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yanderedrabbles · 24 days ago

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The Sorcerer & The Witch

Once, in a village deep in the heart of the forest, a witch was born.

On that day, the people of the village rejoiced, for it had been many years since a baby had survived childbirth. They came from hill and glen to see you, to thank the forest and the fen for lifting their curse.

Every man from woodcutter to farmer promised to keep you safe. Every woman from fishwife to seamstress swore to do the same. They called you foxfire, after those glowing forest waifs that light the wanderer's path. You were their greatest hope, their greatest pride.

[If only their love was enough to stop the sorcerer from doing what he did to you.]

When you were a child scarcely taller than a man's knee, a merchant came to your village. Driven more by desperation than greed, he'd reached the end of his route without selling any of his wares and could not bear to return home a failure. So he said his charms and his prayers and set out for your village.

He was greeted warmly, for it had been many years since a merchant had come. He sold all he had to trade, even the tin and lead trinkets that city folk would never glance at. You came up to him when he was drinking and he stared at you with horror, for all the townsfolk on his path warned him that your village was cursed with no children.

But his horror soon turned to delight. You were a bright child and polite and asked him many questions of his travels. The villagers looked at you proudly, to see you impress a man as widely travelled as he.

When he left and stopped at the next town over, he told them of the single child in the childless village. Word soon reached the king and he stroked his beard and summoned his youngest sorcerer.

"It is strange indeed for only one child to have survived thus far. Go and see why that is."

The youngest sorcerer sighed but obeyed. He arrived in your village on the back of a steaming warhorse, his cloak billowing a black cloud behind him. The villagers cringed away in fear, but you walked up to him and bowed and welcomed him.

The sorcerer had a fine eye for magic and he could see a little of it in you. He should have taken you back to the king and had you trained in the craft, but you stood no higher than his thigh and were the only gift these villagers had. He gave you a flower of heart-wood, told you to be kind to others and left.

You grew from a child to young girl. Everywhere you went flowers bloomed.

That spring, a musician came to your village. Driven more by desperation than greed, he'd reached the end of his route without earning either fortune or fame and could not bear to return home a failure. So he said his charms and his prayers and set out for your village.

He was greeted warmly, for it had been many years since a musician had come. He was paid well for all his songs, even the old love ballads city folk would never listen to. You came up to him when he was drinking, scarcely as tall as his chin. He stared at you with horror, for all the townsfolk on his path had warned him that your village was cursed to have no youth.

But his horror soon turned to delight. You were precocious and sweet and asked him many questions about his instruments. The villagers looked at you proudly, to see you impress a man as charming as he.

When he left and stopped at the next town over, he sung about the one girl in the youthless village. Word soon reached the king. He stroked his greying beard and summoned his second youngest sorcerer.

"It is strange indeed for only a single youth to live among so many elders. Go and see why that is."

The second youngest sorcerer sighed but obeyed. He arrived in your village in a brilliant carriage with royal flags snapping in the wind. His guards were dour faced soldiers and the villagers cringed away in fear.

As before, you walked up to him and bowed and welcomed him.

The second youngest sorcerer spent a long time thinking, for your magic had grown and he too had a duty to take you away. But you were not yet a woman and he did not want to steal you from your village before your time. He gave you a flower of fire-heart, told you to be a be obedient to your parents and left.

When next the king heard of you, many years had passed.

People spoke of you near and far - said that animals and trees bowed their heads when you walked past, that flowers grew in your footsteps, that you could heal any sickness of soul or body.

The king stroked his beard - all of it now as white as snow - and summoned the oldest and most powerful of his sorcerers.

"It is strange indeed for a village girl to have such powers. Go and see why that is."

The strongest sorcerer was a man well versed in even the darkest, most arcane magic and had lived through three lifetimes already. He had the face and the strength of a young man, but eyes like chips of stone.

He didn't sigh as the other two did before him. He only smiled in that distant, icy way of his and said he would be glad to obey.

He arrived in your village in the dead of night without horse or guards, a wolf skin cloak wrapped around him. The villagers paid him no mind - you alone noticed him and bid him welcome.

The sorcerer caught his breath. For you were indeed beautiful, and the trees and the animals did indeed bow their heads to. But more than that, your magic had grown from a trickle to a torrent. As old and immortal as he was, he had met few who possessed as much raw power as you did.

The sorcerer grew wary, for even he could not match your strength. If ever you turned your anger on the kingdom, you could turn cities to ash and armies to stone with a wave of your hand. You offered him some water to drink and as he watched you, he contrived an awful plan.

The sorcerer was a handsome man and could be as chivalrous as any knight if he chose. He gently took your hand in his and begged you to meet him in the forest.

You were sheltered, naive and no man had ever looked at you as he did. You blushed and simpered but made no promises.

The next day, he brought you a heart-wood flower and kissed your hand when he handed it to you.

"Heart-wood for your kiss, my lady."

You were just a village girl and no man had ever called you lady as he did, no one except the sorcerers had ever given you so fine a gift. Still, you did not go to meet him.

The next day, he brought you a flower of fire-heart and kissed your cheek when he handed it to you.

"Fire-heart for the fire of your love, my darling."

Your heart leapt at his touch, at the warmth of his body beside you. In a tumble of thoughts and confusion, you wondered what it would feel like if he kissed other parts of you. Despite the love you were beginning to feel for him, you still did not go to meet him.

On the third day, he brought you a flower of mountain-heart made entirely of diamond and kissed your lips.

"Mountain-heart in exchange for yours, my love."

You were his then, heart and soul, and he knew it. Perhaps it is a testament to his cruelty that he could make you fall for him so easily and feel nothing in return.

That night you set forth to meet him.

The brambles caught at your cloak as you walked, the deer rushed headlong along your path to confuse your way, the foxfire flickered. The whole forest tried to warn you. You were blind and deaf to it all, your mind filled only with thoughts of your handsome suitor.

He met you in a clearing under the moonlight and when you opened your arms to embrace him, he snapped his fingers and bound you to the earth with magic.

You struggled in vain, too frightened and betrayed to think straight.

"You are too wild and dangerous to let live," the sorcerer said, his magic twisting tighter around your arms.

You thrashed and whimpered, moonlight on your skin. The sorcerer was immortal and thought himself beyond mortal cares, but he was still a man.

He watched your dress slipping off your shoulder as you struggled and something began to stir in him. The hunger all men feel when a woman is helpless before them.

He touched his hand to your thigh and shivered at the warmth. "You are such a rare creature," he mused. "Beautiful and dangerous all at once."

He looked at you as no man had ever looked at you before. Eyes full of a desire you couldn't name.

Sweet, naive girl. How were you to know not to trust men sweet smiles but wolf eyes? How were you to know how hot desire burns? It scorches away morals and scruples, burns away guilt.

The sorcerer had his way with you. He stilled your tongue with magic, so you couldn't scream when he pulled your skirts higher up your thighs. He bound your arms behind your back so you couldn't scratch at him when he forced his way between your legs.

You didn't know anything about magic. Didn't even realise you had any. How could you fight against a man with centuries of learning? Countless spells?

When he was done and had laced up his trousers, he looked at you through eyes wicked with guile. Greed whispered in his ear - greed for your power, greed for your flesh.

"I won't kill you, girl. It would be an awful waste of magic." He stroked your cheek and you jerked away from him, unable to stand any more of his touch.

His magic grew tighter around you and he looked at you with an expression as remote and cold as the moon.

"I will instead bind you to me. Make you my servant and my slave for all eternity, able to speak and do only as I command."

You thrashed in your bindings and the earth trembled with your panicking magic. But for all the strength in you, you could not match the skill of the sorcerer.

His enchantment dug through your skin and into your rib cage. You screamed, cursed him and his gods. You would have turned the whole kingdom to ash with your fear if his magic wasn't holding you.

He took your face in his hands and you turned your head to bite into his palm. You bit hard enough to draw blood but he was too deep in his conjuring to either notice or care.

That's what you remember most about that night - the metal smell of his magic and the metal taste of his blood.

His magic was in your heart, in the very core of you. You could feel it like a hand touching the most sacred thing you owned. He was taking what no one else in the world could even touch.

The king's sorcerer wrapped your heart in magic and carefully - for he was afraid of you, despite his strength and his years - linked it to his own. You sagged against your bindings, your strength leaking out of you. He pulled your face up to meet his eyes and all he saw looking back at him was a dull compliance.

"You will listen and obey."

"I will listen and obey," you echoed. Inside your mind, you raged against the chains he'd drawn. But the sorcerer knew his work and when he withdrew his magic vines, you followed him demurely.

In the morning, he announced to the villagers that he was taking you as an apprentice and they all rejoiced to see you climb so high in the world. You hugged them and kissed them goodbye. The sorcerer was adept at his puppeteering and not a one noticed the screaming soul inside you.

The sorcerer held you in thrall. For a decade and then two, you followed at his heels and lent him your magic. He felled armies with a wave of his hand, parted the sea with a breath. Made the humble king of your kingdom into an emperor.

He had you whenever and wherever he pleased - bent over his desk or sprawled in the silk of his bed. Begging him to be gentle and begging him to be rough. He made your body respond to him, made you pull him closer and whisper that you loved him.

Trapped inside a body that you couldn't control, you grew hateful. The sweet village girl was gone, burnt away by the heat of his lips and skin on yours. Fom your awful prison inside yourself, you promised vengeance.

You watched and you waited and you plotted. When the third decade of your imprisonment came, the king passed and the crown prince was named his successor. He was strong and brave, but had little trust in magic and no trust at all in the sorcerer.

The moment he was crowned, he summoned the sorcerer.

"As a show of trust between us, I would have you keep your witch consort here at court," he ordered.

The sorcerer wanted to quarrel with the prince but his years had taught him it was too troublesome to make enemies of the powerful. He agreed to leave you at court while he went about the kingdom on his work. Afterall, what's a single season to an immortal?

For three decades he held the spell on you. Your obedience and the love he made you show had lulled him into a false sense of security. He had forgotten the hate on your face when first he chained you.

He bowed his head in obedience to the new king and gave you your chance to escape.

The king trusted you as little as he trusted the sorcerer and commanded you to stay near his side. From dawn til dusk you followed him. You were beautiful, as unchanged as the day the sorcerer captured you. And despite the prince's wariness and despite his best efforts, he began to fall for you.

On a night when the stars were shining cold and cruel, when the moon was newly hatched and invisible to the eye, you let your hair fall loose around your shoulders and dropped your layers of skirts and petticoats. Until you wore nothing but a white shift that showed the silhouette of your body when you stood in front of the fireplace.

The king found you waiting for him in his room, the firelight reflected off your hair. To his credit, he tried to turn you away. Tried to be noble and honour your virtue.

But he was still a man.

You'd learnt a long and hard lesson about the restraint of men. You laid your hand on his chest and felt the beat of his heart. There were precious few things the sorcerer allowed you to say, but you managed to find some words not restricted by his curse.

"My lord, I'm cold. Will you not warm me?"

The king's eyes grew dark with desire and his noble ideas of virtue crumbled under your touch. You pulled his face toward you and bit at his neck until he did the same to you.

You spent the night with king, teasing him until his restraint broke and he left bruises on your thighs.

The sorcerer came back on the full moon.

He slipped your dress from your shoulders and saw the bite marks littered across your chest. His grip grew tighter and the shadows of the room lengthened.

"Who?" he growled in a voice terrible with anger, "Who has touched you? Who dared to take what's mine and mine alone?"

"The king," you answered, for you couldn't lie to him.

"For how long?" he asked, as hearth fire began to flicker an awful green. "How many weeks has he had you in his bed?"

"Since the new moon," you answered, for his magic forced you to speak.

The sorcerer stood for a moment as still as the dead. Then his rage exploded in a ball of green fire.

