wanted to know more about you and what you truly are. 

One of the ladies escorted him out of your room when he spoke.

“Be sure to fill her vase with fresh padisarah flowers by the morning.” he stopped his track as he reached outside her room. “See to it that you get a big jar and place nilotpala lotuses to it, let her tend to it once it arrives.” 

The lady nodded in response. 

“Dress her tomorrow, we will be having a stroll by the royal garden and city.” 

A/N: See ya guys on the next chapter. If you wanna be tagged, comment! | Pinned Navigation | Chapter one of CREDENCE |

[hopelessromantic5]

King Arthur happens to be traveling through Ealdor the exact day the citizens decide they’ve had enough of Merlin.

Labeling him too dangerous, they tied him up on the pyre in the center of town.

As long as Merlin had been alive, he’d never seen this pyre lit.

He would’ve just gotten himself out of this situation with his ‘gifts’ if it weren’t for his poor mother.

The villagers would never let her live in peace if he magically disappeared.

No, this was the only way she could go on living, even with a broken heart.

He didn’t fight. He didn’t really hear much of what they spit at him. But he could hear his mother wailing at him, to save himself, to do whatever he must do.

He’d resigned himself to an early death.

Tom, the town representative, started spewing some righteous words at him. New Religion words that didn’t quite make sense to him, but that’s to be expected. He is, himself, a creature of the old religion, if prophecy is to be trusted.

“Do you have anything to say for yourself, serpent?”

Merlin opened his mouth to tell his mother that he loved her, but he stopped short.

In the distance, he could hear a sound.

The beating of hooves on hard, cold dirt.

Visitors were approaching.

It must be fate, he thinks.

As the horses drew closer, the villagers slowly turned their attentions away from him.

Merlin simply hung his head, letting the Earth he loved so dearly decide which way his life would swing.

“What is the meaning of this?”

A calm, steady voice came from behind him. Deep and concerned. Merlin wished he could see the man.

“My lord,” Tom bowed, as well as he could, which was strange.

Upon realization, Merlin’s eyes nearly bugged out of his head, were these visitors noble? They never had nobility stay long enough to make comments on anything, only ever just passing through.

“I asked you a question.” The voice said again, with all the authority of someone who’s used to using it.

“This man is a sorcerer, sire. We were just-“

“What has he done?”

“Sire?”

“What has this man done to call for these extreme measures?” When no one answered him immediately, he rephrased.

“Surely there must’ve been a crime committed?” As if it’s a question.

Merlin’s mother pulled herself out of shock and brought herself forth.

“He did nothing, sire.” She spoke firm and unmoving. She must’ve seen hope in this man that Merlin had yet to lay eyes on. “He’s only ever used it for healing wounds and helping our gardens in the winter. Please have mercy on him, my lord. He is my only son.” Tears started falling as her voice broke. She finally met Merlin’s eyes again and he smiled at her, weakly.

“So this man-“

“Sorcerer.” Corrected Tom. What a dick.

“This man, did nothing but heal you and help you survive and this is how you repay him?”

Again no answer.

The man seemed to gesture at Tom, walking towards the town elder, and bringing him finally into Merlin’s line of sight.

The doomed boy nearly gasped.

Silver and red bled together in the sun, armor and finery melded like roses in white sand.

The man-the lord…the knight? He had golden blonde hair, that shone like it’s own light.

Blue eyes made even more obvious and striking surrounded by unblemished, sun-kissed skin.

“You seem to be leading the horde. Tell me why?” No, answer. “Cut him down.” A command. The stranger’s face was a hard, blank line.

Funny how, even then, he didn’t feel like a stranger. But Merlin was in no state to remember it.

“My lord, I do not think that would be wise. Your father was the one to wage war on magic-“

“I am not my father. Cut him down.”

Merlin swallowed. Uther Pendragon was the only person in his mind that waged the war on magic, that began the purge. Which means this man could only be his son, Prince Arthur.

What a prince he was.

Well, King, now.

No wonder every person in the vicinity practically dropped to their knees upon his arrival. They’d all heard stories of ‘The Just King’ that now reigned over Camelot. Giving whatever he could to his citizens that needed it most, never turning anyone away who seeks shelter. Merlin had heard the same as everyone else. Seeing the King in person now, he was in awe.

“I will not endanger the lives of all who live here.” Tom turns back to Merlin with the lit torch.

Merlin held his breath, but the second Tom turned away from him, the King pulled his sword. It made the loveliest sound as it left the sheath.

The sound of salvation.

Tom had the tip of a majestic blade directed right at his throat, as the King spoke again.

“I said, cut him down.”

The look on the King’s face was one that could kill.

Merlin wondered momentarily why he cared so much.

Finally someone from the crowd stepped forward with a knife and began to cut away Merlin’s ties.

Hunith leapt forward and engulfed her son in a hug, while also somewhat holding his body upright.

He did not want to let go, considering he thought he would never get to hug his mother again. But the entire village was watching them.

As was-

“What is your name?”

It was phrased as a question but spoken like a command. Merlin knew it was directed at him without opening his eyes.

He did, reluctantly, release his mother and turn to the golden King, facing deep blue eyes head on. Never cowering.

“Merlin.”

The King must’ve seen something in him. Something every other person was blind to or chose to ignore, simply because he was a peasant. He took a step closer and Merlin could hear the tiny tink of metal pieces on his shining armor, as he did so.

“Well, Merlin.” He said, as if trying it out for himself. “Seeing as I’ve just given you your life, I’d like to ask a favor.”

Merlin’s curiosity was peaked, to say the least. King’s didn’t ask favors, they took whatever they wanted.

King Arthur did not wait for a reply to continue.

“I’m in need of assistance. And I could use someone with a gift like yours, specifically.”

Merlin narrowed his eyes in minuscule doubt. Doubt of intentions, doubt of his safety.

The King somehow knowing his exact thoughts said

“Of course you would be permitted to come back when you are needed. And when I have accomplished my goal, if you wish, you can leave. I will not keep anyone against their will. I am simply offering.” A small smile played on his mouth. Flush pink lips. He also held up his hands as if to say ‘I will not harm you’.

Merlin’s gut told him to follow this man.

Terrifyingly, his intuition told him to follow this man, practically a stranger, anywhere. Everywhere.

