#albeit a bit more long winded

[bugs-in-situations]

lore book - broken bonds between selkie and pelt

the relation between a selkie and their pelt is difficult to define by any terms. it is both physical and magical, an intrinsic link, but it is still possible to be strained by great time or distance. it is a bond between two halves of a whole that is nearly impossible to sever... but with great difficulty, it can be.

in the event that the connection between selkie and pelt is broken, the pelt will become inert as if it were dead and the selkie will no longer be able to transform. being unable to transform will cause a chronic form of pelt separation sickness and greatly weaken the selkie in both mind and body. this, fortunately, is a rare occurrence naturally, but certain (highly forbidden and difficult to learn) magic spells can break the connection forcefully.

at the time this book was written, no way has yet been found to heal a broken connection like this. legend tells of a spell that can go beyond this - a spell that can tie an inert pelt to a bug who was not born a selkie, allowing them to transform, feel what their pelt feels, and everything else a natural born selkie can do. while there are no historical or contemporary records of this actually being performed, it is typically posited as a horror story or the subject of an ethical debate.

inert pelts belonging to living selkies are considered legally dead, and thus are allowed to be sold. this is often the best option for selkies who suffer from a broken pelt connection, although it loses some value when it loses the convenient property of shapeshifting. it is not uncommon for these individuals to say that they want their pelt out of their sight as soon as possible. the exact reason for this psychological symptom is still being researched.

[ebitenpura]

man I've been trying to latch onto the story beats for KOTET but mostly failing; and I think it's because Eight's whole deal with it only worked for KOTFE. would he beat Valkorion's ass for trying to hijack his and Jadus' bond? absolutely. would he be there for the Vaylin stuff? not... so much.

The way he sees it, he's repaying a life debt to Lana (since Koth pretty much opted out of it by taking the Gravestone as his reward) that is equal in worth to Arcann's death. Once that happens, he's out. And he hasn't enjoyed this whole stint one bit either; in fact, I can say he's even more miserable than he was under the Castellan Restraints. At least there he was thrilled by it and motivated by his own purposes. Here, he feels trapped. Alone.

You could say he has a choice to walk away, but at this point he's too mired in the war and it's...well, he takes burdens. He has that code to always repay what he owes even if he hates it. Lana doesn't realize it either-- or she only noticed one time via that letter, but didn't do much about it because what she asks him to do is so tied to what she doesn't give a second thought about: it's necessary. She thinks he has a personal stake in this and projects her own frustrations at the state of the world onto him because she doesn't know. And perhaps, that means.... she doesn't know him, either.

Their relationship was basically the same before too, only this time it's tipped drastically in her favor because he no longer has that choice to disobey. He could've had worse masters, but Lana's pragmatism and way of pointing him at what needs to be done (killed) has been horrible thus far. Even Jadus/Acina were both more receptive and open to him and while Lana does in essence, care, she does not hesitate and doesn't question her motives or the one she's shouldering these tasks to.

It's mostly the BuyowareTM effect of mission-ordained bestie and the plot railing, but it also does feel like... she doesn't realize how satisfied she is when he's finally following her orders after a long, long time of him openly resisting and making no effort to respect her chain of command, which was like a subconscious reaction on his part each time he sassed her because he didn't want to be under her thumb. Then when he agrees and does what she asks, she's more than pleased, happy even.

Yet from Eight's pov, it does something to him each time where he sinks even further into being that unfeeling weapon who no longer wants to think.

Would she be mortified if she knew how miserable he was having her as a taskmaster? Most likely. She's just doing what she thinks is best for the people she knows and her galaxy-- but it's her unawareness of this, her extreme pragmatism and eagerness to use him to the best of her ability that shifts their power dynamic to something less benevolent. Even under the kindest of Sith who treats him as a friend, he suffers because of his nature as a weapon to be used by her and her iron-clad ideals.

It's also a detriment on his part where Eight makes no effort to sway other people or change them because he believes in witnessing their true selves without his interference, and when Lana admitted she only saved him so he could save them, she sealed her fate and his. In that way, he tends to enable the worst in others around him because he lets them go unchecked, convinced it's who they are at their core. It's made worse by Eight honoring his debt to Lana, as he can only follow what she wishes and not completely override her decisions as he did before in SoR.

You could also say Theron helped to balance that out but as he's taken a backseat this time, it's also become damaging to him to watch Eight lopsidedly defer to a much colder side that clashes with Theron's way of doing things. So much so he's started "other"-ing him and blaming it on heartless Imps. That's another reason why every time Eight gets separated from them, he briefly considers using the opportunity to run away, but of course, he never does. Using Dromund Kaas' assassination attempt as a cover for his death was so tempting, and how bad does it have to be if you want to fake your death to your friends of all things?

I feel like this is all going to reach an untenable point somewhere as it has to, I'm just unsure as to what form it'll take given the unpredictable nature of the current story to either provide me with all the story revelations or nothing at all.

The current idea i'm entertaining is that Theron puts the pieces together of Eight's downturn into extreme coldness and avoidance of them, an overhead discussion involving Koth once again arguing with Lana over her treatment of him (i.e. that one letter), and then the final subplot where he is given the extra mission during the Traitor Arc to not only destroy the Gravestone but take away their other weapon, Eight himself, by convincing him to leave the Alliance-- only that isn't a ploy from Theron because he catches onto just how bad this is for his former friend and ends up helping Eight "get out".

That's probably too messy of a story to write, but we'll see-- but also because the Traitor Arc would hit much differently if Lana simply sic'ed Eight on Theron like she did on Arcann and Senya and Vaylin to some essence. For one, he might end up dead. And nobody likes a dead Theron. Two, Eight really is the Alliance's other weapon, and much less of a personality as the game makes out the Commander/Outlander to be. Vinn Atrius might have noticed by then who that white-haired attack dog is who keeps entering the battlefield and killing their top contenders: another one of the Alliance's trump cards. He and the Gravestone have been synonymous in their effectiveness and use from the beginning, so it's only natural they'd want to take him out of the picture.

Lastly, I just really want these two to reconcile. It kind of broke my heart that Theron used to find common ground with him and now doesn't see him at all, and I also thought the idea of a little bit of truth being behind him being a traitor was spicy if... the Outlander was one who was more burdened by the Alliance than protected or saved by it. The idea of taking down everything you've built thus far because it's hurting the person who made it all possible... it's sweet, isn't it? It's the kind of thing the last spy with a heart would do. Maybe that's ooc. But I do like the idea of exploring just how far all of them are willing to use weapons who may even be their own friends just to get ahead in this damn galaxy, and course-correcting from that when you realize you'll never stop having another Arcann or Vaylin, with too many Senyas and Master Surros in between.

This has to end somewhere, but mostly I just want the Rishi trio to come to terms with the way they are now :'I.

[motorsportbarbie13]

Christmas Showdown

In which you and Lando run into an ex-boyfriend while you're home for the holidays.

Warnings: talk of abusive relationship (no details though). Established relationship. Protective Lando. This could probably be better and it's pretty short buttttttt I needed to get this out of my head, so enjoy! Pairing: Lando Norris x Girlfriend!Reader Word Count: 1.8k words

Master List

It had been several years since you spent the holidays in your small Midwestern hometown. Usually, your family flew out to London or Monaco to spend the holiday’s with you there, much preferring to leave Michigan’s several feet of snow that was typically on the ground during Christmas. This year was different thought. Your grandmother had been too ill to make the long flight so instead, you came to them. Which was fine with you, you had missed seeing friends that were home for the holidays and missed the nostalgic nights spent around the Christmas tree with your family. The one person who was not fine with it, however, was your boyfriend. 

Lando Norris simply hated the cold. He hated being cold. Hated thinking about the cold. Hated the snow. Anytime the temperature dipped below 50 degrees Fahrenheit ( which also a fight you two had often was how he refused to learn the difference between Fahrenheit and Celsius while also simultaneously refusing to do the same for him.) So you knew he must really be down bad for you when he had agreed (albeit a bit sluggishly) to spend the Christmas holiday with you in your (freezing) hometown. 

There was minimal complaining for the first few days you were at home, mostly because it the weather was fair enough to not be something comparable to the North Pole, but trouble arose the day of your Aunt and Uncle’s infamous Christmas party. The first sign of trouble was your brother’s insistence on a family outing to the sledding hill that was a few miles from your house. Of course Lando had packed several parkas but when he had seen the Canada Goose store in the mall the day before, he had bought the thickest, best cold rated puffer jacket he could find. Despite that and several layers of long johns and sweaters, by the time you reached the sledding hill your poor boyfriend was shivering like your grandma’s ancient chihuahua. 

To his credit though, there was not one single utterance of a complaint or plea to go back to your parents house for a cup of hot chocolate then entire time. Lando happily chased your nieces and nephews around the sledding hill and even went down the hill a few times with you. 

“Okay, folks!” Your dad calls out as the afternoon sun hangs low in the sky. “I think it’s time we all head home and get ready for Judy and Steve’s party tonight. I expect everyone to be at their house by 7pm sharp!” The ‘this reminder is for your benefit’ look that your dad sends you has your already wind chapped face turning even more red. 

“I don’t know why you’re glaring at me! I’m always on time!” You shout, grabbing for Lando’s hand. “We’ll see you guys tonight!” 

Once you get in the Range Rover that Lando had rented for the two week visit, he immediately turns the heated seats on full power and cranks up the heat. 

“Do you want to swing by Starbucks and get something warm before going home?” You ask as Lando pulls out of the park and onto the snowy street. “I feel like I might need to just get you an IV of hot chocolate at this point.” 

Lando gives you a sidelong glare. “I think I have icicles in my nose hairs.” 

Laughter tumbles out of you, quick and light, sending a thrill of pleasure down Lando’s spine. You two had been dating for a few years now and there were still times he’d look over at you and think ‘how the fuck did I convince this girl to be my girlfriend?’. You had come into his life at a particularly challenging time and had been his rock since day one. 

“Starbucks it is, my poor little snowman. There’s one up here in this strip mall. Turn left at this light and then it’s on the right.” 

The parking lot, which is a shared lot with several other big box stores, is an absolute zoo and you can see the line snaking around the inside of the Starbucks before you even go in. To save some time, Lando drops you off at the front door while he goes and finds a spot for the large SUV. 

The line is long when you get inside but you’re thankful to at least be out of the bitter cold. While you wait in line, you mindlessly scroll on your Instagram, which is locked down tighter than Fort Knox. Going private on all socials and not being featured heavily on Lando’s had been one of the things you two had agreed upon when things started getting serious nearly two years ago now. People who were huge Lando fans knew who you were but the casual F1 fan probably wouldn’t have been able to pick you out of a lineup. 

Your casually scrolling, minding your own business, when a deep voice calling your name jolts you out of your little social media bubble. 

“Jeff?” You sputter, surprised to see your college boyfriend standing in front of you in line, huge smile on his face. 

Jeff had been one of the guys you and your best friends had drooled over in high school, having been nearly two years ahead of you when you were teens. You didn’t start dating him until your freshman year of college, when he was already a junior. To say the man was toxic was an understatement. In fact, now that you had a few years distance between the now and the end of the relationship, you could confidently say Jeff had been pretty abusive. 

“Hey, stranger!” He says, leaning in for a hug. You go completely still, totally unprepared to be faced with the man who had caused you so much trauma in the two years you had dated. “I have’t seen you in ages, visiting your family for the holidays?” 

You toss a look over your shoulder, desperately wishing for Lando to come walking in the door. “Uh, yeah. First time in a few years. I usually fly them over to London or Monaco for the holidays.” 

A dark shadow passes over Jeff’s face at the mention of where you live now. “Monaco, huh? You always thought you were too good for us here, didn’t you?” 

Your stomach twists painfully at the look in his eyes and you briefly consider just turning around and walking right out of the Starbucks without your drinks.

Before you can stutter out a response, a strong pair of large hands wraps around your waist as Lando drops his head onto your shoulder. “Darling. Baby. Sweetheart. Love of my life." Lando croons in your ear, not yet picking up on your body language. "I adore you but why the fuck did you have to be born in a place where the air hurts your face?” 

You laugh stiffly despite yourself. “Talk to my parents about that one, love.” 

Lando drops a kiss on your cheek before looking over at the other man. “Oh, I’m sorry, I didn’t realize you were talking to someone.” 

Across from you, Jeff had been watching this exchange between Lando and you with an increasing amount of annoyance. Who the fuck was this and why was he calling you the love of his life? 

“Lando, this is Jeff.” You turn slightly, giving Lando a knowing look which he catches onto immediately. “Jeff, this is my boyfriend, Lando.” 

“That’s an interesting name. Only heard that name twice before, once in Star Wars and…” Jeff’s voice drops off as he finally makes the connection. “Wait. Lando…as in Lando Norris?” 

The smug grin that stretches across Lando’s face nearly has you giggling. “That’s me. And you’re Jeff, huh? I’ve heard a lot about you. None of it good.” 

Lando remembered the first time you had ever opened up to him a few months into dating about how you had been in an abusive relationship in college and how much work it had taken to recover from it. He had been your first serious relationship after leaving Jeff, having left the country just to get away from him. Internally, Lando raged at the man standing in front of you two, the protective instinct in him screaming to just lay the guy out right here.

Jeff’s already ruddy face turns red with incandescent rage. You had totally forgotten he was a big Formula One fan and when you remember the fact that not only is he an F1 fan, but a huge McLaren fan, the urge to giggle hits you again. Oh, this was just too good. 

“How’d you…” Jeff stutters. “How’d you manage to bag yourself a Formula 1 driver?” 

The question is a pathetic attempt to rile you up and insult you but both you and Lando see that question for exactly what it is. 

Lando plants another kiss on your cheek and you know he’s doing it to be an asshole. “I was actually the one who pursued her. She turned me down left and right for nearly a year, didn’t you baby?” 

You nod, remembering the way Lando had come into your office at the McLaren Tech Center day after day just to make small talk at first but finally had worked up the nerve to ask you out. You were one of the newer people on the comms team back then and you hand’t wanted to jeopardize the career you had worked so hard for so you had turned him down for nearly a year, insisting that you wanted nothing more than a friendship with the driver. 

“But eventually, he wore me down. He flew me to Monaco and took me out on his yacht for our first date, it was all very romantic.” It had actually been Max’s yacht, but Jeff didn’t need to know that bit. 

You can see Jeff practically seething at this point, knowing that you’re doing so well and he’s still apparently stuck in your hometown. 

“And how are you doing, Jeff? Still working at your dad’s law firm? How is Vance doing? And Laura?” You know it’s killing him, asking about his parents by their first name. 

Jeff just blinks at you for a few moments, realizing you weren’t the little girl he used to push around and take advantage of in college anymore. “Made partner last year, actually.” 

“That must be easy to do when your dad owns the practice, huh?” Lando says, voice nothing but light innocence. 

Jeff’s eyes bounce between you and Lando for several moments before he suddenly reaches into his pocket. “If you’d excuse me, it looks like the office is calling me.” 

“A call from the office the day before Christmas! Gosh, you must be very important, Jeffery.” Lando’s low blow to Jeff’s big ego hits true and without another word, the man scampers out of the Starbucks without a second glance in your direction. 

Once he’s gone, both you and Lando dissolve into giggles, your head finding it’s favorite spot on Lando’s shoulder. “I’m surprised he didn’t try to deck you there are the end.” 

“And mess up his pretty lawyer hands? Honey, I doubt he even knows how to throw a punch.” 

tag list @shelbyteller @formulaal @martygraciesversion381 @longhairkoo @samantha-chicago

[darkstaria]

Yandere Batfam - Soulmate Soul Animal AU.

Chapter 4:

Chapter 1. Chapter 2. Chapter 3. Chapter 5.

This chapter is brought to you by myyyyyyy🎉birthday🎉 woohoo 🥳 I hath aged

It's a little bit shorter, but I mean come on it's a unique chapter soooo it's cool guys I swear

Lots more Batfam content this time, albeit Tim centric. I'll balance it out in the future I swear! Also it's still platonic, but you could probably get a romantic reading from this a lil bit if you try

Taglist: @moonchild-artemisdaughter @jjsmeowthie @madine11-blog @xxrougefangxx @hadesnewpersephone @neerathebrightstar @mel-star636 @jaythes1mp @rosecentury @lov3vivian @gaozorous-rex-blog @victoria1676 @vrsin @silverklaus @ryukyuin @kurai-hono-blog @thisisafish123 @isawyourbrowserhistory @ain-t-no-way-bsfr @realifezompire @lunaluz432 @nickey-diano @sukiiluvs @sara0055 @alleakimlala @kdidgg @paperhermits @lavender-moony @alishii @emmbny @sirenetheblogger @fantasy-angelo @andrasia @vinnvinnvintage @nyra-42 @armystaysatnct @beyond-your-stars @starsdotalk @adeptusxia0

----

A few days have passed since your encounter with Red Robin. He hasn't shown up since, but another thing has.

Your work had sent you an email. An invitation to Wayne Enterprises, to represent them. According to them, your location was the closest to Wayne Enterprises, and so you were selected. You lived 50 minutes away from Wayne Enterprises. Their home office was 30 minutes away. You weren't sure who was doing the math here, but they needed some more practice.

That being said, you could notice a pattern when there was one. This was Tim Drake's attempt to get you out of your home. And unfortunately, it was going to work. You needed your job. It was perfect, remote, didn't bother you as long as you got the work done. Jobs like that were rare, especially in Gotham.

Not for the first time, you kinda felt like crying.

If Red Robin, your soulmate, was indeed Tim Drake, then what was this? Did he have you figured out? Or was he continuing the investigation?

You didn't know...

Refusing to show up would get you fired. There was no way around that. But, what if you couldn't go?

What if you were too injured to go? There's no way you could fake something, the bats are quite literally master detectives. That and your soul animal form would likely reveal the uninjured truth.

Maybe if you injured yourself?

No, no no no. That was a bad route to go down. If this meeting is to check whether you are soulmates with him, a matching injury on your soul animal form would be like a criminal and a suspect having the same tattoo.

There wasn't really any option here. Which, really, is just typical for the vigilantes of Gotham.

"Ughhh." You groaned to yourself, cradling your hands with your head. You glared over at Red, who had been showing up much more frequently these past few days (which was saying something, since all your soul animals were already by you 23/7). Red gave a small chirp in reply, some sort of smugness in its tone.

Maybe it was time to invest in wind chimes or something. You heard they can scare off robins.

You felt like you were going to need it.

~ ~ ~ ~

Tim's developed something of a guilty habit.

It wasn't a bad thing, per se. Nothing B would particularly frown at. Dick might even agree.

He imagined you wouldn't quite feel the same, though.

You looked especially fragile, as you slept. During the day your face was haunted by false bravado, a paranoid edge to every smile. Sleep smoothed out the lines of your face, giving a softer touch to your slumbering form.

You frown when he reaches out to poke your cheek. It's cute. His hand twitches for his camera. You're always cute, whether it's a small little frown on your face or beaming joy.

He's developed a new favorite activity. Alongside solving cases, he's now watching you. He wants to observe it all. From little habits to obvious passions, he wants to know everything. Hobbies, skills, loves, DNA. He'd only just found you, the answer to the mystery that he's been in since birth. He's had a lot of time to build up this obsession.

He wants and wants and needs. He can wait to take.

You are a light sleeper, but he's a quiet stalker. You don't always drink milk before bed, but when you do, you'll get a little more tired than usual. Your groggy face is cute, too.

He reached out, stroking your hair with the slightest of a smile beginning on his face. It was soft. It reminded him of you, your soul animal form. It had flinched away from him earlier, as it always does whenever they were in uniform. Finding that you do the same as a human wasn't so surprising.

They had adapted to your soul form’s skittishness. They could do the same again. His mind briefly flashed through some ideas, an ankle bracelet, a watch, a collar? If it was on the ankle, you'd match.

He broke out of his musings at the shift of movement. A flutter of wings. B’s soul animal flew down perching on a piece of furniture nearby as a vantage point. He smirked. Looked like he wasn't the only one feeling a little possessive tonight.

He must've been thinking of you. Not surprising, given that your soul form was scheduled time with him today. They had to work out a schedule, else there would have been a lot more stabbings. Not that it didn't prevent sudden abductions occasionally, thanks Jason.

That was fine though. B could have you tonight, Damian could have you tomorrow, Dick the next. Because Tim had the real you, right here.

And he wasn't planning on letting go.

There's a room he's preparing inside Drake manor. He’d put your name on it, but that would be too obvious if anyone came around. Instead, it would be his little secret with you. He's only just met you, but he has plenty of ideas for it already.

He didn't feel guilty for this. Not at all.

You were his as much as he was yours after all. If there was a problem with these feelings, then why would fate itself tie you to him?

If anything, the only guilt he’d feel is not telling anyone else. He couldn't help it, he just wanted you to himself for a while. He caught you, so he was allowed to have you.

But was that really guilt? Or just annoyance at the idea of getting caught?

An alert on his communicator made him frown, taking him out of the trance he had felt into. There was more he had to do.

A shame, but it was fine. He got to spend some quality time with you, taken a few things for the future. He’d make more time. And you'll have all the time in the world for him. But first…

Tim withdrew a specialty camera from his utility belt, raising it to his face. He adjusted a few settings, then…

Snap!

~ ~ ~ ~

You fought the urge to yawn. You have been so sleepy lately. You had to wake up especially early for today. Lovely.

At least today was the moment of truth. You'd show Red Robin for once and for all that you were perfectly normal, and not at all his soulmate. He’d lose interest, and your life would return to its domesticity.

The one good thing going for today was that you're somehow accompanied by none of your soul animals. A truly rare occasion that is ruined by the fact that you're instead visiting a soulmate in the flesh. If any of your soul animals do show up, you have your old reliable bag to shove them into. So, you should be alright.

Wayne Enterprises was a terrifying image, but you steadied yourself with the fact that your whole life’s freedom was at stake here, which was much more terrifying. After that you could get through the door. Security just letting you through after giving your name almost had you running out the door though, you'd admit.

The elevator ride was long and solemn, giving you time to think about everything. Maybe you should think about moving, staying in Gotham was perhaps a ridiculous sentiment to begin with. It was a shame though, you were a Gothamite through and through, you didn't want to leave the country your parents lived and raised you in.

Still, perhaps it was time to leave. Things were getting too risky. Thinking about it, Wayne Enterprises? Honesty what even was your life.

The ding of the elevator door interrupts your musings, an assistant directing you to Tim Drake’s office.

As you walk over, you can't help but listen in to some shouting coming from the room.

A younger voice is yelling. “Give me them! You do not deser-” The voice gets cut off, as an older voice yells back. “It is my turn, you do not get to just steal them!”

The younger voice starts up again, but so does the older voice, alongside what you can only presume to be fighting noises.

You just kinda stare at the door. You are a working professional, representing your company to the prestigious Wayne Enterprises. You came here with lofty expectations and responsibilities to fulfill. And the CEO… is fighting someone in his office.

You have no idea what to do.

A minute passes.

You started to think about signaling an assistant to come help, but before you could do so the fighting seemed to end with a shouted “Fine! But B will hear about-” you can't hear the rest, as the shouting returns to a normal volume.

A door is opened and slammed, footsteps retreating away from the office. You take a moment to appreciate the fact that Tim Drake’s office has two doors that lead in different places, because it means you didn't have to meet whoever he was fighting.

A second or two later, the door in front of you swings open. Tim Drake is facing you, his hair a little askew, and his cheeks a little red. He smiles, an easy thing. It's as if the sight of you brought it to his face.

“Welcome!” He waves you in, somehow not acknowledging what you just heard in any form. The objects in his office are perfectly aligned. Nothing looks disturbed at all. How?

He waves you over to a chair, settling into one himself.

“Well.” He begins. “It's nice to see you again, Y/n."

You hope this goes by quickly.

[persicipen]

𑑛 “WARMTH” ﾉ JING YUAN. HONKAI STAR RAIL

afab gn reader ﾉ words 1.2k ᯽ sleepy jing yuan. you two warm yourself up during the cold night. bit messy but very loving. one or two instances of his cock tapping the cervix. creampie. cuddles and some compliments. petnames — dear, love ᯽ ADULT CONTENT ﾉ MINORS DO NOT INTERACT ᯽

An uninviting chill behind the warm walls of your private chamber — wind and darkness enveloping the world as it succumbs to the night, the summer weather long gone — keeps you away from unwrapping yourself out of the duvets. Here, you and your lover bask in the heated comfort created by each other’s bodies, basking in the gold light from the candles scattered around the room.

Jing Yuan’s breathing is hot, burning against your skin, sweat coating his toned figure and glistening like jewels, pearls he doesn’t need to buy as his own exertion adorns him beautifully — and you prefer him like that, anyway. Half-lidded eyes, sleepy, stay unmoved on your figure. His lips are bitten red as they ghost along the column of your neck and up to the shell of your ear. There’s an arm embracing your waist and another one keeping you close to his body, hand holding your wrist in a steady grip and pressed above your head, fingers entwined.

“Do you feel good?” He asks, face decorated with a smile before pressing a kiss right to your temple.

Your breathing hitches and legs wrap tighter around the general’s midriff, ankles digging into the muscles of his lower back and urging him even closer.

“Yes,” you murmur back, head lulling to the side, mouth parted open in silent moans and breathless pants, cheeks painted a deep shade of crimson. “More, please.”

“Heh… what an insatiable hunger, hm?”

The man laughs quietly at your impatience, honey-coloured eyes filled with adoration as he observes the way your eyelashes flutter and eyebrows furrow. One of your hands reaches upwards, untangling itself from his hold, and grabs onto his hair, fingers curling into the fluffy mane.

“Don’t tease me. You’re going slow on purpose…”

“No, love. I’m enjoying the moment with you underneath me.”

“Mhm, liar.”

He groans and lowers himself until his mouth finds yours; the kiss turns into a sloppy mess, trying to align your lips together, but you love it. You love him. He feels like home, your new home, a safe harbour to your heart and soul.

Jing Yuan parts away and takes a shaky breath, almost a chuckle when his thrusts start to become even slower, yet, thankfully, deeper and stronger. To think that you’re able to take all of his cock inside is an achievement on its own, albeit he relishes in the pride that he’s the one who made you so wet and needy and worked you open with his fingers first that you had no trouble letting his hefty shaft sink into your heat.

You two should get ready for sleep, plans interrupted by the growing desire once your bodies touched under the plush of the bedsheets. The general was always a weak man for you, your beauty, your words and smiles and affection — he’d give you the stars if you asked him to. How could he refuse to pin you under his weight, to feel your hot skin whilst you two urgently loosened up your robes? No chance.

It is no different now, where you lay under his broad form and take each and every movement, every roll of his hips. Your walls clench around him, slick coating his cock and sticking to his balls whenever he holds the entirety of his length inside of you, purring at the pulsing of your aroused cunt.

The candlelights illuminate the sheen atop your chest and cheeks like little suns, stars dancing in the reflection from the sweat. You look like a deity in his eyes, someone who he’d happily spend his life worshipping and admiring.

And he does so. His best, actually, based on the sweet sounds that escape your throat.

You meet his rhythm, letting yourself bounce back and forth on his girth with a wet gasp when his blunt head prods against your deepest parts, teasing the cervix, once, twice. He feels like burning steel, melting hot and hard inside your walls, tip reaching and nudging where it is too pleasurable, but you don’t want to stop, even reaching the brink of consciousness, dizzy at the tingling borders of your mind. The pleasure and warmth coil into a tight ribbon within the confines of your stomach, ready to burst out and set everything ablaze.

“I love you,” Jing Yuan breathes out, kissing the side of your face, trailing to your cheeks and then lips.

“I love you too…”

“How sweet to hear it coming from you. You’re so good to me, yes?”

“Yes, but… only if you stop teasing. Come on, general, move a bit more.”

A hand let go of your waist, and his fingers find the little nub above your folds. His digits play with it, and your thighs tremble and tighten around his body, breath stuck in your throat before a loud whimper escapes your mouth.