It ripped through the walls of the castle, burnt through mortar and brick, through armour and bone. Distantly, people began to scream. In a blink of magic, he moved you both to the throne room, where the king was holding counsel.

The sorcerer clenched his fist and fire ripped through the throne room. It melted the great metal throne and turned the king to smouldering ash in a second.

In his rage, the sorcerer's magic was wild and unstable. With a bite of your wrist and a tremendous pull of magic, you were able to loosen your heart from his curse.

If he were not blinded by jealousy and bloodlust, he would have noticed it immediately.

His magic roared until the great palace was was in ruins, marble melted and running like metal.

Perhaps, were you were still innocent to the cruelty of men, you might have felt guilty. Might have felt horror at the charred husks of the king and his men.

But your years of captivity hardened you and all you cared about was escape.

When it was done, the sorcerer took your face in his palms and kissed you, without a single care for the palace that smoldered around him.

"You are mine," the sorcerer purred, "No matter how much the prince wished it otherwise."

You kept your face as carefully blank as if you were still under his spell and stabbed him in the heart.

It gave you just enough time to wrap your magic around him and bind him to the earth. He roared, pulling and twisting to no use.

You felt his magic weakening and for the first time in three decades, you were able to speak with your own tongue.

"What am I to do with you, sorcerer? For three decades you've held me. For three decades I've been your slave. "

You flicked your wrist and the fire around you flickered to nothing. It was only him and you and the moon, as it had been so long ago.

"For each year that passed, I thought of a different revenge. Cut you into little pieces while you're still alive and feed you to the ravens. Drain all your magic and leave you a wandering madman, entirely reliant on the mercy of others. Burn you at the stake."

Even in chains of magic, the sorcerer was formidable. A tiger waiting for a single misstep to pounce. Even as your prisoner, he looked unafraid.

It made an icy cruelty well up in you.

"No, sorcerer," you said in a voice like tombs opening, "All that is far too good for you."

You reached forward and plucked at the magic that held you to his will. In the beginning, all you wanted was to cut that connection, have total freedom. But you'd had three decades to learn cruelty and now a better idea came to you.

Your magic hooked into his heart, into the very core of his being. You could feel it like a hand touching the most sacred thing he owned. You reversed the spell and took from him what no one else in the world could even touch.

When it was done, you held his face in your hands.

"You will listen and obey."

He was the strongest sorcerer in the kingdom, perhaps in the world. He was the man who tormented you and used you.

"I will listen and obey," the sorcerer echoed.

He was the monster of all your nightmares. And now he was your slave.

On your travels, you heard of a village where babies never survived birth.

When you reached it, you were greeted warmly, for it had been many years since a traveller had come.

A child came up to you when you were drinking, a spright of a girl scarcely taller than your thigh. You looked at her with delight, for all the townsfolk on your path warned you that this village was cursed with no children.

"What are you?" she asked.

"A foxfire witch," you replied.

She mulled this over without fear.

"What do witches do?"

You smiled and conjured a heart-wood flower out of the air. She gasped and took it delicately, startled by it's beauty. More fine than anything in the village.

"I warn little girls about the dangers of the world."

You didn't say the rest out loud, but your thoughts floated on the wind and perhaps she understood the wisps of them.

I warn little girls about the cruelty and the lust of men. So that they are never caught as unguarded as I was.

Behind you, the sorcerer waited patiently with the horses. If his soul was screaming inside him, no one heard it.

#yandere fairytales #Yandere #yandere x reader #yandere imagines #yandere oc x you #yandere drabbles #yandere scenarios #yandere x darling #yandere male #Reader insert #Yandere wizard #Yandere sorcerer

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rukkiya · 1 month ago

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didn’t mean a thing

˚✧ ﾟneuvillette x reader, wriothesley x reader (separate) ˚✧ ﾟ

(they say something mean to reader when reader tries to surprise them)

━━━━⊱⋆⊰━━━━

neuvillette

The chief of justice often feels the pressure of his role. Lately the cases have been weighing heavy on him, more so than usual.

The amount of unattended cases and trials to come up only makes the judge more anxious, more stressed, and worst of all more irritable.

He hasn’t been taking care of himself, often prioritizing his job over his health and it breaks your heart. You’ve caught him taking naps in his office when you’d stop by to visit so you thought of making him something to help him during his times when he sleeps.

You're a local seamstress, but you have a good hand for crocheting as well. You often make small crochet plushies for the orphans and melusines so you thought a small pillow would work wonders for nevi when he takes naps in his office.

The iudex is sat at his desk reading over one of the many cases piled up next to him. His migraine forms as he sighs, taking a sip of cool water in hopes to somewhat ease it.

He hears a soft knock at his door and ignores it at first. The people he works with know not to bother the chief when he has this much work to do. but the knock is heard again making him sigh, putting the documents down.

“Come in.” He calls out, seeing your head peek in, a soft smile already playing on your lips.

“Hello love!” you beam, you love visiting your husband at work. You don’t get to see him home too often, you take any chance you get to drop by.

“Hello,” he greets back, mouth forming a straight line. “Is something the matter?” He asks, wasting no time.

“No, I just wanted to drop off something for you.” You smile, feeling how off he was right away. He must be so drained you think, trying to dismiss the uninterested tone in his voice.

You pull a small bag from behind your back and walk up to him, holding it out for him to grab.

His face remains neutral and you feel small under his gaze, regretting interrupting his work.

It’s strange though, he usually always welcomes you with a warm smile, ushering you in to spend time with him. Today was different.

He begrudgingly moves his chair back and eyes the bag.

What’s so important that you have to interrupt his work?

He grabs the bag from you and you pull your hand back as he peeks in, moving the wrapping paper aside.

His hand comes up to the bridge of his nose when he sees a small pillow with blue and white lace trimming at the edges in the bag.

He doesn't know what he expected and he doesn’t understand why he feels so bothered but he can’t help it.

“Is this all?” He asks, putting the wrapping paper back on top, handing you the bag back like it was something that made him upset.

“I made it for you. You often take breaks and sleep in your office so I thought-“

“That’s the problem you know.” He cuts you off before you can finish, making you step back a bit.

“You think, what you do will make things better for people or you know what people need.” He brushes off the small gift like nothing.

“I just wanted you to get proper rest, you look tired. I know you haven’t been getting much sleep because of all the cases and-“

“And you’re the one stopping me from finishing them right now, right? I don’t need you always checking up or stopping by when you feel like it. Some of us take our jobs seriously. It’s suffocating having you stop by everyday. I need space and time to do my own job alone. Thank you very much.” He’s almost out of breath by the end of it, his eyes narrow at you, you feel what the verdicts of the cases feel when he judges them.

You don’t know what to say. You feel small under his gaze and he doesn’t even flinch, after all he’s said he stands his ground.

“Forgive me for worrying in the slightest, it won’t happen again.” Your voice falls flat, you dig your nails in your palm to stop the sting in your eyes as you turn to leave.

Reaching the door you half expect him to stop you, apologize or something but it never happens. You step outside and feel your tears drop, lowering your head from gazes around you.

You head to your home with a heavy heart. You feel utterly stupid. You should’ve seen the signs, you knew he was on edge because of work and you walked right into it like a spider's web.

You reach your house feeling drained. You slowly make your way to your room to continue working on small plushies for the orphans to take your mind off the harsh words you hear earlier. Throwing the small pillow you made into the trash before you get to work. He doesn’t want it and neither do you.

Neuvillette lets out a content sigh. He’s done his work, more than half of the cases he’s reviewed and he feels better. Enough to call it a day and head home somewhat earlier than normal. Maybe he can catch a meal with you, something he hasn’t done in ages.

He opens the door to your shared home and takes note of how quiet it is. Is it usually this quiet when you’re alone?

The living room was dim, the only source of light was flooding the from the cracks of your shared bedroom.

He hangs his coat and makes his way to your shared bedroom. He wants nothing more than to spend time with you.

You hear your bedroom door creak but don’t bother to turn around, already knowing who it was. You made a promise to yourself to stop being overbearing with him, he told you it’s suffocating, you never want him to feel that way with you.

He feels his lips tug upwards a bit at the sight of you. You were stitching some plushies, your work always so beautiful and delicate.

“Hello my love.” He speaks softly, he knows he acted out of place earlier but he wants to make it up to you. He knows you only care, that just the kind of sweet genuine person you are.

“Hello.” You welcome him barely above whisper, not looking up at him. You lay in bed crocheting a small plushie.

“Are you going to drop those off at the orphanage tomorrow?” He asks, heart filling with utter adoration at the sight of you making your beautiful plushies.

“Yes.” You answer, nodding your head as you cut the end of the yarn off.

“Would you like me to assist you?” He asks, you feel like it’s a trick question. After all he has told you today he asks this?

“No need. You have work, I can go with Navia.” You decline, he stands there for a second before clearing his throat.

“Why of course, please send my regards when you stop by.” He asks and you nod.

What’s wrong? You’ve never declined his offers of helping you. Were you not feeling well?

“I’m going to wash up dear, afterwards I’ll make us something to eat.” His voice is much softer than earlier. You don’t understand what he wants anymore. It’s confusing.

While Neuvillette was showering you warmed up his portion of the dinner you made, setting it up on his bedside table. You were hurt by his words but you still want him to eat.

After preparing his meal on his bedside table, you grab your pillow and an extra blanket heading to the living room couch. As much as his words hurt you, you still want to hold him, talk to him and have him close but he doesn’t want that. He made it more than clear in his office.

After Neuvillette’s shower, he’s greeted with a meal on his nightstand. He looks around the room and notices you're not in bed anymore. He catches sight of your plushie on your nightstand and thinks you went to use the other restroom.

He gets changed and smiles at the meal you made for him. Always helping him when he knows you work just as hard as he does, if not even harder than he does. You’re passionate about your work and he adores that side of you.

He buttons up his shirt and sits in bed, looking at the clock. It's been over 15 minutes since he’s gotten out. Why weren't you back in bed?

He stands and walks over to your side of the bed where the plushie lays on the nightstand. From the corner of his eye a blue and white lace trimming catches his attention and he looks down at the small bin next to your side of the bed.

He reaches in and pulls out the small pillow you had brought to his office earlier that day, he feels his heart sink. Remembering his harsh words and how he gave it back to you without a second thought. He feels guilty.

You threw this beautiful pillow away because of his foolish outburst. He feels like a fool for talking to you in such a way. Your guarded attitude made more sense now that he realizes it.

He clutches the small pillow in his hold and looks to your side of the bed, noticing your pillow missing.

His legs move on their own, opening your room door greeted with the dark living room only a candle being your source of light.

He can see you laying on the couch and he feels his eyes burn.

As he nears you he hears you crying and his heart tugs at the sound.

He wouldn’t dare let you sleep alone, ever.

He says nothing as he turns to you and you quickly turn away to hide your tears.

He kneels down a bit. Arms circling under your legs and head, picking you up with ease as he grabs your pillow before making his way back to your room.

You feel more tears spill. What was all this? What does he want?

He stops in the room after closing the door behind him. The only sound to be hard was your sniffling before you heard rain, rain droplets hitting your window.

He holds you closer, tighter in his hold.

“My love, I’m terribly sorry for my words that have caused you to feel the need to distance yourself. I’m sorry I disregarded your gift for me. I will cherish it forever.” He whispers, his legs moving once again making his way to your side of the bed.

He softly lays you down before standing again, you see the pillow you thee away on your nightstand and feel more tears spill.

He turns, he knows he should give you space, give you time alone and as much as he wants to hold you he has to respect your boundaries.

Before he can get too far he feels a hug in his wrist, he feels his own tears spill.

Your heart, which is too kind and forgiving, knows him too well. He truly doesn’t deserve you.

“Please don’t leave.” You whisper, he only nods, who’s he to say no? After all he’s done today he’d be a fool.

He climbs into bed, arms immediately grabbing you, laying you on top of him as the rain outside gets louder.