Merlin felt a pull he’s never felt before. In the moment, he assumed it was immense gratitude for saving his life.

Merlin turned to meet his mothers eyes, he already knew what she was going to tell him.

“I think it will be good for you. To get out for a while.” She smiles softly.

“Will you be alright?” He whispered, glancing at the crowd still gathered around an unlit pyre.

“I’ll be fine.” She grabbed him in a bear hug, like she always did. “And if they boot me out, I’ll come find you.”

Merlin sighed into her shoulder.

“Alright.”

When Merlin turned back, the King had turned his eyes to the ground, giving mother and son a moment of privacy.

Merlin was starting to warm to him already.

“Can I pack first?”

King Arthur met his gaze then, doing that half smile thing, again.

“I suppose.” He nodded. “But don’t dawdle we need to move if we want to make it back before sundown.”

“Yes, sire.” The title which usually held reverence and respect, was laced with sarcasm. He didn’t seem to think twice, as he strode away towards their hut to gather his things.

If Merlin had looked back, he would’ve found a fully beaming King looking after him and about six knights with faces of complete shock.

And perhaps, one knowing mother.

[ohbo-ohno]

idk if any of you have peacock/have seen ads for their show "teacup" but i can't stop thinking of smth similar with ghost (entirely unedited)

like, you buy a house out in the middle of nowhere - maybe a cabin, just to get away from society a bit. and you say you won't stay for long, but then you get used to things, start enjoying the peace and quiet you get away from all other human life, and you just... stay.

and then one day you go outside, and there's a giant spray painted ring around your house - enough for you to walk a bit but not so much that you can reach your garden. and there's a man standing maybe fifteen feet past the line, wearing a mask that covers his face, but clearly just staring at you. he's massive, casts a shadow that crosses over the line, but almost unnaturally still.

he tells you that he won't cross the line, that everything past it is still yours and safe. but if you cross the line in any way, you're his. the fact that you won't last long without food from your garden isn't something that needs to be said, you're already taking stock of the food inside your pantry.

you'd gotten comfortable out here in the wilderness, with your garden producing everything you could want. you never got into canning - bought a book on it, but never even cracked the spine. it's so much work, and you were perfectly happy with going to the garden before dinner and throwing something together with what you could get.

but now you're stuck. you see the man outside your window sometimes, walking around and around and around the circle, never passing it. every room in your house has a window, and there are days where you feel like he's following you, every time you glance outside he's just there.

you don't see him at night. you have no idea where he goes - god knows if he ever sleeps, you're not sure if he's even human - but you can't see him in the dark. the light from your windows doesn't stretch to the line, and the moon isn't enough to make him visible. once the sun goes down, he's just gone.

that's what gives you the nerve to step outside one night, long after it's gotten dark. you're hardly breathing as you tip-toe towards the line, eyes trained on your poor neglected garden - it's been several days since he first arrived, and no one has tended to your poor food. you're not even sure what you'll be able to get, if he's really gone.

he seems to be, or at the very least you certainly can't see him when you stop right at the edge of the line and look around. your flashlight illuminates the edge of the forest as you scan the trees, the circle of light smaller than you'd like. there's nothing.

you stand there for several more minutes, just staring at the food only a few feet out of reach. there's plenty of food that you know has already gone to waste, but you're hoping, praying there's enough to fight off your hunger just a bit, just long enough that you can think past the ache in your stomach long enough to attempt a plan.

(you'd been unable to think the first 24 hours, a creature of panic and nothing more. by the time you'd calmed even a bit, you'd been so hungry you could hardly breathe, then gotten sucked back into your panic after one look at your barren pantry. why had you never bothered to save food?)

your first step over the line feels like a crime. you almost squeeze your eyes shut just to wait for something to happen, but you force yourself to keep your flashlight active, not letting your eyes settle as you scan the forest again and again.

each step feels like you're stepping on glass, heart in your throat. it's dead silent in a way you've come to know the forest never is. the only thing keeping you from darting back inside is the desperate, animal need to eat.

you fall to your knees at the edge of your garden, plucking as many cherry tomatoes from the vine as you can, shoveling them in your mouth without even checking for bugs. there's nothing here but you and then man in the forest.

they burst on your tongue, cold and juicy and tangy and delicious. you feel delirious, having gone more than three days without eating by this point. the tomatoes could be spoiling on the vine, dotted with rot, and you'd still savor them like they're nectar.

you drop your flashlight after the first mouthful, desperate to use two hands and grab as many of the fruits as possible. the light illuminate just a small section of the trees ahead of you, blades of grass casting high shadows.

you only notice how much you've lost focus when the flashlight flickers off next to you. you can't move for a moment, juice dripping down your chin, paralyzed at the thought that he's somehow snuck up on you, made it to your side and taken your only light.

but he's not by you, you're still alone. you can feel it acutely, some instinct at the back of your head saying predator near, hide but not screaming in the way it had on that first day, when you'd been closest to him.

still, you're on your feet in the next moment, fruit abandoned in the dirt as you sprint back to your cottage. your not far from the circle, just mere feet, but it feels like an insurmountable distance.

you can feel him, he's right there you know it. the forest is quiet, the only sound the crunch of grass beneath your feet and your heavy breaths, but you swear you can hear his voice echoing in your head. not an inch past that line, love. then you're mine.

it's not a surprise when you're tackled to the ground, not really. still, you scream, tomatoes already churning in your gut and bile gathering in your mouth. your nails claw desperately at the colored grass, so fucking close to your safe haven, your cage.

"got you," he hisses over your shoulder, so heavy over you that you can hardly get in a breath. you scream soundlessly, face contorted in tear as you break your nails in your desperate digging. "you're mine."

the lights from your cottage seem like hardly more than the flame at the end of a matchstick as you're dragged away, your strength nothing compared to his as you're taken further and further from the safe haven he'd allowed you. by the time you hit the tree line, you don't have the energy to even try to scream.

[rememberwren]

A Girl (Not Mine) || 1

Ghost is a little obsessed with Soap and a lot obsessed with Soap's girlfriend--you.

About this: ghoap/fem!reader, suspension of disbelief regarding anything military related is actually necessary for enjoyment, canon-typical trauma for Simon, intrusive thoughts, slut shaming, voyeurism, fingering, accidentally seeing nudes not meant for you, poor writing unless you squint, try squinting. 4k

-

“I’m so glad I got a girl to think of, 

Even though she isn’t mine.”