“I’m close,” you tell him, nails digging into his shoulder and dragging along the expanse of his muscles, leaving red lines on his pale skin.

“Yes, yes,” he pants out, forehead lowering until it’s pressing against yours. He smiles and his teeth nibble onto your lips, licking the spit and tasting the sweet remnants of spiced tea from your previous meal.

“Please, I can’t take it anymore, dear…”

“Come for me, my love. Come undone for me.”

Jing Yuan’s name tumbles out from your tongue when your back arches and your pussy clamps around him, tight, unbearable. The coil within you snaps, heat engulfing your whole figure from the tip of your clit to the ends of your limbs and fingers as the ripples of pleasure keep crashing against your nerves. Again and again, relentlessly.

Your orgasm is enough to drive him into his own completion. The snug grip and wetness of your cunt, the finest embrace, get him to grunt and lick the sensitive flesh of your neck, all while the twisted knot within his loins unwinds at last. His essence spills into you and fills up the insides with the whiteness of his cum, some of it immediately sticking to his cock and creating a creamy ring around his girth. He rocks his hips a few more times before stilling completely, chest rising and falling in unison with your own.

After a minute or ten, the general moves off of you — his weight palpable and allowing you to take a deep breath, although it’s not that having him on top of you was anything bad — and pulls back the head of his softened cock, nudging your entrance one last time before letting himself slip out.

Quickly, he gathers you in his arms and moves your body sideways, laying down and resting his back on the softness of the mattress, bringing you close to his chest, still damp from the exercise.

“Quite handsome you are, general.” You grin.

“Not as quite beautiful as you.”

Among giggles and sleepy kisses, your fingers rake through the matted strands of his hair and brush the unruly crimson ribbon from his face. Amazing that it somehow managed to keep the loose ponytail intact, merely loosened up and letting some more of the silver locks fall on his shoulders.

[solxamber]

Date(?) Night- Rook Hunt x reader

Rook is convinced that you have feelings for him after your "date". You have no idea what he's talking about, considering you never went on a date

You’re minding your own business in the tranquil courtyard, taking in the morning sun, when suddenly, out of the corner of your eye, you spot a familiar figure approaching—Rook Hunt. His feathered hat tips with the breeze, his eyes twinkling with mischief. You've come to learn that when Rook has that look in his eyes, it means he’s up to something. Something involving you, most likely.

"Ah, ma chérie, the morning sun pales in comparison to your beauty today!" Rook announces as he strides over, his voice dripping with theatrical flair.

You sigh but can’t help a small smile creeping up your lips. “Rook, it’s too early for this.”

“Non, non!” He gasps dramatically, clutching a hand to his chest as if wounded. “It is never too early to admire the exquisite masterpiece that is before me.”

It’s his usual routine, something you’ve gotten used to over time, though it never ceases to catch you off guard when he throws in a new metaphor or an unexpected compliment. Today, however, there’s an extra glint of mischief in his eye, and you know he’s building up to something.

“And yet,” he says, his tone dropping as he leans a bit closer, “how can you sit here and pretend that last night was nothing?”

Your brows knit together in confusion. “What are you talking about, Rook?”

“Ah! You play coy!” He grins, crossing his arms, clearly delighting in your perplexed expression. “How can you tell me you don’t have feelings for me when we went for a long, romantic walk together last night?”

You blink at him, stunned. “Wait…what?”

“Oui, oui!” he nods enthusiastically, his smile wide and radiant. “The moonlit path, the rustling leaves, the gentle wind carrying the scent of flowers… Surely, you remember our intimate stroll under the stars.”

“We never went for a walk together, I walked home alone last night” you say slowly, trying to decipher whatever strange game he’s playing at.

“Ah, but we did,” Rook insists, eyes sparkling like he’s revealing the grandest secret. “I was there too! Behind the the trees. How could you not notice me?!”

You gape at him, mouth slightly open. He says it so casually, so cheerfully, as if his behavior was completely normal. And of course, with Rook, it kind of is.

“You were... hiding?” you ask, half-laughing in disbelief. “Stalking me from the trees?”

“Stalking?” He looks scandalized, shaking his head dramatically. “Non, non, non! I was merely observing! Like a hunter admires the grace of a deer as it glides through the forest. Every movement, every glance—it was all so enchanting! How could I resist?”

“Rook,” you say, rubbing your temples, “you can’t just follow people from the shadows and call it a romantic walk. That’s not how this works.”

“But of course it is!” He steps closer, eyes gleaming with intensity. “I was there, every step of the way. Witnessing your grace, your every thought etched upon your face as you gazed at the stars. How could that not be a shared moment?”

You let out a disbelieving laugh, crossing your arms. “A shared moment usually involves, you know, both people being aware that it’s happening.”

Rook simply smiles, unfazed. “Details, details. The heart understands what the mind does not.”

“I’m pretty sure my mind understands that I was alone,” you reply, trying to keep a straight face but failing miserably.

“And yet,” Rook continues, undeterred, “your heart knew I was there. It called out to me through the night. Even in your solitude, you must have felt my presence, my devotion.”

You shake your head, though you’re smiling now. "I didn’t feel anything, except maybe the wind. Are you sure it wasn’t just your imagination?"

Rook places a hand over his heart, his voice taking on a more somber tone. "Ah, mon trésor, do not wound me so. My feelings are as real as the stars we gazed upon—albeit, from different vantage points."

You can't help but laugh at his earnestness. Only Rook could make something so absurd sound so heartfelt. He’s watching you now, eyes still twinkling, clearly waiting for you to respond in kind.

“All right,” you say, crossing your arms, “so let me get this straight—you think I have feelings for you because you stalked me during a walk I took by myself?”

Rook gasps again, this time more softly. “Mon amour, you wound me with such harsh terms. I was merely accompanying you, albeit from a respectable distance. It’s not my fault you didn’t notice the hunter in the shadows.”

“Uh-huh,” you reply, rolling your eyes. “So, what now? Are you going to follow me on all my walks and claim we're having romantic dates?”

“Only if you wish,” he says brightly, as though it were a reasonable offer.

You blink at him, taken aback. “Wait… you’re serious?”

“Why not?” Rook grins, stepping closer, his presence almost overwhelming as he peers down at you. “But! If it would please you more to be aware of my presence—”

“Yeah, I think I’d like that,” you interrupt, chuckling. “How about you actually ask me on a date next time instead of lurking in the trees like some kind of... I don’t know, cryptid?”

Rook’s face lights up with a dazzling smile. “Ah! A formal invitation, then! Très bien, ma douce! Consider this my official request—will you grace me with your presence on a proper date, where we both walk together, side by side, beneath the moonlight?”

His eyes are so full of sincerity that it takes you a moment to respond. You weren’t expecting this to go anywhere serious, but Rook has a way of making the ridiculous seem… oddly romantic.

“Fine,” you say, smirking as you hold out your hand. “But only if you promise not to hide behind trees this time.”

Rook beams, clasping your hand in his and bringing it to his lips with a soft, gallant kiss. “You have my word, mon trésor. From this moment on, I shall walk beside you, in full view, where you can witness my admiration in all its glory.”

You can’t help but laugh, but there’s a warmth spreading in your chest as he continues to hold your hand, his gaze never leaving yours. For all his theatrics, Rook’s affection is genuine. He’s not just playing a part—he truly does admire you, even if his methods are a little… unconventional.

“Okay, then,” you say, squeezing his hand before letting go. “Tomorrow night?”

“Tomorrow night,” he repeats, his voice soft but full of excitement.

You shake your head, unable to wipe the smile off your face as you turn to leave. But before you take more than a few steps, Rook calls out to you.

“Ah, but wait! One more thing!”

You stop, turning back to him with a curious look. “What now?”

Rook places a hand over his heart, bowing slightly as he gazes up at you with that intense, adoring expression of his. “How shall I dress for our moonlit rendezvous? Shall I wear the colors of the night, to blend in with the shadows, or shall I shine like the stars themselves, to match the radiance of your beauty?”

You roll your eyes but can't help the chuckle that escapes. “Just… wear something comfortable. We’re going for a walk, not a runway show.”

Rook gasps as though you’ve said something scandalous. “Comfortable? Ah, ma chère, there is no such thing as comfort when in the presence of such beauty. I must be at my most elegant, my most refined, my—”

“Rook,” you interrupt, laughing. “Just wear something normal, okay?”

He grins, eyes glinting with amusement. “As you wish, mon trésor. I shall endeavor to be ‘normal’ for you.”

With a shake of your head, you turn to walk away, this time managing to get a little further. But even as you leave him behind, you can still hear the faint sound of his voice, calling after you one last time.

“Tomorrow night, my dear! And this time, I promise—I’ll be right beside you!”

Masterlist

[kentoxo]

friction | reader (f) x crush!nanami pt.14

pairing: reader (f) x crush!nanami

synopsis: [AU] you have always had a crush on nanami. since the day you were hired as his personal assistant, you've been right at his side combating numbers and making money within the finance department for the company you two worked for. but, things take a turn when nanami catches wind of your feelings, and rejects you. little did he know the weight of his mistake.

warnings: angst, heartbreak, sexual tension, jealousy (future smut)

a/n: AHHH IM BACK YALL, IM SO SORRY I WAS GONE. life was doing its thang, but i have returned! here is a nice, warm part in attempts to apologize for my absence xo this might not be checked for spelling or anything so pls forgive me. its late and i have a baby cold but i wanted this part to come out already!

all parts: pt.1, pt.2, pt.3, pt.4, pt.5, pt.6, pt.7, pt.8, pt.9, pt.10, pt.11, pt.12, pt.13,

December | Tokyo, Japan | Tuesday (after work)

“Haibara, he likes me!” You screech into your phone. Your pillow was at the mercy of your ecstatic chokehold. “The Nanami likes me!” 

You had spent a good portion of your night talking with Haibara. He truly was the only one who you could share your excitement with, considering his friendship with Nanami. He was the only one who understood the stiff blonde and appreciated how you managed to sway his feelings. But, on that same note, he knew you pretty well and was the best at teasing you. 

“You’re quite excited for someone who won’t give him a chance yet,” Haibara teases you. You frown at his words, hoping he’d react like you did. “Why don’t you just let him win you over already?”

“Because!” You reply sharply, jabbing your finger in the air. “He has to earn it, especially after what he’s put me through.” 

Haibara lets out a sigh, “and if he decides to change his mind?”

You huff at his distasteful question, “he won’t.” 

Haibara lets out a small snort, “didn’t realize you knew Nanami for as long as I have. My bad.” 

Sucking your teeth, you sprawl your limbs out on your bed, your eyes distantly staring up at the ceiling, “you know I don’t know a whole lot about him… but he’s different towards me now. There’s something there that wasn’t there before.” 

“Can’t argue with that one,” Haibara admits reluctantly. “I’ve never seen Kento act like this. He’s always been to himself.” 

You smile triumphantly at his words, “it feels like I like him more because of that.” 

“Don’t start,” Haibara taps at your confidence a bit. “Anyhow, let me leave you. I’m gonna order take out and watch a drama.” 

You pout but nod to yourself, “thanks for the chat, Yu. Have a good night!” 

“You as well, Y/N.” Click. 

You toss your phone to the side, a wide smile lingering at your lips. Nanami has intentions to conquer you. And it wasn’t like you were going to deny him, despite prolonging his torture. He could write his confession and pass it to you like in grade school, and you’d still check the ‘yes’ box. Your stomach felt queasy at the thought of his re-attempt, considering his first confession still remained in your mind. 

Albeit how that bad night went. 

Inspired by Haibara (and the growling of your stomach), you get up to order yourself a bit of food as well. As you waited for the order, you fix up your hair so the delivery person didn’t think you were a hobbit. While you adjusted your face, your phone began to ring in your bedroom. You rush to fetch it, your stomach tossing with excitement for the food. But when you blindly picked up, Nanami’s raspy voice came into sound. 

“Good evening, Y/N,” Nanami hums quietly, “how are you doing?” 

You felt yourself stiffen, “a-ah, good evening, Nanami! I’m well– and yourself?” 

“I’m doing well, thank you,” Nanami replies, his voice as smooth as butter. “What are you up to tonight?” 

You awkwardly pull at your holiday PJs and smile embarrassingly to yourself, “‘m home. Just finished ordering some dinner. Is um, is there anything you need, Nanami?” 

“Ah–” Nanami’s voice halts, the breath that follows filled with hesitance. “I didn’t want to alarm you, but I am at the lobby of your building.” 

You jumped, goosebumps raising all along your arms. “U-um, can I ask why?” 

“I, um…” Nanami’s voice streams off for a moment, heavy breathing ensuing. You assume it was because of the cold, and potentially the exhaustive walk over to your house. “It is a little embarrassing to admit, but my night is not going well.” 

“Oh?” You were surprised. You’ve never seen too much of Nanami’s emotions until recently, upon his acknowledgment and confession of his newfound feelings for you. It was strange to hear the twinge of sadness in his voice, and his reticence to admit his woeful feelings. “Is everything okay?” 

“Everything is okay,” Nanami confirms, “but the thought to come see you felt right.” 

A streak of red appears on your cheeks, “a-ah! Is that so…” 

“Of course, feel free not to invite me in,” Nanami hums quickly, “I can understand the inappropriateness and suddenness of me appearing at your building. I apologize for springing this onto you.” 

It’s true. You two were not dating, and weren’t near being official by any stretch. Nanami, just previously, was your boss, the person you looked up to. He signed your pay stubs and was the person who validated your work and relied on you to do his job well. He is not at the point to come to you and cry on your shoulder. It was simply the status quo not to do wifey things for someone who hasn’t even given you the title of girlfriend yet. 

But, this was Kento Nanami we were talking about. 

“Come upstairs,” you hum. You hang up, and look back to make sure your apartment was clean. Seeing that it was spotless, you quickly check yourself in the mirror, making sure your hair looks nice. Although you lamented not putting on at least some makeup, you were at that point in life where either he likes you as you are, or doesn’t and spares you that horror. You pull down your black sweatshirt, immediately realizing that it was not yours, but the one you borrowed from Tae. 

You let out a sigh. You washed his sweatshirt with the rest of your laundry, and then just assumed it was yours as it was in the pile. You rush to the kitchen to make a note to return the sweatshirt. As you finished the sentence, a quiet knock was heard at your door. Your feet quietly tip tap over, gently unlocking everything. As you opened the door, you were met with a bag of food in your face. 

“Hold this,” Nanami sounded, his large hand dangling the delicious smelling food before you. Your eyes lingered on Nanami, before looking over at the delivery man right behind him. 

You quickly put the food on the coat rack, and bow at the delivery man, “let me grab the money, please give me a moment.” As you prepare your stride, a cold hand grabs your forearm. You turn around to look up at Nanami, who gives you a small smile. 

“Don’t worry about it,” Nanami hums. He turns to the delivery man, takes out his wallet, and pulls out a large bill. “Thank you very much. Keep the change as your tip.” The delivery man beamed at his large tip, bowing contently at Nanami before rushing down the stairs. 

You could only stare at Nanami, as he let go of your arm to let himself in. He locks the door behind him, and begins to strip off his winter garments. He was… wearing glasses. You ogled at him, your heart strings being pulled at. His jaw was clenched, his breathing getting used to the sudden warmth of your home. His hair was once again messy, his body ornate in comfy clothing, very contrasting to his usual office get up. 

Nanami notices your eyes, and smirks, “never seen a blind man, Y/N?” 

“A-ah, I’m sorry for staring,” you quickly apologize, “I don’t see you in glasses often.” A strand of his hair lands on his forehead. 

“Ah, well,” Nanami’s entire body faces you entirely, and he pushes up his lens with his middle finger, “wearing contacts at night increases the risk of forgetting that they’re still on. I usually remove them the moment I get home.” 

Here’s the Nanami you know best, “that’s a good point.” 

You two stand in a bit of awkward silence before you look up at Nanami and gesture to the living room, “would you like a cup of tea?” 

“That would be wonderful, thank you.” 

He takes his seat on the couch while you bring your food over to the kitchen island. You quickly ignore it to put a water-filled kettle onto the stove. “Honey, sugar?” 

“Hold on both, thank you,” Nanami hums. 

You nod, quickly paying attention to your food. You look over at him awkwardly, “are you hungry? I had no idea that you would be coming, I would have ordered more food…” 

Nanami quickly raises his hand, “please, my visit was completely unprecedented. You couldn’t have prepared for it.” 

You quietly stare at him. You could see the distance in his eyes, his hands resting on his knees. One of his legs bounced with some sort of anxiety, his thumbs twiddling around one another. You noticed that he barely kept his gaze towards you, looking back down after each brief silence. It felt like there was a bubble around him that he wasn’t quite ready for you to pop yet. 

With a small smile, you bring out two plates and carry it with the bag of takeout. You join him on the couch, and quickly begin to unbag your food. Nanami only watched as you began to divide your food in half. He quickly sits up and holds your forearm gently, stopping you from continuing. “There is no need, please enjoy your meal, Y/N.” 

“Food always makes me feel better when I don’t really feel the best,” you hum quietly. You gently remove his hand from your arm and give him a curt smile. “We don’t have to talk about it.” 

He looks at you, grimacing a bit. You squeeze his hand reassuringly before putting it down to continue separating the food, “I hope you like stir fry with rice, ‘cause that’s what I got.”

Nanami could only stare at you with awe. There was something there that he couldn’t quite explain. A feeling. A semblance of safety, and some sort of nostalgia. As you divided the food in your comfy clothes, he couldn’t help but feel like it should have always been this way. He watched as you cut up a few of the vegetables and meat, and added extra gravy to his plate. 

“Y/N,” he starts with another futile attempt. 

You look over at him and smiled, “I have soda and beer. Which do you fancy more?” As you waited for his answer, you noticed the food was just warm. “Ah, let me microwave these a bit.” 

You carry the plates over to the kitchen and begin to microwave them, finding the opportunity to prepare his small cup of tea upon the boiling of the water. You prepare the herbs and bring it to him, the greens steeping in the water. He takes it from you gently, his eyes still glued to you as you go to the fridge and look over at him. “Have you decided?” 

He blinks for a few moments, “a beer, if you don’t mind.” 

You grab two beers and pop the caps with the bottle opener on your fridge. You join his side once again and place his beer on the available cup holder near him. Nanami’s hazel eyes stare at you, with your hand eagerly holding your beer, waiting to toast. He quickly puts the tea down and takes the beer in his hand, earning a few giggles from you. 

“Are you anxious, Nanami?” You asked, your voice breathy. “I have some oils I can burn if it’ll help put you at ease.” 

“No, no, it’s not that at all,” he begins quietly before he clinks his beer bottle with your own. You both take a swig. His Adam's apple protrudes alluringly, his bottom lip shining with the carbonated booze. “It’s just that…” Before he could finish, his eyes burned down at your sweatshirt. 

You join him and look down, searching for a stain, “ah, did I spill something already? I just washed this, and it’s not even mine…” 

“This isn’t your sweatshirt?” He had a hunch, but he wasn’t looking forward to being right. 

You nod, “it’s Tae’s, the barista you hired? He lent it to me when I was starting to get that bad cold I got recently.” 

“Ah.” It was the only word that came out of Nanami’s lips. He silently grabs your beer and puts both drinks down on the coffee table. As the ringing of the microwave sounded, you watched as Nanami stripped off his own sweatshirt (a beautiful navy blue shade) and put out one of his hands. You stare puzzled before you notice he begins to flick his middle finger, requesting the sweatshirt you were in. 

Obediently, you strip the sweatshirt off, feeling your cheeks warm from the Hello Kitty shirt you had underneath. But Nanami pays it no mind, his hazel eyes unwavering as he fixes his sweatshirt before pulling it over your head. He lets go, allowing you to pull down the sweatshirt. The immediate smell of green tea and hinoki wood intoxicates you, the scent of Nanami taking you over. You could get drunk from his smell, unable to contain the feelings in your heart. 

“Please feel free to ask me for warmth whenever you are cold,” Nanami instructs, his eyes satisfied with your new look. He reaches over your face, and pushes a strand of loose hair to the back of your ear. “This color suits you nicely.” 

You can feel your face go completely hot, “y-yeah?” 

“I’d like to see you wear my dress shirts someday,” he says with a cheeky smile. You then jump, your face completely flushed. Nanami searches your face, confused by your reaction. But he quickly bites his tongue, realizing his words slowly. “A-ah, I’m sorry Y/N– that was highly inappropriate.” 

“It’s fine! I think the food is ready!” You escape by rushing over to the microwave, slowly bringing over two steaming plates of food. You put both plates down and retrieve the remaining plastic utensils and condiments from the bag. Fixing his plate, you quickly gesture to his plate, giving him the go to eat. 

As he picks up the plate and fork, you quickly grab a few napkins from the bag and place it by him on the table. “I hope it’s not too hot,” you murmur quietly as you pick up your own plate. “I’ll wait for you to eat if you want it to cool down a little.” 

Nanami shakes his head, a small chuckle escaping his lips, “I can eat hot food, Y/N, don’t you worry.” 

“I have to worry about you, Nanami,” you say simply, “can’t do much about it now.” 

In this turn, Nanami felt his own heart skip a beat or two. He couldn’t help but stare at you adoringly. Despite not being able to talk about his woes, you didn’t force it out of him either. He never realized the power of companionship until he was here, eating half of your full meal, in your extremely warm apartment while you were in your PJs. He had always thought ethereal women always remained in the books of fairy tales. But then here you were, eating your food with your plate almost a little too close to your face so you didn’t spill and soil his sweater. 

“Mm!” You hummed with a mouth full of food. Quickly chewing and swallowing, you looked up at Nanami, “please tell me how much you gave the delivery man. Let me pay you back before you go.” 

Nanami looks down at you and shakes his head, silently turning to his food to begin eating. “Technically I am eating the food, therefore I owe for the meal as well.” 

You snort, “I offered you half, Nanami. So with your logic, I owe you half.” 

Nanami puts his plate down quietly. He picks up a napkin and dabs his lips clean before taking a swig of his beer. “Y/N, every time I come to your home, there seems to be a trend where bad things happen.” 

You look at him, your expression puzzled, “how do you mean?” 

“As in, every time I’ve come to visit, something unexpected happens, typically leading to something unideal for you,” Nanami says quietly. 

“Ah, please don’t say that,” you say in a sad tone, “it’s purely coincidence that everything has happened the way it has.” 

“Right, but now I think it’s true,” Nanami hums, looking over at you. There was an unwavering seriousness in his expression, his hazel eyes warm yet convincing. “It’s nothing bad, truly, but it is quite dangerous.” 

“What is?” You reply in a whisper. 

He leans over to you, his face beside yours, “my feelings for you are developing in such a way where I might accidentally skip a step or two in this relationship.” 

“H-huh?” You let out in a stammer. 

He backs away, but takes your hands into his own. He gives your hands a light squeeze, his smile capable of curing all woes you could have. “I have no intentions to rush this relationship,” Nanami begins, “once I make you mine, my intentions are to go at your pace completely. But I need you to understand that my feelings for you have progressed further than the current state of our relationship.” 

You eye him, feeling your face burn to a crisp. “A-are you trying to s-say that you…” Your eyes fall down to your legs, your heart unable to take this much feeling in the air. 

Nanami quickly chuckles, “maybe not that far, but I’m realizing now that I really do need you in my life. Because if you can make me feel better without addressing my sadness directly, then I believe I’ve always needed you in my life.” 

You felt your mind go stupid, your heart going into emotional cardiac arrest. “Nanami… anybody would do this for the person they care about.” Your voice was weak, quiet. You were always ready to undermine yourself. But Nanami will never be taken by it. 

“Right, but I’m glad I’m being cared about by you,” Nanami hums, “I don’t care about anybody when my eyes and heart are set on you.” 

You weren’t sure what was in the air, but considering Nanami’s hold on your hands and his adoration-filled eyes, you weren’t prepared for what was going to happen next. 

Taglist (OPEN)

@blossomedfloweroflove @numblytemporary @everyoneandtheirmothers @animechick555 @inthedarkshadows000

@m-arj-1 @julk4e @hadassery @swoozleee @angxlsatvrn

@v1x3n @s-witch-bitch @furgusonn @watyousayin @thechaoticarchivist

@simp-manhwa @5sos-wdw @ffyona1214 @phantombaby @evangel44xxcds

@ukiyodestiny @jasminelee324 @eurydxceorphxus @moonlightazriel @s3rp3ntsssc0ve

@dusty-dweller @wifenanami @bokuatsubro @ayesayman @starry-eyed--dreamer

@gradmacoco @nymphsdomain @whatelsecouldgowrong @myynameisbuckyy @nanamjai

@a-sor @typicalchels @celestialzdiviner @satoru-is-the-way @sannieworshipper

@shibataimu @galagcica @a-cloudy-dreamy-day @aporcelainphantom @monikosman1311

@fashionably-a-hippie

[yandere-3-sagau]

Yandere!SAGAU x Secret!Creator!Reader Part 2.5

Short Summary: After encountering a group of hilichurls on your way to Inazuma, you discover the benefits that come with being the creator of Teyvat. (i couldn’t sleep so i decided to keep my flow of thoughts going.)

characters: Xiao

warning(s): blood, violence, heart attack, ooc characters, xiao being weird

Previous | Next

─── ･ ｡ﾟ✧: *.☽ .* : ✧.───

You’re on your way to the harbor, pushing Grandpa Fuyi in his wheelchair. The grass crunches beneath your feet as you put a bit more force in pushing him. The two of you travel on the outskirts of the town away from the dirt path that leads to the main town.

Not long ago, a deep feeling told you that if you were to enter through the main town you’d definitely run into Zhongli. Just the thought of it sent shivers down your spine. To avoid being seen, you decided to take a detour.

As you’re walking, you see a group of hilichurls resting with their weapons laid by their side. You slow your pace, being very careful with your movements…but as your eyes scan the area, you feel your heart drop in your chest. Not far from the group of hilichurls, you see the large figure resting against a tree beside them… a mitachurl.

It’s your first time ever coming across one and even from a distance away you can tell how large they really are. Their size in real life is incomparable to the size you’ve seen on your screen. The sheer size of the monster makes you freeze in your tracks. Sweaty hands tightening on the handles of Grandpa Fuyi’s wheelchair, you slowly begin to back away. However, the squeak of the wheels, albeit quiet, is enough to wake them.

They, jump up, alert. Their eyes immediately turn to the two of you, snarls echoing into the air. The mitachurl wakes as well, the ground shaking as it jumps up. Their loud roars wake Grandpa Fuyi up. He realizes the situation you are in and you can feel how hard he’s shaking through the handles of the wheel chair. You too, are filled with terror, not only in fear of your life but for Grandpa Fuyi’s.

Despite his fear, he yells at you.

“R..Run… run away!” His voice finally snaps you out of your trance and you quickly begin to wheel him away as fast as you can. But your pace isn’t fast enough and Grandpa Fuyi knows this as well.

“Child… leave me…”

Your eyes widen and when you process his words, a tear falls from down your cheek. The glittering crystal falls to the ground as you continue running.

“No!” you tell him. Your voice is shaky, a stark difference to Grandpa Fuyi’s which is surprisingly steady. It’s as if he’s accepted his fate.

“It’s alright… I’ve lived long en-“ you interrupt him immediately.

“Are you insane?!”

You keep on running. You hear a low hiss in the air and you stumble, cursing when you feel a sharp pain in your back. You head twists, glancing down behind you to see golden blood dripping from your clothing and an arrow sticking out from your lower back.

Your pace slows from the pain, sweat dripping down your face. You can hear the footsteps grow louder and the ground shakes heavily from the mitachurl’s stomps. A slight turn of the head tells you that it’s too late to run as the mitachurl has caught up.

Unable to run any longer, the gears in your head turn fast as you think of way to get out of the situation. The mitachurl is only a few feet away from you, your body now filled with adrenaline.

The mitachurl swings his club, you can feel the wind as it comes down towards the two of you. As a last attempt to protect him, you shield Grandpa Fuyi with your hands up, hoping to take the majority of the blow.