“My love, I apologize for my actions. Please find it in your heart to forgive a fool like me, not right now but when you can.” He can only whisper, if he speaks any louder he’s scared he’ll cry more.

You nod your head as it lays on his chest “yes my love, I do.” you hug him, if he didn’t care, he wouldn’t be here right now you tell yourself. The fact that he’s here right now shows so much.

You hear his heartbeat steady and the rain outside subside. Knowing he’s calmed down, feeling your eyes grow heavy. Neuvillette holds you closer, making a promise to himself and you to never act out of place like that again. Not with you, who’s so caring and giving he’ll cherish you forever along with the pillow you made for him today.

wriothesley

The duke is in charge of many things, running the fortress of meropide is one. Dealing with troublesome inmates to make sure they know their place and meetings that consist of various things for him to arrange.

Wriothesley was making his way back from a meeting with Neuvillette. He has asked him about an inmate, asking him to bring him up for further questioning, giving him the inmates name and number before he left.

Neuvillette had given him a small paper with the number and name. Wriothesly had memorized it just after a few glances at the small paper. But during his busy day out he has misplaced it. And as the day went on he was worried he’d forget.

He didn’t want to trouble Neuvillette with another meeting to give him the number again so he’s been repeating it while making his way to his office.

You decided to bring Wrio some food and tea. Upon arriving at his office you found it empty and decided to surprise him for when he comes back. Sitting on the small couch by his desk, setting up his meal for when he comes.

You often have one or two days out of the month where you catch up and eat lunch together in his office. It's one of the ways that you get to see him more besides when he comes home to sleep.

No one dared to stop the duke as he made his way to his office, the look on his face alone was screaming don’t approach me right now.

You hear his office door open and hear his footsteps echoing up the staircase, you stand up and wait by the edge of the stairs happy to see him.

He doesn’t even look your way when he reaches the top, instead he brushes past you. Mumbling some numbers under his breath.

“Wrio.” You call out softly, making him whip his head back. He didn’t even notice you were here, let alone see you standing right by him.

“What’re you doing here?” He asks, it comes out harsher than he intends.

“I brought you food! We haven’t had lunch in a while, I made your favorite too. It’s been sometime since we’ve sat down and had a home cooked meal.” You beam, smiling at him and pointing to his desk behind him where you set up the food.

“That’s great, but right now isn’t the time.” He brushes you off. Walking to the cabinet where all the inmates' files are repeating the number in his head still.

“I'm not trying to tell you what to do, but you tend to look over your health because of work. This can help you focus on your work more! I even brought your favorite tea to go with it.” You walk to his desk and pour the hot tea into his favorite cup.

“Just take a second and eat, take care of yourself and-“

“Do you ever stop?” He feels his grip on the cabinet tighten as he closes his eyes, taking a deep breath.

You stop talking and look over at him.

“I’m sorr-“

“I have an office to do my work, for peace and quiet as I do so. No one has the right to waltz in here and think they can have a tea party and talk their heads off while I work.” He slowly turns to you.

You only swallow, not knowing how to respond.

“You know I have more important things to do than have a meal with you. You talk so much, too much sometimes and you don’t know when to stop and it’s bothersome. Learn how to stop at times and not bother people when they’re working, yeah?” He scolds, roughly shoving the cabinet closed.

You look down at the desk, too embarrassed to look him in the eyes.

You feel like you’re glued to the floor. You can’t move.

“I’d like to get back to work, I don’t have time for all this. I’d be best if you went back to work as well.” He sits at his desk with a file and you feel your eyes sting.

Leaving the food on his desk and grabbing your bag. Walking downstairs and away from his office that felt suffocating, you should’ve just minded your business.

You walk out of his office, closing the door softly as his words ring in your head.

Seigwinne sees you, walking up but stopping In his tracks when she sees your solemn expression. She’s studied humans enough to know that the emotion you were feeling was sadness.

You make your way home, stepping inside and locking the door as you feel the first tear run down your face.

You know how much you talk, you know many people don’t like it but Wriothesley never said anything about it. He’s always listened to you, saying it helps him relax. During work he’s often doing the talking so hearing you talk, it brings him peace. He also loves your voice.

When did he start getting annoyed? Has it been a while? What if he’s been tired of hearing me this whole time? You question yourself. Coming to the conclusion that you need to stop. Stop talking so much and taking up his time. It’s for the better.

When Wriothesley ends the meeting with the inmate he finally feels some tension release from his shoulders. He’s been running around all day and he hasn’t had time to sit in peace.

From the time on the clock he sees it reaching seven pm and decides to call it a day. He’s done the most important task already. He can attend other matters tomorrow.

As he cleans up his desk he notices the food and tea, remembering you stopped by earlier to chat with him. Remembering what a jerk he was and how he told you to leave.

He sighs when he notices what you made. You have a habit of putting others' priorities before yours and he feels bad for how he responded. He packs up the food to take it back home, to reheat and eat with you like you wanted.

When he arrives home, he notices how quiet it was inside. He pushes the door open and is met with a small lamp in the kitchen and spots you sitting on the couch, book in hand.

“I’m home darling.” He calls out, seeing you turn to him, giving him a small smile then turning back to your book.

His eyebrows draw together, he loves coming home and seeing you. Always so excited and giddy asking him about his day and telling him about yours but you didn’t even respond to him.

“I brought the food you made back home, I wanted to reheat it and eat with you. We haven’t spent time with each other in a while.” He speaks up, pulling his tie down a-bit as he still sees you reading your book.

Why weren’t you responding? He thinks, you’re never this quiet.

“Have you eaten?” He pushes, trying to get something out of you, anything.

“Not hungry.” You answer, simple and quick. Not even looking away from your book this time.

He feels nervous. He feels something off.

“I’ll heat it up, if you want some please eat.” He sighs, the tension is heavy but nothing happens. He knows something’s off with you.

In silence the duke eats alone on the table, sending you glances as you continue to turn the pages of your book. Not indulging him in your ranting he’s come to grow ‘annoyed of’. He made it clear earlier.

“The food is delicious, thank you for making this.” He tires again, this time you look up. He smiles a bit but you do something that makes him believe something is off, you only send him a thumbs up in return.

He finishes his half and saves you yours for when you get hungry, putting it away and making his way to you.

“Y/n darling. Is something the matter?” He asks, making his way closer to you. Seeing you shift uncomfortably from where you sit.

“Nope.” You shake your head, not daring to look at him. You can feel him coming closer.

He kneels down, inspecting you. The corners of your eyes were a bit red, but nothing else seemed off. Were you feeling sick?

His hand reaches up to feel your forehead but you move away.

“I’m not sick.” You speak up as you dodge his touch. He feels his hand freeze.

“Use your words, what’s wrong? Why aren’t you talking to me?” He asks, placing hands next to both sides of your legs caging you in.

“I’m not one of your inmates, don’t order me to do things.” You speak up, still not daring to look up at him, you can feel his piercing eyes on you.

He’s taken aback at your response.

“I’m not ordering you y/n, I’m just worried.” He sighs, pulling your book down to get you to look at him.

“I said I’m fine, can I get back to reading?” You glance up at him. Trying your best to not let anything slip though. You don’t want him to see how much his words hurt you.

He decides to stop, for now. He knows something’s wrong. You’re too stubborn to tell him though.

He walks into your shared bedroom and into the bathroom to shower, racking his brain to think of what possibly could have made you so upset. The whole time he spends in there he can’t think of why you’re refusing to respond properly.

It’s already later when he gets out, the steam from the bathroom becoming visible when he opens the door.

He sees you in bed and he can help but feel at ease. You came to bed at least. He walks over to the closet eyes you as he does, a small smile making its way onto his lips at the sight of how you look.

He starts changing and notices you’re faced away from him. He quietly steps around and sees you hugging a pillow and he feels this heavy feeling in his chest again.

Did he do something?

He lays down next to you, you feel the bed dip and try your hardest to not turn around. You’d probably hug him and start talking and annoy him again. He probably doesn't want that.

You feel like such a fool. All day his words have been affecting you. You’re too scared to speak again.

You hug the pillow closer to you and feel your eyes burn once again. Hearing those words from him hurt more than anything. You don’t want to show him how much it hurts you though. He doesn’t need to know. He said what he said and what’s done is done.

He lays there for a bit, the tension still surrounding you. He’s unsure of what to do. He wants to hold you, pull you in but what if you move again.

That’s when he hears it, the small sound of sniffing. He freezes. His heart drops making him stand.

You feel the bed move and hear him stand, you think the worst. Maybe he’s leaving because he’s annoyed. He doesn’t want to deal with this. You don’t know why you’re crying but it won’t stop. He just told you something that bothered him and you took it too personally. You’re both hurt and upset and you don’t understand why.

It’s quiet for a few seconds but then you feel a firm hand gently grab your arm, lifting you off the bed effortlessly.

You try to hide your face but Wriothesley has had enough of this.

“Hey hey, look at me.” He softly calls out.

You try to hold it in but you feel more tears run down. Placing your hands on his chest and pushing him away but his sturdy frame doesn’t budge.

“I’m fine, j-just tired.” You try to sound convincing despite your voice cracking. Struggling against his hold, pushing him a bit harder to move.

You resist in his hold and he feels his heart break even more.

“Y/n what’s wrong?” He grabs your hands, stopping your struggle and you look down, not wanting to look at him.

“Nothing, I’ve talked enough today. I don’t want to anymore.” You try to sound convincing, trying to pull your arms out of his grasp.

He’s taken aback, talked too much? You haven’t even talked at all. Where is this even coming from- oh.

He stills, eyes boring into your head as you avoid his gaze.

“I didn’t mean it earlier y/n. I didn’t mean anything I said earlier. It doesn’t excuse if I was mad or busy telling you that wasn't something I ever meant. I love hearing you talk. I love your voice. Don’t ever think that I want you to stop.” He explains, knowing he was the reason for it all now. What a jerk he’s been.

He drops his head, resting it on yours. He waits a bit seeing if you’d pull away but you don’t. “Darling, I’m sorry. From the bottom of my heart I am. I miss hearing you talk. The house is eerily quieter without your beautiful voice and laughter echoing through these halls.” He speaks softly, hearing a small sob escape your lips.

You move back a bit, looking up at him and taking a breath. “But you told me- I don’t want to annoy you.” You hiccup, finally letting more tears fall. It’s been eating you alive. It hurts. It hurts so bad because someone you love told you.

“No no, you’d never, and you never ever had. Do you understand?” He makes it clear, seeing your pretty eyes filled with tears he grabs your face.

Your behavior makes sense now, how could he have been so mean to you? He truly is such a fool.

His hands slowly lift to your face, testing the waters to see if you’d pull away, but you don’t pull back. “Please talk to me. Don’t hold back or hide your voice dear. Scold me, tell me what I did wrong.” He pleads, the look in his eyes desperate.

You nod, wiping your tears when he brings your head to his chest hugging you close. “Please forgive me.” He repeats, squeezing you tighter when you let out a small ‘yes’.

He holds you close, and though you said you forgive him. He can’t take you for granted, not when you’re the best thing to ever come into his dull life. So he repeats it over and over, until you both fall asleep.

_________________

authors note: hello my lovelies HIIIIII!!! (/^▽^)/ it’s been a while but I come with a gift ANGST!! hehe neuvi and Wrio are such sweet men this was kind of a rough one but them with them seems so AMAZING! I hope you all had a lovely holiday and you’re all taking care! Hope I enjoy yet another angst with comfort! take care loves, bagel miss u all mwahhh <33 ^~^! (DISCLAIMER!! this was not edited or looked over, apologies for any misspelled words or incorrect grammar!!)

#genshin impact #genshin impact oneshots #genshin impact x reader #genshin impact angst #genshin impact hurt/comfort #genshin impact neuvillette #genshin impact wriothesley #neuvillette x reader #wriosthesley x reader #genshin angst #hurt/comfort #neuvillette angst #wriothesley angst

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entitled-fangirl · 5 months ago

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Snowfall.