-

The first time Johnny mentions you, the 141 is fresh from a month-long leave.

Ghost has a love-hate relationship with time spent off duty. He’d like to enjoy it—to do fuck all, to hike through Clayton Vale twice in a day if it suits him, to drink tea for every meal. But all leave does is remind him of the glaring emptiness in his life, the one he usually fills with violence. So he spent the month climbing up the walls and crawling out of his skin, waiting to be called back like a dog brought to heel. 

Here was his comeuppance for craving something to fucking do instead of relaxing the way Price had told him to do. Now they were on their way to San Lorenzo in Ecuador dealing with Ghost’s least favorite flavor of criminal: drug cartels. 

It’s too close to Mexico. Too close to that which he would forget gladly if it didn’t come with the loss of so many valuable skill sets. He’s crawling out of his skin for a whole new reason, watching the water fly by beneath them, deep in memories. 

Ghost takes all those feelings, fears, remembrances and swallows them whole. Lets them sink to a sour, dark place in his belly. He sits tense on the helo, still except for the rise and fall of his chest, his rifle a familiar weight across his knees. Sometimes he has to shut his eyes, swallowing against the rising nausea. 

He only has half an ear on Garrick and Johnny’s conversation beside him, but it is all he needs to follow along. 

“—lass of my own now,” Johnny is saying around a laugh, his accent thick enough to chafe at Ghost’s skin in a way he doesn’t want to examine, one that leaves him feeling raw but not necessarily hurt. “So no more picking up the barflies back in Hereford.”

“She making an honest man out of you, Tav?” 

“Aye, you could say that.” Johnny sounds proud of the fact. It all is so far from anything Simon has experienced in his life that he feels no distant stirring of empathy, not even a muted sense of familiarity in the words. Honest men do not exist. 

Not to mention, Simon’s never had a woman (willingly) and he never will. 

“You love her?” Garrick asks, earnestly interested to hear the answer. Ghost couldn’t care less.

“Aye. There’s something special about her.” 

“What, she’s cool with anal?”

Johnny crows with laughter, and now Ghost does feel something: annoyance, cloying, creeping up his spine like a spider in a web headed for the wiggling maggot of his brain. 

“Will you two ever shut up?” he snaps. “Not a moment’s fucking peace since we boarded.”

“Sorry LT,” Johnny says, sounding genuinely apologetic. Ghost cuts his eyes toward the other man, assessing for honesty. Johnny’s face is too expressive: brows lifted, eyes wide and earnest, mouth tipped into a tiny grimace, like the thought of irritating Ghost gives him real pain. Between the two of them, Ghost can’t help but think that it’s Johnny who needs a mask if he wants to survive in the world. 

Ghost doesn’t have the energy for this. He goes back to watching the scenery pass by. They are over trees now: thick lush jungle, the scent of which he associates with pain—plenty of which was his own. Plenty of which he caused to others. 

“What about you, LT?” Johnny asks, calling out over the sound of the helicopter blades. “Do you have a woman back home?”

Ghost lets his head turn, slow and dangerous. Johnny’s audacity never fails to surprise him. “What do you think, Johnny?”

“Honestly?” 

“Go on, then.”

“You look like if yeh’ve got a woman, she’s probably locked in yer basement.” 

(right where she’d belong.)

Garrick slaps Johnny’s thigh, his face mottled with panic. He hisses under his breath, something like, There are faster ways to die, Tav! Less painful ways, too, Ghost thinks. He fixes Johnny with a dead stare. The silence stretches, growing long and thin and dangerous, like the blade of a knife, until Johnny looks away. 

“Think less about my private life, Sergeant,” he warns him. 

“Not often you tell me to think less, LT.” 

Ghost just grunts, finished with the conversation, returning his unseeing eyes to the trees and slipping back into his own memories. 

-

That should be—well, not the end of it. He expects Johnny to become insufferable about it; that’s just the other man’s way. Still, Ghost had never expected to see you. 

He’s doing paperwork in the rec room, too stifled by the tiny, enclosed space of his office to remain there. Paperwork and debriefing are always his least favorite parts of an op. Give him a gun with which to kill and he will gladly kill; give him a pen with which to write and he spends half the time thinking about burying it in his own eye. Garrick and Johnny are there nearby fucking around on their phones having finished with their easy portion of the work ages ago. 

A phone is what Johnny thrusts beneath Ghost’s nose. It takes all of his mental fortitude not to flinch away from the unexpected action (or, more likely, not to rip Johnny’s arm off and beat him half to death with it). His eyes flicker down to the screen on instinct and—there you are. 

You have one eye squinted shut, your hand up to create a visor against the overbearing sun. The picture shows you from the bust upwards, and Simon sees it for approximately one full second before he grips Johnny’s wrist in a brutal hold and forces the hand and the phone away. 

It’s already too late. He’s committed you to memory. The way your hair sits, its color in the blistering sun. The curve of your lips (fuckable, he thinks against his will) as you give Johnny behind the camera an exasperated smile. The arch of your nose (images now—fingers pinching noses shut, forcing mouths further down his cock just to watch them choke and struggle)—

“Get that out of my face,” he grits out through his teeth. His thoughts won’t stop, not now that the floodgates have been opened, and it makes him feel like a dog backed into a corner, frightened-violence rising up in the back of his throat like bile. 

—the smooth line of your throat (and his hands around it, choking the light from your eyes just to fuck you when you’re soft and pliable and he doesn’t have to listen to you crying and begging)—shut UP!—

“It’s just my girl, sir,” Johnny laughs, his own eyes flickering back down to your image on the phone, like they are drawn to you. Like it is hard to look away. Ghost doesn’t have that problem—he has some  discipline left. “And it’s not as if she’s naked.” 

Ghost grips the pen in his hand so tightly that the plastic shell cracks. He’s barely keeping it together, sick and afraid and horrified and angry that Johnny has done this to him—has done this to his own girl—

His voice is rough when he croaks out: “What makes you think I care to see her, Sergeant?” 

“‘S it wrong to share the most important person in my life with the other most important people in my life?” Johnny says, eyes too guileless to be taken seriously. 

