#despite how I drew him and his relationship with Des

[ledgend-origin-mew]

I've been struggling in a sort of rut between wanting to draw and not wanting to draw, ending up with me finding any excuse to do literally anything else. so I've decided to work on some side bits while doing one pannel at a time, slowly moving on to working on the pages more and more frequently. I need to slowly work myself into this new timetable rather than trying to dive right into it.

as thank you for the patience and interest, here are two fullbody pieces of both Fernandes and Urain as an adult Origin!Mew.

Urain doesn't get hooves like her mother.

Draw me like one of your french girls looking ah, I always thought Zoroarks would benifit from a tail.

[hotchnerwrites]

Hiii🤍

Can you write something where Hotchner is obsessed with the reader but in a good way, like he can't keep his hands off of her???🥹maybe if you feel comfortable you can put a situation where he feels a little jealous,I love it so much when men are possessive in a gentle way with their partner!!!

Take this only if you feel comfortable, I send you my love!

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x reader

Word Count: 1.6k

Warnings: SFW, touchy obsessed Hotch, jealous Hotch, quiet intimate moments, domestic fluff ehehehe, no use of (y/n), reader is referred to as girlfriend/wife a couple times, established!relationship

A/N: My dear Anon, I am so sorry for the wait. I hope that this will be worth it. Some crazy stuff was happening in my family and I had to fly out of town last minute. I started this in my Notes app, and here we are, three versions later. I loved this request so much, I always jump at the chance to write fluff (or angst!). I had such a fun time writing. Oh how I wish Hotch was real :') Anyways, I really hope you like it! Enjoy reading 🤍

PS. Merry Christmas, Happy Holidays, and consider this my gift to you <3 Sending all of you all my love. Requests are open :) Send me stuff!

Dividers by @/cafekitsune

Smart, stoic Supervisory Special Agent Aaron Hotchner. One of the BAU’s best profilers. One of the best prosecutors Washington D.C. has ever seen. Permanent frown on his face and an impenetrable emotional wall, he was not known to wear his heart on his sleeve. It was a persona he had spent several years cultivating. But they didn’t know him like you did. They didn’t know how he was around you, how he looked at you. It wasn’t just that— it was the way he moved around you, the quiet insistence that you were always close, always near.

You first realised how present Hotch was at the FBI’s annual Christmas gala. It was so subtle in the beginning, the way Aaron threaded through the room with you, a steady hand on your back, palm warm against your skin. It was the kind of touch that was imperceptible to anyone who wasn’t paying attention. But you felt it the entire night, four and a half hours in total. He didn’t let go of you once.

Despite this being the first formal event that you attended with Aaron, you never once felt anxious navigating the sea of handshakes and pleasantries. You met at least twenty new faces in under thirty minutes, forgetting names as fast as you learned them. Aaron’s hand was on your waist the entire time, steady and protective, guiding you through conversations, fending off curious coworkers with a soft, almost unnoticeable shift of his body between you and them. It was effortless- he even managed to hold both your drinks in one hand when you passed him something. 

By the end of the night, you realised something. You weren’t just his girlfriend; you were his partner, a quiet and unspoken claim that he did not need to announce.

The second thing that you noticed was the neck massages. It didn’t matter if Hotch had just come home from a week-long case or if it was a lazy Sunday. The moment he found you with your back to him - whether at the kitchen island, curled up with a book in an armchair, or even napping on the couch— he would materialise silently, his large hands moving to the nape of your neck.

It was a gentle pressure, expert fingers kneading the tension in your muscles. This was intimate in a wholesome way. He knew your body better than anyone, maybe even yourself. His palms were calloused and rough, but when they were touching you, it felt like the finest silk on earth. 

When his hands drew delicate circles, your world would fade away in contentment. Sometimes, Aaron would press his lips lightly against your temple. These quiet moments are as precious to you as special nights out. 