Cregan Stark x Dornish!wife!reader

Summary: the reader is feeling a bit out of place as the Warden's wife.

A/n: Based on an ask w/liberties taken!!!

Masterlist

...................................................

"Things are quite cold here," she admitted aloud as they sat at breakfast.

Cregan smiled as if the thing she stated was the most obvious thing he'd ever heard, but he would never mock her for it. "Indeed. And when summer ends, the snow will return. Have you ever seen snow, dear wife?"

She stared at him for a moment, wracking her brain at the question. "I've read it in novels, I think."

"Novels?" He chuckled. "Aye, I suppose it's nice when it's only in pages while you read it in the sun of Dorne." He takes a long sip from his cup before continuing. "When winter comes, the chill settles into your bones." He looks at her, clearly going somewhere with his choice of words. "I mean no disrespect to you, but tell me you've packed warmer dresses than the one you have on."

Her cheeks flush as she looks down at her dress.

"It's not that it's not a beautiful dress," Cregan is quick to correct as his smile falters. "In fact, it's quite stunning on you. But it has no place here. It will not keep you warm." He sits on his words for a minute before a thought came to him, "Are you not cold now?"

She tugged at the sleeve of her dress, becoming insecure of her clothing. "It is sufficient, my lord."

His smile falls, "Don't do that."

"Do what?"

"Seems the cold has indeed gotten to you, for your heart is becoming chilled as well." He leans forward, placing his arms on the table, "My name is Cregan. You know that well. Do not become formal if I offend you."

She quickly shakes her head, "You've not offended me."

He stands up, his chair forced back with a loud noise. His fingers begin to pry at the top of his cloak, pulling the strings apart that keep it on his shoulders.

She stands as well out of respect. He's confused by it- ladies don't stand for men. Quite the opposite. But he doesn't question it as he moves to her.

"Here, try this," Cregan smiled as he wrapped the cloak around her frame. Warmth enveloped her body as he tied it on her.

"You don't have to do this for me."

"I know, but I wish to." His smile turned teasing, "Will you deny a Lord his wishes?"

She grinned, "Never."

"Good." He kissed her forehead, "I wouldn't want my lady to feel the chill."

He gestures for her to sit again, pushing her chair in for her. He sits down as before. "Let us finish this meal, and I shall call for a seamstress." His grin grew. "She will have Stark patronage for a long time."

…

"Something the matter?" He asked quietly.

Y/n looked up at him, "Hmm?"

Cregan reached down and took her hand in his, rubbing his thumb across her knuckles. "Something is bothering you. I can tell."

She shrugged lightly.

He let out a sigh, pulling her hand up and placing a kiss on the back of her hand. "When you're ready, you can speak to me. I hope you know that."

"It's just," She looked around the courtyard and leaned in, "the stares."

"The stares?" He repeated. He looked around also, his brows furrowed. "It's only the people getting used to you."

"It's been almost seven months."

"I suppose it has," He leaned down and kissed the top of her head, "Perhaps your beauty is just distracting. Surely the stares don't truly bother you?"

"It's not just the stares, Cregan. They all whisper, too."

"Well, you don't look like them. Most northerns never journey outside of their cities. You intrigue them."

"Cregan-"

"-My love, please. Don't let such a thing take up space in your mind. You're my lady of Winterfell. The rest does not matter."

"Perhaps they think me a spectacle."

"They do not think you a spectacle."

"Then why don't they speak to me?"

Cregan sighed, "I don't know, my love. I don't know."

…

Cregan made it his mission to ease his wife's worries.

"I believe they're just intimidated to speak to her," the maester tried to ease to Cregan.

"How so? She's sweet spirited."

"Aye, but they do not know that when you're constantly casting a shadow over her." The maester chuckled. "Perhaps you're the intimidating one yourself, my lord."

Cregan grinned, "Perhaps indeed." He takes a moment to think. "What shall I do then?"

The maester thinks for a while himself before reaching a conclusion. "Show them that she is human as well," his eyes lit up, "Show them she's approachable."

"No," he quickly denied. "I don't want people just… approaching her. She's the lady of Winterfell."

The maester let out a sigh. Cregan held the same stubbornness as he did when he was young. "My lord, if she does not feel welcomed in her new home, she shall be miserable."

"The new is wearing off, and I'm afraid misery is inevitable if I don't do something." He let out a frustrated groan. "The North is cold and miserable on a good day. I'm running out of ideas."

"You cannot force the people to bend to your will, nor her. Perhaps you just… focus on your relationship with her, and the rest will fall into place?"

Cregan sighed in thought. "Yes, I believe I shall start there."

…

Luckily, their bond was quite well developed at this point, the two going as far as to say that they love one another.

"I've been thinking about what you said," she finally spoke up.

Cregan looked up from his papers to her. "And what's that?"

"About the snow. I do truly wish to see it."

He nods, "Be patient, my dear. Winter is close at hand."

She stands from her chair, walking towards him. "But how close? How long must I wait?"

Cregan considered her question. "Less than weeks, I'd assume at this point. He eyed the warmer dress on her frame, "You've noticed the change in the air, haven't you?"

"I have," she nods. "It's quite frightening. I didn't know the air could bite so hard."

He grinned, "You will adjust, I swear to you. Your dresses are warm enough, yes?"

"Quite so. Thank you again."

"I'll make you a promise, little wife." Cregan leans back in his seat. "The first snow of winter, I shall personally introduce you to it. How does that sound?"

A bright smile came to her face, "You'd do that?"

"Of course. Consider it done."

…

True to his word, the first snow came at an unexpected moment.

Cregan had left for the day, but the second the first snowflake fell to his cheek, he forced his horse to turn around and head back to Winterfell.

"Get Lady Stark for me," He barked at a servant as he handed the reigns off to a stable boy. "And make sure she's properly dressed."

Minutes later, she walked through the doors of Winterfell to the Courtyard. Her eyes widened at the sight of Cregan with his hair covered in snow.

"I had a promise to keep, my lady," he said with his hand extended to her.

She stepped out into the yard with hesitant feet, her body uncertain of what to make of this.

The people in the courtyard watched with curious gazes at their lord and lady.

When she reached Cregan, she took his hand. "It's not dangerous?"

"Not like this," he grinned. "When there's a lot of it, yes. But for now, you may enjoy it."

Her other hand reached up to his shoulder where snowflakes lay on the furs of his cloak. She paused centimeters from it, unsure. "May I?"

He nodded, "Of course."

She reached out and touched a flurry, watching it melt into liquid against her hand. Her brows furrowed. "Is it water?"

"Yes. Merely cold water."

She tried again, pressing her entire hand to his cloak and flinching back at the sudden intensity of the chill. She let out a gasp and tucked her hand back into her cloak.

"Easy," his grin grew. "It's only the chill."

"You did not tell me it hurt."

"That is the nature of it. The more there is, the more likely it may hurt." He reached out and takes both hands now. "Do not give up on it. Try again."

She hesitantly does so, reaching out again, this time aware of the feeling that will come. The flakes melt on her palm and instead she lets out a breathy laugh. "And how long does winter last, Cregan?"

"Longer than it should, dear wife." He reaches up and caresses her cheek, "Have you had enough?"

"No, I could never!" She smiles.

Cregan looked around, noting the people around them that tried to hide their obvious gaze. He was used to it at this point.

…

"Cregan, you will never believe what has happened!" She grinned widely as she marched into their chambers.

He quickly gave her his attention in worry. "What? What has happened?"

"I have been invited to eat with northern ladies tomorrow!"

Cregan brows furrowed, "Have you?" His panic turned to relief as he took her in his arms. "That is wonderful news."

"The woman who invited me was so kind! Lady M…" She tried to recall her name. "Morn…"

"Mormont?" He finished with a smirk.

"Yes! Lady Mormont! I promise, I won't forget again! She asked about Dorne as well! No one has asked me of Dorne. It was so refreshing, Cregan!"

"Lady Mormont is kind indeed, sweet girl. You are safe with her."

"So I may go?" She asked in shock.

He was stunned for a moment that she was asking his permission. "My love, your Dornish may think me a brute, but I will not hold my wife away from what makes her heart the fullest."

Her arms wrapped around his neck and her face pressed to his chest. "You are wonderful to me, Cregan," her muffled voice sounded against his chest.

He chuckled, "I've only done my best to make a home for you, my girl."

"Perhaps being northern is not all bad," she teased.

He pulled her away from him with a confused look. "What do you mean?"

Her smirk grew, "It's not all bad. It's got… kind women… and… beautiful mountains… and… handsome men."

He pulled her to him, bending down to speak lowly in her ear, "Handsome men? Are there more men fighting for your attention?"

She giggled, "I misspoke. Handsome man. Just one. Their leader."

A low chuckle came from his throat, "Aye, there are pretty women too."

When she looked confused towards him, he grinned.

"One, at least. And she's Dornish."

He pressed a heavy kiss to his lips, groaning when she returned it fervently.

…

He would never tell her how earnestly he had prayed to the Old Gods for that first snowfall to be a kind one for her to enjoy.

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Taglist: @twinkletwinklenotastar, @kidd3ath,@yujyujj, @misswynters, @cosmosnkaz, @sithapprentice, @kaniromi, @lovemesomevesey, @its-jackie-bb, @8812-342, @thorins-queen-of-erebor, @kingdomzeldaquest @nyxbranwenn, @callsignwidow, @a1lexh-blog, @alyssa-dayne, @ethereal-athalia, @ashovertheriver

#fanfiction #cregan stark x reader #game of thrones x reader #cregan stark x you #house of the dragon fanfiction #game of thrones fanfiction #house of the dragon #cregan stark x y/n #game of thrones x y/n #game of thrones imagine #cregan stark imagine #cregan stark fanfic #cregan fanfiction #house of the dragon fanfic #hotd cregan #hotd fanfic #cregan stark x female reader #drew drools over cregan stark

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othercrossee · 2 years ago

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I like to think in all the history of fallen angels, the case of Azazel is the unique one. Probably cause when angels fell, it's not a process going on for days. If god dictate they're no longer an angel, they lose that immediately. Azazel body rots cause the action of falling wasn't immediate, it wasn't known by anyone and it was slow. So I suppose, Azazel power sorta took matters into its own hand and self destruct.

#z rambles #self punishment i suppose?#azazel entire wardrobe is made by adithya to lessen their pain. jupiter and illzephine both helped to make their territory less....bad #cuz during the rot. azazel stop taking care of it completely #its sooo bittersweet cuz even as a demon. azazel still loves human that their title is called the demon of human's sacrifice #not human sacrifices. human's sacrfice. from the angel of human's grace to sacrfices. kinda mirrors their own circumstance #also to be like. this angel who lives in the human world and doesnt need permission to socialize with human #u can see why azazel fall was such a big deal cuz azazel was THE angel ya know. prim and proper and so trust worthy #tbh the reason fhey didnt cast azazel out early on was due to the fact zel was there when the war happened too #so to them it was like. ofc our azazel wont do the same shit 🙏 until years and years zel just never came to visit #z oc file #all in all adithya really is That bitch cuz azazel fall wouldve been disastrous if adithya wasnt nosy 💀💀💀💀#i love my one nosy seamstress 🙏

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zorosangell · 2 months ago

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⛥ﾟ・。 jug

synopsis: after going out to search for luffy, you and zoro stumble upon a bottle of pink sake. zoro drinks it without question, but lives to regret it, as you have to deal with the consequences... physically

cw: nsfw (nothing too crazy), fluff, angst if you really squint, aphrodisiacs, reader is down bad for zoro, and vice versa, whiny-ish zoro (he's in pain give him a break)

a/n: thought of the song heart of a woman while writing this

"Luffyyy!" you called, hands raised to the sides of your mouth as you glanced around. "Luffyyy! Where are you?!"