Just as you feel the club collide with your arm, a golden light blinds you. The light clears and all of a sudden you see the monsters launched away from you, slamming into the ground, their bodies slowly disappearing.

Who… who saved us?

Your eyes scan the surrounding area for your hero, until you realize that it’s only you and Grandpa Fuyi. Realization sets in and you stare at your hands in shock.

Did I… was it me?

You’re snapped out of your thoughts when you hear Granda Fuyi gasping. You turn to see him grasping at his chest. It seems like the weight of the situation finally weighed down on him as his face is scrunched up in pain.

“My chest…” you kneel by his side, eyes wide. You panic once more, not knowing what to do. He’s having a heart attack.

Amongst your racing thoughts, an idea flashes in your head.

I-I’m the creator, you think.

You stare at your hands before placing them on his chest. A few seconds pass and nothing happens. Grandpa Fuyi’s groans of pain continue, frail hands clawing at your hands on his chest.

Your pillar, the one person to help you, is dying and you can’t do anything about it. Your hands shake, tears falling down. The tears harden into crystals, some bouncing off onto the floor, the others piling onto his legs as you lean over him. Grandpa Fuyi is too dizzy from the intense pain that he doesn’t even notice.

The time you spent together flashes through your head. You think of the times he helped you, the times he stayed awake late at night to comfort you when you couldn’t sleep from the fear of unfamiliarity. His kind smile and his corny jokes that took you a while to even understand.

As you’re lost in your thoughts with your crystal tears still steaming, a small light suddenly flashes from where your hands are placed against his chest. Letting out a gasp, you wait for the light to die down.

Grandpa Fuyi begins to relax and his eyes flutter shut. Your heart drops in your chest. It isn’t until you hear the soft sounds of his breathing that you realize he’s fine. You let out a cry of relief, resting your head on his knee.

Finally, you start to calm down and your breathing evens out. However, as the adrenaline leaves your body, the pain starts to sink in. You reach for your back, flinching as you feel the wooden arrow stick out. You curse, unsure of what to do. You know if you pull it out, blood will rush out like a champagne bottle with the cork popped off… but if you try and get help, your identity as the creator will be revealed.

Your eyes squeeze shut for a moment before you open them and grab a shirt from your bag. You rip the shirt into strips and roll up one of the strips into ball. With a deep exhale, you reach for the arrow, hoping for the best. Your hands pause, scared of the pain that is soon to come. However, with no other options, you force yourself to build up courage.

Finally, you rip it out, the pain of your skin tearing causing you to cry out. You can feel the blood pour out of you so you quickly press the cloth ball to your back and apply pressure to the wound. You wince and bite your lip to silence the scream you want to let out. Using the other strips from the ripped up shirt, you clumsily wrap the wound as best you can.

Finally finished, you let out a sigh, the pain still radiating from your body. After a bit, you realize you’re still out in the open with the sun almost completely set. The danger starts to sink in again, so you stand up, ignoring the pain. You wipe your hands, thankful for your black clothes that hide the golden blood stains before rushing Grandpa Fuyi to the harbor. As you rush, you forget to clean up the crystal tears and puddle of golden blood you left behind from the disaster you just experienced.

Filled with desperation and the need to leave Liyue, you don’t notice the figure standing on a hill not far from you, watching as you leave.

—

Xiao was doing his nightly rounds when he heard the echoing stomps of a mitachurl. He quickly rushed over to the danger, spear grasped tightly in his hand.

He arrived just as the mitachurl attacked you. Xiao cursed, seeing the mitachurl’s club collide with your arm, thinking he’s too late.

However, he’s shocked by the golden light that erupts from your form, knocking back the monsters and destroying them with a bright flash.

Xiao’s feet are locked in place as he finally takes a good look at you. At the golden liquid that seeps from your body and the crystal tears that pile on the ground. His heart is pounding in his chest so hard, he swears he can hear it.

Is he hallucinating?

He’s trying to make sense of what he saw but by the time his racing thoughts slow down, you’re gone.

Dazed and unsure of reality, he slowly shuffles over to the place you were just at, the scent of blood growing stronger as he draws near. Xiao drops to his knees beside the puddle of blood and tears. His hands shakily touch the heap you left behind. A choked gasp leaves his mouth as looks at the warm, golden liquid on his hands. Just by touching it, Xiao feels like his karmic debt has somehow lessened just a bit.

It’s you… it’s really you…

He’s delirious, unable to control his actions as his hands scoop up more of your blood, bringing it close to his face as if he wants to cover himself with the proof of your existence.

Xiao wrestles back his self control and his rationality returns. Though he’s able to calm down, the need to see you remains. Xiao jumps up to his feet, ready to chase after you but he stops in place.

What would he say to you?

That he knows you’re the creator?

What would you think of him?

Surely you’d be disappointed with him for not coming in time to stop you from getting hurt. Xiao doesn’t think he can handle it if he saw you stare at him with disappointment. Just the thought of it makes his heart clench.

Although he’s reluctant, he fights the urge to follow you. It takes a while and several deep breaths but he’s able to tame his impulsiveness. Now, somewhat calm, he bends over to collect your tears, very carefully placing them in his pocket like they’re his most prized possession. After collecting your tears, Xiao leaves, intending to share the news of your arrival with the other adepti.

—

You arrive at the harbor, breathing heavily. Grandpa Fuyi is still fast asleep. With a slight limp from the pain, you go around asking each of the ship members which boat you can take to Inazuma. However, each of the ship members give you the same answer.

The only ship leaving for Inazuma is the Crux. Despite it be being black, your clothes are still soaked with golden blood. You’re unsure if you can handle the chance of meeting both Beidou and Kazuha without them noticing anything. You want to give up but the radiating pain from your wound fills you with a sense of urgency that forces you to accept.

That’s how you find yourself in the lowest deck of the Crux, surrounded by sleeping ship members. Grandpa Fuyi lays on a cot by your side, not once waking up from his deep sleep.

You wait for a while, making sure every one is asleep before heading to the small bathroom. There, you take the time to thoroughly tend to your wound as well as wash out the golden blood from your clothes. As the last of it slips down the drain, you stare at yourself in the mirror, thinking back to all of the events that occurred.

You start to wonder, what other powers do you have?

You decide to experiment. Thinking back to aspects of the game, your thoughts land on one of the most useful devices… waypoints. The traveler is able to use waypoints to go anywhere they want in Teyvat. Deciding to put your powers to the test, you think of a place you want to go to. You rule out Inazuma, since the Crux is already on its way there.

Still unsure of any limits you may have to your powers, you decide on somewhere nearby, hoping that if it does work, you’ll still have enough juice to teleport back. Although you feel a bit wary on entering Liyue again, there’s a part of you that doubts the teleportation would even work.

This doubt allows you to close your eyes and concentrate. Your mind forms the image in your head and you feel a sudden rush of power. When you open your eyes, you’re exactly where you imagined, inside the Wangshu Inn.

You smile widely, excited over having discovered a very useful power.

“Y… Your grace,” a voice full of wonder calls out to you from behind. Your head snaps to the side, all excitement draining just as quickly as it came.

Xiao’s yellow eyes are wet as if he’s about to cry. A loud thud reaches your ears as he drops onto his knees in front of you. Ever since he saw you, your image was constantly on his mind. Because of your sudden appearance, he thinks that truly heard him, his desire to see you so deep that you decided to answer his prayers. His eyes are filled with an intense admiration and a twisted sense of worship.

“I-I… It’s an honor-“

“Fuck.”

Previous | Next

[mingtinys]

" not so fast, patient zero "

pairing : wen junhui x gn!reader

a nauseating amount of fluff

warnings : jun is sick, but that's abt it

word count : 1.2 k

requested ? yes

a/n : i'm of the opinion that jun gets (at minimum) 93% cuter when he's sick.

"Alright, where is he?" You sigh, scanning the brightly lit dance room for any sign of your boyfriend, frowning when you come up empty-handed. Seungcheol peels himself from the floor, sweaty and winded.

"He's down the hall, I'll show you." the leader says before calling back to the rest of his members. "Once I'm back, we'll start again from the second verse, so rest up and be ready." All he gets in return is a chorus of groans.

You say your goodbyes and quickly follow Seungcheol down the hall, just a few doors down. "Sorry to call you all the way over here," he whispers, stopping just before he opens the door. "We tried to get him to let staff take him home, but he insisted we call you."

You shrug, "S'okay, I wasn't doing much anyways."

Seungcheol nods and carefully peers inside before letting out a snort. "I think he's still passed out."

Sure enough, there's Jun, tucked into a corner on the floor, despite the perfectly good couch available, with his knees pulled all the way up to his chest. He sits beneath a mound of jackets, presumably belonging to the other members, eyes half-lidded and lips parted. You can not fathom how he could possibly be comfortable with how his head lolls to the side. If he weren't obviously sick, skin pale, and heavy bags under his eyes, you'd take a picture for future blackmail.

"You gonna need help getting him to your car?"

"If you could."

Seungcehol nods, "Yeah, not a problem, it'll give the guys a bit more of a break."

You quietly tiptoe over to the bundle that is your boyfriend and crouch down. "Jun, baby," you call. He mumbles something incoherent, shifting beneath his cocoon.

"Jun, come on baby, it's time to go home," you coo, reaching out to cup his jaw, his skin clammy and feverish. He lets out a pitiful hum, barely regaining consciousness as he tries to blink himself awake.

"Y/N?"

"Yeah, I'm here, sorry it took me so long."

"S'fine," he mumbles, making you smile. It's hard to be mad about your day off being interrupted when sick Jun is this adorable, red nose, puffy eyes, and all.

"You ready to go home?" Seungcheol's deep voice resonates behind you. He's already stepping around the mess of winter jackets and vests, hovering over the two of you with his hands on his hips.

"Yes, please." You think he tries to nod but just ends up bumping his head against the wall behind him. His face scrunches up at the contact, though you will say, he looks a lot more awake now.

"Alright, up you go," Seungcheol grabs Jun's wrists, pulling him to stand, albeit wobbly, on his feet. The jackets crumple to a sad pile on the floor, getting trampled as Seungcheol leads Jun to the door, arm hooked under his armpit to keep him upright. You're not sure you've ever seen Jun this sick, not even when he got the stomach bug and spent three days hunched over your toilet. It makes you worry, and not even the sweet smile Jun musters up as he thanks you for coming reassures you.

All in all, it takes about five minutes to walk Jun down to your car, and another fifteen for you to drive. Which should have only been ten, but you had to slow down tremendously when Jun started mumbling about feeling nauseous. Now, your only challenge was getting him up two flights of stairs to your apartment without the aid of Seungcheol.

He tries, rather unceremoniously, to climb his way up the first flight. He's mostly successful, gripping the railing and hoisting himself up one by one even though his legs move as though they're made of lead. However, there are only a few more steps when his toe catches the lip of the next and he nearly face-plants onto the landing. You're lunging for him in a second, grabbing his shoulders and steadying him with cat-like reflexes.

"Sorry, dizzy," he mumbles, taking a moment to shut his eyes and regain his bearings.

"Wen Junhui, what am I going to do with you?" You mumble, guiding him to conquer the few remaining stairs so you can unlock your door. "You can go lay down in my room, I'll be there in a minute."

You wait until Jun trudges through your living room and out of view before you busy yourself in the kitchen. Brewing a special immunity-boosting tea Minghao once gifted you and grabbing a sleeve of salted crackers, then a bottle of cold and flu medicine.

When you return to your room, tea, medicine, and crackers in hand, you're met with a similar sight as to when you picked up your boyfriend from dance practice. Cuddled up with about three of your blankets and nested amongst your many pillows and stuffed animals.

"Make yourself at home there?" You tease.

Jun's face softens into something akin to a smile. "It's cold."

You answer by handing him the tea with the cold medicine, which he gladly takes after digging himself out from his burrow enough to sit up. He sips slowly, taking small nibbles of the crackers in between.

Jun, unlike most, is actually the picture-perfect patient when he's sick. Doesn't fuss or argue when you're shoving medicine down his throat, listens when you tell him to rest, rarely asks for much, and is adorably clingy. The worst thing he does is pout and occasionally complain through sniffles about his head hurting. Really, the only downside is that you usually end up bedridden a few days later. Because Jun has a bad habit of claiming, "I don't want to get you sick," while simultaneously clinging to you like a koala.

There's a slurping beside you, Jun's head tilted all the way back and the mug practically upside down. He hands it back to you with a large grin on his face, muttering out a thanks that's significantly less raspy than his voice has been. You make a mental note to thank Mingaho for the tea.

"Feeling any better?" You ask, taking a seat next to him and brushing his hair back to feel his temperature; still warm. "Do you need anything else? More blankets, water, soup, maybe?"

He shakes his head, looking up at you with that same dopey look he always weaponizes before trying to persuade you into joining his antics. "A kiss."

"Not so fast, patient zero." You turn your head when he leans in, only for him to pull back with a look of utter betrayal, because how dare you deny him kisses when he needs them most.

"Come on," he whines. "Just one? For me? Please? I promise I'll take care of you when you're sick."

"No, Junhui."

"But what if I die? Then what? Then you'll never be able to kiss me again, is that what you want?"

"Really?" You dead pan. "You're gonna make this as difficult as possible, aren't you?"

He just puckers his lips. You sigh, internally cursing yourself for being born with a spine that has the structural integrity of a Twizzler. You give him a quick peck, then a second when he inevitably chases after for another, which seems to please him greatly. And because you're but a victim to Jun's charm, you press an extra long kiss to the crown of his head, earning a pleased hum from the boy in question.

"Happy now?"

"Very, you take good care of me."

"Yeah, well, take notes. Cause I can already feel your germs infecting me."

[sturnsdarling]

teenage dirtbags, part three

Skater!matt and overachiever!reader study in the library

vibe check: enemies to lovers au, a lingering look from reader? matt being goofy, bickering, just all the shit we love guys come on

1.6k words

A/N: this is like a filler part before the actual fun bit where they aren't just studying and bickering. ugh i'm sorry its taken me so long to get out a part three i'm so busy with uni. send me ideas for what you wanna see from them because your girl is braindead. also you know i had to make matt a feminist skater boy...being able to yap about philosophy in my fics gives me a little too much joy. anywaysssss i hope you love this

intro, part one, part two

love and cigs, merc

You had told Matt to meet you in the library, not wanting to be in a confined space with him like your room like you had been the last few times you'd studied, being around him was painful enough, you didn't need it to be a private one on one situation every single time.

You were sat, one leg up on the creaky wooden chair with your head tucked in your current read, absent-mindedly twirling a small strand of hair by your ear into a ringlet around your finger. The library is near enough silent, the only sounds being that of a whirling printer and a few whispers from people doing joint projects a few tables over.

The serenity of the building was quickly interrupted by an obnoxious slam of the giant stain glass doors, one hitting the door frame after the other. Everyone in the room turned to look at the noise with a scowl, and the loud crash was followed by a small 'sorry'. You were torn from your book, only to be met with the apologetic frame of Matt, shuffling through the tables, his board in hand and an apologetic look, that was hiding a boyish grin, spread on his face.

you couldn't help but roll your eyes as he sauntered over to you, not a care in the world as he loudly placed all his belongings on the old, shiny oak table you were sat at.

"wussup, y/l/n" Matt said, shocked that you were already here, "am I late?" he said.

you looked at the gold, vintage watch on your wrist with a deadpan face, "only three minutes" you said, looking back to him, "lets get started" you pulled your notes for him out your bag, spreading everything out on the table.

"Jesus, not a minute to waste, huh?" Matt chuckled, sitting down opposite you and getting his notebook out, followed by all the readings you had assigned him.

"I'd like to cut the amount of time I have to be seen with you in public down to a minimum so, yeah" you said, shooting him a sarcastic smile that he returned.

Matt laid out his books on the table, all five of them riddled with little sticky notes and tabs, seeming to be very throughly annotated and read. You scanned his collection, you only assigned him three, albeit they were the heaviest with the dark green tabs you had given him, but not only had he actually done what you'd asked, he did more.

A small smile attempted to form on your lips but you quickly reminded yourself of your distaste and forced your face muscles into compliance.

"I, um, I liked this one a lot, she seems like she knows what she's talkin' about" Matt said, picking up Simone De Beauvoir's little red book and scanning it quickly.

"Beauvoir was one of the first modern philosophers I read, she's pretty cool" You nodded, focused on the hundreds of tabs in the pages, "you annotated these really thoroughly" you picked up his copy on Fanon, fanning through the pages and creating a little wind tunnel in front of your face.

"you asked me to" Matt said non-chalantly, shrugging.

You caught his eye line and let a downwards smile form on your face, raising your brows quickly before tearing your eyes from his.

You and Matt got right to it, going over everything he had written previously and cross referencing it with all the new content he had consumed. His approach was near enough perfect now it just needed its 'meat and potatoes', as Matt would say, and he was good to go.

It was nice, being able to talk to someone about philosophy in a way that wasn't just them trying to prove that they knew more than you, helping Matt study was easy and, despite the company, a nice break from the dick slinging competition your degree often felt like.

"I think I want to make Beauvoir more central to my point" Matt said, "I feel like this whole concept of 'the Other' can be applied to further corners of society and... I kinda wanna try" His final words came out more nervous than the rest, as if he lost faith in himself half way through.

"okay" You nodded, pulling out your own copy of Beauvoir and flitting through the pages, "you can definitely do that" you nodded with a shrug, not looking at the way his face lit up in response to your confidence in him.

You and Matt spent the next few hours reading basically every bit of text the library had on Beauvoir, silently flicking through everything she'd ever written, trying to find the perfect point. Matt was man spreading on his chair, back low against the seat as his leg bounced at a rapid pace against the old, dusty blue carpet, his fingers effortlessly twirling a highlighter in circles as he lost himself in the tattered book in his hand.

You were cross legged across from him, head hung low on its hinge as you chewed on the end of your pen, scanning through applications of Beauvoir, trying to find something that hadn't been said, and hoping Matt was smart enough to say it.

You knew he was, he wasn't an idiot, he just never tried. It was infuriating, how despite his complete lack of effort, he was still always on the podium with you, taunting you with his effortless wit and intelligence.

"can you stop shaking your leg" You said, growing more irritated by his movements by the second

Matt looked up from his book, "it helps me focus" he said, still shaking his leg.

"its annoying" you said, huffing and placing your feet on the floor

"more annoying than your little incoherent mumbles?" Matt said, cocking his head to the side

you slammed the book shut in your lap, "what are you talking about?" you screwed your face up at him

Matt chuckled and shifted in his chair, "so maybe if we, actually no, oh actually what about, hmm, no that won't work" Matt mumbled, mimicking you down to the pen in his mouth. Once he had finished his performance, he looked back to you with a smug smile

"I don't do that" you scoffed, looking him up and down

"yeah, you do" Matt nodded

"no, I don't" you pushed, tone growing more annoyed by the second.

"yes, you do" an unfamiliar voice sounded from beside you, a stranger, joining Matts side

You immediately turned your head to shoot him a dirty look, returning your attentions to Matt, his lips tight in a smile as he lazily pointed at the stranger as if to say 'told ya'

you rolled your eyes with a deep sigh, pulling your legs back up under you as you opened you book in a strop. Matt smirked, biting down on the end of his pen with a small shake of his head.

"nothing to say, y/l/n?" Matt taunted

"just read your book, Matt" you snapped, looking him up and down once more.

Matts eyes widened slightly as his smug smile grew on his face,

"yes ma'am" he said, sarcastically as he returned to his book, no longer shaking his leg.

You both returned to silence, losing track of time in your selected readings. Matts legs were crossed over one another on the table, creating a small bridge between the surface and his chair. He had taken his beanie off, exposing his fluffy brown hair that fell in a perfect yet messy middle part. A toothpick hung from his lips as he once again twirled a pen round his fingers, unable to just simply read without doing at least something. You were tucked up in a ball on your chair, back against where your ass should go and legs hung over the arm rest slightly as you held yet another text above your face, mumbling to yourself.

You caught yourself mid mumble, and it tore your attentions from your reading. You shifted in your seat, looking over to Matt, who was perfectly illuminated by the green table light, his bright blue eyes flitting over the lines on the page. You let your gaze linger on his mouth for a moment, watching how he let the toothpick dance over his teeth, guiding it with his tongue.

As if he could feel you looking at him, he locked eyes with you, his head and body unmoving. You quickly looked away and soon noticed that everyone in the library had begun to filter out one by one, leaving you the only people in there other than the librarian.

"we should go" you cleared your throat, sitting up completely.

Matt looked around, seeing all the lights other than yours turned off and hearing the jingle of keys from the librarian getting ready to lock up.

"why?" Matt said

"because the library is closing?" you said, explaining it to him in the tone you would a five year old.

Matt deadpanned at your condescending tone, tilting his head slightly, "I know that, dickhead, what I mean is, lets stay"

"but the library is closing..." you said, cocking your eyes to the side.

Matt let out a short chuckle and shook his head, collecting all his things messily and getting up, "come on" He said, ducking into the darkness of the towering stacks of books.

taglist: @sturniozalt@mattslolita@shaquilles-0atmeal@blahbel668@sleepysturniolo@le4hsblog @sarosfilms @joemamaaa42069 @2muchofaslvt @seluky10 @cherib3lla @jetaimevous @witchofthehour @sofieeeeex @ncm9696 @lovesturni0l0s @pepsicola-pussy @ifwdominicfike @dani-sturn @stupendousjellyfishpost @aesthetixhoe @sturn-rose @mattsnronebitch @chriscorqutte @elizasturn @ribread03 @st7rnioioss @maggieflms

[starsofang]

Change of Heart

hitman!ghost x f!reader / part 3

previous part

tw: alcohol use, brief mentions of suicide, soft ghost <3

When life has completely and utterly failed you, you hire a hitman to take you out, too afraid to do it yourself. Instead of killing you like you had planned, he strikes up a deal with you, and you're too stubborn to bail out.

Day six.

You made it another day in your deal with Ghost, and it was supposed to feel good. The entire point was to prove to him and yourself that you didn’t want to die, that you could figure out the demons in your head and summon them out, but it was proving to be a much more difficult task than you thought.

Waking up on the morning of your sixth day didn’t feel all that good like you thought it would. Ghost hadn’t returned to your apartment since he stayed to see you make it to day five, and you weren’t sure when he was coming back.

It wasn’t clear why you were taking a liking to his company. Maybe you were lonely, maybe you just needed a friend, and he happened to be there in the right place at the right time.

The thought of it scared you, though. You hadn’t let anybody into your life since your ex-boyfriend, and you always preferred it that way – keeping a distance meant you wouldn’t get hurt again, and certainly, this masked man would eventually do the same thing to you if he decided to stick around.

You wanted to call the deal off. Not because you still wanted him to kill you, not because you wanted your life to end, but because you didn’t want to grow attached, just for you to not have a change of heart in the end.

It would be fucked up of you if you allowed a bond to form between you and Ghost, only to take it away through an act of death after the deal was up. That would just be plain selfish.

So, you tried distracting yourself instead.

It was a nice day today, and the weather, albeit chilly with that slight bite of cold wind, was an almost perfect excuse to take a night off and have fun by yourself in a bar. Surely, that doesn’t count as you going against Ghost’s deal of self-healing bullshit if it’s just for fun, right?

That’s exactly what led you to appear at a local bar downtown. Ironically, it was right down the street from the coffee shop where you first met Simon in the meeting to discuss your self-proclaimed suicide mission. You passed it on your walk to the bar, and a slight feeling of guilt tugged at your heartstrings as your eyes drifted to it, even as it was already behind you.

Shaking the guilt away, you continued on your journey along the sidewalk. There was no reason to feel guilty. You owed nothing to Ghost, and you were still technically keeping up your end of the bargain. A harmless night of fun was something you needed to shoo away those demons, at least that’s what you told yourself.

The bar wasn’t packed, which you didn’t mind. After all, it was only a Thursday night and most people had work the next morning. Lucky for you, that meant the bar wouldn’t take a long time for your drink orders, so you wasted no time in diving in, conversing with the bartender as the night went on.

About four drinks in, you could feel the weight of the alcohol lay heavy on your mind. It made things a bit hazy, like a brewing fog was beginning to loom over you. Your arms rested comfortably on the bar counter, head slightly bowed down as you attempted to keep yourself upright. Being an ex-alcoholic (you absolutely were not an ex, you just loved to float down the river of denial), alcohol was unpredictable in the way it affected your body.

Sometimes, it forced you to loosen up and have fun.

Other times, it made the weight of your issues much heavier.

Right now, it was an awkward middle, like your body was torn between wanting to enjoy this moment of serene relaxation, and wanting to plop right into bed and sleep your worries away, pretending they never existed in the first place.

The sound of somebody plunking themselves down on the stool next to you forced your head to lift, and when you came in sight of that damned mask, you wanted to stand up and let your legs lead you right to the bar’s exit.

Ghost sat unbothered, ordered himself a bourbon from the kind bartender. She flashed him a polite smile, throwing me a slight glance, and when you gave her a shrug, she left the two of you alone after retrieving Ghost’s drink.

“You a stalker now or something?” you grumbled in feigned annoyance, letting your head loll back down on the counter with a huff.

Ghost’s hand wrapped around the glass of bourbon while the other lifted his mask enough to reveal his mouth. You noticed instantly that he wasn’t wearing his gloves, and you stared at the littered scars on his hands as well as the veins that ran up from his knuckles and beneath the cuff of his hoodie sleeve.

Swallowing, you forced yourself to look away from them, opting on his eyes.

“Somethin’ like that,” he hummed, tipping the glass to his mouth to take a sip of the bitter alcohol. You wrinkled your nose up at it, not quite fond of dark liquor (though, who were you to be picky, seeing your collection of scattered bottles that consumed your home?).

“‘M not gonna kill myself, y’know,” you slurred out in defense, rolling your head so your cheek rested flat on the counter as you stared at him with what you hoped was perceived as disapproval.

“I know, love. Wouldn’t hire me if you were.”

Touche.

Frowning to yourself, you observed the way his lips parted to allow more of the murky liquor to pour into his mouth and down his throat, your eyes dropping to see his throat bob as he swallowed. The small scar on his lips caught your eye, and you couldn’t help but stare at it for a moment more, taking in the slight curve of it over his top lip, the scar tissue white in contrast to the light pinkess of his mouth.

“Why are you here?” you managed to ask, having to practically pry your eyes away from him.

The alcohol must’ve been getting to your brain too much, because you had the brief thought that he looked pretty. Gosh, half of his face was still covered by the mask, what was wrong with you?

“Went by your place. Saw you weren’t there.”

“You mean broke into my place,” you corrected, and you swore you nearly saw stars from the way his lip curled up in amusement.

“Mm. Maybe that,” he agreed with a careless shrug.

He leaned one of his arms on the counter, tilting his head in your direction. You could feel his eyes taking you in, studying you as always, as if you were a book he was analyzing every time he saw you. They stare at your cheeks, flushed from the alcohol. Your hair, which was lazily falling in your face from where your head lay. Your mouth, which was pulled into a mix of a frown and a pout that you clearly had no intentions of wiping off.

“Why are you here?” He repeated the question back to you, and you gave him the same shrug he had given you.

“I can’t have fun?”

“This fun to you?”

“...No.”

He chuckled out a laugh that rumbled you to the core, and you blinked stupidly at him as he downed the rest of the bourbon.

“Thought so, sweetheart. It’s a bit dingy in here, innit?”

You shifted your eyes to take in the bar, and sad to say, he was right. The bar itself wasn’t all that great, though you didn’t necessarily come because it was lavish. It was pretty old and outdated, with wooden counters, old floors, and stools that creaked under every movement. But hey, they had a pool table and a dart board, so it wasn’t all that bad.

“Maybe just a bit,” you sighed out, and he smiled at you.

“Right. So why are you here?” He asked again, and you stared at him for a moment before sighing again.

“Figuring myself out like you wanted me to,” you offered, and he raised an unimpressed eyebrow under the balaclava.