The third time was the ‘Lunch Incident’. You laugh about it now, but it’s not lost on you how lucky you are to see this side of Hotch. It was supposed to be a simple lunch drop-off at the office. As you greeted Emily and Derek, Aaron strode over towards you, legs moving so fast you’re sure his brain hadn’t even fully processed his actions. His smile when he saw you wasn’t just a casual ‘hello’ but something deeper, something more felt. And when he pressed a soft kiss against your lips, with that signature intensity, you noticed Agent Anderson nearly dropping his coffee in pure shock. The poor man, having just witnessed Hotch, the ever-professional Hotch, kiss his partner like he had no other care in the world, had gone pale. You couldn’t stop the grin stretching across your face. Hotch didn’t stop looking at you the entire time. Sometimes, he couldn’t believe you were real and that you were his. 

The fourth time, you just knew. It was a ritual, the movie nights. When you settled on the couch, ready for your favourite period film, you already knew how it would go. Ever so meticulous, Aaron would drape your favourite blanket over the two of you. But there was just something about the way he did it. He pulled you to his side, wrapping an arm around your shoulders like he needed you there more than he needed to breathe. And you’d fit yourself under his arm, cosy and safe, while the movie played. But truthfully, it was never the movie that held his attention. It was you. The way you reacted to every scene. The tiny furrow between your brows when something sad happened or the way your eyes sparkled during particularly romantic scenes. Aaron would never say this out loud, but he couldn’t care less about the films you watched. He cared about you. Watching you breathe, tracing circles on your shoulders, memorising the feel of your skin under his touch. He was always watching you, though you never caught him. 

And Hotch never made a big deal about it, but you knew those small touches meant the world to him. He was the profiler, but you noticed his antics too. When you handed him something, his fingers would always brush yours, slow and deliberate. You felt that electric spark dance across your skin each time, like he was quietly staking his claim. You always pretended not to notice, but in truth, you were just as addicted to those touches as he was. The way his hand lingered for a second too long, soft warm spreading from his touch. The kind of touch that made you feel like you were the only two people in the room. 

Honestly, it was getting ridiculous. He set his alarm early every day, just to spend an extra couple of minutes cuddling you. The moment that familiar tune rang out, he’d shift his broad frame, tangle his limbs with yours and pull you closer. Aaron never wanted this to end. So much so that he called in sick a few times, citing your refusal to free him from your clutches as the reason. But you both knew it was because he wanted to feel your hands card through his hair longer as he dozed on your chest. Neither of you said much during times like this. Still groggy from sleep, you both would just bask in each other’s quiet comfort. 

One day, when you were cleaning up his desk, you found it. The secret file. Tucked away in the back of one drawer lay a brown file with your name on it. You really hadn’t meant to snoop, but curiosity overrode manners at that moment. It wasn’t until you opened it that you realised what it exactly was. It was every story you had told Aaron about yourself, and every detail he noticed about you. Likes. Dislikes. Pet peeves. Your dreams. Your favourite songs. The small things—things no one else would have thought to note down, things only someone who really knew you would remember. He’d colour-coded it, as if it was a map of your soul.

You hadn’t meant to look through it, but when you did, a lump formed in your throat. It wasn’t a secret—just his way of keeping you close. And you realised, with a sniffle, that you’d never felt more cherished in your entire life.

When winter would roll around, you realised that despite spending years with this man, you could never quite predict when it would happen. But every time it did, you pretended to protest. Hotch would press his palms under your shirt, claiming that his fingers were frozen. This was always an assault on your senses. “I’m freezing!” you’d yell, but you knew what he was doing. He wasn’t trying to warm his hands. He wanted to feel your skin against his. You never pointed out the fact that his palms were always warm within seconds, that his body was a natural space heater. No, instead, you let him pull you in even closer, shivering as his hands traced light lines up your spine. You didn’t mind it at all.

Bonus

There was only one time that Aaron used his Unit Chief voice around you. It was something he had always been careful to avoid; he hated bringing any aspect of work home with him. But it was warranted that time, he justified. 