The swordsman bristled, pinching the bridge of his nose with an annoyed look.

"C'mon, Luffy, it's freezing out here! Hurry up!" he groaned, breath disappearing into the cool air.

Of all the nights your captain chose to disappear, it had to be the coldest of the week...

"For all we know, he can't even hear us," you sighed, tucking your hands in your pockets. "We might have more luck tomorrow... y'know, when it's not twenty below freezing."

"We already came all this way, we might as well bring him back," he grumbled, sharply, pressing forward with a taut look. "Christ, why is it so fuckin' cold..."

His tone came as barely a shock, your eyes unable to stave off their eyes roll.

'Someone's cranky...'

The crew hat been docked on a fall island for a little under a week, waiting for the log pose to set, but it was clear that the crew was already starting to go a little stir crazy.

Some more than others...

But, after a day of exploring and forest shenanigans, Luffy had yet to come back, and both you and Zoro were sent as his search party—the swordsman having been woken up from his pre-night watch nap.

Which would explain why he was acting so grouchy.

Or... grouchier than usual.

"C'mon, Zoro, we've been searching for an hour... How about we give it a rest?" you suggested, sincerely. "From what I can tell, this place is inhabited by nothing but deer, rabbits, and squirrels. I'm sure Luffy can survive the night."

The swordsman kept his gaze forward, not slowing down at all.

"It's dark, and this island is full of frozen lakes," he stated, matter-of-factly. "If that idiot manages to find some way to fall into one, he's done for."

Slightly, you deflated, looking off to the side.

You hadn't thought of that...

Cheeks puffed, you hugged your arms a little closer to your body, attempting to close out the chill of embarrassment.

You knew Zoro didn't mean anything by it—seeing as he talked like that to everyone—but you couldn't help but suddenly feel annoying, your excuses probably the last thing he wanted to hear after being dragged out of bed.

'Dammit, (y/n)... always whining about something...'

This was an insecurity that plagued you constantly.

When you first joined the Strawhats, it was blindingly clear that you were nowhere near the strongest of the bunch.

You weren't fast like Brook.

Or powerful like Luffy

Or even smart like Robin.

You were just... (y/n).

Average, human (y/n).

The only thing particularly unique about you was your skill with a needle and thread.

You were the ship's seamstress, and the clothes you created for the crew were all exquisitely crafted and perfectly tailored to their needs.

It didn't matter how much thread you had, how much fabric you were given, or even how bad the damage was.

You could easily turn it into something both stylish and practical, your craftsmanship that of a seasoned pro, someone who had been honing their trade for decades upon decades.

But you were only twenty.

And while the rest of the crew saw this incredible talent, and often sang your praises for it, you couldn't help but feel useless.

How the hell was sewing supposed to help you win a fight?

You couldn't feather stitch an enemy into submission.

Day in and day out, you trained, hoping to build your strength enough to run with the big dogs.

Even during the crew's two year break, you hadn't laid a finger on your sewing machine, focusing solely on your fighting prowess.

But when you came back, utterly elated by your newfound brawn, you were quick to realize that the monsters had gotten stronger, too.

And you were right back where you started.

"SHI—!"

Your little, mental pity party was interrupted as you tripped over a tree root, feet stuck and body flying forward toward the ground.

Luckily, a pair of strong arms caught you with a death grip, forcing a gasp out your lips as your hands shot up to cling to his broad shoulders, your face smashing into his muscular chest.

'I think I'll go die now...'

Deathly embarrassed, you quickly pulled your head up, stomach lurching and heart stuttering as you caught sight of his face.

"I'm sorry..." you muttered, meekly, eyes slightly wide and completely entranced.

He had a hardened face, with dark eyes and a dark aura—not at all like the men that typically hit on you (not that you thought he was hitting on you now)—and surprisingly soft looking lips.

It was common knowledge that Zoro was anything but ugly, but just seeing his features up close...

He was such a pretty man.

"You good?" Zoro asked, raising a brow.

Clearing your throat, you nodded, allowing him to stand you back upright, and allowing yourself the chance to reign yourself back in.

Your "little" crush on the swordsman was something that plagued you from the moment you joined the crew... and if we're being honest, who could blame you?

Not only was he incredibly attractive, but he had morals; honor; and most importantly, chivalry.

Which, in your private opinion, far surpassed Sanji's.

But, it was beyond obvious that the man was completely out of your league, and you preferred keeping your feelings bottled up and saving yourself the embarrassment rather than getting rejected by a crewmate.

You'd seen the caliber of women that had come onto him in the past.

Powerful, female enemies...

High ranking Navy officials...

A fucking princess...

How could you hold a candle to that?

Though, little did you know, he thought the exact opposite.

While Zoro was a man who prided himself of self-restraint and respect, he couldn't help but let his eyes rake over you as your arms came up to cross over your chest.

Smooth, tanned skin accentuated under the complementary white of your cropped parka, your jeans just loose enough to run, and just tight enough to make your ass look fantastic.

Your lipgloss made your plump lips look so soft and inviting, and your eyes were so warm he felt like they heated him from the inside out.

And don't get him started on your sexy-ass voice—

"What did you trip over?" he quickly blurted out, glancing down at the ground to fight off the impure thoughts.

"It looks like a handle," you remarked, squatting down to take a closer look. "And I think there's a square outline in the ground."

Slowly, you looped your manicured fingers around the tree root, getting ready to pull.

"Careful..." Zoro warned, swords at the ready.

You nodded, and with a harsh tug, the door lifted, revealing a small compartment with a large jug inside.

Grabbing it by the neck, you pulled it out, dusting off its label to see what it was.

"It's sake... from over twenty years ago."

Instantly, a grin stretched across Zoro's face, the man gratefully taking the bottle as you handed it to him.

"Now we're talkin'," he smirked, popping the cork with his teeth and swiping the bits of dirt off the mouth. "Just what I needed."

"Are you sure you wanna drink that?" you asked, warily, as you stared at the bottle's contents. "I've never seen pink sake before..."

The man shrugged, his good eye taking a quick glance at it before he tossed back a large gulp, licking the remnants off his lips when he was finished.

"Eh, it's probably native to this island or somethin'," he waved off, turning around to continue the search. "It's strong... tastes like strawberries."

With a sigh, you stood to follow him, brows flattening as you watched him pound back another huge swig.

'I'll have Chopper check him out when we get back...'

It wasn't long after that you guys found Luffy.

He had been napping in a tree the whole time, and after you and Zoro gave him a serious scolding for worrying everyone, you dragged him back to the ship, you practically slumping against your door once you made it back into your work room.

Your day had been a whirlwind, to say the least, and your body wanted absolutely nothing more than to sprawl out on bed and catch some Zs.

But, even with the late, or rather, early hour—two to be exact—you didn't allow it.

First, you changed into some more comfortable clothes—some pajama shorts and a flimsy tank top—before straightening up the mess you had made in an attempt to make everyone new winter coats.

Once all that was done, you finally sat down at your desk, opening up your sketchbook and pulling out a pen to draw with.

'Alright, Nami said she wanted a new party dress...'

But before you could even draw the first line, someone frantically knocked on your door.

"For fuck's sake..." you sighed, throwing your head back in anguish.

You had half the mind to ignore it.

And, honestly, you did, returning to your book and pretending to be asleep.

But it wasn't long before the frantic rap turned into a distressed bang, completely disrupting your flow.

"Fine! I'm coming!" you caved, roughly pushing your chair back and storming toward the door.

If Kaido himself wasn't burning down the ship, heads were going to roll.

"Usopp, I swear to God, if this is some kind of jo—"

Swinging the door open, you never in a million years would have expected to see Roronoa Zoro on the other side.

Especially not looking like that.

"Shit," he panted, breathless, as he clutched his stomach, leaning against the door frame for support.

Of course it led him to you...

"Can I... mph! ...Can I come in?"

In front of you stood the first mate of Luffy's crew, his most trusted companion, his most loyal friend.

And the hands-down hottest man you had ever seen.

He was in nothing but some black sweats, his muscular arms and abs on perfect display.

His face was flushed, cheeks puffed with his hair tousled, and chest heaving like he'd just run a marathon.

Without thinking, you stepped to the side, allowing him in, now incredibly thankful that you'd tidied up beforehand.

Can't have the place looking like a pig sty...

Feeling something burning into the side of your head, you shut the door, turning around to see that he was staring at you intensely.

His eyes, once a beautiful steel gray, mimicking that of the swords he cherished so dearly, now resembled that of storm clouds, dark with something you couldn't place your finger on.

Yet something that worried you nonetheless.

"Are you okay?" you asked, raising a brow, not daring to touch him as he leaned against the wall, his legs having a slight tremble.

"No," he replied, his voice a half-whine, half-growl, the sound sending shivers down your spine. "Something's... something's wrong... and... fuck! Everything hurts!"

"Hurts?" you parroted, now even more confused.

If he was in pain, why would he come to you?

You were just the seamstress, someone with little to no medical knowledge.

Why not go to Chopper?

Hell, why not go to Robin?

He let out another pained groan, sending a small, sharp pang to your heart.

'Questions are for later.'

Swiftly, you approached, only stopping when you were about a foot in front of him.

Leaning forward, your eyes scanned over his body, checking to see what you could deduce off looks alone.

"What hurts?"

Before he could answer, his eyes trailed down to your chest, the cut of your tank top and the angle you were leaning giving him a perfect view of your tits.

'Fuck me...'

Embarrassed, he avoided eye contact with you, his gaze flicking down to his crotch before zooming off to a far away window.

Still thoroughly confused, your eyes followed his path, only to find that he was hard, and it looked almost painfully so.

'Oh, shit...'

Your face burned, and you quickly snatched your eyes away from the sight.

"What happened?" you squeaked.

"I don't know," Zoro rasped, his entire body shuddering with arousal, heat pulsing through his body so intensely it hurt. "I woke up in my room an hour ago, and... well."

He gestured to his hard-on, the message clear.

"I tried to rub one off but... fuck... nothing worked. And then it got worse... and then—"

Red-faced, he glanced away from you, nostrils flaring.

Why couldn't shit like this happen to the damn cook?

"I...fuck...I smelled something...shit...something that just made it even worse, so I went to find it..." Zoro swallowed thickly, "and it lead me here."

Here?

HERE?

'HERE?!'

Why would, what was obviously some sort of lust sickness, lead him to you?

And why would your scent make it even worse?

Sure, you thought the man was stunningly handsome, and the mysterious, stone-cold air about him intrigued you to no end... but this was too much.

It had to be a dream.

Right?

Suddenly, Zoro crumpled to the floor, breathing heavily in short pants, eyes glassy and cheeks flushed.

"Zoro!" you gasped, worried, rushing over to him.

"Look... I don't know how or why this... whatever it is...led me to you by your fuckin' scent or somethin'," he shuddered, the room somehow filled with your damn smell.

The shampoo you used.

The body wash.

The perfume.

Hell, the goddamn candles.

Everything just set something off inside of him—something that wanted to ravish you until you couldn't speak, trapped under his body helpless and needy.

Just like he was for you.

God, you were his fucking crewmate.

"Look, I wouldn't ask this of you, (y/n), if there was any other choice..." he rasped, your name on his tongue sending another shiver down your spine.

'Get a hold of yourself...'

"But you're the only one that caught this thing's attention. I don't think think this'll go away normalLY!"

His word extended as pain thrummed through his body, starting at his pelvis and sparking up his back.

God, it hurt so fucking bad.

But as the body cramp passed, he looked up at you with glassy eyes.

"(y/n), please. I'll...fuck! ...I'll fuckin' get you something nice at the next island..." he shuddered again. "Just help me..."

You stared at him for a long moment, struggling to process what was happening.

This had to be some sort of freaky dream.