“Share less,” he snaps. 

“Been saying that to me an awful lot lately, sir.” 

“A good Sergeant would take my words to heart.” 

“A good lieutenant would know a futile lesson when it’s biting him in the arse.”

Ghost’s eyes narrow. “Careful, Johnny. As much as I hate paperwork, I’d write you up—gladly.” 

Johnny gapes. “What for?”

Ghost grins without mirth, mask stretching around his features. Even grinning cruelly like this, his face feels unused to any expression that is adjacent to happiness. He swears darkly: “I’ll find a reason.”

It would send anyone else running. Even Garrick looks fearful, though fascinated: the same look a man wears when he’s watching a car crash in progress. But if sense were dynamite, Johnny wouldn’t have enough to blow his nose. Instead, he just flops down on the couch close enough to flutter the pages in Ghost’s lap. Close enough for their knees to brush. 

“Jesus, you’re a tadger today,” Johnny says quietly, boot knocking against Ghost’s, a touch he feels all the way up his leg. “Shove off some of that paperwork on us. What’s the use of being a lieutenant if you can’t lord it over your sergeants?”

“I’m sorry, us?” Garrick asks. 

“I don’t shirk my responsibilities, Johnny,” Ghost says coldly, gathering his papers. His elbow brushes against Johnny’s ribs, the firm, burning warmth of the other man’s body. He jerks away. He’ll take the stifling seclusion of his office, that makeshift coffin, before he subjects himself to any more of this. “You’d do well to follow my example.”

-

Ghost resolutely does not think of you. Not during quiet lazy moments on base, not during the frustration of training recruits, especially not during the eerie calm of missions. You do not cross his mind. 

His dreams are another thing altogether. 

There are the dreams where he hurts and the dreams where he is hurting, and he doesn’t know which are worse. He only knows that they are made worse by your strange presence: your body bent and being broken in by others; you, bent and being broken in by him. He wakes in cold sweats, jaw aching from gritting his teeth in his sleep. 

He hates himself for this last place where he cannot execute control: his subconscious. 

-

“Mail?” Johnny asks cheerfully at the sight of Garrick seated on the bench outside the DFAC, a stack of papers and letters laying on his lap. 

Johnny is sweaty, gray t-shirt clinging to his toned body as he (for once) keeps a companionable silence at Ghost’s side. They have been training recruits all day—work which Ghost considers far beneath his pay grade, but which he can’t refuse when ops are so slow to arrive and when he is so eager (desperate) to keep busy. Ghost lets himself sit heavily on the bench a safe distance away from Garrick, sweat cooling on his own body. 

He’s not ready to be alone yet. 

He’s allowed to do that. To want company. Of all the people on base, Garrick and Johnny (and Price) might be the most tolerable of the lot of them. During the rare moments when the pitiful piece of humanity left inside him craves companionship, this is the least painful method to mainline it. 

He ignores the lack of letters for him. There is no mail for Ghost—there never is. 

Garrick passes Johnny no less than four envelopes. Johnny’s soft smile as he flips through them speaks volumes. Ghost can guess who they’re from: his mother likely, who writes as often as she can. One of his various sisters, surely. Take your pick.  Out of the corner of his eye, he watches Johnny flip through the letters and settle on one in particular, thicker than the others, tearing it open and tugging the letter out. 

The pictures slip from the folded piece of paper and fall to the ground. 

Johnny dives to grab them, but all it does is bring Garrick’s attention to them more. Even Ghost’s interest is piqued, his dark eyes giving up pretending to watch the recruits limp back to their barracks to shower before dinner and following Johnny’s hasty movements instead, watching the hot flush that crawls up the back of his Sergeant’s neck. 

“What are those?” Garrick asks. 

“No’ a thing.” 

Garrick lights up. He practically tosses his letter to the side. “She sent you pictures?” 

“Possibly,” Johnny says smuggly, the images—old fashioned Polaroids, a nice touch—pressed to his chest. His eyes narrow at the expression on Garrick’s face. “Don’t even think about it, Gaz—!”

Garrick pounces. The two begin grappling, both of their faces split into wide grins. Johnny can only defend himself with one arm, his other protectively clutching the photographs to his bosom. They take each other to the ground and Ghost watches, half interested and half irritated, wondering who will win. 

The pictures go flying—and fate’s invisible bitch of a hand causes them to land at Ghost’s feet. Garrick and Johnny freeze.

He shouldn’t. He knows he shouldn’t, the same way he knows that he’s going to. Ignoring their renewed struggles on the ground as they fight to untangle themselves and stand, he leans down and reaches for the photographs.

The white of the Polaroid’s edges contrast nicely with his dark gloves as he gathers the pictures together like a deck of scattered cards. 

“LT—“

They’re relatively tame. Perhaps you knew the high risk of sending them. In one you are kneeling on a bed amongst a sea of mussed, white sheets, wearing nothing but a t-shirt that you have tugged down between your parted thighs to offer yourself some modesty. It is painful to flip to the next one, but pain calls to Ghost, lures him in. In another you’re wearing some strappy lingerie but still covered artfully by the sheets, both hands covering your eyes, a grin on your face like you are mid laugh. Did Johnny take these photos of you himself? Did a stranger? A friend? Another shows your side profile, back arched, topless, every inch of you curved and poised. 

You’re (a filthy little slut) so fucking pretty. 

“Give ‘em back, LT, please,” Johnny asks gently, like he expects Ghost to tear them to shreds. Or confiscate them. 

Ghost drops the photographs to the bench, wishing he could scrub the images of you from his mind. He shouldn’t have picked them up in the first place. It’s adding fuel to the fire of his broken brain, and he knows that he will pay for it dearly. 

Johnny is talking. “—shy, she’d just die to know you saw.”

“She’ll only know if you tell her, Johnny,” Ghost reminds him. His mouth feels numb, his brain the quiet granted by white noise, a conglomerate of screams. 

Johnny frowns. “Suppose so. You alright?” 

“Since Ghost saw—“ 

“No, Gaz.” 

Ghost watches the two of them enter the building. 

His hand burns, where he has palmed the picture of you topless. He stands and slips the Polaroid into his back pocket. It’s on the tip of his tongue to call out for Johnny and give him the picture back—he could find some excuse, and Johnny would believe him, he knows it—but he doesn’t. He makes for his room, feeling sick with himself. He isn’t hungry. Not for food. 