He had just stepped away for one second from your side at the local café. The barista had just called out your names, and he had gone to pick up your drinks (black coffee for him, surprise, surprise, and a ridiculously sweet frappé for you). In those few moments that he was gone and you’d been standing alone, staring wistfully at the pastries on display, a man had sidled up to you. He had a patchy ginger beard, and with a reedy voice, he had asked you if he could buy you coffee. In hindsight, the man had been perfectly polite, but Aaron’s blood had boiled. You had a gobsmacked expression on your face as you struggled to respond, and the man had stepped even closer. Aaron quickly snatched up your order and made his way to you. 

“Here’s your drink, honey,” Aaron said, voice low but tone soft. You gratefully accept the distraction as the man swings his head towards Aaron incredulously.

“Excuse me,” he began shrilly, “do you mind?”

Aaron fixed him with a Look. “That’s my wife you’re talking to. Can I help you in any way?” He said coolly. 

The man baulked, muttered a quick apology and scrambled off. 

As you and Aaron leave the café hand-in-hand, you can’t help the smile forming on your face. You tuck your face into Aaron’s bicep to hide your blush. 

Wife. Not girlfriend. Wife.

The sun suddenly shone brighter that day.

Thank you for reading. Likes, reblogs, comments and follows are appreciated! Constructive criticism is welcome :) Do not plagiarise my content and/or post it anywhere without crediting me.

[dancingbirdie]

Continuation of my series "The Planets Bend Between Us" where I imagine how Astarion's aversion to intimacy and physical touch lessens as his relationship with Tav progresses.

Read Part 1 here, Part 2 here, and Part 3 here!

Also find the series on Ao3 here.

Comments, reactions, and feedback always appreciated!

The Light In Us Both

Rating: Teen

Pairing: Astarion x f!Tav

Word Count: 1.7K

Warnings/Tags: Tooth-rotting fluff, vampire bites, blood drinking, non-sexual intimacy, no smut

Astarion was nearly convinced that bindings would be necessary to keep Tav still this evening. His lovely little wildling continued to fidget beneath him, giggling under her breath and squirming each time he drew close to her neck in an attempt to feed. 

They had been in the Underdark for over a week now. Viable options for “food” were scarce for him, and so Tav had graciously allowed him to drink from her each night in order to maintain his vigor. 

While she insisted she didn’t mind, that it wasn’t an encumbrance, he couldn’t help but notice the looks of disapproval and worry from other members of their party. It was difficult to ignore. They didn’t dare speak their misgivings aloud, though, for fear of Tav’s fierce rebuke that would inevitably follow. 

Astarion loved the duality of his ferocious little darling. She was hot-tempered, demanding and fiery with nearly everyone and everything she came across. Everyone else in the party treated her as the de facto leader. She had even managed to earn the respect of Lae’zel. 

But with Astarion, she was as harmless as a newborn kitten. She joked with him. Teased. Flirted. She was pliant, like clay in his hands. One knowing look from him, and he could watch as she instantly calmed. He wasn’t sure how he’d come to tame such a hellcat, but it gave him immense pleasure, and pride, to be the only person who could call forth that side of her. Him. Astarion.

But tonight, however, he was just about at his wit’s end with her. Tav could not remain still despite his insistences. He even went so far as to describe the embarrassment they’d both share if they had to wake Shadowheart up at this time of night to repair Tav’s lacerated throat because she couldn’t stop squirming. 

Nothing seemed to work. 

“You know, darling, this little exercise of ours is made much more easy when you hold still,” Astarion whispered, a little exasperated, in her ear. 

Tav giggled. His breath against the shell of her ear tickled. “I know, I know. I’m sorry. I’ll try to behave.”

“Mm, see that you do.” 

He nuzzled at her neck, inhaling her sweet scent, prolonging the temptation of her blood just a moment longer. His hand ghosted up her waist to rest against her lower ribs. He opened his mouth, lips lightly brushing her skin. His fangs were a hair’s breadth away from sinking into her when, suddenly, a fit of laughter bubbled from her between her lips. 