“Figurin’ yourself out with half a dozen vodka cranberries isn’t somethin’ I see as helpful. Weird choice in drink, by the way.”

You opened your mouth to protest, but promptly shut it, because damn it, vodka cranberries really weren’t all that good.

His fingers tapped mindlessly along the empty glass in front of him, and you found your gaze once again drifting to take in the rough pads of his fingers and healed cuts on the back of his hand. For a moment, a very, very brief moment, you wished you could reach out and take hold of it, just to feel what it was like to hold somebody else’s hand again.

It had been a long time since you’d had any sort of touch, both innocent and intimate, and your ex-boyfriend certainly wasn’t the type of man to hold your hand like delicate glass and place kisses along the back of it.

Ghost let out a long sigh through his nose as he took note of your mental absence. “That pretty head of yours is always runnin’ around.”

Pretty head. He always said that, and now, it caused a weird clench in your chest.

“You’re pretty,” you blurted out drunkenly, and when Ghost stared at you in silence, you prayed that the floor would open up and swallow you whole. Never in your life had something so embarrassing happened, and you weren’t even sure why you said that.

You’d met Ghost a total of three times, and it wasn’t under normal circumstances. Most people meet a man on dating apps or at a damn park where they accidentally bump into one another and have a moment of love at first sight. You met Ghost off of the fucking dark web.

“You’re pretty too, sweetheart.” He chuckled in amusement, seemingly unbothered by your sudden display of admiration, and you felt your cheeks warm.

You aggressively turned your head away from him, plopping your other cheek on the counter so you wouldn’t have to look at him. He made no move to stop you, which you were thankful for.

“Think it’s ‘bout time you start goin’ home and get yourself ready for day seven, yeah?”

Ghost’s voice sent a buzz through your already fuzzy body, and instead of protesting, you found yourself nodding despite him being unable to see your face.

Yeah, home sounded good. Your bed sounded good. Sleeping this shame off sounded good.

“Okay,” you agreed quietly, and when you felt a hand lightly rest on your shoulder, you picked your head up to look at him.

His mask was back over his mouth, but his eyes crinkled in a familiar smile as he gestured his head to the bar door.

Oh. He wanted to walk you.

You stood on legs of jelly, lightly swaying as you gained your balance. His hand reached out to grab hold of your elbow, and when you met his soft gaze, you felt small underneath it. Tall was what he was, towering over you, but instead of feeling intimidated like you did in your first meeting, you felt a wave of security.

Ghost had somehow knew you would be here, drinking away your sorrows, and he showed up with no judgment. Now he was offering to walk you to your apartment, even though he barely knew you.

Were hitmen always this sweet? Or was it just Ghost?

You let your mind run astray as he gently guided you out of the bar and on the sidewalk of downtown, keeping a light grip on you the entire way. No words were said, but none needed to be. The silence was comforting, and it allowed you your moment of serenity while you processed just how much this man was doing for you on his own free whim.

You expected Ghost to simply drop you off at your door and leave you to go inside, but when he fumbled with the doorknob and led you into your home, you realized he wasn’t that kind of asshole and he wanted to make sure you made it to bed instead of a heap on the floor.

His hand remained on your elbow as he took you to your room. The sight of your bed was one that could’ve brought you to tears, and you happily crawled into it, curling up in a ball the moment your head hit the pillow.

Ghost stood by your bedside as he waited for you to get comfortable, before stepping out of the room. At first, you thought he left you without saying goodbye.

Your mind plagued you in those futile seconds. Was he mad at you? Did you disappoint him by going out and drinking again?

Then you heard the tell tale signs of him rummaging around in cabinets, and you could only guess he was in the kitchen. You continued to lay there patiently while he proceeded with whatever task he busied himself with, eyes staring into the darkness that filled the room.

When he returned, he was holding a glass of water, which he set carefully on the nightstand near your head.

You didn’t understand. Nobody had ever shown you such kindness before. Life had only ever given you the hands of people who would use you up until you were wrung dry. People always expected things in return, and your fear was making you wonder if that was what Ghost was expecting.

To make things worse, you practically invited that idea into his head by saying he was pretty.

“Why are you doing this?” you asked, voice barely above a whisper. It came out in a tone that revealed your hidden uncertainty, and he instantly took note of it from the way his eyes softened beneath the fabric of his mask.

“You’re drunk. Not goin’ to just leave you there to dehydrate.”

“No.” You shook your head, frowning up at him. “I mean, why are you doing any of this? The deal, helping me, watching me, I– I don’t understand. I can’t give you what you want.”

“And what is it that I want, sweetheart?” he asked you, crouching down by your bedside so he could be eye level with you. You wanted to look away, you should’ve looked away, but you had never seen such gentle eyes before.

“I… I don’t know. Sex? More money? Isn’t this all some sort of trick?”

“Sex? A trick?” His tone was slightly offended, perhaps even hurt, and you instantly wanted to take your words back. “No, sweetheart, that’s not why I’m doin’ any of this. I’m doin’ this ‘cause I care.”

“But why?”

The air filled with silence as we competed in a staredown, and the sobering side of you was regretting every moment of this conversation. Stupid girl, always ruining good things, why can’t you ever keep your mouth shut–

“I see myself in you,” he confessed, and you shut your mind up. You didn’t respond, only continuing to stare at him, waiting for him to continue. “You’re hurtin’. I can see that. Life’s treated you real bad, hasn’t it?”

His words felt both like salt being poured into your open wounds, while simultaneously placing a bandaid over them with loving hands.

“You’re the only person who’s ever tried to hire me to kill themselves. Couldn’t just leave you high ‘n dry like that, not when you’re hurtin’ that bad. I don’t want to kill you, sweetheart.”

“You don’t?”

“No.”

“But… you will, if I end up deciding that’s what I want, right?” You weren’t sure if you were convincing yourself or convincing him.

Ghost stared at you, eyes flickering over your face that was dimly lit up from the stray rays of moonlight peeking in through your sliding door of your balcony. Your eyes were slightly glossed over from both the alcohol and unshed tears that threatened to spill, and he wanted nothing more than to wipe them away, to encourage you to let them fall.

“Don’t know if I have the willpower to do that to you anymore, sweetheart.”

He stood up from where he was crouched beside your bed, and your eyes followed, staying locked on his.For a pause in time, the two of you said nothing, and the room filled with a deafening silence that made it hard to breathe.

It was broken when he carefully lifted his hand, reaching to your face to brush a stray hair that was hanging over your eyes. The rough pad of his finger lingered, tracing along your eyebrow and tracing out the feature before promptly pulling back.

“Get some rest,” he said, voice soft and quiet, but still with the tinges of gravelly undertone that made it sound like a sweet lullaby.

Your nod was confirmation for him to leave, and as he stepped out of your bedroom, you called out to him.

“Thank you for bringing me home, Ghost,” you thanked with a grateful smile.

He looked at you for a moment before smiling himself, evident in the way his eyes wrinkled.

“Call me Simon, love.”

[yandere-sins]

The Orcas' Tale - Lyr's Story II

Here we go! I really wanted to post it on Friday, and I pushed through! Corrections are the bane of my existence ;; Please read the warnings and enjoy the end of Lyr's Story! I hope you guys enjoy the conclusion and look forward to the last part of the saga featuring Krill as well! Thank you all for being patient and waiting so long for this!

Fandom: Original Content   Pairings: Yandere!Orca Merman x GN!AFAB!Reader   Warnings: Yandere, Sexual Content (Non-Con Kissing/Touching/Fingering, Bondage kind of, Intercourse, Breeding, Modified Cock), Violence (Sharp teeth/claws, Strangulation, Violent outburst, smashing reader's head against a wall, Size Kink), PREGNANCY TROPE (but make it yandere/baby trapping), Mentioning of discrimination against the mixed baby, Monsters/Non-Human reader, Animalistic behavior, Mention of blood/claws/sharp teeth, Being caught in a net, Sexual Intercourse hinted at for both of them, Dolphin mating mentioned (basically non-con), Long post

"Look at those juicy lips."

You flinched at the sensation of Lyr's tongue dragging up your scales before swiping over your slit, the cold clashing with the heat of your cunt as his tip teased the entrance. There was an involuntary gasp before you bit your lower lip to hide any more sounds, refusing to give him the satisfaction that was already confirmed to him by your smell. 

Lyr had made a whole show of cutting parts of the net so he could drag up your arms and hang them from a jagged rock on the cave wall. Compared to his claws, the rock wasn't strong enough to cut through the net, but you struggled still, hoping the pressure—albeit painful on your wrists—would come to your rescue before anything worse could happen, the tips of his cock already protruding out of his tail even though Lyr seemed to be nowhere near that level of arousal that tingled in your own loins. 

He watched you as you struggled, indulging in your defiance with a dangerous desire waving through his eyes. He kept taunting you, closing his lips over your slit, letting the tip of his tongue flick back and forth while his hands held your tail steady, thumbs positioned to spread the normally hidden part wide open. You held his eye contact, even just to try and make him reconsider going any farther. However, when you felt his tongue parting you, slowly driving deeper into your cunt, your head fell back as you moaned, Lyr's lips parting in a wide grin.

"Not so bad, eh?" he mumbled against your lower lips, winding his tongue against your inner walls, and you couldn't help tensing and snapping your hips as you tried to escape and push him further inside you at the same time. Your body wanted what your mind didn't, and he had thoroughly prepared these two to disagree while he lavished in your failure to refuse him. 

Abruptly, he pulled your tail down, the net finally ripping in some spots, but not enough to free you. Like a shark on a blood trail, he lurched forward, pressing his face into your body hard, gaining a few more inches of depth. His long tongue wiggled around, curling and drilling into you until it assaulted all the sweet, nerve-wracking spots that made you tingle from your spine to your fin, and you had to listen to Lyr finding the same kind of enjoyment pleasuring you as he moaned and sighed. 

"Perfect," he moaned, pulling his tongue out of your cunt, leaving only aching emptiness behind. "You're perfect."

"Please stop…" you mumbled, perhaps unable to deny the pleasure raking through you but not the tears of unwillingness mixing into the water. You looked at him earnestly, pleading with your eyes, trying to find some reason in the merman. 

But there was no such thing left in his corrupted mind.

He chuckled, shaking his head at your request. You watched as his hand drove along his chest, down to his tail, fingers resting along the outside of his slit, caressing the sensitive skin. "Don't think we can stop now. How else are we going to make this family a thing? My dad taught me better than to leave someone high and… well, gushing in your case."

Sharp teeth flashed out of his grin as he watched your expression turn horrified, his cock slowly slipping out of the slit in his tail when he applied pressure. You expected it to be long and perfectly sized for an orca, but with how haggard Lyr appeared, you never thought of something of that girth and curve as it appeared before you. Even in his own hand, it was no small feat, and Lyr squeezed and bent it, showing it off to you from all sides. There was no gentleness in how he treated himself, but great pride straightened his posture, trying to make the sight more available for you when he noticed the way you looked at it.

You'd never had something so big before.

Lyr watched your every move as you gulped, your body trying to shuffle away from him in fear, unable to imagine how his cock could fit into you past the tip. There were bulb-like deformities on the underside, and you recognized the roundness and size of the pearls you had collected before. "D-Did you…?" you stuttered, and Lyr's grin grew even wider. He pressed his pointer finger to the underside of his cock, dragging it up over every pearl lodged beneath the skin, and you watched them pop right into place even as he moved over them. 

"Do you like 'em? I got myself one for every big guy I killed. Nice collection, don't you think? Everyone loves them."

Your whole body contorted at the thought of the additional pleasure these alterations would give you, the pearls rubbing against your walls, pressuring the already limited space as your pussy wraps forcefully around every one for them. "Lyr I– I can't. I can't possibly take you. Please, you have to understand that!" 

"Aww, don't tell me you're scared, lil dolphin," he cooed mischievously. There was no way he didn't understand the panic in your voice. But the playful spark of arrogance and self-centeredness dancing in his eyes made you realize he was very much aware of your biological differences. He just didn't care. 

Leaning down, he began licking your slit again, this time with his hand brushing up and down his cock as he kissed and explored your entrance, working up the heat inside you again. It was hard to concentrate on his rambles, slobbered words while he pumped his cock up into a frenzy, adding fingers to his tongue going in and out of your cunt, spreading and scissoring you open, preparing you for the inevitable as your mind began to cloud from the pleasure, hiccups and moans escaping you equally while you thrashed against him. 

"You'll be perfect when you welcome me inside. Tight and warm, ready to take my seed. You'd like that, right? Letting yourself be fucked into a pretty mess by my big cock and then grow my pups in your belly? I'll be such a good dad. I'll be so much better than my own. You'll make such a nice mommy, too, always big and round and never preferring one of our kids over the other. I can't wait to watch you raise my pups. I'll make you so happy, lil' dolphin."

"N-No…" you stammered, but your protests were weak against the delusion he was living in. Your resistance faded as your orgasm built, tail pushing into his fingers, silently begging to keep stimulating the spots he could reach. He was dangerously close to cutting you with his claws, and yet all your thoughts were imagining him going deeper. There was only one way he could, though, you realized quickly when he was knuckle-deep inside you, and you bit your lip bloody, refusing to ask for it. 

"Anyone ever told you how good you taste? I could eat you up, you know," Lyr mumbled, and you shivered as he slurped up the slick you produced right from its source. "I never tasted something like this before—you're the fucking best."

His hand on his cock was growing restless, pumping the red flesh violently in his hold. You almost felt bad for the poor cock, mishandled and lonely and so far away from your cunt—no! That wasn't what you were meant to be thinking about. "I'm not," you whimpered. "I'm just me."

Lyr's eyes dragged back up to yours, watching you intensely. For a moment, the water around you two grew strangely calm. The calm before the storm, you realized, your shoulders sagging in discouragement. "I'm a dolphin," you reminded him gently. "And you're an orca. We can't have a family. We can't even reproduce."

His movements were surprisingly gentle as Lyr moved upwards. You flinched once more as his fingers popped out of you, destroying any chance of relief and making you whine quietly. But you turned your head away quickly when his lips closed in on your face. There was another melodic chirp in your ear, encouraging you to be hopeful in the language of your people. It ran a shudder down your spine, clenching at your heart. 

"You don't know that," Lyr muttered, sounding almost sad about your statement. One of his hands slid down your belly, gently rubbing it in circles. "We could. No one said we couldn't."

"You're being delusional," you confronted him, finally facing Lyr again, only to be met with the hurt of smashed dreams visible on his face. Even if you two had been on better terms, there was no way for you to comfort him. No hands free and no sympathy for the merman, so you wouldn't sing a merry tune for him or rub his back. He had to hear the truth, face it, and come back from the trip he was on. "We can never be a family."

At this point, you were ready to face his wrath rather than letting him play house with you any longer. Even with your pussy throbbing, you knew that it would be better to die than accept his delusions just for relief. You two weren't 'mates' like things were told in the legends. Partners who'd weather every up and down in life together, no matter the circumstances of their lives. In his delusion, he wanted a family to compensate for his messed-up one. But that couldn't be with you, and normally, orcas weren't the kind of creatures to seek it out, either. Then again, nothing about Lyr was normal.

You two had a few more seconds of stare-off when you felt something big pushing against your slit. Confused, you looked down, only to see Lyr guiding the tip of his cock downwards, pecking at your entrance. "Lyr!" you gasped as he popped the thick tip inside, spreading you wide open, yet not even nearly wide enough for the rest of him. 

"We have to try! How else can we make a family?!"

With desperation in his voice, you finally realized all your efforts had been in vain. "No!" you screamed as he pressed in further, but his free hand rushed towards your throat, gripping it tightly as he ground his teeth, pushing into you inch by inch. Your voice was cut off, and when you tried to struggle, your trashing only further allowed him to enter you, tearing you open painfully. 

"Just… stay still!" he hissed, baring his fangs at you while smashing your head against the stone wall. Immediately, dizziness overcame you, and you had no choice but to let him invade you, your survival instincts slowly dying down as he closed off your gills, taking away your air to breathe. Your brain was growing muddy, not even the pain registering anymore, while Lyr concentrated on getting his cock inside you, not even your gasping concerning him. 

You felt his massive girth fill you up, going further and further inside until it was kissing your cervix. Yet, he wouldn't stop there, pushing past it so he could fill you with his complete size, your body strained to the last inch to accommodate him.

"Fuck, you're so freaking tight. I didn't think it would be that hard…" Lyr admitted, gnashing his teeth in annoyance. However, by the time you felt yourself go limb, his tail finally connected with yours, and a sigh of relief went through Lyr. He pulled his hand from your throat, giving you back your ability to breathe. "How is it? Feeling full? Betcha your little dolphin males can't even satisfy you half as good."

Unable to say much, you just looked at him, watched as he reached to your belly, massaging his throbbing cock through your skin, making you whimper. Your body made a miserable attempt at tightening around him, and he moaned loudly, bashing his forehead into the stone next to yours. There was a tentative drawback of his hips, just a few inches before Lyr slammed it back into you in its full glory, both of you moaning loudly. 

"Too much…" you whined, and Lyr leaned down, kissing your cheek down to your lips. 

"You'll get used to it."

Before you knew it, he caught your lips with his, diverting your attention from his rolling hips. Both his cock and the pearls used to adorn it tried to make space while your body desperately worked to keep it all together. You were still unprepared to receive another drag and blow to your cunt, squeaking into the kiss only for Lyr to do it again. Again and again, until your sobs were replaced by moans, the friction between your bodies heating up the water around you. 

It was so frustrating. The way you couldn't move, couldn't defend yourself. You couldn't bite through his tongue shoved down your throat or scratch him bloody with your claws. You've never realized how awful it was to be prey, always having been protected and loved in your family of dolphins. And you knew you were a fast and swift swimmer, able to get away from him, but your bad luck streak started with the net. And the most frustrating? Even when it hurt, even when it was unnatural and painful, you could feel the pleasure building, the orgasm he never finished returning quickly and violently as Lyr plowed into you. 

And so was he.

"Mhm… close," he mumbled against your lips, pulling his tongue from you to litter your face with little kisses instead. "You'll become a mommy soon, I'll make sure of it. Gonna fill you up real good, 'nd—hngh! Lil'dolphin…"

His words were a messy mumble, but you didn't concentrate on them. Much to your dismay, you felt yourself anticipate his pushes, your body moving on its own as it chased the height of pleasure Lyr gave you. Everything worked together so perfectly, even your own clammy tightness, as it allowed the pearls to pop in and out of you individually, stimulating every spot of your sensitive cunt. 

Unfortunately, Lyr was right, and your body adjusted to his size even though you never wanted it to, allowing it to come and go, pulsating between your walls in a warning of what was to come. "Lyr…!" you mumbled, and he groaned loudly. "Lyr, I'm so close!"

"Fuck, I can feel it, lil dolphin. Cum for me and open wide, let me give you what you need!"

Somehow, in the delirium, he managed to reach up, slipping your hands off the rock spike and instead over his head, entangling you two further. What a cruel fate it would be to accidentally get stuck in this net with him, entangled until the last day, filled with his seed, and so close to being eaten by your unwanted mate once the hunger struck. This cruel thought was stuck in your head even when he kissed you lovingly and deeply. It was as if he truly devoted himself to you in a moment of clarity, something a dolphin had never done with you. They had never bothered to adore you in the midst of getting their cocks coated in your slick. But Lyr did, with all the naturalness of a mate and all the love of a male who wanted the future with you. And strangely unbothered by his cock still hammering into you, driving you up the edge, so focused on his love even as you stabbed your nails into his shoulders, losing yourself to pleasure with the last bit of defiance.

It was you who snapped first, crashing back to reality in a life-shattering orgasm. You bit and tore his lips as you came, but you couldn't register it in the moment of overwhelming delight as your body contorted, opening up just for a few seconds. It was enough for him to spill all of his seed into you, using every inch of free space and carving out more. At the same time, Lyr's hand supported your lower back, pulling your tails upwards so the juices wouldn't spill from you any time soon. He even thought of that before giving in to the pleasure, nipping and ripping at the skin of your cheek, neck, and shoulder with the same kind of fervor as you had. 

You two were lost completely to the depravity that had just happened, and neither of you spoke or moved; only the pulsating shaft inside you still kept you on the high, allowing you to feel anything. It was just too much, and somewhere along the line, you must have passed out from the mixture of pleasure, pain, and insanity of this situation. Maybe it was better that way. Never waking up again was an option you had tried not to consider. Still, it seemed better than the alternative of staying alive with Lyr. Perhaps pregnant, perhaps thrown back into a mating frenzy if not. Either way, you didn't want to face reality; your brain disappeared into the darkness. 

A soft touch to your lips was the last thing you felt before the world collapsed around you.  

The first thing you felt when you awoke was the emptiness inside you.

Well, not completely. You tried to move, sighing at the heaviness of the net holding you down. It spread evenly all over you, pressing you to the ground as if it had gotten even heavier, wrapping around you tightly. But what truly made you snap back to reality was the warm sloshing inside your belly and how it distressed all your other organs. 

"Shh, shh, shh," someone hushed you, the net wrapping around you even tighter, holding you around your back and pressing you forward into the heaviness. Exhausted, you forced your eyes open, looking directly into the white of a body rather than the light or darkness of your surroundings. "Don't move so much, mama," a familiar voice chuckled before large hands rubbed over your back, surprisingly soothing the aches you felt there. 

"What…?" you mumbled, reaching up to wipe your eyes free of the sleep, finally noticing how free they were. Confused, you brought them up to your face, looking at your wrists, which were covered in cuts and scabs, already healing. "How long have I…?" 

"Two days,"  Lyr answered, finally giving up on soothing you and sighing, pushing you slightly away from him. Not enough to let you go, but enough for you to wriggle in his hold. "I was really worried, you know?"

Looking up at him, you registered his pouty face while he seemingly waited for an apology from you, but all you could do was blink a few times, feeling incredibly groggy. "Do we have some food?" you asked him weakly, and his eyes lit up as he nodded. Now, he truly had to let you go, slipping away from you to bring you a fresh catch of fish. His absence gave you a moment to finally take in your surroundings despite the ache you felt from every movement.

When you tried to sit up, you felt the sloshing inside you again, looking down to find your belly swollen and round, just like Lyr had promised. You rubbed over it, realizing you were still filled to the brim with his cum, and inspecting your slit, you saw a patch of seaweed conveniently covering it, presumably keeping everything in. You scratched at the sticky corner of the patch, only for your hand to be pushed away by a larger one, Lyr reprimanding you gently, "Don't. You'll make it spill everywhere and I just cleaned."

Your groggy mind still worked through his words as you looked around, noticing the cove now littered with trinkets and decor. The amenities all seemed strange and foreign, but you recognized them for what they were, pelts and trophies. It made the little cove almost… homey. 

Before you could say anything, Lyr pushed a fish into your mouth, and you began chewing subconsciously. You were hungry, and the drive to eat came naturally. You downed three large fish before you felt your strength return, together with your clarity of mind. Your body did a test move, your fin rising and falling, no longer held back and restraint, and your eyes widened as you watched your tail move freely. 

"You cut me loose," you gasped in surprise, and Lyr grinned, proud of himself as he nodded. 

"Can't have my pup's mom unable to swim with them, can I?"

With a joyous laugh, you rose from the sandy floor you had been stuck to for so long, circling the cove briefly before slipping through one of the openings, the light shining down at you as you rose toward the surface. 

"Hey! Hey!" Lyr yelled after you, and you felt the immense current of his body moving, always just a few inches away from you. Almost as if it wanted to pull you down again. Yet, he didn't stop you. With a big splash, you exited the water, feeling your lungs inflating again for the first time in weeks, your gills no longer supplying you with air now that you were back at the surface. 

However, you miscalculated the new mass of your body, falling backwards and threatening to clash on top of the water. It wouldn't be the end of the world, although it might sting and briefly disrupt your happiness. Before things could come to a rough end, however, two arms caught you, gently redirecting your fall so that Lyr clashed back-first into the surface rather than you. 

"You're killing me," he whined as you giggled. Being able to swim and move around made you beyond giddy. It had been way too long, so even this small win against the trauma the net and Lyr inflicted on you was elevating. He followed you as you swam around the surface, enjoying the sun on your face and chest as you drifted on your back, letting the water move you to wherever it was going. Although you couldn't shake the nagging presence at your side, glowering at you while you did your thing. 

"You're being too reckless," he blubbered, mouth half underwater, half outside. "What if you hurt the baby?"

"What baby?" you giggled, your mood still high as can be.

Lyr grumbled a bit more next to you before he dove underwater. Curious as to where he was going, you turned over, only for him to swim up to you from underneath, lifting you out of the water as he let you ride on top of him. "You're pregnant, can't you smell it?"

At first, the meaning behind his words didn't register, but your body knew what to do. Your hand drove back down to the seaweed patch before pulling away, smelling the sweet scent of a pregnant mermaid on your fingers as you dangled them in front of your nose. 

And just like that, reality came crashing down. 

You grew stiff as a board, slowly slipping off Lyr's body and sinking down into the depths of the ocean again. "That can't be…" you uttered, shocked and doubtful. You two had only done it once, right? Had he… he wouldn't, right? There was no way he'd use your body after you passed out, right? How long were you out of it? Two days? That wasn't enough to get pregnant, right? Right? He wasn't even a dolphin; this shouldn't have worked!

Lyr's eyes were filled with adoration as he swam after you, covering the light from above with his body as you two sunk to the sandy bottom again that had been your prison for so long. He caught up to you before your body plummeted completely, slipping his tail beneath yours to allow you to fall on it, cushioned, with his chest to lean on. 

"I can't be pregnant…" you whispered as his hand fell to your stomach, caressing your tummy gently. "I'm all alone here! I don't even know where my family is."

"I'm here," Lyr chimed in, adding a few manipulative dolphin chirps to comfort you. "You're not alone."

"How will I raise a child? I can't do it, I need to go home! I need to see my mom and sisters! They know how to care for children… I…”

"You think they'd take you back when you come home with my pup?" 

Lyr's question made little sense at first. Of course your family would welcome you back! They'd help you through the pregnancy and the birth, and then you could all take care of the…

"Oh…" you whispered. "Oh, no…"

Lyr chuckled, but even his amusement sounded a little sad. "If it's any comfort to you, my family wouldn't help us raise the kid either. Considering it's half-dolphin, it wouldn't last a day amongst orcas. They would tear the little pup apart."

"We don't know that!" you yelled, the panic turning into a hysterical frustration. "My family loves me! They wouldn't abandon me! I just need to talk to them. Surely they will...! They..." 

Your voice broke as you tried to stand up for your parents, siblings, aunts, and nieces. You were one big family; you always stuck together! But you couldn't help it—Lyr was getting to you. The what-ifs were creeping into your mind, and his presence, holding and comforting you, didn't help with pushing the painful thoughts away.

He grew a little quieter, pulling you tighter against him while still being wary of the life growing inside you. His voice was hushed when he whispered it in your ear. "We're all this pup has. No one but us could love it. No one will accept our little family."

The realization instantly made you sob. 

There you were, finally free of the net holding you down. Free to swim around, free to do whatever you wanted. And yet, you were more trapped than ever. Even if your family took you back, you knew that neither you nor your child would have a peaceful, loving home. Besides, Lyr would probably show up there, too, disrupting and uprooting your family just because of your mistake. 

Lyr held you as you cried, pure, unfiltered despair ringing through your screams and cries. It must have hurt his sensitive ears to hear the full force of your siren voice cry out, but he never even flinched. He just held you gently in his arms, rocking you back and forth until the pain finally washed out with the tears disappearing into the ocean, leaving nothing but numbness behind. 

"I knew you'd be a great mom. It hurts me too, you know? But we are doing what's best for our little… calf. We'll be a good family, even without anyone else, I promise you. Just like I made this a reality," his hand fell to your stomach, hinting at your baby, "I'll always be here, always take care of you and all the kids we'll have. I promise."

"I don't want this," you sobbed, the words hurting you more than you wanted to admit. But they were true. You didn't want to make a family with Lyr. You didn't want to be away from your actual family. And you didn't even want the baby. But you knew it was already too late. There was a sea witch out there, who could have rectified this situation if only you could contact her.