-

Ghost is compromised. 

The thought replays in his mind over and over again as he drives to Price’s house in Solihull. You and Johnny have crawled beneath his skin and infected him, dug your way into his DNA and are affecting everything from his decision making capabilities to his dreams. He knows that going anywhere where you both will be is a mistake, but it’s one he can’t seem to help hurdling himself toward at high speed. 

Nothing will happen, he tells himself, knuckles white against the steering wheel. He only does what he allows himself to do—no more. The others will be there at least, Garrick and Price and Johnny himself. Physical barriers between him and you. Human meat shields, if necessary. Ghost wouldn’t dare to lay a finger on you. (But who would stop him if he tried? Who could?) You are safe, he tells himself. 

He is the last to arrive, dragging his feet up the concrete steps to the two story brick historical home that Price owns. He lets himself in the way that Price told him to and can tell by the eerie silence of the house that everyone is already outside enjoying the well-landscaped yard. Already he sees the evidence of you: a purse (go through it) laid neatly on the dining room table. He sets his keys beside it but does not touch it. 

Ghost doesn’t bother trying to delay the inevitable. Every part of him wants to run, but that’s all he’s ever wanted his whole life. He’s used to it by now, used to being forced to walk toward the thing which terrified him. He squares his shoulders and slides open the patio door, slipping back out into the muggy heat of the afternoon, face mask in place, hood up.  

The landscaping is one of the best features of Price’s house. The privacy fence is tall and appealing to Ghost’s seclusive nature, the lawn neatly clipped. There is a hedgerow running along the southern edge of the fence that is meticulously maintained. Flower beds lined with bricks rest along the house full of geraniums and phlox. The patio is smooth stone with an inlaid fire pit that would be crackling if the weather were any milder. An iron-wrought table sits nearby surrounded by chairs, and seated there are Garrick, Johnny, and Price. 

You are over by the flowers, kneeling in the soft grass, picking phlox just a few shades darker than the sundress you’re wearing, the one that skims your soft thighs. Ghost’s eyes roam over you and away all before your head even turns at the sound of the door opening. 

“LT,” Johnny calls, lighting up. “You made it!” 

“Didn’t think you’d show, Lieutenant,” Garrick says with a smile. 

“As if he’s got something better to be doing than spending time with us,” Johnny crows. 

“Jesus, will you two leave the man alone? Wouldn’t be surprised if he’s already regretting coming,” Price says. Ghost inclines his head, grateful for the backup. 

He hears your approach, the soft sound of your flats against the patio stone. You are small (weak) compared to him, craning your head up to look in his eyes. He hates the dark part of his brain that calls you easy prey as he watches you twist the phlox stems between anxious fingers. 

“You must be Simon—” Johnny shakes his head a little, subtle, visible only out of the corner of Ghost’s eye. “—ah—Ghost? I mean—” 

“I don’t care what you call me,” he admits.

“Ghost,” you settle where it is nice and safe. “It’s nice to meet you. John talks about you all the time.”

“Likewise,” Ghost says flatly, hoping you will not mistake it for a compliment. 

Garrick snorts. “Never shuts up about you is more likely.”

There aren’t enough chairs for everyone, so you sit on Johnny’s lap, legs crossed demurely, skirt riding up around your upper thighs. He wonders about the softness of your skin, wonders if his calloused touch would hurt you or if you’re used to Johnny’s by now. He could make it hurt. The thought doesn’t come with any zing of pleasure, just the cold apathy of fact. Has Johnny ever tried that? Has he ever—

Ghost’s gloved hand clenches into a fist, curling around the iron armrest of the chair. He takes a measured breath and holds it until his lungs ache. Those thoughts aren’t his own. They come from the dark part that Roba seeded inside him, that part with creeping vines too deep to root out. That part with thorns. 

He could hurt you, the same way he could hurt anyone, he tells himself. But he doesn’t want to. He doesn’t want to. 

He does only what he allows himself to do. No more. No less. 

You and Johnny stand, heading into the house to retrieve a round of drinks for everyone. Ghost watches Johnny’s hand dip low on your back to the curve of your ass as he guides you through the open door, shutting it behind you. 

“Are you alright, Simon?” Price asks around a cigar. “I know meeting new people isn’t exactly in your repertoire.”

“Don’t mother me.”

“Don’t have to be your mother to care about you.”

“Garrick—get lost,” Ghost barks. 

The iron chair legs screech against the stone of the patio as Garrick stands hastily. “Had the same thought, sir. Hedges look lovely this time of year.”

When Garrick is properly out of earshot, pretending to find amusement in the neat hedgerows along the fence line, Ghost says: “I shouldn’t have come. I’m… I— can’t be left alone with her.” 

“With—? Soap’s gal?”

Ghost grits his teeth in shame and nods. 

“Do you know her?” 

Ghost shakes his head in the negative, but it’s not necessarily true. He knows a thousand women just like her, soft and unexpecting. The betrayal always cuts deeper than his cock could reach (estoy preso, somos lo mismo, por favor).

He stands, chair legs dragging against the stone. “This was a mistake. I need to leave.” 

“If you say so,” says Price, knowing better than to argue. “Go around the side. You won’t even have to see them.” 

“My keys are inside. I’ll be quick.” 

“Take care of yourself, Simon,” says Price, his eyes dark and lips downturned as he watches Ghost stalk to the patio door and slip inside. 

-

He braces himself to see you and Johnny in the kitchen, but when the door slides open near-silent, neither of you are anywhere to be seen. Like a fool, he considers himself lucky. Quiet as his namesake, Ghost goes to the table and picks up his keys, palming them. 

That’s when he hears it. The unmistakable muted slap of flesh on flesh. 

(Go look.)

He shouldn’t. He knows he shouldn’t, but that is his modus operandi these days: failing himself, doing what he isn’t meant to, seeing what is not for his eyes. His feet carry him silently to the door, which is cracked open just wide enough for him to see through into the room. It is a guest bedroom judging by the bland decor, the queen sized bed. Johnny has you sprawled on it, your sundress hitched up around your waist, his fingers buried to the final knuckle inside your cunt. Ghost can hear the way it squelches from all the way outside the door, knows that you must be dripping down Johnny’s wrist. 