He pulled back to glare at her, squeezing her waist in reproach. At his expression, she broke out in peals of laughter. He made to sit up, obviously affronted, but her hand clutched his nightshirt tighter, preventing him. 

“Tsk. You daft thing,” Astarion rolled his eyes. “Honestly, have the Myconid spores gone to your head?” 

She continued to chuckle. “Astarion, I’m sorry, but I’m ticklish.” 

“I beg your pardon?”

“Your hand. On my ribs. It tickled,” she explained. “I couldn’t help it.” 

“You’ve never had this issue before,” he replied, dubious.

“Because normally you’re holding onto my arm. Or my shoulder,” she quipped, her laughter finally quieting. 

“I see,” he murmured, mulling over her words, his expression thoughtful. 

“I’ve upset you,” Tav responded soberly, finally taking stock of the fact that Astarion hadn’t found the situation nearly as humorous as she had. “I really am sorry. I’ll keep still this time. Promise. Just maybe don’t touch me around the ribs.”

He observed her quietly a moment more. Tav couldn’t decipher what thoughts were percolating behind his expression. But then his lips curved into a sly smile. 

“So, to be clear, what you’re saying is, that if I touch you here,” he began casually, his hand tracing light swirls across her ribs. The skin of her arms and neck immediately broke out into gooseflesh. She mashed her lips together to keep from giggling once more, squirming slightly under Astarion’s touch.

“...it’s especially ticklish for you?” he finished, looking up at her in mock innocence. 

Tav could sense a game was afoot. And she hated losing. Clenching her teeth together, willing herself to keep still, she managed a slight nod. 

“I see,” Astarion said seriously. “And what about if I do this?” he asked before leaning down to blow lightly against the shell of her delicately pointed ear. 

Tav squeezed her eyes shut, trying to focus on anything else besides the urge to laugh and sidle away from him. 

“Oh my,” he intoned. “Seems like that’s dangerous territory as well.”

Tav opened her eyes, taking in the full devilish grin that graced Astarion’s mouth. He was enjoying this. She glared at him.

“All right, all right,” he placated. “But purely for my own edification,” he continued. “Is this off limits as well?” 

And before she could jerk away, he began tickling her outright. Swinging a leg over her hips to pin her down, his hands were everywhere across her ribs, her soft stomach, and under her arms. 

Tav shrieked with laughter, too distracted by Astarion’s onslaught to keep her voice down. Her hands chased his, attempting to grab them, but he was far too quick. She switched tactics then, bucking her hips in an effort to knock him off of her. But, try as she might, he stayed firmly situated atop her. Above the din of her own noise, she made out his own peals of laughter. 

He sounded utterly carefree. Playful. Filled with joy. 

“I give! I give!” she squealed finally. 

“COULD YOU TWO PLEASE KEEP IT DOWN?!” they heard Shadowheart suddenly shout from across the camp. “SOME OF US ARE TRYING TO REST.”

Grumbles of assent from around the camp floated up after her. 

“SORRY,” Tav shouted with equal fervor, grinning like mad at Astarion. “I’LL TRY SUFFERING IN SILENCE IN THE FUTURE.”

“MUCH APPRECIATED,” Shadowheart returned. 

Astarion rolled his eyes and sighed. “Killjoys, all of them.”

Tav chuckled. Still smiling up at him, she raised her hands in mock surrender. 

“You win, Astarion,” she whispered.

He huffed a laugh as he clasped her hands between his. He bent over to kiss the tops of her fingers lovingly before lifting off of her and lying back down at her side. 

“And what should be my reward, for winning so spectacularly?” he returned quietly, resting a palm against her cheek.

Tav turned her face to kiss his palm before arching her neck, giving him a meaningful smile. 

“I promise to hold still this time,” she teased. 