"You will," Lyr said firmly, claws digging into your tail. You winced, but this time, he didn't soften his grip or make sure you were unharmed. "You have no choice," he reminded you, and the realization hit you again that he was right. 

Even if you tried to leave, he wouldn't let you. He'd drag you back and force you into doing what he wanted, just like he had from the moment he met you. You no longer believed in the mate bond that connected two soulmates, but if he knew about it, it seemed that was exactly what he thought you two were. And that meant you'd never, never leave him again. Lyr was mad enough to imagine a bond that wasn't there, even if he never heard the legend.

"Let's be better parents than mine, okay? I promise to be gentle and love you no matter what, so please…"

You had to see it for yourself, make sure you bore witness to the madness you always thought to be deep inside of him. You needed to see if he was too far gone to reason. If there was any chance you could still escape him. A little spark of hope remained as you lifted your head, looking up at him and catching his gaze with yours. 

Only for that little spark to vanish completely. 

His eyes were empty, big and dark, and utterly void of sanity. All you saw was your reflection in them, paired with the small hints of his feelings all over his face. The desperation and loneliness in the way his face was covered in wrinkles. You noticed his love for you in the big, adoring smile he gave you through all the pain and bitterness that had shredded his lips, blood drafting from his mouth. He was holding back—what you didn't know. Perhaps the need to kill you, wanting you dead rather than defiant. Or perhaps he, too, was trying to feel something again, so he bit open the scarring bite you had left on his mouth.

Whatever it was, you realized he, too, was too far gone to be saved. Just like you, albeit unwillingly in your case. 

It made you almost inclined to agree when he told you exactly what he wanted. Almost.

"Don't ever leave me, okay, my little dolphin?"

[astralnymphh]

♯┆spacesoldier/spacescientist!ellie: who won't shut up about the hookup between you and her from the night before, and longs to do it again, fully. .ᐟ ★

literally don't question the randomness of this blurb. i run on revelations and sudden visions, and this one was just too hot to let rot. i had to pause a whole request for this thing. and it's a bit rushed, i'll like expand on it some other time i just wanted to return to this trope. anyways, I digress— space scientist ellie, nine month voyage through the cosmos, hookups.. tipsy hookups.

it'd be morningtime in the wake of certain events preceding that memories would slowly begin to prick through the surface— owing to ellie's imperfect subtlety. hills and hills of planetary research, prototype weaponry, instructions on how to properly utilize said prototypes, and coffee-stained reports, dawdled through like the process couldn't get any more boring than it presently is; stress, procrastination, a murk in the thick of your thoughts— literal brainrot. then, the main office zone gate slides open, that little airy whir pulls through your ears, and the person that walks through foments sudden recollection to the promotion party last night. ellie. a new recruit under your stations wing— and the immodest girl who was under your hood many hours ago.

ellie is a damnable pesterer of love; portending that if you've ever been intimate with her, she'll be stuck to you like an idiot's tongue adheres to icicles in wintertime. and tipsy her definitely was after you two had sex: pleading for you to stay a minute longer to cuddle, pressing every work-related praise hot into your nape, mentioning how good you taste out of the blue, so on and so forth. yet now that it is a bright and advantageous morning, and considering that she woke up to the scent of you woven through each fiber of her clothes— she remembers, and she reminds.

ellie's got her legs crossed, arms crossed, leaned against your desk's edge, small butt of hers rudely stamping one of your precious folders; the usual stance she does when you're plying your trade, and she prying for attention. "seriously. thursday, you and me, conference room number twenty-seven, i'll bring wine and fetch dinner from the canteen— please?" an earnest ask, you can sense it in her tone; evenly pitched and soft, softer when she pleads, as always, albeit that the spaceship you dwell in has no actual restaurant so dating environments are centered around some good old D.I.Y and empty meeting rooms. her foot winds out slightly to tap the spokes of your office chair, nudging the focus you so dearly casted to the papers below you, to her instead. which regrettably works; tossing an eye roll as you spin, "dates and recreational dinners don't fit into anyone's schedule here, you know that." it aches to claim that, and aches harder to see her take that hit of an that answer. watching her head drop and her mouth tug into a contemplative shape that wanted to battle it out with excuses, loopholes, promises— but it forms into a grin rather, and decides to be impish. "had time for last night though, didn't we? a great time, actually, n' i wanna see where that.." her voice sinks into the pit of her throat— deep and reserved — and her thumbs start to do that cute fiddly thing at her waist, rolling over each other while the rest of her fingers intwine and overlap, "—takes us?" modifying her words into a delicate, unsure question. a toothy, one-sided smile and sad puppy brows, ugh you could just pinch her cheeks. but of course, she spices up the deal, "hopefully.. back into my room, if my flirting skills aren't total shit." annoyingly rambling as a way to showcase how gravely you've impacted her mind the last twelve or so hours. so grave, you're the only thing her motivation could cling upon to urge her limbs and weasel her sluggish weight out of bed earlier. "please?"

that please chisels a smile into your lips, unfortunately-fortunate, "god, you're so bad, williams." poking fun at her and coasting the wheeled chair away with the back of your knees straightening, rising from your seat with documents in-hand, and agreeance in-mind; written ripe on your lifted cheeks.

"was i?" said indirectly, a cocky implication twisting her cheeks to the same level as yours. it took you— let's say, two, three, awkward seconds of squinting before you understood her crafty-ass joke that took your words a completely different, and lewd direction. stupidly faced too: cocking her brow with the scar slicing through, and cocking one side of her head upwards too, overall just cocky. now you could just squeeze her annoying face until it exploded. figuratively.

"shut up." "okay."

MASTERLIST . DAILY CLICK . READ THIS . PALESTINE MP . DOC VER

[aritsukemo]

The Oddities of Human Nature | Kabukimono

Kabukimono x Feminine Male Reader

Warnings: Wooo, where do we start? Major character death ( Reader ), implied suicide ( It's up in arms, but there are hints in the fic that reader may have drowned themselves in a lake ), self harm implied, sexual assault is loosely referenced ( only one sentence mentions it and I don't go into detail at all as to not trigger anyone ), themes of depression is referenced all throughout this fic, lots of blood is mentioned towards the end and I go into depth ( or try to ) in describing death so gore warning, the timeline is all fucked up but for the sake of the fic making sense, this takes place before Wanderer's three betrayals, reader uses they/him pronouns, finally, long story ( around 10k words ) under the cut. With all that said, happy reading!

A/N: This was a big hill for me to cross, but I'm glad I managed to do it! I juggled a lot of elements that I'm not familiar with so I'm sorry if this is all over the place. That aside, I found that a lot of the songs I listened while I was writing matched this fic pretty well! ( ..I also realized out that I maaaayyy have spilled a a little bit of myself and my personal struggles into Y/n, but don't read into that too much, okay? Okay. ) This fic is on the darker side of what I normally write, but I hope all who peep will enjoy themselves! :D ...Now I'ma go finish this finals project I got before I fuck up my grade-

Tagging: @nursedflowers / @kazusys, and @saioratral

Humans are odd creatures. They do things that may otherwise inconvenience them for absolutely no reason.

They could have a broken leg, but will still find the time to entertain friends by going out. They could be holed up in their room doing important work, but will still stop and greet their beloved when they arrive home. They could stumble upon a body in a lake and still fish it out and attempt to resuscitate it. It's strange, but what's even stranger are those humans. You know, the ones who would do things like that for a complete stranger without batting an eye.

"Are you alright?" A soft chirp echoed—one like a feather that surprisingly didn't get swept away by the harsh winds.

It was nothing like her voice.

Upon looking up, indigo hues fill with intricate floral patterns weaved delicately in a circle. Its varying colors twist and intertwine, filling the circle and providing shade and leaving those who fall under it to marvel at its beauty—which didn't soil or gray despite the downpour of rain that hit it.

That said, having been completely consumed in the art of the umbrella, it took another soft call to snap out of the trance..only to be sucked right back into it upon gazing up.

 "I noticed that you have been sitting in the rain for quite some time now. That isn't healthy, you know?" Their voice matched their features; smooth like a porcelain doll, but not nearly as tough as one; gentle, just like the silk that covered their body.

 "Do you have nowhere to go?" Upon hearing the question, the boy’s lips—which were formerly tucked into a neat line—dipped. It was unnoticeable against his pale skin, but the tender eyes that stared down at him seemed to be sharp like a hawks' and noticed it right away.

 "I suppose that means yes."

Their hand reached out to him after saying that and he found himself leaning away instinctively, making him susceptible to the sky's sorrow which drowned his already slick hair in even more chilling rain.

He's immediately saved again, and this time, he was able to watch his savior in action as they tilt their hand, tilting their gorgeous artwork forward enough to completely shield him again albeit at the cost of their own protection.

The rain took pleasure in dousing their hair, deepening it's color a little from the sheer amount it intakes. Ultimately, it's unable to take all of it and falls down on all sides, dripping down their skin, their eyelashes, nose, and lips, to where all the water meets at a point at their chin and drops from it to the wet soil at their feet like a leaky faucet.

Nevertheless, he watched a smile stretch across their face. A sight that he had begun to believe could only look so beautiful on a wandering snow spirit.

 "Please, young sir. Come with me. I have a place that could shield the both of us from the rain for the night.."

And in a trance, he—though tentatively—reaches forward and puts his hand in theirs. The warmth that touched him in that moment immediately shattered the illusion that hypnotized him and he blinks upon finding himself being tugged along by the hand. It brought on a perplexed swirl in the abyss he called a stomach and spurred him to ask the golden question, "Why are you doing this?"

And that question earned him another golden smile, unfortunately only for a quick second when they glanced back at him. It was never answered, and despite that, it didn't bother him.

Nothing did in that moment as the only thing he could focus on was the heat that spread throughout his hand which radiated from their palm.

Humans are odd creatures. They go against the purposes given to them at birth for the simplest reasons.

 "You're a man?" Was the question that filled the silence, his words filled with his almost accusing tone at the face of their casual confession.

You didn't mind, putting on the smile of a saint as tanzanite hues scrutinize and judge you as if you were some complex painting in a museum.

 "Yes, I am," You answered simply, and he once again, eyes you up and down with eyes full of disbelief. As if you had just revealed that you had a second head or something. You weren't offended. Compared to the other stares you've been given in the past, his seemed rather merciful.

 "Why do you dress like that if you're a boy?" He asks after a while; another rather offensive question that he asks with utmost innocence.

 "Because it makes me feel nice," You reply simply, and to that, your new friend looked utterly perplexed. As if you had just given him intricate, complex instructions on how to defeat the shogunate. From that reaction, you assume he was probably raised in a rather conformist household.

That said, his genuine confusion felt like a breath of cool air hitting your face after venturing days in a scorching desert, as sad as that is to admit.

 "Where are your weapons? Your armor? Your mannerisms and speech let me know you come from a noble home, so where are your servants and concubine? What do you do for work?" He shot out questions as if he only had a few grains of sand left in his hourglass. It was like he feared that if he didn't ask all his questions now—and all at once—he'd never get an answer to them. Not that you'd be so cruel as to leave your curious new acquaintance so bewildered.

"I'm sorry to disappoint, but I don't have any such means of protection," You start off slowly, but as your eyes trail down at the two needles in your slender hands—needles which had thin threads of silk woven around the points of them—you found yourself chuckling to yourself, "Though if you'd ask my father, he'd tell you that my reason for that is because I lack the determination and courage to tread the path of a proper warrior — He was a high-ranking samurai for the majority of my youth, you see.."

"As for the servants and..consorts…they're really not my thing. I find bossing someone around and using people to flaunt my own status and wealth to be rather brutish. Though, I will admit I'm quite familiar with the practices. Heh, I was practically raised by my fathers' wives and female servants growing up. Maybe that's why.."

You pause, and in the end, you shake your thought away instead of voicing the rest of it aloud. It wasn't important to the conversation at hand anyways.

 "Digressing from that, my ways of making money aren't as noble as my family's either. In fact, one would say it's quite pitiful in comparison; once a week, I go out into the nearby town and I sell my creations. Stuffed animals, knitted clothing, excess crops, and the like. I don't make all the money in the world, but I make more than enough to get by as you can see," And you flick your wrist absentmindedly at one of the corners of your room, mindlessly gesturing at whatever filled the space to better prove your point.

Your guest had been struck silent once again. It seemed he was still rather muddled. You understand it. Like many you've encountered, you were probably an enigma to him, one willing to go against all that has been taught and practiced for centuries just because of simple ideations and pleasures that someone such as yourself should never enjoy in the first place.

..Or so you thought. As you gazed up at your guest, his face made you unsure of what he was truly thinking at that moment. It was something you hadn't seen before—unlike those judge-filled, disgusted, and even pitiful gazes you had been given by many in the past. It sparked your curiosity, causing you to ask him the golden question that had laid dormant at the back of your mind.

 "Does any of this.. Do I bother you?"

His response came delayed, but you found his answer that came more valuable than actual gold. More relieving than any cool breeze or sweet treat. More rewarding than any war won or title granted. More comforting than any of the stormy nights that distracted you from your whirlwind of thoughts.

And, oddly enough, such a response was quite simple. Only three words, in fact.

 "Not at all."

Humans are odd creatures, but they can be patient and forgiving at times. Plus, being the warm-blooded creatures that are allows them the blessing of a naturally-warm, comfortable body.

 "Crap," The cursed utterance left the lips of a mouth who's felt nothing but the bitter tang of frustration coat its tongue all afternoon. The uncivilized profanity did nothing to soothe the taste in his mouth nor did it smoothen out the crinkles made by his furrowed brows. It didn't even relieve the tremble of anger in his blood-pricked hands or the aggression of his movements as his fingertips worked a string of tangles with the needles he was holding.

Knitting is awful. How do people find this relaxing? Ever since he's started, he's felt nothing but vexation, pain, and embarrassment! Not only that, but he's made zero progress after so long that he's practically forgotten what he was supposed to be making in the first place! He hates—no, despises this with his entire being!

 "Having a bit of trouble?" He heard you ask, and somehow, half of his stress fell away like a slab of rock on the side of a mountain just from hearing your voice. He doesn't get why you have such powers over him seeming as you're a complete stranger. ..Was your voice charmed by some kind of magic perhaps? Were you possibly a god in disguise?

Whatever the reason was, he found himself praying that you never stop talking if he were to ever find out.

 "Here, let me show you a trick," Your breath was fanning his ear before he knew it and your skin was warming his shortly afterwards. He froze in place, still and quiet unlike the noisy rainwater he can hear descending from the skies outside—the rain that has kept him trapped here for literal days now.

He's not complaining.

It was only when your palms found place against the back of his hands that his body relaxed. Your hands were soft unlike the many generals and the blacksmiths he had met before his forced abandonment of his previous life. It felt nice. As if flower petals were cradling his hands.

You smelt just as good as a flower too. He had never been this close to you before so he hadn't noticed it, but now that his back is to you like this..it was as if he was laying in a flowerbed.

Do men always smell this good? He doubts it. Most likely, this scent was completely unique. A fragrance only you could naturally produce. Archons does he wish—

 "—and that's how you do it," He blinks, snapping back to reality where he stares down at the cloth now weaved together with expert precision to form a bunny's ear.

You had helped him make a breakthrough at last..and he had been too busy daydreaming about how it would feel to be hugged by you to watch and learn how you even did it.

..But he doesn't feel regret looming when the realization comes nor does his annoyance return. Or maybe it has and it just hasn't set in yet. He can't tell right now, not when he's feeling as if he had just been warmed by the sun after being frozen for a millennia.

 "Alright, now you try," He hears your words, but they don't process as fast as your hands leaving him does. Nothing really processes quicker than that. Not his frown. Not his disappointment. Not anything.

But not processing something doesn't make it unclear to others. Upon seeing his downcast expression, your brows quirk up in confusion.

 "Is there something on your mind, my new friend?" You inquired, but your question is never answered. Instead, you watch as his saddened eyes turn owlish and his head spins in the opposite direction of you as he mutters something under his breath.

 "I'm sorry, but can you repeat that?" You asked softly, leaning closer in order to hear him better.

 "Can you..show me how to do that again. Please.." He repeated, and in doing so earned the harmonious gift that was your chuckle and the warmth of your hands on him once again.

 "Sure. So what you do is.."

Humans are odd creatures. They'd sacrifice countless hours of their already short life, go to ridiculous lengths doing things, and even put aside their fragile well being to do things that are completely irrelevant just because of their belief that what they do will make someone happy.

 "I'm back!" The sweet chirp of your new housemate—which you and the villagers of the neighboring town have begun to call Kabukimono— echoed through the small abode of your now shared home after not having the pleasure to in about three days or so.

After moving in a week prior, Kabukimono had been adamant on pulling his own weight to prove that he was worth keeping around despite you having the compassion to allow him to be a freeloader otherwise. That said, after your own clumsiness in the field left you with a sprained ankle, your kind new friend had offered to go out and sell all of this week’s goods on your behalf and how could you refuse such an offer when he looked so happy and eager to help out little ol' you?

Well, the real answer to that was that he gave you no choice in the matter, but you digress.

 "I'm in here," He heard you call from the kitchen and he immediately set off in that direction, just barely remembering to slip off his shoes at the door from how eager he was to see you.

If it wasn't obvious already, it had taken some time—both the journey to and from the village and the actual process of conversing with people and getting them to buy everything—but he believes he did pretty good. At the very least, everything was sold. He even managed to make enough to buy you something with some of the excess money!

 "Y/n! I got—! ..Huh?" His words died as quickly as his pace as he stilled to a full halt at the entryway. His eyes grew wide bit by bit as he took everything in.

Banners of silk and thread had been strung along the walls, flashing their abstract patterns of blue and purple at anyone who'd spare a glance. Candles—which are usually set alight atop your nightstand and bookshelf in our room—now clumped and coddled on the table like one big sun with the varying foods surrounding them posing as the stars that helped light up the wooden sky they sat on.

But such a beautiful display was only given a moment's glance as Kabukimono seemed more interested in what you thought was a less-than-average sight; yourself.

Nevertheless, the adoration you felt seeing the sparkle of surprise in his eyes—even if for only a second or so—made you crack a smile as you recited the line you had gone over just about a million times during the time you spent waiting for him to arrive.

 "Welcome home, Kabukimono."

He was at a loss for words and not for the reason you wanted him to be. With the intent of easing his perturbed shock, you walked towards him, steady and slow, but all that proved to do was snap him out of the spell your heavy eyebags and dreary, drooping eyes had put him under.

 "What is all of this? And more importantly, why are you standing? You're not supposed to be putting pressure on that ankle!" He quickly met you the rest of the way, and to your dismay, he had beat you to the comforting, his hands shooting out to grip you by the hips and ease your bandaged leg of your body's weight.

Ignoring his other questions, you began explaining, telling him, "It's a celebration feast. You told me yourself that you, along with not having a name, you haven’t had a home to call yours yet. I thought it would be good to make an occasion out of you finding one at last."

Kabukimono felt bad to admit this even in his own head, but your words were going in one ear and out the other. Yes, he had asked, but you weren't giving him answers to the other questions he simply found more important at the moment, and because of that, it caused his face to look rather tense. Certainly not cheery like you had hoped.

It seems you have made a mistake. It wasn't a surprise, it was you after all, but the thought still hurt considering how much time it took preparing for this moment.

And so, in an attempt to lighten your thoughts and the overall mood, you ask him, "Aren't you happy?"

And unfortunately, your dear housemate didn't answer in the way you had wished he would, instead replying with, "Why would I? You look like you're about to drop dead!"

 "I'm fine," You said; a futile attempt of reassurance when you probably looked like a Sumerian Akademiya student who just finished pulling an all-nighter to write a one-hundred page research paper.

 "As if!" Kabukimono said. That's when he slung your arm over his shoulder, forcing your bodyweight onto him without your permission, and began trudging you along in the direction of your room.

 "What're you doing—" "Taking you to your room so you can lie down like you probably haven't been doing!"

 "Seriously, you should take better care of yourself! Don't tell me this is normal for you.. If it is, I won't be able to let you out of my sight from now on!"

In the end, both the feast and Kabukimono's gift for you had been forgotten. Even though you ended up enjoying it later, your sadness about the initial surprise being ruined was hard to get over even with the delight of a new hairpin being added to your collection..

Humans are odd creatures. Their inability to do much makes them become overawed by the simplest things. Their eyes shine just from seeing a coin flipped in an unorthodox way and they clap and gasp watching the stars twinkle overhead. It’s so nice to see stupid.

 “You know how to dance?” The excitable question left your usually composed lips as you stared at Kabukimono with stars in your eyes.

 “Well...I used to perform sword dances so I suppose yes,” He clarifies, arms crossed as he stared off at the wall to his left with full interest. His azure eyes darkened as if someone had pulled wool over them only to light up like a room to an oil lamp at the question that followed his response.

 “Can you show me?” The way you asked him reminded him of a little kid asking their mother to buy them a toy; full of innocent expectancy. It made his lips thin into a line just hearing it.

It had been ages since he’s danced, and in the past, there weren’t many who gawked at or praised him for his moves. Not his mother. Not any of her servants or soldiers. Certainly not her familiar. At the time, he hadn’t cared about their reactions much at all, seeming as the purpose of his dancing wasn’t for frivolous entertainment, but you, however, were different. You weren’t his mother who had abandoned him. You weren’t the servants or soldiers who never spoke to him. You aren’t his mother’s glaring familiar. You’re you, and the thought of seeing such a lackluster expression painted on your face puts a bad taste in his mouth. It makes him gnaw at his bottom lip from the feeling of a wave rocking unsteadily in his stomach cavity. It made him feel..anxious.

 “Ah..” His mouth felt like chalk—uncomfortably dry—as he spoke and his eyes couldn’t remove themselves from the walls he was surely burning holes into with his nervous glare as he tried to find something—anything—to refute you. He, at last, does and sputters it out in an uneven tone, “But..you aren’t going into battle though.”

You hum in acknowledgement, and for a moment, he thought he could successfully negate you from the topic, but then your lips move to say, “Sword dances are to summon strength, right? Though they’re performed for battles, war isn’t the only thing that requires strength. Farming, cooking.. Even getting out of bed in the mornings needs some strength to complete. When put in that way, don’t you think I’m in need of just as much strength as one of the Shogunate’s men?”

 “We- Well, a typical sword dance requires a sword and a fan and we don’t have anything like that lying around the house,” He shoots out. His brows knitting at the odd feeling of his skin damp with moisture he wasn’t aware he could produce before now.

 “I do have a fan,” You retort, “It’s mainly preserved for hot weather, but it'd be perfect for this occasion! And for the sword..ah! Would a wooden stilt suffice? It’s a little longer than the typical sword, but if I were to shave it down a bit..”

 “I..” He looks at you, face uncharacteristically spooked as he repeats himself, sounding like a broken record at this point, “I.. I..” but you don’t pay it much mind as your excitement gets the better of you and you chalk up his reaction as pre-performance jitters before running to find the items needed, leaving Kabukimono no choice but to watch helplessly like some baby kitten.

In the matter of an hour, he was outside. His body donning one of your many creations while holding a summer fan and wooden stick that didn’t come close to matching anything he was wearing. You—smile etched on your face despite feeling as though you were being stabbed all over—sat a little aways from him on the white cushions that had completely covered the green grass, patiently yet eagerly awaiting for the invisible curtains to rise and for his feet to begin to move.

Despite the biting cold, his hands were slick with sweat, forcing him to grip the wood and fan with inhumane force as to not drop it. His breath came out thick and labored, freezing over immediately upon leaving his lips and ultimately coming out as puffy, white clouds. His only saving grace here was that his feet were firmly planted into the dirt circle you paved out just for his little show. It was even rid of the transparent icy layer; an astonishing feat to be done in so little time.

Even from where he stood, he could see the reddening of your face and hands. The slight tremble of your limbs.. You were freezing to death, that much was certain, but you didn’t care. That’s just how adamant you were to see him perform.

And so, feeling as though he had no other choice, he began. His feet started to glide, starting slow as did his arms—languid and mesmerizing—before it began to pick up just a little whenever he’d twirl or spin or hop. He was sure his movements were sloppy, that his improvision to the original dance he was taught shone through like a stain to white cloth..but as he snuck a glance your way, he found himself uncaring.

..Because the way you looked at him was as if you were gazing up at a god who had just saved your life; amazement brightened your hues like comets in the sky as you followed his every move, utterly enraptured by him. He had managed to evoke that from you. Only him.

Ironically, he had found he himself charmed by your expression and microexpressions. Completely hypnotized as he slid and flowed around the small circle, his clothing–the clothing you had gifted to him—fluttering like angel wings which only further added to the beauty of each swing he took with the stick.

But alas, as the dance went on, Kabukimono found himself going into autopilot. Simply going about the motions as he took every chance possibly to glance your way, his eyes like a distant memory—a past life—whenever they locked with yours..

Humans are odd creatures. Deceptive by nature too. Without a perceptive gaze and trained ears to catch onto their lies, they could make you believe anything as the truth.

 "Hey, Kabukimono, could you pass me the carrots I cut up over there?" You asked, using your head to gesture over in the direction of where you had left the cut carrots on the low table. Kabukimono jumped to your request; crossing the kitchen, picking up the bowl, and walking back over to where you sat comfortably at the kotatsu in record time.

He hands it to you, and with a flick of your wrists, the orange delicacies had joined the rest of the vegetables in the boiling pot on the table. Kabukimono sits back on his knees as you do this, taking comfort in propping his elbow up on the wooden surface before laying his head on his fist as he watches the slow travel of white steam erupt from the pot into the air. His eyes like staring on like a dormant beast at the boiling vegetables crackling as he sighs dreamily at the smell of heaven they produce.

He didn't need to eat. He had told you that at some point in time along with other things, and yet, you had somehow trained him to yearn for food regardless—to salivate when he saw a tasty-looking dish and even grow excited at the thought of what to cook for dinner. It was such a mundane thing that was once so foreign to him. Such a human pleasure and yet he so eagerly partook in it regardless. All because of you. All for you.

Another thing he does because of you now is small talk. Before, if there were silence between him and another person he'd embrace it without a second thought and wouldn't leave that comfort unless forced to—and even then, only a select few would actually elicit a response from him. Nowadays though, it seems he grows quite restless whenever words aren't filling the air. Though, this applied more so with you than anyone else.

 "How did it go in town?" He asked, "You were selling those new cat-shaped stuffed toys you worked yourself ragged making..so? Did anybody like them?"

To such a simple question, your reaction was bewildering. The way your grip tightened on the ladle, the narrowing of your eyes and brows, the tut of your lip.. It all gave a bad vibe.

And so he frowned and asked, "Did they not like them after all? ..Or did something—"

 "It's nothing," And you presented him a closed-eyed smile, both your expression and your grip on the ladle relaxing as you went on to further say, "I just..thought about this girl I met at the villager. I assume she was an orphan from her attire and the way she followed me around without a care.. Anyways, she ended up tripping and hurting her knee pretty badly so I gave her one of the cat plushies, free of charge.”

 "Anyways, the food is ready so let's drop this topic. After all, we don't want it to get cold," The topic changed as suddenly as it came. Odd, seeming as how you're usually rambling all afternoon and evening about your travel to the village, sparing absolutely no detail about even the tiniest things.

The thought lingered for a time, but as he watched you stuff your mouth and saw your eyes shine joyously at the wonderful flavor that coated your tongue as you began to ramble about your relief about the dish turning out good despite this being your first time trying out the recipe, that thought eventually fluttered away with the wind that came through the crack in your sliding doors that allowed more of the evening oranges and yellows to seep into your home.

You were probably just really hungry and eager to eat, he thought as he finally took a bite of the potato he had picked up with his chopsticks, his eyes closing as he hummed out in delight at the taste.

Unbeknownst to him, your face dropped as soon as his eyes closed, your eyes uncharacteristically fogged and dull, as if it were displaying the thick fog that shrouded your mind, your thoughts, your heart. It was a fog that Kabukimono never caught on to, blissfully unaware of what stained your mind, body, and soul.