“Keep quiet, love,” Johnny pants, one hand over your mouth (he’s not doing it right) to muffle the whines and groans trying to slip past your lips. “Needy little thing, aren’t yeh? Squirming in my lap, making my cock hard right there in front of my Captain, in front of my Lieutenant—“

You whine something back, but it is lost into his palm. 

“Don’t have time to get my cock in you,” Johnny sighs, twisting his fingers inside you, hooking them to press against that tender spot past your pubic bone that has your knees knocking together. He shifts his palm down to grip your neck, your panting breaths filling the room. “But you can bet this dress is coming off as soon as we’re home, do y’hear me?”

“Yessir,” you whisper, and it has Ghost’s cock throbbing. 

This is not for him. He thinks about Johnny’s words from months ago: that you are shy. There’s no chance you would ever want to be seen like this by him. Reaching out, he grips the doorknob and quietly tugs the door closed, til the sound of Johnny’s palm slapping against your clit is muffled behind the wood. 

He takes his keys and is gone before you ever know he was there. 

-

Johnny texts him later that night: 

Why’d you leave early, you numpty? We wanted more time with you. 

Ghost doesn’t respond. He’s too busy spiraling in his own flat, losing control every few minutes and slipping back into that place of pain and blood and dirt. 

An hour later, Johnny ends up adding, My girl wants me to say she was glad she got to meet you. Only Jesus knows why! Ghost definitely doesn’t respond to that. But he doesn’t delete the messages either.

[yandere-daze]

I thought it was high time that I finally wrote something for this man and this idea was stuck in my head for days. I hope you enjoy! <3

gn reader

2.3k words

cw yandere, obsessive behaviour, hypnotizing siren song, manipulation

Yandere! Siren! Sunday x Sailor! Reader

You weren´t supposed to be anything more than an easy prey. A human led astray by his enchanting tunes like any other, only to be torn apart once within reach.

You were a simple sailor sailing the deep waters of the ocean with your small crew. For what purpose? Sunday wasn´t quite sure and he didn´t really care to know. All he yearned for was sinking his claws into your vulnerable flesh as he dragged you to the bottom of the ocean.

You see, Sunday was a siren, a hunter in the image of a beautiful young man with grey hair and enchanting golden eyes. Were it not for his singing voice, a deep gaze into his radiant eyes would be enough to tempt any poor fool into his waiting arms. Yet his voice, oh his voice, its heavenly sound masking his dark intentions.

Within his lifetime, Sunday has lured many unfortunate sailors to their demise though, in recent times, fewer and fewer boats have delved through the waters he called his home. From what he had witnessed being whispered onboard, tales of cunning and vicious sirens roaming these waters have reached the mainland, causing many to steer clear and avoid this place.

This naturally annoyed Sunday, for the flesh of humans was what he sustained himself with. This fact only increased his determination when after quite a long while of waiting for a sign of life, a boat had finally lost its way into his domain again. Sunday had been hungry for way too long now, he couldn´t let this stroke of luck go to waste.

So certain that he would finally claim his prey again, he decided to first spy on the passengers of the boat before making his move. It was important for him to know the routines and habits of the sailors if he wanted to catch them alone to entice them to run into their doom.

As a siren, Sunday was more powerful than an average human but even he wouldn´t be able to fight off several sailors if he were to try and hypnotize someone in broad daylight. He couldn´t risk the crew becoming aware of his presence and leaving, he couldn´t go on without another meal again.

And so, he secretly started spying on the passengers of the small boat, staring at them from behind a rock and making sure to keep his tail concealed within the water. He watched everyone go along with their days on board the ship when something unexpected happened.

He saw you, stepping away from the rest of the crew to stand near the edge of the boat, a smile on your face as you let the sun shine on your face. Without even realizing it, you had stepped close to where Sunday had gone to hide. You were so close, almost within arm´s reach. For a moment, Sunday deliberated if this was his chance to strike.

With you separated from the rest of the crew like this, it would be a simple thing indeed to lure you into the waters where you would disappear forever.

But just as he thought this, he stopped in his tracks as he watched your carefree smile, suddenly becoming enchanted by the way the light of the sun rained upon your skin. For lack of a better word, your presence at that very moment was mesmerizing and Sunday felt warm inside as if the rays of the sun were descending on him instead.

And then, for a moment, Sunday almost felt his heart stop for then you opened your mouth and started, he almost couldn´t believe it, singing.

There you were, practically within the jaws of a predator, and letting your soul rejoice in song so carelessly. And yet, within your naivety, Sunday couldn´t help but feel at peace. Your song rang out across the lonely waters, unaware that your secret audience was becoming more and more enchanted by you by the second.

Your singing, Sunday couldn´t quite describe it. It sounded nothing like his own singing, which was beautiful and yet felt intrinsically wrong somehow. Your song was nothing like that. It might have not been as pretty or practiced as his own singing, but yet it managed to ring true within his heart. Your song felt earnest and real, untainted and uncorrupted by malice. Within seconds, you had captured his attention and heart, yet you were completely unaware that he was even present.

In an ironic twist of fate, Sunday felt himself being pulled towards you as if touched by magic, an ardent longing for you deep within his chest. It was as if you were the siren calling out to him, beckoning him closer like a lovesick sailor lost at sea, yet Sunday was sure that instead of a sudden demise, he would find true salvation within your arms. With the way you were holding out your arms, he could almost imagine you wrapping them around his body in a lover´s embrace, pulling him so close as if you would never let go of him again.

Because he knows that´s what he would do if he finally had his beloved in his arms. For only a fool would ever let go of the person they want to spend the rest of their life with. It filled him all at once, this desire to have you for his own, to make you his dearest mate.

You were radiant and joyful in a way he had never seen before and he couldn´t bear the thought of letting you slip away from him.

And from the desperate yearning he could so clearly hear in your song dedicated to just him, he knew that you must feel the same way. You were just waiting, begging to be taken away by him. Why else would you walk so close to him, all on your own and profess all of your feelings like this? Sunday now knew that this meeting was fated to happen and he would be sure not to waste it.