Astarion chuckled, slipping his hand down her cheek, her jaw, her collarbone. He stopped at her shoulder, clutching it lightly. He lifted himself up so that he could position his mouth precisely against the column of her neck. 

But before he bit down, he pressed a kiss against her neck. It was reverent. Worshipful almost. Tav fought back a shiver, holding good on her promise to remain still. 

When his fangs finally sank into her skin, it was with a gentleness far greater than Astarion had ever shown before. Tav felt only the slightest prick of pain before the icy numbness began to spread under her skin. For the first time since she’d agreed to let him feed on her, the act felt like something other than a means to satiate him. It felt akin to the intimacy she had felt when they had been together that first time, in the moonlit forest following their victory party with the tieflings. They were joined together, even if it wasn’t in the same way as then. 

She hummed contentedly as he continued to drink her in. One hand against his scalp, she combed her fingers through his hair with the devotion of a supplicant. Her other arm lifted to wrap around his waist, rubbing his lower back in slow, measured strokes. 

He groaned softly at the feeling of her embrace. Whether she had meant it to be or not, her caresses were a subtle reminder to withdraw before he took too much of her. Extracting his fangs from her neck, Astarion licked softly at the blood welling from the two puncture marks he’d left in her skin. 

Taking her blood was the nearest thing to a religious experience he had ever had. She tasted holy. As if one drop alone could absolve him of all his past sins. 

“Finished already?” she asked. Her vocal cords vibrated against his lips. A delightful thrum. 

“Mm, I’m afraid I wouldn’t be able to stop if I go any longer,” he murmured against her skin. 

She hummed again in acknowledgement. 

“You’re the sweetest thing I’ve ever known,” he whispered, planting one last kiss on her neck before rolling off of her. 

“Only for you,” she replied, turning onto her side to face him. She placed her hand gently over his heart. “My star.”

He stilled in surprise. “Wh-what did you call me?”

“My star,” she intoned. Her lips curved into a gentle smile. “That’s what your name means, you know. Star.”

Astarion just stared at her, too shocked to speak. Her words had shaken something loose in the back of his mind. Something from long ago. A memory perhaps. Or a memory of a memory. It was so dusty, it was hard to tell. 

Someone else had called him “my star” once. Her face was blurry in his mind’s eye, but she seemed beautiful. Regal, even. And her voice - it was a faint echo, but it sounded so sincere. 

“I’m sorry.” 

He heard Tav’s voice drawing him back from the recesses of his mind. He blinked once, twice, before refocusing on the woman in his arms. 

“Are you okay?” she asked. “I didn’t mean to upset you by calling you that.”

“No… you didn’t. Not at all,” he assured. “I… I think you caused me to remember something… My… my mother used to call me ‘my star,’ I think.” 

“You remembered your mother?” Tav asked, hopeful.

“Barely. It was like peering through fog. But yes… I think I did,” he paused, reflecting. 

Tav remained silent, giving him time to process what he had recalled. 

Finally after a few moments, he squeezed her waist and grinned. Her breath caught in her throat at his expression. 

It was open. Boyish. Happy. 

Quick as a flash, he leaned forward to press a light kiss against her lips. It was chaste. The kind of kiss a man would give the woman he was courting. It was over before she knew it, but still, it felt wonderful. Like another wall had fallen down around his heart. She felt honored to witness it. 

“Thank you,” he said quietly, clutching her close to him as they settled down to sleep. “Thank you.”

[whalesongsblog]

When A Good Man Goes To War (Ominis Gaunt x OC oneshot)

Synopsis: My take on how Miradevi would react to ye olde 'Ominis distances himself from her because of the threat his family poses' trope. Ft. Miradevi being a baddie and dogwalking Ominis's dad. Also I heavily drew on Donald Sutherland's President Snow for inspo.

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“You know what I would have done to you if you didn’t have this amount of power at your fingertips, Miss Lakshmi?”