Humans are odd creatures. Their outside appearance never matches how they feel or the thoughts that poison their mind. They never voice those thoughts either, making it impossible to guess what’s truly going on with them. There are some who’d bless you with a morsel of their inner world—give you a crumb of the turmoil that constantly leaks in their head—making you feel as though you’ve truly come to understand them when in reality, you haven’t even scratched the surface.

It was the middle of the night. The once navy blue sky that had overcasted the world when the sun first fell was now dark due to even the stars going into hiding to slumber, leaving the moon as the only beacon of light to shed away the shadows. It was pitch black everywhere you turned and cicadas buzzed loudly outside, likely complaining about the sweltering heat of the summer, making it impossible to even hear yourself think. It was like some mundane hell.

So why were you out here?

It happened by chance. He had heard some odd noises and went to investigate it. Not expecting to see a silhouette walking out of the door. Thinking it was some thief, he followed after the person, and as the sounds of the cicadas grew distant and an earthy smell invaded his nostrils, the silhouette became less and less obscure. Becoming as clear as day by the time the person had reached their destination.

That person was you.

 “..What is this place?” The question came tumbling out before he could stop himself, his words loudly piercing the quiet of the night. It alerts you of his presence at long last and has your head spinning in his direction.

 “Oh.. It’s just you, Kabukimono’.. Heh, you scared me,” You said. Your head turns forward once again as you force your shoulders to relax, allowing the basket on your back to slide down your arms and to the ground. As you slowly set yourself atop the gentle grass, Kabukimono takes a step forward. Then another, and another, until he’s right beside you, who was digging for the items in the basket.

After a moment of silence allows you to, at last, gather everything needed out of the basket, Kabukimono decides to ask his question once again..or he planned to. As he opens his mouth to let his words free, your voice breaks the silence.

 “There used to be a small village here,” You told him, your hands beginning to twist two long stocks together, “If you go the opposite way of the path we usually tread, you can still find the remnants of what it used to be.”

 “The village's main source used to be this lake. Everyone relied on it for everything. To drink, to cook, to bathe.. Even some of the oddest ways of entertainment came from here..” You laughed, but it was drier than any desert depicted in the novels in your room. It felt wrong to hear—kinda like hearing a baby’s cry come from a grown man—and it felt almost unnerving to have it come from someone like you, who he’s come to associate with the sun itself.

But you were probably really tired. Looking at you, the deep bags that hang your eyelids down indicates you probably haven’t gotten much sleep lately which makes sense seeming as you’ve been running around and, as you told him, ‘preparing’ for something really important.

He wonders what it is you’re preparing for. Whenever he’d ask, he’d never get an answer..

 “This lake, though bound by the earth to this one place, saved that village so many times that the townsfolk began to believe that some powerful being was secretly living in the depths of it and protecting them. They began to idolize it, nurture and take care of it, and spoke about it as if this little lake was some otherworldly deity which created tall tales and legends that they’d go on to tell their children…believe it or not, I once took part in such absurdity.”

 “So..what happened to the village?” Kabukimono hesitates to ask. After all, the obvious context clues pointed him in a tragic direction, but he couldn’t resist his own curiosity in the end. Not when the look in your eyes—that were lit by the lantern of the water’s ripples—reflected nothing but pure sorrow.

At his question, you took a glance his way. As you broke away from the lake that practically glowed in the moonlight, your eyes were stripped of the illuminating gleam of the waves and casted into the darkness of the night. In fact, if it weren’t for the lake, he probably wouldn’t have been able to see your face at all.

Part of him wished that had happened. If it did, he wouldn’t have been forced to stare into the abyss that had overtook your hues for those small handful of seconds.

 “The lake failed them,” You finally spoke shortly after returning your gaze to the water, “A fire of unknown origins enveloped it in the dead of night. It wiped out half the village and forced the other half to flee for safety..some of which came to me, who lived on the outskirts of town.”

 “No one knew how it started. After all, fire wasn’t anywhere close to being the most accessible resource they had. It was a luxury, even. It also never spread past the village and by sunrise, it ceased to exist altogether. The oddity of the situation made the survivors believe that it was some punishment from their lake deity,” As you went on, you had been weaving the strands until one end had connected to the other in a circle—though your sloppy craftsmanship caused it to look more like an oval in your opinion.

As eyesore of a sight it was, you persisted. Your hands reach for the clipped flowers beside you, "That thought clouded their minds and the thought of disappointing their all-forgiving god drove them mad,” Kabukimono watched as you spoke, sticking flowers in one by one and twisting it into the circle, making the dank green pop with each pristine white you carefully placed around it.

 “Convinced that it was their fault everything was lost, the surviving villagers went about the rest of their days repenting by praying to the lake from sun up to sun down...until the waters rose and they disappeared while being enveloped by the deity's embrace."

The story seemed like something straight out of a fairytale. Nonsensical like a myth that he usually wouldn't believe...but the same could be said about his very existence. With that in mind, who is he to be so narrow-minded? He decided to keep his thoughts to himself, locking them tight behind his lips as you continued.

 "The lake failed them. It made a fatal mistake. Saved not one villager from that fire, yet nothing changed. Not their love nor their devotion..if anything it only made them see this lake in an even more divine light...so why didn't the same happen for me?"

The tail end of your sentence made him perk up with unease and as his brows knitted together, Kabukimono opens his mouth as he worriedly asked—or rather, attempted to ask, “What do you mean—” but you shifted the topic faster than he could get the full sentence out.

 “ Do you remember the tales I would tell you about my childhood—my brother specifically? ..I ran into him some time ago while I was out selling in the village.”

 “Whether they wanted to seize from me the goods I was selling that day—or perhaps mistook me for a woman and wanted to have their fun with me as some men have in the past—they began harassing me quite aggressively,” You started, “They bothered me for quite awhile and grew progressively violent the more I tried to politely get them to leave me be—one of them even snatched me up by the wrist. That’s when he intervened.”

 “He didn’t recognize me, not that I’d expect him to. After all, I’ve changed a lot since we were kids..and it seems the same went for him as well,” After placing all the whites of innocence, you went on to grab your smaller, yellow sundrops, your hands meticulously working them in between the white flowers as you continued talking in a cheerful tone. 

 “Though it’s only been a decade or so since I’d last seen or spoken to him, he’s already been through so much. He told me himself, you see, that he had just returned from the war and was passing through villages trying to find a suitable gift.. Can you guess for what?”

 “I don’t know..maybe your parents?” Kabukimono guessed; the wrong answer. You didn’t give him another chance to theorize.

 “It was for his wife and daughter,” You corrected, and if once wasn’t enough, you repeat yourself, “He was returning home to his wife and four year old daughter and wanted to get them something special.”

Gaining the courage once again, Kabukimono attempted to question the point of this conversation in the first place by asking, “What’s wrong with that?” He grew hopeful at first when you allowed him to get his words out. Maybe, at last, he could get his questions answered, he thought.

He thought wrong.

 “He’s really tall now, you know? —I mean, he was always taller than me, but now he’s like a tree! When we spoke face to face, I had to crane my neck all the way back to look up at him,” His question is, once again, ignored as if he never asked it. He began to frown, not liking the thought of you possibly ignoring him, but that crease in his skin quickly grew less prominent when he caught a glimpse of your joyful smile.

 “He’s also got big muscles and a handsome smile,” You add, “That paired with his headstrong, chivalric nature..I’m not surprised that he’s made a name for himself and started a family in such a short time,” Your voice then drops to a murmur as you turn you creation left then right, inspecting it as said, “In only a small handful of years, he’s achieved someone’s dream and so much more.. He’s managed to exceed even the impossible and make everyone proud..he’s truly amazing..”

You grasp at pink petals—deteriorated by the chilling weather—as you fit them as you see fit. Filling in each space like a piece of a puzzle.

 “That encounter made me think back to the lake. It made me realize how similar we are. We’re both fragile and delicate and were surrounded by people who’d still expect us to give away our bones despite already relinquishing our flesh and blood…so what went wrong with me?”

 “Wh.. What?” He stammered. You lift your handiwork into the air, presenting it to the moon for judgement before you finally repeat yourself..

 “What went wrong? I made mistakes just like the lake, so why wasn’t I given the benefit of the doubt? Why did my family–my father–abandon me?”

Abandon. That word stuck to him like a burn to his skin and it felt as if he had just opened his eyes for the first time in a century. It made him realize all the little things at last; how tense the air was, how dim your eyes were, how often your brows twitched, how your eyes seemed like glass balls, how forced your smile seemed.. The illusion he had absorbed himself shattered in that instant, allowing reality to set in like a heavy weight. The person who sat beside him, the one who he’s come to view as the sun that brightened up his day, had looked so different in that moment that he could mistake them for an entirely different person. Did they always look like that? If so, for how long? How long has his sun been this dim? And why didn’t he notice it sooner?

 “I’m sorry, that was cruel of me to ask you that,” You profess in a raspy whisper before turning to him, plopping the finished product—a tri-colored flower crown—atop his head as you mutter, “There’s no way you can answer that.. It was my mistake..”

Kabukimono blinks, his eyes looking up as he tries to peer at the crown to no avail. It was like watching a kitten play with a toy; adorable. Kabukimono didn’t catch it, but upon seeing such a cute sight, you bit down on your bottom lip as your eyes narrowed—damn nea glaring—his way. Luckily, you catch yourself before he notices, trying to laugh it off as you look over at the lake once more. Though your laugh was even drier than the previous one that left your lips and came tumbling out of your mouth like gravel.

 “You know, you remind me so much of my brother,” You said, “You have so much potential to live whatever life you want, to make everyone happy and still keep yourself intact..I almost envy you.”

Kabukimono—hands delicately tracing the rim of the flower crown on his head—grimaced at your comment. Envy. Such a negative feeling to harbor towards him and for no reason at all. After all, he’s nothing special. If he was, surely she wouldn’t have discarded him and left him to rot alone. Alas, before he can tell you that, you started rambling again.

 “I used to make mistakes all the time when I was younger. Especially with swords,” You told him, though it looked more like you were talking to the lake at your knees by the way you were so intently gazing at it, “I just couldn’t get the hang of it. That applied to a lot of things my father tried to teach me… Heh, it makes sense why he gave up on trying after my brother was born.”

 “Wh- What are you saying..?” Kabukimono asked. It came out as a hoarse whisper that was easily carried away by the warm winds and far away from your ears. Hence why you continued instead of answering, surely.

 “You asked me once about the story behind how my obsession for knitting came about.. Why I enjoy it so much.. Well, the reason I never told you was because the truth is quite silly in hindsight; it was to apologize to my father.”

 “I felt sorry for him. After all, his oldest son—who was supposed to carry on and lift a weight off his shoulders–was completely hopeless in every way. I truly did feel bad..and so I thought the least I could do was ease his mind—to reassure him that his useless son could do something right.”

 “You shouldn’t talk about yourself like that–” “After keenly watching my mother sew clothes and observing the female servants make clothing they could otherwise not afford, I was able to do something out of these impractical hands..” You held your hands up and kabukimono winces at the sight. They look like the aftermath of an intense fight, scars—some new, some old—littered your skin, some even stained it with the ugly dark crust that forms when the skin begins to heal. Did they always look that way? “Would you like to know what I made?”

 “I– I’m not—” “I made a fox. A tiny little fox attached to a string,” You said, “I thought it would be cute if he would tie it around the hilt of his sword and carry it around — similar to how one would a good luck charm. I was so excited when I finally finished and ran straight to my father's dojo on the far edge of our home to show it to him.”

 “Y/n–” “At the sight of my creation, my father frowned so deeply I thought his face would become permanently creased by it. ‘Is this what you waste your idle time doing?’ he asked me before cutting my little fox to shreds. ‘No wonder you’ve become such a disappointment! You sit around knitting animals instead of dedicating yourself to training!’ he went on to say.”

 “He went to grumbling under his breath after that. He kept his voice low, but I still heard what he said.. Wanna guess? He said—”

 “Y/n, stop!” The sound of shuffling of him as he stumbles to his feet is loud—though small in comparison to the boom of his scream. You pause, surprised albeit you barely show it—or rather, you’re barely able to force yourself to react—only being able to slowly blink his way in the end as you stare up at your darling housemate, who’s pretty eyes had welled up with tears.

 Stop..please..” He pleaded. A sniffle pushing him past the line of embarrassment, causing him to hide his face from you, “I- I beg of you.. Don’t say another word..not if you plan to degrade yourself like this!”

 “..Kabukimono, don’t..—” He hears you call from the other side of the barrier he created between the two of you, but he’s finally quicker, interrupting you for the first time tonight.

 “Your family abandoned you, but that helped you find your way to me,” He choked, “They didn’t see your worth for what it truly was..but that allowed me to! Who cares what they think of you? How they perceive you? They aren’t in your life anymore, I am! So stop talking down on yourself like they are!” With every word that leaves his lips—that seep through the unseen slits between his fingers—Kabukimono seems to crack more and more until he falls apart, collapsing to the ground in a fit of sobs which causes the flower crown to fall ungracefully off his head.

 “I- I’m in your life now, and I don’t care what you’re good or bad at! I don’t have any expectations for you to meet! It doesn’t matter if you don’t meet society’s standards! I don’t care about any of that. I just want to stay by your side! Isn’t that enough? Aren’t I enough?”

 “Kabukimono..” You call. A moment of silence passes and a chime of bells in the form of your choked sobs fill his ears as you snivel, “No.. No, no— I- I'm sorry. Don’t cry, please don’t cry..”

He suddenly feels the warmth of your arms surrounding his kneeled being and he finds himself crying harder to the point every sorrowful yell and sniffle rattled his entire body. You had wrapped your arms around him in an attempt to comfort him, but it was rather pitiful and futile, seeming as you were sobbing yourself, repeating, “Sorry.. I’m so sorry..” over and over like it was your matra.

You two stayed like that; sobbing amongst the serene sound of the water until it drowned you two out altogether. After some time, your loud croaks had been reduced to weak whimpering—though if the reason for that was because your voice grew too hoarse to form proper words or another reason was unclear.

Neither of you cared, or at least, Kabukimono didn’t. All that he cared about was the feeling of being tangled in your arms and the sound of your heartbeat singing in his ear—which he had pressed against your chest.

 “Promise me,” He whispered, his voice rasp, “Promise me that you’ll be honest with me from now on. A- And promise me not to degrade yourself anymore..that you won’t think about the past..all of it. I want you to promise me that you’ll move on..with me,” He clutched at your kimono, crumpling the flowers on it with his grip as he awaited your response with bated breath.

And when you finally did—when you finally mumbled your response and in the exact way he wanted you to—he felt as though the sun had finally come out again, better and brighter than before..

 “I promise.”

Humans are odd creatures. They’re treacherous liars by nature who spew falsehoods for the sake of their own twisted amusement, uncaring of those affected by their games.

 “There was once a small village here. If you go the opposite way of the path we usually tread, you can still find the remnants of what it used to be.”

It’s been two weeks since you left for the village to sell goods. You still hadn’t returned.

It’d usually take no more than a few days for you to sell everything and come home, so after said days had passed and you were nowhere to be seen, he grew worried and—in the end—went to the village in search of you.

..But you weren’t there either. In fact, from what he gathered from asking around, you had left the village days ago.

 “The village's main source used to be this lake. Everyone relied on it for everything. To drink, to cook, to bathe.. Even some of the oddest ways of entertainment came from here..”

You weren’t here at the village, but you weren’t home either..so where had you gone? The question sunk into him, weighing him down like an anchor and causing his stomach cavity to drop. A feeling of dread set over him as he came upon the unsettling realization; you were missing.

Where had you gone? What happened when you left the village a few days ago? Had you been kidnapped? Grown more frantic with each thought that popped into his head, Kabukimono ran around, asking every villager he came across about you until he finally gained a morsel of information—a speckle of hope—when a man mentioned seeing someone that fit your description walk towards the entrance of the village with an empty, woven basket as big as themselves hanging on their back.

And without much thought, he took off in that very direction, heeding the man no mind any longer despite his warnings about the impending storm that was soon to consume the area.

 “This lake, though bound by the earth to this one place, saved that village so many times that the townsfolk began to believe that some powerful being was secretly living in the depths of it and protecting them. They began to idolize it, nurture and take care of it, and spoke about it as if this little lake was some otherworldly deity which created tall tales and legends that they’d go on to tell their children…believe it or not, I took part in such absurdity.”

Kabukimono remained unfazed when the path beneath his feet began to turn dark and slippery, when the graying sky finally shed its tears, when those tears dampened his clothing, not even when he nearly fell into a puddle. All that he could focus on was the possible places you would have gone and why the place you chose wasn’t home where he was.

 “So..what happened to the village?”

 “The lake failed them.”

 “Y/n! Where are you? Can you hear me?” After a while of running with no destination in mind, Kabukimono found it best to call out to you in hopes you’d make your way to him, call his name back, something–anything–that would hint towards you being near.

He raised his voice as high as he could, his voice likely being carried across nations from how loud he was, and yet, he was met with nothing but the deafening sound of thunder roaring to life. It was disheartening, but as he stood amongst the rain, the final wire in his head finally clicked and the memory of you sitting before crystal waters was pushed to the forefront of his mind.

It’s a slim chance, but maybe you had gone there and, for whatever reason, stayed.

In an instant, he was running at full speed once again, steering in the direction his memory remembered best.

 “A fire of unknown origins enveloped it in the dead of night. It wiped out half the village and forced the other half to flee for safety..some of which came to me, who lived on the outskirts of town.”

 “No one knew how it started. After all, fire wasn’t anywhere close to being the most accessible resource they had. It was a luxury, even. It also never spread past the village and by sunrise, it ceased to exist altogether. The oddity of the situation made the survivors believe that it was some punishment from their lake deity.”

 "That thought clouded their minds and the thought of disappointing their all-forgiving god drove them mad..”

He made it to the lake by nightfall—not that he could tell by looking up, seeming as it's been the same color since earlier that afternoon—and as if a light was shining down on it from the sky, the lake gleamed almost magically. Its darkened waters seemed to shine like a ruby even under the thick clouds and he sees the ripples from where he stood in the distance. The waves paving a clear way for him to follow, slowly leading up to the center where he spots something.. 

 “Convinced that it was their fault everything was lost, the surviving villagers went about the rest of their days repenting by praying to the lake from sun up to sun down…”

As he slowly walked closer, familiar strands of hair became noticeable. Though cut into uneven chunks and spread out to be nearly invisible in comparison to the deep red of the water that it floats in, he was sure his eyes weren’t playing tricks on him. That said, he found himself following the strands to the origins of where they once flourished from. His eyes locked on the indistinguishable lump once again and he was sure that it and the reason he came here were unrelated…until something floating beside it caught his eyes.

That something was a hairpin. One with a golden base and purple and red flowers dancing along the edge of it…just like the one he bought you the day you decided to throw him that welcoming party.

 “...until the waters rose and they disappeared while being enveloped by the deity's embrace."

 “Y/n.. Y/n!” Despite the pressure of it dawning on him felt like two boulders falling on his shoulders, Kabukimono rushed into the water and immediately the white clothing that covered his being stained a murky crimson whilst a putrid smell invaded his nostrils. It made him feel sick—nauseated, even—but he did his best to push it all down as he clumsily swam towards the center of the lake.

It wasn’t true. This wasn’t happening. This surely can’t.. What’s floating amongst the water truly isn’t what he thinks it is.

It isn’t you. There’s no way. You made a promise that you still haven’t fulfilled, after all. You wouldn’t break your promise, not someone like you.

After what felt like an eternity, he reaches the center of the lake which he now notices is more of an inky black and only stretches as far as a few rogue strands. He grabs ahold of the lump, sucking in a breath when his fingertips sink in slightly as if pressing against a firm, wet cushion. It felt disgusting. He hesitates, but ultimately squeezes down enough to pull it along even with the sickening slick gushing at the pressure and making his grasp unsteady.

He reaches land at long last, immediately escaping onto the wet grass and tugging the lump out along with him. It looked less like a lump now, and though swole and looking like some abstract art piece, there was no mistaking it. It was flesh. This was a person, or rather, the remains of one..and they looked eerily similar to you even when all blotched and bloody, there was no denying that.

But even if this was you, there’s no way you could be dead. No, that’d be impossible. You have to be asleep. You had to have decided to take a dip in the lake and fell asleep. That’s the only thing that makes sense.

His shaky palms reach out to you and he touches you with his cold, wet hands that were actively getting more and more drenched with every raindrop that fell on them. He gently swept your hair from your face, tucked it tentatively behind your ear, and cupped your cheek.

His breath stutters. It was as if he was touching pure ice. But that can’t be possible. You’re his sun, his light, somebody like you shouldn’t feel like this.

..Well actually, it makes sense. You fell asleep in the water plus it’s raining. Even someone as warm as you would succumb to the cold under these circumstances. It makes sense. It’s okay. He’ll help you warm up in the comfort of your home as soon as he wakes you up.

He slides his hand down your face—past your now oddly grayed lips and down your neck—until he reaches your bare shoulder, which wrinkles had been exposed due to his rough handlings in pulling you out of the water by the drapes of your clothing. He promises to apologize when you awake. Because you will wake up. There’s no doubt. Because you’re just sleeping.

 “Y/n..” He calls softly. Too softly seeming as you remain unmoving. He decides to give your shoulder a gentle shake, calling your name once again, “Y/n.”

 “Y/n. It’s time to wake up,” Your lashes don’t flutter. You don’t grimace from the discomfort of his shaking growing more and more aggressive. You don’t do anything.

 “I don’t mean to disturb you, but you’ll probably get sick if you lie here in the rain any longer,” The same result. Blood begins to seep under his fingernails from how hard he’s digging his nails into your skin. He continues to shake you anyways, even going on to grip your other, covered shoulder.

 “Come on, you can’t sleep around forever. I- I planned to surprise you by making dinner all by myself tonight. It’s your favorite so you have to try it,” His nose was beginning to tingle from the odor that was invading it. Where was it coming from? Why is it so much stronger than before now that he’s closer to you? He forces his mind not to make the connection. Not that there was a connection in the first place. You were just sleeping, after all.

Just sleeping, nothing else.

Kabukimono’s hand trails down your arm, down past your wrist, to your hand where he enlaces his fingers with yours, “Come on,” He said, though his voice was quieter now, more shaky, and his words cracked like glass, allowing his desperation to seep through just a little, “We have to get home..”

 “I- I want to go home now, so let’s go..please..” He lifts your hand, raising your arm into the air and ignoring the deep, dark lines etched messily into your skin—the deepest looking one right over the vein of your wrist—and giving it a firm squeeze. You don’t reciprocate the action.

His grip loosens after a while and your fingers slide down his palm and flop to the ground beside you. You had to be really, really tired. But that’s okay, he’ll help you out!

He moves to hover over you, a grim smile etched on his face as he loops his arms around your waist and hoists you up. Your body collides with his as all your weight shifts to lean on him.

He holds you tightly, his head turning so as to not hit his nose against your chest and instead allows you to lean against the side of his face, his ear pricking up at the sweet symphony of...silence.

Sitting there, amongst the loud rain with his ear pressed against your chest—right over your heart—he’s met with deafening silence instead of the usual beat your heart strings typically produce. Your heart wasn’t playing its usual tune. It wasn’t playing anything, in fact, because it wasn’t beating. If your heart wasn’t beating anymore that meant you weren’t breathing anymore either which meant..you..

Tears—ones that he wasn’t aware of—were building up in his eyes, falling like a castle under attack. They slowly descended one after another, quickly fusing with the rainwater and forming as a long, thick stream along his cheek and past his mouth—which he had cracked open to bare his clenched teeth.

 “Y/n..what have you done?” He whispered. His voice sounded small like a baby fox’s cry for help; vulnerable and weak. He then repeats himself one last time, slowly, “..Why have you done this..?”

Silence. His teeth crackles under the pressure of him forcing them impossibly closer together.

 “Answer me,” He says through gritted teeth before yelling out, visibly and uncharacteristically enraged, “Answer me!”

Silence. He shakes you hard, your head rolling every which way like a ragdoll to the point it’d make one believe that any harder would cause it to roll right off your shoulders. Luckily, for his sake, it doesn’t.

 “You promised me!” He shouted, his voice then dipped, “..you promised me..”

Silence. A choke spells his demise quickly after that and his strength suddenly fails him, allowing your body—your corpse—to fall unceremoniously to the ground. He follows suit soon after, and when he does, he lets out a scream. One that clawed its way out from the depths of his chest, spilling his agony out of his throat and laying it bare for the entire world to see…alas, with nothing but the moon to comfort him.

Humans are odd creatures. Ones that cannot be trusted, no matter who they are or what past they may harbor, at least, that’s what Kabukimono.. Kunikuzushi…

That’s what Scaramouche has grown to believe after centuries of nothing but betrayal.

Dividers were made by me, pictures used are from Pinterest, post formatting is inspired by @xxsabitoxx

[damneddamsy]

second sight | cregan stark x oc (part vii)

a/n: today on the fluffiest of Stark fluff, Claere goes on a vacation, Cregan rides a sky-cat of a dragon and nearly dies

The brisk winds howled through the open window like a mournful cry, and outside, from the distant courtyard, the sound of Luna's thunderous roar cut through it all—less of a roar to strike fear and more of a longing cry for her rider. It was a sound that used to evoke awe and power toward the open skies; now, it only underscored the emptiness extending between the Lord and Lady of Winterfell, and everything else.

Claere sat by the ledge, uncaring of the chill that bit through her thin gown, her chin resting on her arms. She watched Luna far away, the great white dragon shifting, discontented, wings twitching with the desire to take flight. Her violet eyes shimmered, tears welling at the corners, though none fell. Being a Targaryen meant that a dragon was more than a mere beast. To her, Luna was everything—a best friend, a daughter, a sister, a mother, a reflection of her soul in flesh and flame. Blood from her blood, fire from her fire, they were bound in a way that no human could ever understand.

The ache inside her mirrored that of her dragon. They were both grounded now, for nigh on a week, bound by the silence and influence of Cregan’s absolute command.

Cregan noticed her before he spoke, lingering in the doorway, watching as her delicate frame seemed even smaller against the vastness of the window. She was morning mist, exquisite and evasive, even in her sorrow—more so, perhaps, for the sadness that clung to her like a delicate veil. The faint sunrise caught the tear-stained glint in her eyes, the pale sheen of her skin, her braided silver hair framing her face like a crown of misery.

His heart wrested into itself. He had seen her like this once before—when she had been a stranger to him, when he first tried to coax her to eat, to bring her into the warmth of his home. It felt like a lifetime ago, though the same sadness hung over her now, albeit for different reasons.

Silently, he approached, his footsteps careful on the stone floor. He didn’t announce himself; he knew she’d sensed him long before he arrived.

"Good morrow, love," he greeted her softly, voice low, though he received no answer at first. He undid his cloak to lay it behind a chair. "Slept well?"

She didn’t turn, didn’t flinch, as per usual, her focus fixed on restless Luna below. The chill seemed not to touch her.

Cregan’s gaze shifted to the tray laid out nearby, a modest feast meant for two. He had hoped to tempt her with familiar comforts, a simple offering to break the silence between them.

“I thought we could break our fast together,” he ventured, a hint of hope in his tone.

"I’m not feeling up to it." Her voice was quiet, a mere breath against the wind, but there was no malice in it—only exhaustion.

"Don't punish your appetite for your temper with me," he advised, reaching across the table to caress the back of her head. "Dreamy girl."

She leaned her head away. "I do not have a temper."

He chuckled. "Very well, your grace."

He moved beside her, unbothered by the refusal, his eyes drifting to the spread of food laid out. A variety of her favourites: ruby apples from the capital, freshly churned butter spread over oat bread, honey and blackberry jam, all carefully selected for her. He gave a slight smile and plucked a little lemon posset from the tray, a rare luxury, one of the few delicacies he knew she held fondly from her days in King’s Landing.