You'd probably passed out from exhaustion at your desk, and were now face first in your sketchbook.

But looking down at him, so helpless, trembling like an injured deer, it felt oddly real.

...

'Nahhh...'

With a heavy sigh, you moved closer, until you stood over him, his breathing becoming rapid and uneven.

You smelled so fucking good.

He just wanted to have you, to keep you.

To devour you.

You knelt in front of him, tilting your head and lifting him just enough, giving him a warm nod of approval.

That was all he needed.

In an instant, Zoro surged forward, his impossibly soft lips capturing yours in a breath-stealing kiss, granting him a faint pang of relief.

If this was a dream, then it was the most vivid one you'd ever hand.

His lips felt so real, pressing a searing kiss into yours, all the pain and arousal he had been feeling clear as day.

Smoothly, his nimble hand curled around your waist, the other cupping the back of your head.

"Fuck, you're so soft... You smell so good," he muttered into your mouth, his hands wandering all over your body.

You took in a shuddering breath when Zoro pulled away, giving you a small chance to regain your senses as his lips traveled down your jaw and to your neck, his teeth scraping your sensitive skin.

You sighed, the feeling alien.

Sure, you weren't a prude—you'd frenched a guy or two from your village in your teen years—but never had you done something so... intense.

"Zoro!" you gasped as he suddenly shoved you to the floor, his pupils dilated beyond relief.

"I'm givin' you an out right now," he warned, leaning down so close to you, you could count his eyelashes. "One word... and I'll leave.

God, his eyes were so pretty.

You could stare into them for hours, getting lost in their cloudy grey.

'Wait... what did he say?'

Zoro pressed his forehead against yours, his breath ghosting across your lips, "Last chance."

He almost sounded nervous.

He wasn't at all experienced in the world of sex.

And, yes, he was a pirate who often cared little about the feelings of others.

But he wasn't a monster.

Nothing further was going to happen without your say so.

With a shy smile, you leaned forward, pressing a soft kiss on his lips.

'Thank God.'

With that out the way, his hips pressed into yours, and you let out a shocked moan into his lips, feeling his hardened dick throb with each throb of his heart.

God, he felt big.

A small pit of nervousness settled in your stomach, but you pushed it away, following instinct by lifting your hips, helping Zoro get some relief from the pain as you carefully rubbed your pulsing core against him.

And it felt fantastic.

Zoro let out a shuddering sigh, pulling away from the kiss and looking down between you both, his hips already meeting yours in a rhythm.

"Fuck—" he groaned, almost flopping completely on top of you, his large arms enveloping your body as he ground against you.

"Fuck fuck fuck, dammit, you already feel too fuckin' good," he kissed your neck, scraping his teeth against your skin as he dry humped you. "Thankyouthankyouthankyou."

You let out mousy responses to his thanks, rutting back into his hips until it wasn't enough for him anymore.

He sat up abruptly, scooping you up as if you weighed nothing and standing up on wobbly legs, walking over to your bed and setting you down less than gently.

(Franky had installed a bed in your workshop after the fiftieth time you'd fallen asleep at your desk. Yes, he counted)

You bounced as you landed, almost squeaking as Zoro's rough hands explored your body once again, tugging off your sleep clothes in a fumbling, desperate manner.

You sat up to help him slide off your shirt, his eyes catching on the soft curves of your shoulders and waist, studying the way your stomach smoothed out into your hips and thighs, your skin so soft under his touch.

He leaned down, trailing his lips against your hips and stomach, his tongue licking up your waist until it reached your breast, his mouth latching onto your hardened nipple as you shivered at the pleasurable feeling.

He whispered your name against your skin like a prayer to the gods, and you took in a sudden, deep breath.

You'd never imagined your name sounding so sexy.

'This has to be a fucking dream, it has to be...'

Something like this would never actually happen to you—so you decided to just enjoy it.

Soon, your pants followed your shirt, landing on the floor behind Zoro.

He stood, staring down at you with dark eyes, his chest heaving, you almost matching him with how hard you were breathing.

Suddenly, he pulled your underwear off, exposing your soaked core to the freezing air of your workshop.

"Wait, Zoro, I've never—"

You couldn't even finish your sentence, his mouth already meeting your core, his tongue driving into you while his thumb circled your clit.

"Zoro!" you cried out, your hand reaching down to grab his soft hair, bucking your hips against his mouth.

It felt better than anything you could've ever imagined.

But just as quick as it came, his tongue left you, your whine not even making it halfway before your back was arching, all three of his fingers shoved into you.

The mix of pain and pleasure was delicious, and you almost instantly understood why some peple were addicted to it.

His mouth replaced his thumb on your clit, his diits unraveling you so easy.

You moaned his name like a broken record, the heat in your face reaching down your entire body, sighing as he pulled his fingers out.

You watched, intently, as Zoro tugged off his pants, his boxers going with his clothes, landing right next to yours.

He was gorgeous.

Years of hard, grueling training left him toned, every bit of him defined and carved by the gods.

He stroked his cock, and something churned in your stomah at the sight of it.

It as really big—if this was real, then you'd be sore beyond belief.

You swallowed, letting Zoro maneuver your body and legs as he lined himself up, rubbing the pink-tipped head of his dick against your folds.

He looked into your eyes, and smirked, before pushing in with one motion, his eyes snapping shut at the feeling of your hot, soft walls.

In an instant, his body cooled down, allowing a moment of relief before it came back twice as painful.

Meanwhile, you had breathed yourself through it quite well, the painful sting already beginning to disappear.

Suddenly, he let out a pained, lustful moan, slowly pulling out before thrusting back in.

It as simple at first, a novice pace, the sound of your wet cunt suctioning around him echoing throughout the room.

Your breath was suddenly stolen as Zoro pressed down into you, your legs wrapped tightly around his waist as his hands pinned your wrists to the bed.

"Fuck fuck fuck," he growled.

He sounded like an animal in heat, his hips hammering into yours, the sound of your cunt being abused growing louder.

"Ah...ah...aah!" you panted, drool leaking down the side of your mouth as Zoro fucked you hard, his hips slapping against your thighs and ass, the sound only turning you on even more.

And it seemed to be doing the same to Zoro.

He bit your shoulder, moaning so loud you were sure the entire ship would've had complaints.

If this wasn't a dream, of course—which you were positive it was.

Your first orgasm came fast and hard, fireworks exploding in your vision as the coil wound in your gut snapped.

Zoro let out a tutered groan, frantically pulling his dick out and coming all over your stomach, the amount a concerning one.

But he was still unsatisfied.

With a grunt, he clutched his side, another cramp rushing through his body and forcing him to flip you over, pulling up your hips.

Your face burned as he ignored your sputtering words, sliding back into you, his breath hitching as you clenched down on him yet again.

Using his strength, he practically overtook you with his body, arms wrapped around your waist and hips pistoning as he hammered you like there was no tomorrow.

You couldn't even breath, each thrust knocking the wind out of you.

Fixing his position, Zoro shifted his hips ever so slightly, sitting up on his knees, forcing you to see stars.

Ecstasy flooded through your body as your front half went completely limp, panting moans pushing from your chest with each slap of Zoro's hips against your ass.

It wasn't long before your second orgasm came crashing through you—not as intense as the first but ust as hard.

Feeling himself right on the edge, he quickly pulled away, letting out a brathy whisperof your name as he pumped himself, releasing all over your back.

It continued like this for a while, the pain only disappearing after two more rounds.

And once it did, he carefully let go of your hips, them dropping like dead weight as all of your strength was completely sapped away.

Zoro was utterly exhausted, panting and aching everywhere, but he could only imagine how you felt.

He himself had never made it past first base with a woman before—he'd never had time for relationships, sexual or romantic—but he wasn't stupid.

He'd heard many a tale about the soreness that exists after sex for women.

And you had done him a serious solid.

So he forced himself to stand up, pulling on some pants before walking to the bathroom on tired legs and grabbing a few wash rags.

He got you cleaned up with the warm, damp ones, before using a cold one to cool the rest of your body.

But once that was done, he had no energy to do anything else, allowing himself to fall back against the pillows, breathing heavily.

Though, he didn't waste any time in wrapping his arms around you, pulling your back flush against his chest.

He couldn't just leave you after what he did...and if he was being honest, he didn't want to.

Watching your sleeping form, snoring softly and snuggled under the sheets, brought a certain warmness to his heart he had never felt before.

He didn't know what tomorrow would bring, but the least he could do was hold you in his arms while he had the chance.

Maybe, one day, this could be real.

BONUS !!

The shouts of your captain snatched you from your death-like sleep, waking you with a groan as your eyes fluttered open, only to be blinded by the golden rays of morning light seeping through the window.

You let out a tired whine, covering your head with your pillow.

'I knew I should've got those curtains...'

Sitting up, sluggishly, you almost immediately regretted it when a jolt of pain shot through your core, the following soreness and aching rippling throughout the rest of your body.

"The hell?" you winced at the pulse between your legs.

It practically hurt to breathe.

And you had no idea why.

Confused, you lifted the blanket to check what was wrong, only to find that you were completely naked.

'Oh, shit... oh shit, oh shit, OH SHIT!'

You whipped your head around, looking for any sign of the handsome pirate, only to find him snoring soundly right next to you, one of his arms haphazardly strewn around your waist.

Going off his positioning, it looked like you two were tangled in the sheets, his arms holding you protectively for most of the night.

"Last night was real..." you muttered, wincing again, your voice nearly gone.

A raspy tone only acquired after screaming nearly all night long

'Oh, shit! Fuck! The others! I was so loud!'

Frantic, you didn't realize how close you were to the edge, your lips letting a yelp slip as you fell over.

Instantly, you hit the floor with a harsh thud, letting out a string of curses as another jolt of pain coursed through your legs and hips.

"Fuck..." Zoro groaned as he patted the space next to him, attempting to feel for you as he stirred awake from the noise. "Where the hell did she—oh, shit, (y/n)!"

Realizing you were on the ground, his eye shot wide, and he quickly scrambled to the edge of the bed, wrapping his arm around your waist and effortlessly hoisting you into his lap.

"Crap, (y/n), are you alright?! Are you hurt?!" he asked, frazzled, and still trying to wake up. "Shit, (y/n), I'm so sorry. I didn't mean for all this to happen. I shoulda listened to you and left the damn sake alone."

To say he felt ashamed was an understatement.

He was absolutely mortified.

The events of last night began coming back to him in flashes, the pit of guilt in his stomach sinking deeper with each one.

Where he dragged his tongue against your skin...

Every hickey and bite mark he left behind...

The feeling of your gummy walls squeezing against him...

That's not how he wanted your first time together to be.

He wanted it to be something slow and special, something a woman like you deserved.

But instead it was fast and in the spur of the moment, all because he was stupid enough to guzzle some mystery drink and fall under the effects of a lust spell.

"I—"

Raising your finger to his lips, you silenced him, eyes suddenly lidded as you leaned forward, forcing the two of you to lay back down, much to his confusion.

"Talk later," you mumbled, sleepily, nuzzling into his side as you pulled up the covers. "Sleep now."

Allowing your eyes to flutter shut, you let out a smooth, content sigh, slowly drifting back into slumber.

Incredulous, Zoro let out a small chuckle, but complied anyway, his arms snaking around your waist once more, pulling you further into him with a slight smirk.

Maybe he had that jug to thank after all...

#zorosangell #one piece #one piece x reader #roronoa #roronoa x reader #roronoa zoro x reader #roronoa zoro #zoro #zoro x reader #op

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sunderwight · 11 months ago

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It's so good when Shen Qingqiu takes care of Luo Binghe. In canon and also in fics. I especially am in love with when he does his hair or helps him dress, it's just so pleasantly domestic. Also endearing whenever SQQ gets a bit fanboy-ish about it, because that's Luo Binghe and SQQ can dress him up in every cool or sexy outfit he has a face thick enough to pay someone to actually make!