He had been watching you closely for the past few days along with the other sailors aboard the ship and he saw how the other crew members acted around you. He had thought nothing of it back then but now boiling jealousy filled his being as he remembered how chummy they had been acting with you. How they had laughed and joked around with you so easily, how they had thrown their arms around you and sang cheery tunes beneath the starry sky.

He especially detested that one scoundrel that had dared to kiss your cheek so invasively. How dare they treat you like this? How dare they lay their filthy hands on you when your beauty was meant for solely him to treasure? But not to worry, Sunday would finally bring you home and keep you safe.

He understood your surprise when he finally emerged from his hiding spot and started swimming towards you. You looked so pitiful with your body shaking and your eyes growing wide when you saw his shimmering white mermaid tail. You poor thing must be frightened out of your mind because of all these stories you were told about his kind but do not be afraid! Sunday would never hurt you like this.

You were special to him, you just needed to allow him to show you that. You backing away from the railing, backing away from him, just wouldn´t do.

"Darling, there is no reason to be afraid, I´m not here to hurt you, do not let their horrid tales corrupt your thoughts. I am here to finally take you home!" He reached out his hands to you, wishing for you to jump into them and accept his love willingly yet he could only click his tongue in disappointment when instead, you took another step back.

"D-don´t come any closer!", you shouted out, breaking the poor siren´s heart in the process. How it hurt him to see you so frightened that you would turn your soulmate away. But no matter, he was prepared to take matters into his own hands and nudge you towards your own happy ending. You just needed a little bit of convincing.

"My darling, please listen to me! You and me, I know we were meant to be! So please don´t resist this, alright?", he hummed gently, his voice almost pitiful while begging you to hear him out.

You would have even felt sympathy for him if you weren´t acutely aware that you were facing a dangerous predator. There was no doubt in your mind that this was a siren and you needed to get away from there fast.

But unfortunately for you, you weren´t quick enough for as soon as you had gathered your resolve, Sunday´s ethereal singing voice had swiftly broken it down.

Suddenly, all your previous thoughts about him being a danger to stay away from evaporated, leaving you confused as to why you ever wanted to run away from him. There was nothing dangerous about him, was there?

Instead, your mind was now being filled with pleasant images of you and the siren spending time together, of him holding you close protectively, of him swearing his eternal love and kissing you. All of a sudden, you felt warm all over as you gazed deep into Sunday´s eyes and you knew that he was the one that was meant for you.

Slowly, one step at a time, you walked closer to the edge of the boat again, where Sunday was happily holding out his hands for you to take, eagerly grasping at air as if to usher you even closer.

And you were all too eager to follow his demands as a sugary sweet melody droned on and on in your ears, overwhelming you with feelings of everlasting love and devotion.

"That´s it, darling. Come closer. It´s only a few more steps.", he urged you on, almost desperately as you almost came into touching range. It was only a few more moments until he could finally have you in his arms. And once he did, he would never allow you to leave him again. Not that you would be able to underwater.

Voices were picking up in the background, quickly getting closer and Sunday realized that your crew must have picked up on what was happening.

"Come here quickly, darling!", he shouted, his voice growing more urgent and desperate the closer the booming voices got.

And you did as he said, quickening your steps towards him with a lovesick smile on your face.

"I´m almost there, my love", you said and Sunday´s heart almost burst at the sweet tone you took with him. He knew you were currently under the influence of his siren song but he strongly wanted to believe that the love you felt for him was real. Why else would you too be looking at him so full of yearning?

"Someone, quick! Grab on to them! That siren is trying to lead them to their death!", a gruff voice yells from the back with several more footsteps scrambling quickly behind. They were advancing on you fast and Sunday knew he was almost out of time as one quickly ran up to you.

"No, no, no! Don´t touch them! They´re mine! Don´t ruin this for me!", he yelled out in anger, his eyes a furious storm as they glared at the person trying to get a hold of you. He couldn´t fail so close to the end. How dare they accuse him of trying to harm you?!

"Please, you need to come to your senses!", the sailors try to reason with you but it´s almost like you can´t even register what they say.

" I need to meet with my love, he´s waiting for me.", you say, still smiling as you step to the very edge of the boat, looking down at a Sunday growing more and more manic by the second.

"Jump into my arms, darling! Accept my love and be mine forever!", the siren calls out to you as a crew member grabs into your arms, trying to pull you back.

"Don´t listen to him! Please, don´t do as he says!"

You struggle violently against the hold, kicking and screaming, demanding to be let go.

"No, you can´t separate me from my love, let me go! I need to be by his side!", you scream and with an especially harsh kick, the sailor lets go of you for a moment, leaving you with enough time to take the final step and jump right into your demise.

Sunday gently catches you in his arms, a lovesick smile on his face as he finally gets to hold you like he wanted to. You´re finally all his and there´s nothing that can be done about it anymore.

"I´m so happy you chose me, darling. We´re going to be so happy together. I´ll take such good care of you. No one else is ever going to touch you again.", he whispers into your ear and you can´t help but giggle joyfully at the prospect, your mind singing with affection, drowning out the growing panic within you.

But what is there to be afraid of? You´re finally united with the love of your life and nothing will ever separate you again.

Sunday holds you firmly as he quickly swims away from the boat, leaving your panicked crewmates behind.

Now that he finally has you, he will make sure that you´ll grow to love him even without his song. He knows that deep down, you love him just as much as he does you, you´ll just need a little bit of time to adjust to your new life underwater. He knows of a very beautiful underwater cave that he can keep you in until you grow more accustomed to your new life with him. Down there, you´ll never be able to escape his grasp again.

You will be his forever, for that is the consequence of putting him under a spell like you has.

And then he takes you with him to the very depths of the sea, never to be seen again.

[codtrashsammy]

Cute Meet?

Started as a kinda character study and idk what happened, i'ma be honest. I haven't written anything with length in awhile, so feel free to leave cc and let me know what you think <3 Just a cute meet kinda scenario, reader is an anxious lil thing and Simon 'Ghost' Riley is obsessed upon first glance. Love? No, not yet.. but obsessed, yes. Word Count: 1.3K Pairing: Simon Riley x Reader/You Warnings: No warnings, no use of y/n tho Enjoy :))

Ghost is the keeper. Ghost is stoic, cold, even apathetic. Ghost can kill a whole platoon without batting an eye, can be covered in the blood of his enemies and be entirely uncaring to watch it flow down the drain once he has enough time to scrub the caked blood from where it seeped through his clothes. He is in charge, able to control his emotions effortlessly, able to lead. He is everything he needs to be. And then there’s Simon. Ghost is the keeper. Simon is the man beneath the mask who needs one. Simon is more akin to a stray dog than a human at times. Face hidden from the world, yet teeth always barred and ready to bite. Hidden behind a mask, a carefully crafted mask that is Ghost. A man with more scars than flesh, a man with more trauma than peace, a man who simply longs for the normalcy of life without a way to reach it. And then came you.