“Do you remember this?” he asked, placing the pastry near her. “I had it recreated by the cooks—increasingly annoyed them until they got it right.”

For the first time, Claere turned her head, her eyes falling on the delicacy before flicking to him. The vaguest spark of something—amusement, maybe—crossed her features, but her words were far from sweet.

“Sweetsleep this time, my lord?” she asked, her tone laced with the sharp edge of memory.

The barb of her accusation cut deep, reminding him of the last time—of how he’d slipped the essence of nightshade into her drink to help her sleep, of the guilt that had haunted him since.

But he indulged her grudge, forcing a wry smile to his lips. “I'm afraid it's only lemon and cream, some sugar,” he said lightly, leaning into her. “I have learned better than to drug a dragon to sleep.”

"You're a funny man," she said, surly.

"I try my best."

She said nothing more, but to his relief, she reached for the candied slice of lemon over the posset, without hesitation, and scooped a small serving into her mouth. She chewed slowly, turning back to the window, still impassive, though her silence felt less hostile than it had in days.

Delighted, he plucked a few cranberries and placed them on her plate, slathered a thick layer of jam over the bread and urged it to her mouth.

She squinched, turning away. "I'm no whingeing babe."

“There are worse fates than having me as your meal steward,” he teased, bringing the bread closer.

“Eat it yourself, if you’re so proud of it,” she muttered, pushing the bread back to him.

Cregan dropped the bread onto her plate with a quiet huff and brushed the crumbs off his hands with exaggerated impatience. She gave him a sidelong glance as he walked to the chair beside her, pushing his own plate away.

"I won't eat either then," he declared, settling into his seat with a resolute frown.

Claere sighed, casting him a brief stare, her sweetly obvious annoyance softening, though just barely.

“Stubborn northerner,” she mumbled under her breath, her fingers resuming their idle tracing of the stone ledge.

Cregan leaned back, arms crossed, watching her with wary purpose, a flicker of a smile barely contained at the edges of his lips. “If we both waste away, who’ll keep the lords at bay? Or shall we leave Winterfell to your dragon's mercy?”

Her eyes flicked to his, a fleeting vulnerability cracking through her cold demeanour. She said nothing, but after a lengthy pause, she reached for the jam bread, biting into it without looking at him. Bite after bite until it disappeared.

Stifling his laughter, Cregan joined her side by the window, his arms resting on the ledge beside hers, though his gaze remained fixed on her rather than the courtyard below. He couldn’t help but observe her closely—the delicate lines of her face, the way the sun caught in the silver strands of her hair, the way her lips pressed together, lost in thought. She looked better, eyes alive with violet lustre, healthier now that she was sleeping again, but the distance between them had only grown.

Cregan’s gaze drifted down, his hand instinctively reaching for her side, a gentle brush of fingers over the fabric where he knew the wound lay beneath. He lifted her tunic just enough to check the bandage, his fingers ghosting over the bare skin, where pale scars were knitting around the bruised edges. She barely flinched, but he felt her inhale, the subtle tension rippling through her at the touch. He could see the bruises fading, the wound healing, yet something in her still seemed fragile to him—like glass forged too thin.

For a long moment, he simply rested his hand there, his warmth seeping through to her skin. Soon, he replaced his touch with his lips, pressing it there, as if chasing away the pain.

“It’s mending well,” he murmured, more to himself than to her, though his gaze never left her face.

He reached out, almost hesitant, brushing a loose curl from her temple. That distracting, unfamiliar, sweet perfume wafted from it; he always wondered what it was. No flowers or fruits of Westeros had borne that scent.

“You know,” he began, his voice gentle, “I only forbade you from flying north of the Wall. The skies beyond Winterfell are still yours.”

She remained quiet, her fingers tracing the rim of the weathered stone beneath her arm, but her eyes stayed on the horizon. The thought of Luna still lingered in her mind, but so did the fear—the fear of what would happen if she gave in if she let herself ride again, let herself be consumed by the thoughts of what lay beyond the Wall.

She let out a sigh. “What good is flying if it only starves her more?”

“We have an abundance of harvest. Luna’s hunger won’t tear this place apart,” he countered softly. “But your silence might.”

Claere’s lips parted, a breath of disbelief escaping her. She glanced at him momentarily, the softness in her gaze returning—wounded but filled with love she couldn’t voice.

Her slender hand lifted, fingers spreading open as if cupping something fragile, something long gone.

“When Luna hatched,” she began, her voice distant, “she was small enough to rest in my palm. I used to carry her with me, perched on my shoulder like my little protector, curled into my hair while I slept, watching over me.”

Claere’s eyes shifted to the woods beyond, where Luna prowled like a moving mountain, her growls echoing to the castle. She extended her arm toward the dragon, her fingers curling slightly as if trying to hold that immense creature from afar, to fit her once more into her hand. A wistful smile ghosted across her lips, barely there.

“But she grew… and too fast. By the time I was six, she was larger than Syrax, with white wings wide enough to block out the sun. I never spent a day apart from her. Not once.” Her voice lowered, and she dropped her hand. “And now…”

She trailed off, unable to finish the thought. It hung between them, the significance of their distance bearing down on Cregan.

He watched her, his brow furrowed, discomfort knotting in his chest, wishing for an answer he could not seem to give. There was a pain in her words, a longing he couldn’t soothe with talk of duty or love. She had always been more than a wife or a lady to him; she was fire itself, unbound and untamed. But that fire was darkening, flickering behind her impassive mask.

He could not tell her what he had seen in her sleepless nights—the agonies that had hollowed her, leaving her a shell of the woman he once knew. The hysterical way she used to tear at her hair, crying out in the darkness for things she would not speak of in the light. No, he couldn’t bear to tell her those things. Not now, when she was finally starting to pull herself back from that abyss. It was better she stayed in the dark about his fears.

Cregan straightened, unwilling to let this silence continue. He needed to act; to pull her from the depths she seemed to be sinking into once again. He had been a Lord long enough to know that sometimes it was better to take action when words failed.

“I think…” His voice was measured as if considering his words carefully. “I think perhaps Winterfell has kept you in its guard for too long. A change of scenery might be what you need.”

Claere glanced at him. “A change of scenery?”

He nodded, meeting her gaze with quiet resolve. “Castle Cerwyn. It’s only a few hours on horseback. The old Lord Cerwyn was a second father to me, and his son—well, he’s closer to a brother. It’s a smaller hold, warmer, quieter. We could ride there. Bring Luna with us. Let her stretch her wings over something other than these walls.”

There was a pause, and then, in a softer tone, he added, “And it might help you find some peace… beyond what the Wall takes from you.”

Her lips thinned, not quite a smile, but there was no outright refusal in her eyes. She turned back to the horizon, watching Luna flap her mighty wings below. They could nearly feel the snow and winds she buffeted out from so far off.

“Castle Cerwyn,” she repeated, the name sounding foreign on her tongue. “I wonder what awaits me. More Northern lords suspicious of my sanity and dragon?”

“A kind hearth,” he said simply, his tone warm but insistent. “A quieter place to breathe, to think. And Wolfswood meadows wide enough for you to fly as high as you wish, without fear of where you’ll land.”

At the mention of flying, Claere’s eyes sparkled. He saw it—the briefest spark of yearning. She still longed for the wind, for the liberation that came with it, but it was evident something plagued her, something more than just Luna’s hunger.

Cregan’s hand lingered on her arm, his thumb grazing the edge of her sleeve, and though she didn’t turn toward him, she didn’t pull away either. Her gaze remained fixed on the distant horizon.

“Luna’s not the only one who’s gone too long without a proper meal,” Cregan rasped, his voice low and wanting, fingers gently sliding down to capture hers. His grip was firm but familiar, and his thumb stroked over her palm.

Claere let out a soft sigh, her brow furrowing as if she wanted to resist him, but her grip instinctually softened.

“You’ve gone past bearing, husband,” she muttered, trying to conceal the betrayal in her own hand that curled around his fingers.

Cregan leaned in closer, pressing his shoulder to hers, nudging softly. “A few leagues southwest of Castle Cerwyn,” he murmured, “is the Bay of Ice.”

Claere’s brow quirked ever so slightly, but she said nothing.

He continued, undeterred, his thumb still tracing circles on the back of her hand. “The waters are full of sealife… the kind Luna would love.” His voice was tempting, playful even. “I’d wager she’s never tasted anything quite like it.”

“She likes her meals well-cooked,” Claere replied, still distant, though her lips twitched upward. “She’s no sea dragon of Driftmark.”

“A dragon’s appetite has more range than we think, my princess. Fish, seals; they’ll do for a feast. You need only give her the chance.”

Claere turned to him, raising her brow. “You mean to tempt me with seafood, Lord Stark?”

Cregan grinned wide, his hand leaving hers to brush against her cheek, gently tucking it around her waist. “I mean to tempt you with the skies. And perhaps a bit of seal for Luna. The fresh air might do more than you know, then perhaps you’ll remember why you belong in the sky, not grounded here.”

Claere’s lips tensed, torn between her anger and the pull he had over her. “You’re more unreasonable than I imagined.”

“Possibly,” Cregan murmured, brushing a kiss to her temple, “but you’re still here.”

Claere exhaled, her resistance weakening as her fingers brushed the edge of his leather armour, her head leaning into his touch. She didn’t want to give in, but his warmth had a way of unravelling her walls. The thought of Luna and the open skies tugged at her, the hunger of her dragon like a quiet whisper in the back of her mind.

She finally turned her head, her gaze locking with his. “You’d risk the wrath of my dragon for a taste of the sea?”

Cregan smiled. “I’d risk far worse for you.”

X

Or perhaps he had spoken too soon.

The King in the North had faced many fears in his life, but nothing quite like the trepidation that settled in his gut now. He had vanquished his foes and withstood the bitterest winters, but the thought of mounting Luna—akin to her ancestor, Balerion the Black Dread—wore at his composure. He had never been afraid of beasts, direwolves or bears, yet here he was, feeling less a man and more prey in her amber gaze.

Luna was massive, far larger than he had truly reckoned. From a distance, Luna seemed a marvel; up close, she was a force of nature, a leviathan of Valyrian legend, a living mountain. Her scales glimmered pearlescent, like snow itself, but the beauty of her glistening hide belied the danger in every shift of her sinewy muscles, every glint of her amber eyes. Her wings were half-furled, like banners of war, and her teeth—gods, her longsword-like teeth—could rend the gates of Winterfell if she chose.

Cregan had seen Claere mount the beast with the same effortless grace as a songbird landing on a familiar branch, but now, standing before her, the very idea seemed mad. When he had agreed to ride on Luna to Castle Cerwyn, he had imagined it to be a piece of piss. But such was the conceit of Northmen; if he backed away or failed, he would never let himself live it down.

"Lykiri," he rasped under his breath with a palm stretched out, the one word of Valyrian he had committed to memory, praying it held the same calming power as when Claere said it. Perhaps Luna would smell her rider on him and go easy.

The dragon rose to her lasting glories, a low, thundering growl vibrating through her chest, and Cregan felt it in the marrow of his bones. She lowered her mighty head towards him, her crown of spikes and horns juddering, her jaws unhinging just enough to reveal rows of gleaming, deadly teeth. An inferno awakened from within her throat, ready to engulf him.

He could nearly hear his instincts begging him to turn and flee, sprint for the cover of the trees, and curse himself for ever stepping near this thing.

But he stood rooted in place, blood rushing wildly in his veins. Whether it was his pride or his love for Claere that anchored him, he wasn’t certain.

And then, from behind him, that voice—gentle but commanding, laced with a soft, knowing giggle.

“Lykiri, Luna. Laehossa ynot,” Claere said, the sound flowing from her lips in flawless Valyrian, like an old cradlesong soothing an anxious child. Be calm, Luna. Eyes on me.

The influence was instantaneous. Luna’s growl ceased, her jaws closing with a quiet snap, and her massive form seemed to settle into the ground, though her beady eyes still lingered on Cregan with wary regard.

“Bisa daor sagon ēza,” she murmured. This is not your enemy.

Claere approached her dragon with graceful ease, stepping in front of Cregan as if to shield him from any lingering suspicion Luna might harbour. Her dragon-riding leathers, much like the ones he had seen on her queen mother, were regal and sleek—grey furs and blue, tailored to fit her form, with high collars and silver fastenings that gleamed in the cold light. The cloak billowed behind like her own wings, a living emblem of her Targaryen bloodline.

"Gōntan ao bōsa syt nyke tolī, gevie Luna? Ēza ñuha valzȳrys ivestragī ao merbugon?" Her voice was soft, the words lilting and musical, almost tender. It was as though she spoke not to a beast but to a dear friend, a sister. Did you miss me too, beautiful Luna? Has my husband let you starve?

Luna’s growls turned into gentle rumblings, deep in her chest, as she drooped her massive head toward Claere. The dragon’s enraged eyes quieted, and her nostrils flared in recognition as she nudged her rider, a deep, affectionate sound escaping her throat.

"Issi ao sȳrkta sir," she whispered. You are healing well.

Claere raised her hand to Luna’s snout, fingers tracing the sharp ridges of her scales, and in response, Luna’s wings fluttered, that sent a ripping tide through the air.

Cregan stood there, awestruck. His wife, no taller than one of Luna’s fangs, looked like a mere speck of snow in front of the dragon’s mountainous form. Yet, in Claere’s presence, Luna preened like a giant kitten under her mistress’s touch. As Claere’s fingers journeyed down the spikes along the dragon’s throat, inspecting the long scarring wounds, Luna roared in what Cregan could only describe as bliss. He had never seen such a creature so utterly tamed, so devoted.

"Ssh," she shushed, giggling. She rested her forehead against the dragon's hide, breathing slowly. "Ivestragī īlva sōvegon arlī, ñuha riña." Let us fly again, my girl.

That smile Claere wore—for all his jokes and sarcasm, she had never smiled at him like that. Not before the Wall's shadow had held her prisoner or the morning after they'd made love. It was especially for her pet. He found himself growing jealous of that beast.

“She won’t bite,” Claere called out to him over her shoulder, amusement bright in her eyes. “Unless you give her reason to.”

“You don’t inspire much confidence, love,” Cregan grumbled, eyeing the dragon’s teeth again.

Claere tilted her head, the corners of her mouth lifting in that happier smile. “She knows you. She just doesn’t understand why you’re still standing there like a frightened little doe.”

“I'm no doe or little,” Cregan countered, though the firmness in his voice faltered under the pressure of Luna’s stare.

“You seem like a man who wants to run away,” Claere teased and held out a hand to beckon him. “Come close, wolf. She won’t let you mount her from there.”

Cregan’s brow furrowed as he stepped cautiously toward Luna’s side. The dragon shifted, her enormous wings stretching slightly, causing a gust of wind to blow through the woods. Her amber eyes locked onto him, and Cregan could swear they were measuring his worth.

“You are certain she won’t eat me?” he asked dryly, not quite hiding the edge in his voice. “She’s been starving for a week, and I’m just the right size for supper.”

Claere laughed, palming her mouth, a sweet dulcet that was full of life, he swore a winter rose stood to bloom by her feet.

Cregan eventually stood beside her, too late to question his choices, and the towering beast dwarfed him entirely. Claere had already started to climb up the ropes and nets affixed to the saddle on Luna’s back with the practised grace of someone who had done this a thousand times.

He, on the other hand, felt immobilised, staring at the sheer size of the creature he was about to mount. If the gods were real, now would be the time to give him hope.

“Do you need a hand, Lord Stark?” Claere called down, her voice still holding that sweet laugh.

“I can manage,” Cregan replied sternly, though as his hand grasped the first rope, he doubted his words. The first Stark to ride a dragon, he thought. He would not make a fool of himself.

It took every bit of his strength to pull himself up the ropes, feeling Luna’s immense heat and powerful muscles shift beneath him. The dragon made a thrumming sound—half-growl, half-sigh—and Claere stroked her, speaking softly.

“Luna, jaelagon,” she nearly sang out. Luna, wait.

Finally settling behind her on the saddle, Cregan exhaled a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. “I didn’t think I’d survive long enough to make it up here,” he muttered, his voice thick with relief.

Claere turned about to face him, her silver hair catching the sunlight. “She likes you, though I’m not sure why.”

“Perhaps because I’m keeping her friend well-fed,” he quipped, his arms instinctively wrapping around her waist as Luna began to rise, wings readying for flight.

She laughed softly, a sound he didn’t often hear from her. “Maybe. Or perhaps because she knows I’d never let her eat you.”

Cregan’s grip tightened as Luna crouched, her wings stretching wide in preparation, leathern scales creaking like taut sails. The ground seemed to tremble beneath them, but Claere was unfazed, completely at ease atop the creature that could so easily rain ruin and destruction over cities. Cregan, meanwhile, could only marvel at her fearlessness, this strange and beautiful woman who, for all her quiet rage and somber smiles, steered a force of nature with nothing more than a whisper.

“You look as though you’re debating jumping off,” Claere teased again, turning her head slightly to catch a glimpse of his tensed face. “Still uncertain?”

“Aye,” he muttered, not entirely making a jest. “But I trust you.”

Her violet eyes softened, and the distance between them bridged for a brief moment. He pressed his lips over her ear, kissing her deeply.

And with a sharp Valyrian command—"Sōvēs, Luna!"—Luna leapt into the sky, her wings beating against the cold air. Fly, Luna!

They scaled up higher and higher, the icy winds biting at Cregan's face as the ground became a distant blur below. The sheer speed, the strength in every beat of Luna’s wings, made his heart thunder. He understood in that moment what it truly meant to ride a dragon. It was more than flight—it was dominion, unchallenged and absolute. The Targaryens didn’t just ride beasts—they commanded the very essence of freedom itself.

Beyond him, Luna let out an explosive roar that echoed into the heavens, a cry not of fury but of pure exhilaration. It reverberated through his chest, drowning out everything but the sound of the wind tearing past them.

And in front of him, Claere—his ever-composed, lady wife—was not the woman bound to Winterfell or its solemn halls. She became unrecognizable. Wild, untamed, she moved with Luna as if they were one. He could see the sheer ecstasy in her, an exuberance that was unburdened by duty, unchained from her past.

Claere twisted her head back to him with a grin, her silver hair whipping across her face. “Still believe you can handle it?”

He opened his mouth to answer, but before he could, she twisted a rein around her wrist and leaned forward, and Luna suddenly plummeted. The world spun in a violent spiral, clouds swivelling as they dived. His grip tautened, and a growl escaped his throat—half terror, half awe.

“Claere!” he roared, though the rush of air stole his voice.

But there was no fear in her. She simply laughed along, steering Luna suavely.

His stomach lurched as they hurtled toward the earth, but just as quickly, Luna swooped, her massive wings spreading to catch the wind and slow them to a smooth glide. Cregan couldn’t stop himself. The shout of fear turned into something else—an uncontrollable whoop of excitement that burst from his lips. This was living, this was it. He threw back his head, letting out a deep, throaty laugh, adrenalin flooding his veins.

Still breathless, Luna glided the clouds at a leisurely pace, and Cregan curved his arms around Claere's midsection, holding her closer.

"I think I’d rather be on a horse next time,” he breathed into her hair, though the gleam in his eyes betrayed his words.

Claere twisted in the saddle, her smirk full of mischief. “You sound much braver with both feet planted, my lord.”

He barked a laugh, despite himself. “You scared the sense out of me.”

Her smile only widened, and for a moment, as they drifted across the sky, she seemed like the girl she might’ve been if things had been different—before duty, loss, and impressions. It struck him, how young she truly was, how young they both were. Six and ten, nine and ten. Merely children who had grown too fast for expectations. But that was the way of their world—of power, of society, of tradition, of ambition, of titles—that weighed heavy long before they could even begin to understand them.

Luna tilted her wings gently, and they coasted toward the golden horizon, irrevocable souls entwined with the wind.

X

The snow had melted by the time they neared Castle Cerwyn, the old stone fortress standing strong against the sprawling landscape. The castle, though smaller than Winterfell, carried the same powerful significance—an imposing sight against the bare, snow-swept hills. The black-and-silver banner of House Cerwyn—a crowned sword on a dark field—flapped fiercely in the wind.

Cregan’s eyes darted to the men waiting in the courtyard, their breath misting in the frigid air, and at the forefront stood Lonnel Cerwyn, tall, dark and broad, his thick furs making him look even more massive. His pale eyes, like chips of ice, were locked on them, his bearded face twisted into what looked like a permanent scowl.

As they dismounted, Luna’s massive form cast a shadow across the courtyard, her silver-and-pearl scales glinting against the sky. The dragon huffed, her breath steaming as she lowered her head, watching the newcomers with predatory eyes. Lord Cerwyn, his gaze moving from the dragon to Claere and then back to Cregan, strode forward with conscious steps, not wanting to agitate the beast.

“You’re late, Stark,” Cerwyn barked, his voice booming across the courtyard, rough as the northern cold itself. "Thought you’d flown off south, or maybe you’ve forgotten how to ride anything with four legs."

Cregan smirked as he helped Claere down from Luna’s saddle, although she didn't need it, his hand briefly resting on her lower back. She lingered near the dragon, her eyes scanning the unfamiliar surroundings as she edged closer to Luna’s side for comfort.

"No dragon's taken my wits yet, Cerwyn," Cregan said, unable to suppress a laugh. "I had half a mind to see if your lot’s finally learned what manners look like."

Cerwyn’s scowl deepened for a heartbeat, then cracked as he let out a deep laugh that could have shaken the very walls. He seized Cregan in a bear hug, slapping his back with enough force to knock the wind from his lungs.

"Manners, eh? If you’ve brought them with you, they’ll freeze before they reach the hall!"

Cregan chuckled, pulling back. "Some things never change. You’re still uglier than pig shit."

"Aye, but at least I’m not riding dragons, you mad cunt." Cerwyn’s grin widened as he looked past Cregan to Claere, his gaze gentling a fraction.

Turning his attention to her, Cerwyn’s mirth faded into something more respectful, though his northern bluntness remained. He bowed before her and shot her an exaggerated wink.

"You’ve made quite the entrance, Your Grace. No Targaryen has set foot in these halls—until today. Castle Cerwyn is all yours."

Claere, standing beside a rumbling Luna, felt the weight of his gaze. She inclined her head, her fingers briefly grazing the dragon's hide for comfort.

"Lord Cerwyn," she greeted quietly, her voice even, but there was a reluctance in her stance. "It’s an honour."

Cerwyn’s eyes flicked to Luna, the massive beast dwarfing the entire castle, and then back to Claere. “An honour? No, my lady, the honour is mine.” He took a step closer, his tone shifting to high earnest. “And I thank you for the Glass Gardens. Your gift will feed not only Winterfell but all of us in the hard seasons to come.”

Claere dipped her head in a bare curtsey, her eyes flickering with uncertainty, though she spoke evenly. "The North will need all its strength, Lord Cerwyn. Winter is coming."

Lonnel regarded her for a moment longer before turning back to Cregan with a knowing grin. “You never cease to surprise me, you gruff bastard. So how did you manage to charm the princess with all your brooding?”

Cregan crossed his arms, raising a brow. "Hardly a charm—more like persistence."

Lonnel snorted, amused. “Wore her down, did you? Poor lass.” He glanced at Claere, who gave a small, almost imperceptible smile.

Cregan chuckled, but his gaze drifted briefly to Claere, sensing her unease in the bustling courtyard. She stood poised but quiet, her hands occasionally brushing Luna’s scales as though seeking solace from the dragon’s proximity.

“Come on, then,” Lonnel waved them toward the castle gates, his grin widening as he added in a low tone, “before the snow buries us all.”

As they moved forward, the men of Cerwyn’s hall bowed deeply to Cregan, murmuring their respects with “Lord Stark,” while their gazes flickered in curiosity toward Claere. She received more nods and soft murmurs of “my princess” and “my lady” than she ever had at Winterfell, though the gestures only seemed to accentuate how out of place she still felt. She bowed her head in return, her hands folding neatly at her waist, but her silence remained. Cregan kept her by his side, not pressing her to speak, knowing well enough that she would adjust on her own time. For now, she was still the strange Valyrian witch of the North, standing tall and composed despite the swirl of hesitation beneath.

“We’ve plenty of meat and wine,” Lonnel added, clapping Cregan on the shoulder once more. “Though if you’re lucky, Stark, I’ll keep the jests about you riding the White Dread to a minimum.”

X

As the sky darkened above the Wolfswood, Cregan and Lonnel sat beneath the shelter of towering pines, just at the edge of a wide valley. Their breath misted in the cold air, and the sounds of the night around them blended into a quiet symphony of rustling branches and distant wolf howls. The hunting had long been set aside, and now they sat by the fire, its flickering light casting shifting shadows against the trees as they lifted their horns of ale, hands near-freezing in the brisk night.

Lonnel took another swig, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, his gaze shifting to the horizon beyond. He shook his head, casting a sly glance at Cregan, his mouth tugging into a smirk.

"By the gods, Stark, you’ve gone and done it. Brought dragon's blood into your hearth. Tell me—what’s the princess like when that fire isn’t blazing for the rest of us to see?” He leaned in, his grin turning wicked. “Or does it blaze on, even in the dark?”

Cregan chuckled, leaning back against the trunk of a tree. "You’ve always had a filthy mouth, Lonnel. But she’s more than what you’d imagine."

"Oh, I’m imagining plenty." Lonnel laughed, his voice rich with mischief. "I see her there in Winterfell, all young and radiant. You’re telling me that’s what you bed at night? No wonder you’ve got that weary look in your eyes. Must take all the strength you’ve got, mounting a dragon till the dawn.”

Cregan shot him a playful glare. "Weary? I could still break you in half before you took a step. And I’d gladly do it too if you keep going."

Lonnel grinned, shrugging as he raised his horn of ale. "It’s her that keeps you on your toes, eh? Taming a woman with Old Valyrian fire in her veins… Gods, I can’t even get my own wife to listen to me, and Arelle's nought but Northborn. What chance do you have against dragon’s blood?”

Cregan shook his head, his expression softening. "There’s no taming her, and I’d be a fool to try. She’s wilder than the wind… and I wouldn’t want it any other way."

"Wild like the wind,” Lonnel mused, scratching his chin with a grin. “Or a storm? What’s it like, then? When it’s just the two of you?”

Cregan’s gaze shifted to the flames, reflective, an unknowing smile growing on his lips. Any mention of her only expanded his chest three times its size. "It’s quieter than you’d think. In those moments, it’s as if everything falls away. The world itself. She’s entirely… Claere. And she’s mine."

Lonnel raised an eyebrow, his grin easing to something softer, more genuine. "So the wolf’s got a heart, then, under all that steel and duty."

"Mind your tongue before I remember we’re only friends."

Lonnel snorted, draining his horn with a nostalgic shake of his head. “Friends, aye. But I remember when we were hardly more than lads. Drunk on bad ale and worse decisions. Gods, do you remember that girl?” He leaned in, smirking. “The one in Torrhen’s Square? Tall as a sapling, golden hair?”

Cregan laughed, rubbing his face, caught off guard. “Alannys.” He shook his head with a groan. “She took one look at us, decided I was the taller one, and sent you packing.”

“How tragic for Alannys,” Lonnel quipped, a wry grin forming. “She wouldn’t have handled both a Stark and Cerwyn in one night, I tell you that. Good thing I saved that coin for... Malia? Mylla? Fuck if I know.”

Cregan chuckled, raising his horn in a mock toast. “To bad ale and worse decisions.”

"And those poor girls who survived us." Lonnel laughed, clinking his horn against Cregan's. They let out a deep sigh in unison, leaning back. “Look at us now—wives, babes, duties. Gods, we’ve come far, Stark.”

"Too far, some would say.” Cregan’s smile faded, a sense of gravity settling in. “You took us in without question, Lonnel. For that, I owe you.”

Lonnel waved a dismissive hand. “You’re a brother to me. The gates of Castle Cerwyn open for you, whether you come with a pack of direwolves or a damned dragon. You know that.” He paused, his gaze falling on Cregan, more intense. “But you must also know why the whispers reached me before you did. The North listens, Cregan. And it’s hearing a lot more than just the flapping of dragon wings.”