I wonder if he ever shares this wisdom with Shang Qinghua. Like at some bitching session or other SQH is sighing a bit about how MBJ always wears like the same three outfits, and don't get him wrong they're all great outfits, but he noticed Luo Binghe flaunting yet another fresh look the other day and part of him really wants to see Mobei Jun in something different...

And then Shen Qingqiu is just like, you're the Lord of An Ding Peak, you handle the basic wardrobe necessities for an entire sect? Go pay someone to make cool/sexy outfits and literally put them on Mobei Jun yourself! You're married to the guy, aren't you?

Shang Qinghua is like "wait you can do that? I can do that? that's a thing that's allowed?" and Shen Qingqiu rolls his eyes and calls him a dumbass and points out that Airplane himself wrote about the intimacy of Luo Binghe's harem members dressing him and it being an even bigger deal for demons than humans, and Shang Qinghua cannot for the life of him remember this but it does sound sort of familiar. So off he goes to nervously sketch out some ideas for outfits, and then get told off by the seamstress he tries to commission for not having realistic ideas about how fabric works. But he does have Mobei Jun's measurements and after some discussion he gets a bunch of stuff that looks even better than his initial ideas, eventually, and then he just has to... give them to his king...

Shang Qinghua awkwardly presenting the topic to Mobei Jun like he's expecting to get a hard "no", but he blinks and his king is naked and standing expectantly in front of his fancy full-length mirror. Shang Qinghua has only ever helped Mobei Jun get dressed when he was injured in the past, and then usually only just putting his arms through some sleeves on an outer robe. They've undressed each other for sex, but putting the clothes on really is a different kind of intimacy. Especially an outfit that Shang Qinghua had specially made to suit Mobei Jun, to highlight the features he likes best about him. Striking blue and icy-white, with hints of An Ding's colors as accents, showing off his build to full effect, etc etc. Shang Qinghua layers each piece on and then does Mobei Jun's hair too, muttering quiet approval for how the look comes together while Mobei Jun preens under all the attention.

Of course, afterwards Mobei wants Shang Qinghua to dress him every day, which isn't always logistically feasible, and MBJ also intends to return the gesture.

Luo Binghe dresses Shen Qingqiu too of course, but Luo Binghe is aware both that other guys want his husband and also that Shen Qingqiu will refuse to go out in public if Binghe dresses him in anything revealing, even if he still lets him put it on, plus Luo Binghe was raised with human sensibilities about modesty. So all in all any "sexy" outfits are reserved for private time at home, and what he puts Shen Qingqiu in for daily wear is all stuff that is perfectly befitting a Qing Jing Peak Lord and scholar.

Mobei Jun doesn't have human modesty sensibilities and also doesn't see any reason why Qinghua shouldn't show off his own best assets while he's going about his day, so, Shang Qinghua is about to rue the hell out of a lot fashion-related world-building decisions he made a lifetime ago...

#svsss #moshang #bingqiu #scum villain's self saving system #scum villain

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3liza · 3 months ago

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i mean the truth is that we do not need and should not have all this stupid plastic clutter in or houses. no one should be producing or selling this shit. everyone make your own merchandise and charge a living hourly wage to sell it 🤷 sorry to be so simplistic about this but it's one of the results of the lack of class unity specifically in the means of production-owning creative class, who is not mentioned or dealt with by the core Marxist texts as far as I know (i asked about this earlier on here, did marx ever address in his analysis people like, for example, a professional photographer who owns a camera ans prints his own dagguereotypes? or a portrait painter or idk, independent milliner or seamstress? these people all own the means of production and do not employ anyone, and the answer from better educated people than I was that no, Marx didn't mention them), I'm not well read on this at all, there is just a big void where leftist analysis of what modern economists call "the creative class"

I'm getting off topic. my point is make your own keychains in your kitchen. it's actually not hard. you can even mass produce (on a small scale) little plastic crap if you want, with resin and a UV lamp, or a 3d printer, or a laser cutter and acrylic sheets (or just use balsa wood damn, at least its biodegradable and less tacky).

all this stuff is available to little creators AND there are hundreds of people who already own these machines who will take work for you and produce your designs. you just have to actually find them and know them and email them. that's what I mean about the class unity issue with creatives. we have no large scale union, we have no large scale class consciousness, and we're all sending our orders for little plastic crap to sweatshops instead of emailing a guy with a laser cutter in his garage and saying "hey Keith can I get uhhhhhhhhhhh 50 laser cut keychains of this twerking Diggler design I made, like how much would that cost" and he's like sure here's the work and materials cost and tbh it's always always less than i think it's going to be. you just have to do some basic arithmetic and then order shipping, and I hate order fulfillment with my life but you can actually pay or barter with someone to do that for you too. learn to delegate and then factor that into your unit cost. this is basic shit every commercial creator needs to know. they should teach you this in art school but they dont

don't give me crap about "I can't afford a laser cutter" either because I just told you to email Keith. and all these machines get sold secondhand when a manufacturer or hobbyist needs to upgrade. i got a color laser printer perfect for making zines and wheatpastes and shipping labels from a retired lesbian on capital hill for $75 and it was still full of ink. my friend gave me her 20 year old canon dslr because she just didn't need it and didn't want to bother selling it. it works fine because I spent the time finding the right drivers and shit for my computer. and card readers exist. Craigslist. Facebook marketplace. nextdoor sales section. eBay. everyone always forgets eBay. eBay lets you save searches and will email you when it finds a guy selling his vinyl plotter in your city with local pickup. I'm serious

#long post #pro doom strats #leather embossing is another one #risograph prints #woodblock prints #rubber prints #etchings even #silicon molds for sculpey or resin or clay #local pottery studios #local photography studios #professional art printers with giclee printers!#ive used all these techniques to make merch #none of them are difficult or out of reach its just EASIER and adverised more to order shit from china #oh my god i forgot button presses #ALSO WE NEED A UNION AND STANDARDIZED HOURLY WAGES BTW #TIRED OF THIS BICKERING ABOUT PRICE UNDERCUTTING

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unintentionalseductress · 4 months ago

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When The Snow Melts

Warnings: MDNI, soft sex, virginity loss, angst, and some spoilers for those who aren't familiar with Zayne's lore. A/n: Curiosity got the best of me. I wasn't playing LaDS when the Master of Fate card came out so I went to YouTube and immediately regretted it. Like can this man not catch a break? He sacrifices himself again? I couldn't leave it, so this me, correcting the wrong. A fix-it fic if you will. Because I need Zayne to win, at least once. Also, since Zayne appears according to how MC perceives him, I do believe he will have aged exactly as she has.

The night is bright, and the small cobbled lane you walk on is lit with lamps. The streets are bustling with life. The feeling of excitement, togetherness, and aromatic food graces the air as you wander closer to the town square. Another festival, similar, yet not similar, to the countless ones you’ve seen with your keen eyes.

You’d wanted to be in company, maybe see the world when you were young, and the curse that was also a blessing was granted. Your body, now wispy and weathered from the years spent wandering cannot move as quickly as you used to, the ever-reminding aches in your joints, the beginning of arthritis weighing down in your bones. Yet you still had a zest for life. Because what else could you do but seek, and take in everything that life had to offer? How could you not? Because it was the grace of the god that allowed it and the terrible price that was paid for you to experience it.

It had been decades since you had last seen the god. You had traversed as far as you could, carrying your umbrella with the everlasting snow coating it like wool on a freshly birthed lamb. The things you had witnessed! Ships with sails as tall as oak trees, strangely flavored meats and delectable sweets, festivals where people had danced, music from instruments brought in from faraway strange lands. You had eaten, traveled, danced, and sung, picking up small jobs to afford simple pleasures. You were a quick learner. Once you were a seamstress helping a small garment shop, another time a jewel polisher. You had even worked as an errand maid for an elderly couple who were profuse with their thanks and offered you a roof over your head for a short while. But staying in one place wasn’t an option. You had to keep looking after all. How else would you find him again?

As your feet carried you into the square, a burst of light and color filled your vision. It’s so lively, as the people flock to the different food carts, admiring the small handicraft booths, and singing folk songs well known to all those who grew up in this region. Children joyfully chased each other, dressed warmly in bright clothes. A hint of winter was already in the air. Based on what you had observed, this festival was celebrating the end of the harvest season, probably one of the last for this year until the harsh snowfall of winter faded. The breeze, not quite chilly enough to make you shiver, felt comforting on your face.

You supposed you could work as a midwife again. Midwifery was good work, reliable since winter did not stop the delivery of children into the world. It could also guarantee a place to stay if you played your cards right, though you hated staying in one place. The nomadic lifestyle you had adopted suited you. And the winters made you nostalgic.

It made you long for those days before you had picked up this umbrella and set off to see the world. Of amber eyes flecked with green, like the jars of whiskey at the inns when the early morning sunlight brushes against them, bringing forth colors hidden in the dark glass. Or of soft hands, covered in scars, and whispers in your ear of sleep, of priestesses calling gods down to earth to make love to them. Sometimes the memories consume you to the point of anger. How dare he leave you? With no explanation as to what his blessing was.

You vaguely recall those days, back when your fingers weren’t gnarled and wrinkled, your face unblemished by the years in the sun. All spells have limitations, he had said. But he also said he had taken care to make the spell extra strong since you were particularly clumsy. The snow had to melt sometime…didn’t it?

A drum begins to pound in the distance, and the crowd gathers around the stage that had been set up at the far end of the square. You halt at one of the carts to buy some fried chicken skewers. The vendor looks curiously at your umbrella, something you have grown accustomed to over the years. After all, snow that doesn’t melt was bound to bring questions. You had woven a different story for each city you had passed through, sometimes recycling them when you didn’t have the creativity to spin a new one. Initially hesitant to reveal how the umbrella with the everlasting snow had come into your possession, you had tried to pass it off as a novelty accessory, crafting tales of snowy mountains and how it was all the rage in those areas.

As the years passed by, your tongue had loosened. Or perhaps the indignation of him disappearing had made you reckless. Although you still hadn’t said the full story, you’d managed to finally say it was a blessing from a god, shocking the non-believers by letting them touch the snow, their gasps of awe as the cold, wet, powder clung to their fingers falling satisfyingly on your ears. Tonight, however, you were in no mood to entertain strangers. You smile politely as you hand over your coins to the vendor, take the food, and walk away towards the stage.

The sounds of a flute and an erhu accompany the drum. Elaborately dressed dancers are swirling in coordinated grace on the stage, enacting a scene from an old tale; the common man sending off the goddess of harvest, thanking her for her blessings that year, and praying to the god of winter, that he be merciful to them and allow them to live to see another spring.

You were skeptical if these rituals really worked. The first autumn after you had been gifted the umbrella when the air started to show signs of change, you had danced, danced amongst the trees that were close to shedding their vividly colored leaves of red, mustard, and yellow. You had prayed your heart out, prayed so hard, danced so long that the soles of your shoes had almost worn out. You had danced till you had collapsed with exhaustion, falling asleep on the leafy floor. You had been so sure that it would work, that he would show himself, and when you awoke, it was with a heartrending pang that you realized you were alone. It hadn’t worked. Wherever he was, the god of the snow wasn’t visible to your eyes. It was the first time you had allowed yourself to cry in all those months. Had he really believed this was the better choice? That to leave you behind without telling you what was going to happen to him would make you happier? That was the worst part; not knowing if he was alive, existing somewhere you couldn’t journey to, or if he had given all his power into making the snow that had fueled your existence, and lost himself with it.

The music becomes faster and the dancers move until the stage is a blur of color. The audience claps as their movements become sharp, with an artistic precision that only years of practice could hone. The last note quavers from the flute and rises into the night air. Cheers and whistles erupt all around you. It was a beautiful performance no doubt, but despite finding it captivating, it also left you feeling hollow. Finishing the last of your fried chicken, you begin to wander amongst the townspeople, enquiring about work that could be had for the winter.