Ghost couldn’t care less for you. The mask is on as he’s on leave, shopping in a grocery store to get something to eat on while he stays in that damned motel for the next couple of weeks before flying out once more. The mask stays in place, a protection, a show the keeper is in charge. You don’t mean to run into him, you’re definitely not the type to go looking for trouble- you’ve had enough of that in your life, and you’re just starting to get your shit together for the nth time. But as you’re both leaving, you stumble, bumping right into him and leaving a couple of his poor bags strewn about on the sidewalk rather than carefully held within each hand. “Fuckin’ ‘ell,” Ghost grumbles with a sigh, clearly not pleased by the circumstances while watching a can of beans he had bought simply roll off of the sidewalk area and into the road- promptly ran over by a vehicle looking to park. No beans and toast now, british man. “I am so sorry-” You immediately apologize, the sheepish and embarrassed look on your face obvious as you dust yourself off and try to begin gathering the mess that you had caused. Ghost is annoyed at you. Just one look and he’s annoyed. But Simon? Simon is enchanted. The sweet, sheepish smile on your face, the way you scramble to help, the heat to your cheeks in your embarrassment as you scatter around trying to fix the situation. The way your hair falls and how you’re clearly nervous, but you still act anyway. You don’t care of how he looks- all brooding and intimidating with his hoodie over his head and the black medical mask over the lower half of his face. You couldn’t care less of that- you simply want to make things better. Simon notices that though. Simon remains frozen for a few moments, hidden interest in his eyes as he watches you scramble about, resorting your things just to have an extra couple of bags for his things. And you just hand things back over to him, the sheepish smile still on your face, the embarrassment clear- but gods, you look like such a sweet lil thing, lookin’ at him like he’s a human, a person. “‘S fine,” Simon eventually spits out, taking the bags from your hands and glancing once more at the beans staining the roadway now, before turning to focus his attention back on you. He could let you leave now. He could, it’d be so easy. He could leave it at that and walk away, probably never hear or see from you again. I mean, hell, he’s only known you for all of 5 minutes, and it’s because you’re a clumsy little shit who fucked up his shopping. It’d be so easy so why does it feel so hard. “D’ya always ‘ave to make such an impression?” Simon quips out, readjusting the bags comfortably in his grip. You can’t even pretend not to notice his accent- it’s unusual for where you live, you don’t think you’ve ever heard anything like it outside of the media you’ve consumed. It’s pleasant, rings around in the ears for a bit. You finally meet his eyes, and gods, they are gorgeous. Deep, rich, brown- like chocolate with golden flecks scattered. Especially in the sunlight- like they are now- pools of liquid gold swimming about a chocolate river. “Ah- No- Um-” You struggle to find the right words, now your cheeks are warmer, and it’s less from embarrassment and more from the pretty eyed stranger you just fucking throttled on accident. But at least he doesn’t seem angry, so there’s always that. “I’m so sorry,” You settle on apologizing again, one of your hands moving to nervously run through your hair, pushing some strands out of your face. “‘S fine. Really.” Simon says with a slight nod, and you can feel the burn of his eyes as they trail over you. You can’t decide if he means it or not, though, he sounds oddly monotone for such simple words. “Still, I feel bad, I uh- I’m kinda clumsy at best,” You blurt out, sheepish smile on your face despite its softness as you glance away from him before looking back once more, “I uh- just wasn’t paying much attention to where I was going- a real bad habit of mine, honestly- which is surprising cause you’re kinda huge and hard to miss-” 

What the fuck did you just say?!Your cheeks heat up further, hands moving to gesture with your words now. You’re rambling, you know you are, but god did not give you the ability to shut the fuck up. “N-Not that that’s a bad thing! You’re uh- very well-built!” what the fuck you’re making it worse- “I-I mean- You uh- You have lots of muscle a-and that’s a good thing! And you have pretty eyes- always a bonus!” Simon’s eyebrow slowly lifts, his eyes crinkling at the sides. Simon’s been called a lot of things in his life- but he’s realizing at this moment that no one has ever called his eyes pretty. They’re brown. He can recall Johnny referring to them as ‘shit brown’ more often than not.  And you just look so fucking adorable- continuing to ramble, but he’s hardly paying attention to the words now, watching your cheeks get darker, your hands gesturing with your words, nervously shifting on your feet as you try to ‘save’ the situation. Such a precious lil thing, too pure for this world.

Simon was enchanted at first glance.

Ghost decides he could be, too.

A pretty thing like you? In this world? Oh, love, that’s just not safe. You’re a lil bundle of nervous, clearly. How’d ya make it this far? Who made ya like this? Unsure, rambling, nervous? Ghost wants to learn you. Wants to figure out what events molded you into this cute lil thing. You clearly need someone- he won’t judge, Simon needs him, too.

Ghost decides he wants to know you. Simon has made that thought known.

“You know what? I’m gonna shut up!” You finally say, voice a higher pitch and the heat being felt in the tips of your ears at this point as you take a step away from the masked man, who you know you’ve done ruined the chance to know with your inability to shut the fuck up.

“Tell me yer name before ya do,” Simon says, voice smooth like it’s the easiest and most casual thing in the world.

He’s so… quiet. He let you ramble and make an absolute fool of yourself- but now he’s actually wanting to know your name?

After you manage to knock yourself out of your stupor, you finally offer your name to him, cheeks finally cooling down a bit. Only to heat back up once he repeats your name in that voice of his, all low and gruff- says it differently than anything you’ve ever heard before- like it’s something important, something that matters.

“Simon,” He supplies, adjusting his bags in one grip as he offers a hand to you.

Simon and Ghost are two very different people who share this skin suit.

But they both decide you’re theirs.