Cregan’s brow furrowed slightly, but he stayed silent, letting Lonnel continue.

“They say she’s been to the Wall more times than any crow has seen. They say she’s witnessed what no man should and kept it all to herself. Dark things, ancient things. And if it all comes back for her…” He let the words hang, heavy between them. “What will you do?”

Cregan’s jaw tightened. “I’ll do what I’ve always done.”

Lonnel chuckled, shaking his head. “Stand and fight, aye. It’s what we were raised to do. But this storm you’ve brought to your door, Stark… it doesn’t just take the one who called it. It takes everything in its path.”

Cregan stared into the flames, thinking about all that had passed in the recent weeks. “She hasn’t told me all of what she’s seen,” he admitted, his voice lower. “But it haunts her. It pains me to see her like that, Lonnel. That’s why I brought her here—to find some measure of peace.”

Lonnel eyed him, more serious now, then took a long drink, the mood sinking as the fire crackled between them. “She’s not just Lady Stark, Cregan—not just your wife. And you’ve more than love at stake. If whatever comes for her… you’ll fight back, I know it. But she’s a crown. And crowns bring war.”

Cregan’s eyes flickered, his face hardening as he looked into the fire. “The North has always known war. It's nothing new.”

Lonnel exhaled a bitter laugh, though his gaze didn’t soften. “Not this kind of war, my friend. Not one that comes from the dark beyond the Wall… or from the throats of ten grown dragons beyond the Reach.”

Cregan’s gaze hardened, resolute. He would not yield his wife for anyone or anything, kin or foe.

“Then let them all come.”

X

The sunlight felt like a rare gift upon Cregan's skin, the warmth cajoling him into a state of near-sleep as he lay across the tough leather rug, between the tall grass, his head pillowed on Claere’s lap, a contented smile playing on his lips as her fingers worked through his hair, weaving small braids with deft movements. Beneath his closed eyelids, the sun burned faint patterns, flickering with each shift of the sparse clouds above. Her voice wafted over him, soft but clear, painting tales of the Bay of Ice, of the frigid, salt-bitten wind, and of Luna hunting seals over those frozen waters.

"They think she swallowed a star," she told him, laughing, a fingertip tracing the length of his nose.

This was paradise. Perhaps it had found him before his deathbed. He hummed along, not truly listening.

He caught faint fragments of her words, the sweet dulcet of her voice rising and falling like a ballad, as she described House Wull’s hardy folk, their eagerness for Luna’s fire to melt the icebergs so they could fish the rich waters beneath. He felt half-lost in the weave of her tale, lulled by the warmth of the sun, the distant clicks of insects, and her fingers threading through his hair like strands of silk.

In a flash, his head slipped from her lap, his neck cricking at an awkward angle. He straightened, rubbing at the spot with a hiss, only to catch sight of her, already cradling a small brown hare, her touch gentle as she brushed its ears and stroked its belly. The sight of her, intent on the little creature, was enough to coax a grin from him.

“Another one for the cookpot then, my lady?” he teased, his voice low and affectionate.

Claere barely spared him a glance, scowling. “Don't be daft.”

Cregan chuckled, leaning back on his elbows as she continued fussing over the hare, her fingers tracing its paws as if in reverence.

“Strange, though,” he said after a moment, his tone more curious than jesting. “What exactly turns you from meat?”

She looked down, her expression thoughtful. “I realized very young that all the world is a balance. Give and take,” she replied with quiet conviction. “My dear dragon's appetite is ample enough; I’d rather give back than take more myself. With her takings are my denials.” Her eyes softened, a shadow of memory flickering there. “I’ve stayed away from it ever since.”

He tilted his head, struck by the dignity and care in her words, considering her. “And what of your tourneys, then? The royal hunts on your namedays? A fine feast without a kill—well, some would call it unseemly for a princess.”

She gave a light shrug, almost nonchalant. “I never had any such thing.”

The words hung there, simple but sharp. She didn’t look at him, her gaze fixed on the playful hare. And he knew better than to pry—the silences of her brothers in her presence, absence of her queen mother's well-wishings, the vacant gestures from her kin, all spoke of a girl with Targaryen blood, Valyrian heritage, truest claim left with the least, yet no more than a shadow in her family’s regard. She’d been raised like an instrument, a spare, the uncelebrated princess, a piece on a board she was never meant to play.

Breaking the silence, Claere spoke, her voice barely above a murmur. “Your namedays must’ve been different.”

Cregan felt a bittersweet smile tug at his lips. Anything to divert his pity. He let the memories flood back, the good ones.

“Different, aye," he sighed.

Claere let the hare hop off her lap, which then refused to run off, waiting on its hind paws by the edge of the mat.

“I was gifted a direwolf pup once, all fur and bluster. Only two weeks in, it was off like the wind. Ran as far as its legs would carry it the first time I made it wear a collar.” He chuckled, shaking his head. “It never came back.”

She laughed under her breath, a soft sound like water slipping over stone. “I should have guessed. But I could find you one if you wish it,” she offered, almost teasing. “The kennel master’s raising a whole pack of them now. They’re all tremendous, close to soldiers.”

He tilted his head back, the corner of his mouth lifting. “Another collar and another beast bound to run?” he teased, the light in his eyes warm. “Or perhaps I’ll forego wolves and settle for that dragon I was promised.”

“If you dare to face it,” she said, eyes narrowing with playful challenge. “The next clutch is yours for the choosing.”

His laughter rolled through the quiet woods, deep and warm. “So, you’d spoil me not just with Winterfell’s fiercest fire, but with her hatchlings too? You know, I think this northern air has made you a touch reckless.”

Her eyes glinted, playful, leaning closer as she matched his tone. “It’s only fair that I spoil you in turn,” she whispered, her voice silken, carrying through the hushed trees like a spell.

"Oh, my love, you've spoiled me very much."

He hummed, pleased, and then, without warning, pulled her close and rolled her beneath him on the soft leather rug. The breath left her in a misty gasp, her gaze meeting his—startled, but not resisting. His weight was grounding, solid and warm, and for a moment, the world narrowed to the space between them, the drift of his breath, the quiet crackle of the leaves around them.

Her gaze flitted as his hand moved to the hilt of the Valyrian dagger he carried, her gift to him from the time before, offered with silent promises of protection. He unsheathed it slowly, the blade glinting, and her eyes traced its movement, following as he held it between them.

“With this. A rare gift,” he murmured, “from a rare woman.”

His words were low, each syllable drawn out as he slid the dagger to the bow at her bodice, poised at the silk ribbon’s edge. With a slow, deliberate twist, he dragged the blade down, the tip of it sharp but light against her skin as the fabric came undone. Her breath hitched as she felt the cool brush of metal taunting her, each tug loosening her defences. The fabric loosened and gave way under his touch, her chest rising and falling in a rhythm that matched his own.

“And now, sweetling,” he whispered, his lips brushing her ear, voice rough, yet unhurried, “how would you rescue yourself from me?”

He moved the knife lower, its edge trailing over the delicate fabric, a promise and a threat wrapped in tenderness. "Hmm?"

She gave a shiver, yet her eyes held his, and there was no fear there, only a steady defiance. His breath was warm against her ear, his voice a low rumble as he traced the knife along her bodice, a feather’s weight skimming her skin. But her gaze never wavered, the faintest glint of mischief sparking in her eyes.

In one swift motion, Claere twisted beneath him, and with a deft manoeuvre, caught him off balance. She rose, bashing the knife from his grip and flipping him onto his back with a victorious grin, sitting astride him.

Cregan gave a low laugh, a touch winded, staring up at her in bemusement. “You think to best me?”

Her mouth curled, fierce and gleeful. “Seems I already have.”

His hands slid up to cradle her face, and then he drew her into a gruff, enticing kiss, all hasty lips, quiet moans, his warmth a balm against the long palls she bore. She softened in his arms that scuffed into her back eagerly, her fingers trailing down his jaw, meeting his fervour with her own, as though she could draw every bit of the strength and surety he offered.

He paused, breathless, the dominating weight of her against him stirring him upright. With a steadying exhale, he pulled back, eyes still locked on hers, and reached to loosen his cuffs, the sound of each metal clasp a whirr of intent as he shrugged off the coat of plates, carelessly letting it slide off.

But when he looked up, it was her watching him, her loosened bodice held against her chest. Her gaze was calm, unguarded, a touch of wonder damping her expression as if she were seeing him in a new light, yet holding some invisible line between them. Cregan let his hands fall to his sides, sensing her hesitation, yet unmoving in his resolve.

“You think to leave me bested, then, after all this?” he murmured, his voice a teasing rumble that chased away the last shadows between them.

She raised a brow, lips curving. Her arms dropped, letting her bodice fall loose from her chest.

“Consider it a reminder of who you are dealing with.”

He laughed and leaned back on his palms, his candid gaze holding hers. “Then come closer, and let me be reminded once more.”

X

Even with the amicable airs of Castle Cerwyn, sleep evaded Claere like a wary shadow. She would lay awake, eyes tracing patterns from the night sky in the darkened ceiling, her mind tangled in dark memories and half-formed fears. More than once, Cregan stirred beside her, sensing her wakefulness. He’d gather her close, his hand soothing circles along her back, murmuring in that low voice of his.

“Sleep, love,” he’d say and kiss her hair. “It's all gone. You're far beyond it. I have you now.”

She’d push her face into the crook of his neck, his heartbeat steady under her cheek, grounding her, though the shadows still lingered.

Another night, he left and returned with a fur-lined blanket warmed by the fire, wrapping it snugly around her. He traced a thumb along her temple and cheek, eyes full of a patience that was, to her, an astonishment. Be it anyone else, they would have left her to find her own peace.

“I’ll stay awake for you, keep the shadows at bay,” he promised, half in jest, half earnest.

She reached out, her fingertips brushing the curve of his lips, a gesture that was as much for him as it was for herself. "Thank you."

A small smile lifted her lips, shy but true, feeling for once as if the weight on her shoulders had lessened, just a touch. In this moment, she knew she loved him—loved him with a depth that ran deeper than duty or bond. His patience was a balm, his nearness an anchor; it healed wounds she’d long since stopped tending to. And though she rarely gave voice to the feeling, it surged within her now, filling the cracks she had long since accepted.

In his presence, she realized, she was safe.

By the fourth morning, a softened tranquillity had woven through her—delicate, a return to herself. Breathing in the cool air of Castle Cerwyn, letting the scents of moss and pine fill her lungs, she felt her apprehension slip further away here, watching Cregan exult with his old friend Lonnel. She saw a side of him she’d never truly seen—unburdened, joyful—as if the duties that weighed him down in Winterfell had been cast aside, lightened in this place.

The aviary, her newfound haven, beckoned to her like a sanctuary of life and song. She spent hours among the birds, marvelling at the late Lord Cerwyn’s collection: songbirds that trilled melodies, fierce hawks, regal eagles, white doves, and her favourite—a grey parrot that greeted her with a soft hum whenever she hummed first. It was the gentlest of welcomes, and for a while, she felt just a nobody wandering among the trees.

"A lovely voice, Your Grace. I've only ever heard tell of it,” came a voice from behind her.

She turned, startled, to find Lonnel Cerwyn leaning against the aviary gate, a faint smile playing on his lips. She dipped her head in acknowledgement, still unused to strangers’ easy familiarity, and now hesitantly drifted along the cages, learning the birds.

As Claere continued to walk beside the cages, she sensed Lonnel’s presence still at her side, solid and patient. His eyes followed her gaze across the rows of birds, some chirping softly, others watching her back with colourful, attentive eyes.

“So,” he said, breaking the silence, “you’ve taken to our feathered friends, then? I wouldn’t have taken a Targaryen to like things caged. Would’ve thought you preferred creatures of… larger wingspans.”

Claere smiled, her gaze lingering on the hawk perched within, its fierce stare mirroring her own restraint.

“You’re not wrong, my lord. I believe they belong to the skies.” She paused, turning to look at him. “They’re creatures of flight; seeing them locked away feels strange. Wouldn’t they serve better if trained?”

Lonnel hummed, a wry smile tugging at his lips. “Ah, but trust’s a hard thing in the North, my lady. We cage what we cannot lose. They might turn loyal, but even a hawk can strike when cornered.”

Claere’s gaze drifted to a small thrush flitting nervously in its cage, and her voice softened. “Even so. Let a creature soar; you might find it follows because it chooses to. Lock it away, and all you see is its shadow.” Her fingers grazed the bars thoughtfully. "It's why Luna never lived in the dingy lairs of Dragonmont. I left her to fly free wherever she wanted."

Lonnel studied her, a flash of understanding passing between them. “Perhaps we Northerners hold onto things too tightly,” he said.

Lonnel hummed thoughtfully, reaching into a cage to coax a hawk onto his glove. "And one of those beautiful things is Violet. Violet's been a hunting guide of mine for years."

She watched as he gently lifted Violet, her wings extending wide.

But as they unfurled, a sudden vision struck her: flashes of white feathers shifting into silver scales, the hawk’s call blurring into Luna’s roar. She could see it: a thousand wildlings pouring over the Wall, spears in hand, flames burning, their faces darkened under the thick coats. Another flash—the great walls of Winterfell loomed over her, blood staining the stones, and in the fray stood Cerwyn, his hands red and his pace relentless, sword in hand, facing a shadowed foe.

She blinked hard, the vision dissipating as quickly as it had come. Lonnel was watching her, the hawk calm in his grip.

"My lady?" he called, a tension lacing his tone.

Claere steadied her breath and lifted her gaze to him, her hand immediately reaching up to press against his cheek, her fingers cool against his warm skin, as if she were grounding herself. She didn’t know what part of the future she’d seen, if it was his, his children’s, or some fate destined for the next generation. But her heart trembled with the significance of it.

“Keep your heart steady, Lord Cerwyn,” she said as if speaking to him across time itself.

Lonnel’s face flickered with surprise, but he didn’t pull away. He only held her gaze, a silent promise passing between them, however one-sided it was, a confused understanding.

And then, with that quiet exchange lingering like the last note of a song, she withdrew, leaving him with the young hawk in hand, her footsteps retreating along the path of the aviary.

X

The grand hall of Castle Cerwyn was smaller than Winterfell’s, yet it brimmed with warmth, a soft familiarity that softened the edges of the North’s rugged chill. The hearth crackled with thick logs, filling the space with a heat that seeped into the bones, banishing the crisp cold outside. Long trestle tables bore the evening’s fare—a hearty venison roast glazed with honey and herbs, cheese pies, oatcakes with dried fruits, dark bread still steaming, and pitchers of spiced ale that filled the air with a fragrant bite. The scents were rich and earthy, consorting with the soft murmur of voices and laughter that filled the space.

Arelle, Lonnel’s wife, was glowing despite her swelling belly. Her hand rested protectively over her babe, the big smile on her lips a mere instinct. Her dark hair fell over her shoulders loosely, framing a face alight with contentment as she looked to Lonnel, who seemed unable to take his eyes off her. Their gazes would meet across the table, exchanging silent fondness, and Cregan found himself observing them with a stifled smile, reminded of his and Claere’s own shared moments. He had been fortunate enough to find something like that in his own time. Patience truly was a virtue.

Cregan reached for Claere’s hand beneath the table, a gentle squeeze. She bent her fingers between his, holding him tighter, squeezing back.

For the first time in weeks, they were somewhere uncomplicated, unburdened by towering walls and solemn silences.

Conversation flowed as if from a babbling brook, Lonnel regaling them with tales of old hunts and mishaps, each story coaxing a rare smile from Claere. Then, Arelle leaned forward, her eyes bright with anticipation.

“My lady,” she said, almost shyly. “Lonnel mentioned you were… quite exceptional with the harp. I’ve longed to hear you play ever since.”

Cregan felt his chest tighten, a flicker of worry crossing his face. He knew Claere’s songs were steeped in her visions and dreams, dark prophecies veiled in melody. But before he could speak, Claere interfered.

“It would be my pleasure,” she said, her voice gentle yet trusting.

Cregan’s worry ebbed as quickly as it came, replaced by admiration. She always surprised him. He’d seen her hands coax Luna's fires to life, and wield the delicate tools of her garden, and, now, he was about to see them breathe life into a song.

A harp was brought forward on the dais, its golden strings gleaming in the firelight, and Claere’s long, delicate fingers traced over them with an intimacy born of instinct. She began to play a soft tune, one that filled the hall like a lullaby, each note like a petal floating through the air, softening the stillness. Her melody was warm and peaceful—a rare sound from her, as though she was offering a glimpse of a world unburdened.

Her sweet voice, smooth as silk, joined the harp, and the words she sang wove into the room like a spell:

"In fields of frost and towering trees, a heart’s true kin awaits in peace..."

As her voice wove through the hall, soft and lilting, Cregan felt the world fade around them. Each note hung in the air, heavy with a sweetness he recognized as his own. Her words fell like secrets meant only for him, and as her gaze met his, a smile played at his lips, slow and sure. She was singing for him, he realized, in this open hall, like an unspoken vow carved into the heart of the North.

His chest swelled, a fierce, undeniable warmth sweeping through him. Every hardship, every moment they had faced together—the bitter nights, the bone-chilling dawns, the weariness—all of it had led to this calm, boundless love. Here she was, with a song that spoke of him, binding his heart to hers before the world as if none but they two could hear it.

Cregan held onto this moment with almost reverent care, a part of him feeling almost foolishly lucky. She was his, this woman of fire and prophecy, and though she bore shadows in her past, here and now, her voice was for him. And he knew, with all the steel and sinew of his being, that he loved her more deeply than he could ever say.

And he should've known, what he had been conditioned to consider beyond all this newfound devotion, that not all good things last very long.

As Claere's song drifted in the air, the hall doors opened, and the castle's maester entered, his face grave beneath the dim candlelights. He crossed the floor to Cregan, extending a parchment sealed with the unmistakable black wax of the Night’s Watch.

“Dire straits, Lord Stark,” he intoned, his voice respectful but heavy with urgency.

Cregan’s hand tightened around the parchment, breaking the seal as he read its contents. As he did, the lightness in the hall seemed to drain.

When he looked up, a murmur passed through the hall as all eyes fixed on him. He hesitated, then addressed his audience, his voice collected but cold. “A word from the Wall.”

Lonnel, his face creased with confusion, asked, “Wildling attack?”

“Worse.” Cregan’s voice was sombre, his face darkening. “They’ve overrun the garrison at Queensgate. A chieftain who calls himself Sylas the Grim led a force of three thousand through the breach.”

There was a ripple of reaction in the room. Claere’s hands stilled on her harp, her gaze intent. She’d heard stories of wildlings crossing the Wall, of skirmishes and raids, but this was different. This was an army. And this Sylas—a man none of them had known even existed—had crushed a garrison with ease and marched past the castles.

The maester’s voice interrupted Cregan’s grim revelation. “Sylas is bound southward, with his war band tearing through the lands of the Gift.” He paused, glancing at Claere. “They say he’s sworn himself to find the one who rides the snow dragon.”

Silence filled the hall, as heavy as iron.

“He rides,” Cregan declared, almost as if the words could summon the reality, “for the Dragon Queen of the North.”

A silence fell over the room, tense and laden with foreboding. Cregan stared at Claere, her face unreadable, yet he knew her mind was already spinning, parsing every implication, every thread of what this could mean. Lonnel’s earlier warning hung between them, and it felt as though every word had foreshadowed this moment. That grim prophecy that now took shape before them all. You’ve brought the storm to your door, Stark. It'll take everything in its path.

The carefree laughter, the warmth of the hearth, the taste of ale—all felt painfully distant now. War had reached their doorstep, a shadow from beyond the Wall. She had brought her dragon, and the storm had followed. And with it, the delicate peace they’d found here, so fragile, slipped through their fingers like the last light of day.

X

*gasp* storm's a-comin'... and it's coming for our girl. only a few chapters left! thank you for reading and keeping up!

a question for my loveliest people: what do you think is Claere's sun sign or moon sign? What about Cregan's?

[ taglist: @pearldaisy , @thatkindofgurl , @theadharablack , @cherryheairt , @beingalive1 , @oxymakestheworldgoround , @tigolebittiez , @cosmosnkaz , @lv7867 , @piper570 , @danikasthings , @acsc8 , @justdazzling ] -> thank you for your endless support everyone!

[soapoet]

Your first kiss with them

requested by anon.

like & rb if it resonates ♡

01.

You very well may have felt this one coming long before it actually does. There is a sense of pieces falling into place as you had forseen. For some, you may have thought about this often, consciously or not manifesting it into your reality. Still, it feels special and somehow out of the blue. Despite scripting the perfect scene you are still in for the unexpected. Like a director watching the actor go off script with a strike of genius, giving an award winning performance worthy of applause.

There could be miscommunication receiving clarity prior to this kiss. It is possible one or both of you spend some time catastrophising words spoken previously and in the time spent apart a mountain is truly made from a molehill in your head. It may take quite a bit of courage to bring this to the table, but it is so very worth it in the end. It seems almost as if this obstacle is what clears not just the air of concern about the matter itself but the tension overall as well. Your person is hit quite hard by the revelation of having in some way hurt you unintentionally, and as they apologise for their trespasses against you they find it necessary to come clean about how it is that they truly feel about you, which may come as a surprise to you even if you already had your suspicions. They speak to you so earnestly, opening their heart and mind up like a book that appeared glued shut for so long. You may even go off script yourself. Having daydreamed and rehearsed this moment, you may stray from the practiced shock and awe and simply accept their feelings and show that you knew all along. Which could be to their horror as they were certain they had their feelings under lock and key.

Their prior stoicism and the austere walls built tall and daunting finally come down to let you in. They will ask to borrow your time outside their obligations. For many, you'll be taken by hand for a walk, or simply away from prying eyes for a moment of privacy. They seem concerned about your comfort, and it's possible this occurs late, outside, in chilly weather wherein you are left shivering, though telling them it's fine. I see biting cold winds and your hand in theirs. I'll be honest, much of this conversation feels like a job interview as they gauge your compatibility. They may ask major questions right away such as your wishes regarding children and marriage, and expressing theirs. The conclusion is that you are compatible at your core values despite being so different otherwise.

This first kiss is contrasted by the cold, like a home and hearth amidst the snow. Often we think of cinematic kisses as the rest of the world fading away to make room for the lovers, but in this instance it seems more like the lovers merge and blur into their environment. As an onlooker, it's akin to a mirage. Two figures under a streetlight, there in one moment and gone in the next. It feels like two previously disturbed souls at peace, finding home at last.

Additional details: hair dye, boundaries, text messages and phone calls, nostalgia, snow and rain, flowers (roses and lilies specifically), shoelaces, caffeine, napkins, gifts, disney, mental health, addiction, breakups, stress, muscle cramps, insomnia, fairy lights, dancing, candles, blue eyes, 4AM, winter and late autumn, short trips, playlists, lip gloss, hiking trails.

02.

There is a distance which sometimes feels larger than it really is. For some this is moreso an emotional distance, but for many, this is a physical distance between you and your person. It seems that even the construction of the foundation had a steep price of time, and building upon this connection was a steady, albeit slow, progress. Some days you may have felt silly, wasting precious time and your youth on potential rather than promise, but you stuck it out and found that many of the things you so often thought were only in your head were true after all, and your feelings were mutual all along.

This distance, be it physical or otherwise through hectic and uncooperative schedules and poor timing, feels frustrating for a while. Yet the two of you stay strong and carry on trudging through the uncertainties and overcoming obstacles. The time spent on laying a stable foundation of sincere friendship pays off here as you both remain patient and faithful, and manage to work things out in your favour.

There is much anticipation going into this. For those of you for whom this is a long distance relationship, this first kiss occurs upon the very first meeting. Could be at an airport, train station, or some other mode of transportation. For those of whom this is merely an emotional distance or unfavourable schedules, this occurs at the very first meeting after agreeing to take the next step in the relationship from friends to something more. Commitment is very sure and stable, and you feel at peace knowing there is no rug beneath your feet for you to worry about being pulled, but strong and solid rock that will not crumble. A lot of messages and calls are exchanged, and you both feel as though you're a part of each other's day to day as if you've lived together for years. And thus, this first kiss may feel a little like making up for lost time, as though it's a formality that must be checked off the list as mentally and emotionally you are so much further along in the relationship than you are physically and must play catch-up.

Though it feels rushed, it's exactly as giddy and exciting as you had always hoped it would be. A warm embrace and a sense of relief, both filled to the brim with excitement to finally be in such close proximity and have the time and space to enjoy each other's company fully and undisturbed. A hug quickly turns to a kiss, and two and three and four. It is simultaneously bashful and bold, nervous and full of glee. A poor attempt at maintaining a balance between remaining calm and being chill, and the inability to keep your hands off of each other. Regardless how busy the environment, nothing else seems to matter than the two of you. Hustle and bustle, noise and people rushing here and there, with the two of you amidst it all in your own bubble of stillness.

Additional detail: linguistics, green, crochet, painting, singing, mozzarella, long hair, winter coat, autumn, pumpkins, cardamom, children, sleepovers, astrology, witches and wizards, cats and felines in general, politics, psychology, scrapbooks, baking, bills, anime, youtube, video games, typing, cars, small apartment, herbs and spices, nutrition, skincare.

03.

This scenario feels the most outright romantic and purposeful. There is something so very classic about this situation altogether, as though it is here to prove courtship and chivalry are both alive and well in this era. And yet, it feels new and refreshing, like the romance novels of old received a brand new cover and a modern twist. The courtship feels meticulous, but not uptight or strained. There is a lot of ease and wind in the hair you're able to let down after a stressful period. For many this may occur some time after a breakup or another interpersonal relationship which comes to an end and you find yourself ready to accept suitors again, or pursue them yourself, or simply putting yourself out there, so to speak.

These new winds in your sail may feel different even solely by the way in which this circumstance comes about. Your person could be quite bold, or direct in a way you haven't experienced before. They make their intentions clear and allow you to call the shots and make the decision as to whether you'll take their hand and let them lead you on a brand new adventure, or simply choose to not get involved. This prospect is alluring to you especially if you have felt previously you have waited for initiative to be taken without having to ask, always feeling as though nothing gets done unless you serve as the taskmaster.

Many of you could meet, or agree to go on a date, somewhere quite public and loud. A gathering of sorts, like a concert, party, or other lively event with plenty of eyes. There likely is an element in which these many pairs of eyes play a role, and I won't lie, the two of you may garner some attention and whispers amongst the crowd or people the two of you know. This doesn't appear to faze either of you, as there seems to be a good balance of public displays of affection and clarity that the two of you are indeed out and about together, and also spending time talking just the two of you, so gossip can travel without your care or concern, and the two of you could even enjoy the attention and the speculations, especially ruffled feathers of the few envious pairs of eyes.

Things seem lighthearted on the outside, but have more purpose behind closed doors, and you may discuss dreams and the future, expectations and plans, very early on. Though you're out proudly prancing in the sun together, it is not until it sets and you have the privacy of the dark between just the two of you that a first kiss is shared. It is sweet and gentle, but bubbles with unexpected chemistry. It's possible that something about this is very new to both of you. You could come from different backgrounds, cultures, or seemingly different worlds, or perhaps you are not their usual type or vice versa, yet it works somehow, and feels quite exciting and magical. There is a lot of security here, and a mutual understanding of what you both wish for the future to hold. Agreeing to take things one step at a time and look out for one another to make sure you both move towards the future in union, always on the same page, and have each other to lean on in case the going gets rough. There is a lot of passion here and it shows the most in your privately shared moments, though many may doubt what could possibly come of you two. It seems the unexpected seems the most stable experience yet for both of you.

Additional details: dinner dates, pumpkin patches, Charlie Brown, acoustic guitars, birthdays, calendars, live music, handwritten notes, bouquets, cinema, popcorn, red, meeting the parents, karaoke and singing in general, dancing, swimming pools, sports, motorcycles, muscle cars, brown hair, cuddling, smiles, archery, airplanes.