By the time the square had cleared up, and the last of the festival-goers had returned home, you had secured a job; a bakery was in desperate need of an extra set of hands. The pay wasn’t much but the woman had offered food and board and you had accepted graciously. As you sit on the stone steps of your latest lodgings, you gaze at the moon.

You want to not blame him, to not feel this heavy weight that you’ve carried inside your chest. You know you should be grateful for his sacrifice which enabled you to see so much of the world, and at the least, you weren’t alone. The incident with the people in your village was a distant memory, replaced with so many more pleasant rememberings. Plucking apples from an orchard with trees growing as far as the eyes could see. The feeling of a newborn baby, screaming with the rage of life and the mother wiping tears of joy while offering you her thanks. The herbalist with his toothless smile as he showed you which plants were medicinal and which were poison as you plucked various flowers and leaves and dug the earth for rhizomes of turmeric and ginger.

You were a well-traveled woman, knowledgeable in all aspects, a rare luxury during this time, you knew. Yet for each memory that stayed clearly in your mind, there was a sense of loss. Everything tied back to him, and you couldn’t bring yourself to forget him, even in your old age, and even with the passage of time.

The spicy bun the baker had offered you was good. You savored its flavor on your tongue, naming the constellations visible in the sky as you did so, the short astronomy lesson from a young scholar in some past time proving useful. It must be close to midnight based on how still the night is, the whispering rustle of dead leaves as they skitter across the ground audible in the background. With a sigh, you carefully get to your feet, your joints creaking as you rise. As you reach for your umbrella, you pause, fingertips hovering over the handle.

Surely you were imagining it? It must be a trick of the moonlight. The last of the lamps were dying, the faint light casting shadows across the walls of the dwellings. Yet your aged eyes couldn’t shake off the feeling. You stare intently at the umbrella, more so, at the snow perched on its upper slope. A fine sheen of condensation coated the umbrella, surrounding the powdery snow. Had you somehow gotten the umbrella wet? You kneel, observing with fascination as some of the condensation gathers, becoming fat droplets of precipitation, and rolling off the sides.

You’re awestruck. In all your years, the snow had never melted. It had never lessened nor increased but always stayed the same. But now you can see how the powder was turning watery, steadily dripping down into the cold ground. You trace a fingertip on the trails of moisture along the sides of the umbrella, and that’s when you hear it; the unmistakable twang of a guqin.

You had never encountered a guqin again, not since the night he had played one while you danced for him. The unmistakable notes now begin to form a melody. You look out into the empty street and see nothing. But the song was filling your body like the warmth of a fireplace. Your limbs involuntarily stretch out as your eyes close, remembering the movements you had learned so long ago and sworn to never repeat after the failed attempt to call down the god. Your legs feel unsteady, your hands clumsy, a far cry from the controlled accuracy of the stage dancers. Your joints begin to sear as you move, unable to stop the actions. Oh how sweetly the instrument sang to you!

There’s a sharp pain in your heart, not from the ache of moving your tired extremities, but from the grief bottled up, adding on year after year. There’s resentment, but underneath it all, there’s a strong yearning you’re unable to put into words. How do you describe it? The loss of the only person who seemed to understand you, who helped you control your power?

You knew he did something when he placed his spell because, since that day, you hadn’t been able to harness your powers ever again. He had ensured you could live your life as a normal human being. Before knowing him you would have done anything to not have the power. But the cost that came with it was too much to bear. You weren’t alone, yet you were alone. So of all the days, why was the guqin playing now?

Tears roll down your cheeks as you dance, letting loose your sorrow to the crisp night breeze. You feel like each nerve in your body is frayed, all consumed with the bits of memories you had of him. It takes you a moment to realize you’re not dancing anymore. The guqin has stopped playing. You’re standing in a pose, your head lowered, facing the steps you had been sitting on, and the umbrella leaning against them. Shock passes through you.

The umbrella was completely devoid of snow. The only evidence it was there was the puddle of water that had gathered beneath it, muddying the grass.

“Why are you so surprised?”

Your heart skips a beat, then begins to hammer in your chest like a frantic bird trapped in a cage. The deep baritone voice tinged with a hint of sarcasm calls out to you gently. You can’t seem to be able to move.

“It can’t be.” You murmur, gripping your elbows, trying to calm yourself. “It can’t be. I’m dreaming.”

“What are dreams if not another reality?”

It takes all the effort in your body to not collapse to the ground as a sobbing mess. You turn slowly, as though giving the voice a chance to admit it was a figment of your imagination but it doesn’t happen. Your breath catches in your throat as you see him, at last.

His dark hair has tinges of gray in it, and crow’s feet are visible near the corners of his eyes, but the gentle upwards curve of his lips, the broad shoulders, and his pointed chin are all recognizably familiar.

“Zayne?” You let his name fall from your lips, sounding like a strange word, lost to your vocabulary from the years of disuse.

He nods, then stretches out a hand to you. At first, you’re at a loss about what you should do, then, with as much speed as your wizened knees allow, you run to him. He’s solid and grounding, his arms wrapping around you tightly. A brief lick of rage crosses through you, but when you open your mouth to let loose your diatribe, all that comes out is a sob. Your tears flow freely, staining his robes, and you feel his gloved hands gently combing through your hair.

“I’m so sorry,” he murmurs, his chin resting on top of your head.

“Why not tell me?” Your words are choked, your body shivering as you cry.

Zayne leads you to the steps and helps you sit before occupying the space next to you. He leans you against him, your head resting comfortably on his shoulder as he takes one of your hands between both of his. He sighs deeply and his voice, though calm, is filled with regret as he speaks.

“How could I tell you? What would I have said? How do you tell someone special to you that their life was in danger?”

You blink back tears. “Danger?”

“There was a powerful entity after you. I did what I needed to do to protect you.”

“Why was it after me?”

Zayne pauses, as though considering how to word his response. “It was convinced you would bring about a cataclysm, and the only way to prevent it was to take your life.”

“But… I don’t understand. How did your spell prevent this? Now that it’s worn off, won’t it come after me again?”

“No.” Zayne wraps his arms around you, his body bringing warmth into yours. “Even cataclysms go away if given enough time. But the harder part was figuring out how to suppress your abilities until that time passed.” He sighs deeply, gathering you close. “The spell on the umbrella was the only solution I could think of, without restricting your freedom. Regrettably, sealing your power meant taking away your ability to perceive me. I never intended to make it permanent.”

“Why not tell me?” You repeat the question. Zayne raises an eyebrow.

“If I had told you the spell would wear off, would you have left the mountain?” He brushes your cheek with his thumb as he takes in your face, his eyes softening as he looks at you. “I know you. You would have spent all these years in isolation, waiting for me. I didn’t want you to miss the opportunity to live. A normal life seemed like the best option I could give you until enough time had passed.”

You’re silent as you let his words sink into you. After a gap, you whisper, ��I missed you.”

“I missed you too.” His thumb caresses each of your fingertips in turn. “But know that I watched over you every day. I saw the world through your eyes and felt your sense of wonderment in my heart. The day you danced so hard for me that you almost fainted from exhaustion-” Zayne draws in a breath and his voice quivers as he continues. “I was in tears. I wanted nothing more than to reach out and comfort you. I was there, separated by a veil, but I felt your pain.”

“That was the year the frost came early.” You recall the memory.

“Indeed. I couldn’t control my grief. I didn’t know how else to let you know I was there, except to cover the world with snow.”

You glance over at the umbrella. “Will you disappear again?”

“Not unless you want me to.” One of his large hands rests on your knee. “I understand I’ve angered you by acting without telling you everything. Is it enough that you don’t want me around?”

You shake your head no. Your momentary anger with him had faded, like the night giving way to the sunrise. “There’s nothing that could keep me from wanting you. I made many acquaintances throughout my life, but the one person’s companionship I yearned for was yours.”

“My beloved snowflake.” Zayne embraces you tenderly. “It was fate that led you to me on the mountain that day. And It was fate that finally broke the spell. We’re all bound by it, even me.”

“Are you?”

“Yes. Otherwise, do you think I would have kept you sealed for so long? Even gods must play by fate’s rules.”

Silence falls between you both, the breeze ruffling your clothes. You become acutely aware that he’s gazing at you, and when you turn to look at him, there’s such tenderness in his eyes that it makes you blush, even at this age.

“You’re beautiful,” he utters, tucking strands of stray hair behind your ears. The amber in his eyes glows as you stare back, captivated by how handsome he is. Your memory didn’t do him justice. You cup his cheek.

“Is this our happily ever after?”

“It can be if we choose it to be.”

“I do. Wholeheartedly.”

Sparks fly between you and almost as if the both of you are following a rhythm, your lips find each other in the darkness. It’s odd because, in the passing years, you hadn’t imagined what his lips would feel like against yours. You had fantasized about lying next to him, listening to his heartbeat, about taking long, leisurely strolls while holding hands, and about the possibility of letting him rest on your lap while you played with his thick locks of hair.

Now you’re glad you hadn’t tried to imagine it because the reality was sweeter than any dream you could have conjured, the warmth and softness of his mouth, the taste of his tongue as it slips past your lips, the possessiveness in his grip as he molds your body against his, as though silently claiming you. There wasn’t an inch of you that didn’t ache for him. When he pulls away, there’s desire flickering in the depths of his eyes.

Wordlessly, you take his hands and get to your feet, quietly pulling him inside your new quarters. You’re careful to not wake the baker; it was quite improper to invite a man into your room, but you didn’t care. You lock the door and allow Zayne to sweep you away.

Clothes slide to the floor, a whisper lost to the dark. There’s no shame as you reach for each other, hands relishing the feeling of skin, enjoying the contact between your bodies as he gently pulls you onto the bed. His lips leave trailing kisses on your skin, no longer supple like the young woman you once were, but worthy of being worshipped irrespective. You wonder if this moment would have felt different if you had consummated this relationship when you were younger but realized you had little choice in it. If the Master of Fate couldn’t control when things happened, then what good was it to think about what could have been?

Instead, you focus on him, on his skin flushed with vitality as you nibble his ear, shyly running your tongue down his neck. He suckles at your nipple, and pleasure, unlike anything you’ve ever experienced radiates into every part of your being. You feel his erection graze your belly as he patiently kisses you, moaning into his mouth as his fingers stroke your sex, finding the little knot of nerves that makes you close your eyes in ecstasy.

It’s all slow and unhurried, and when you finally gasp out your climax, he eases his body into yours. There’s pain, but only for the briefest moment, then as your body stretches around him, you feel a powerful sense of intimacy as he thrusts, his movements passionate and loving. He gathers you tightly against him whispering the same thing over and over as he empties himself.

“I love you. I love you I love you I love you.”

A weak ray of sunlight peeks through the window when you wake up, and you panic for a moment when you see the bed is empty.

“I’m here my love.” Zayne’s voice immediately reassures you and you see him stoking the fireplace. The small flames crackle merrily as he makes his way back to bed, pulling you against him and stroking your skin. It had snowed overnight, and the landscape was now unrecognizable, covered in a fresh coat of it.

“It appears grief isn’t the only thing that can cause the god of winter to make it snow,” you tease and Zayne good-naturedly smirks at you.

“Indeed. All thanks to you.”

You giggle, a soft sound that fills him with joy.

“I suppose we’re stuck in this village until winter ends. Makes no sense to wander for now.”

“Agreed. I suppose I can set up shop as a fortune-teller, or maybe as a herbalist.”

“We’ll decide what to do when spring comes.” You settle against his chest, finding comfort in the scent of his skin.

“The snow has to melt sometime. But we’ll survive. Together.”

“Together.” You agree, and lay your lips over his.

@theimmortalbuns @otomegamesforlife @sweets-kozume @supernaturalbaesduh @ladyparamount

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