The decadent French restaurant they sat in was in the heart of Muggle London. The official bloody summons she dared to send to his home arrived via a haughty-looking Great Horned owl in the middle of a gala he had been hosting for Faris Spavin, instigating hushed murmurs from the carefully curated creme de la creme of pureblood society he’d carved out alliances with. The little shrew sitting before him had schemed out each miniscule detail to remind him who she was- and he hated it. 

Princess Miradevi smiled at the man who, unfortunately, would one day be her father-in-law. She folded her fingers together, locking them over her knees covered by the drape of her sari. “I can tell that reminding you to have even a shred of diplomatic tact is going to be useless, Mr. Gaunt.” 

“It is, indeed.” Mortis Gaunt leaned back in the plush upholstered chair, and Mira hated that the coldness in his eyes didn’t falter. If he was intimidated or not, she couldn’t tell. “I give my respect to people who earn it, Your Highness. And that is something-for all your power and wealth-you will never have from me.”

“Because of my blood status, I assume.” Her attention was fixed on the wizard in front of her. Mortis Gaunt’s age was covered up with immense precision- any wrinkles were uncannily flattened with charms layered over each other, the only sign of his age lying in the silvery beard sharpening his jawline. 

“Amongst many things, Mira.” His voice was low- almost lilting, grating over the syllables of her name like a deep river current rattling mossy stones. Mortis Gaunt adjusted the embellished vest he wore, the pristinely embroidered paisley pattern shifting with his movement. 

“Then I’ll keep this brief.” Miradevi slid an embossed document across to the man, a fountain pen sitting neatly on it. “I want you to disown your son. I want you to cut him from your family tree, and sever all ties to him, renouncing your claim over him as the second son of the House of Gaunt. He is 27 years old, well past his coming of age, and this archaic stake you have over his future needs to be dissolved.” 

Mortis examined the document- two pages, double sided- and chuckled. “Ah, he got scared, did he? All it took for him to leave you was a well placed threat against that pretty neck, Miss Lakshmi?”

Miradevi only gave a tight smile, pushing away the recent, still-painful memories of Ominis’s harsh words in the Room of Requirement, his callous rejection of their relationship, his refusal to tell her why. 

“It wasn’t the smartest thing he did.” Mira said coolly. “But I appreciate his willingness to protect me. Sign it, Mr. Gaunt. I do not think I need to go so low as to tell you what the consequences are if you don’t.” 

Mortis ignored the papers, and looked at her- and she didn’t like the contemplation she saw in the cold, icy depths of his eyes. 

“I will say… “ His voice was soft, as if he knew what words to weave that would shake her to the core. “I almost find myself approving of you, Miss Lakshmi.”

Mira pushed down a flinch at the sudden alarm those words instigated, but Mortis caught it like a shark scenting blood. A slow smile crept over his face, far more unsettling than any of his vitriol. Despite the buttery sunlight filtering through the high windows on one of London’s rare sunny days, she shivered slightly. 

“Oh, yes, Miss Lakshmi. There’s no need to look so horrified- you have all the makings to be a true Lady of my House. You are cunning, ambitious- a vicious little thing, aren’t you? I wish my oldest would take some pointers from your behavior. You’d make a fine Gaunt if it weren’t for the sullied blood in your veins.”

You take that back. She wanted to yell, to shake him until he swallowed his own words. But his statement burrowed itself into her brain, spreading tendrils of discomfort as she tried to pull words together. 

“I’m nothing like you.” She managed, her voice quieter. She was barely audible over the faint clink of expensive cutlery and hum of ambient chatter around them. “Don’t even try to imply that. I’d never treat anyone the way you-” 

“Wouldn’t you? I keep tabs on everything, girl. You might have an empire in your palm, but wizarding London is mine.” He leaned closer, like he was sharing a secret. 

“I hear the whispers that float around, I know the way people speak your name. With respect, certainly- but also with fear. The princess of a land with a military so formidable it could wipe out our little island.” Mortis’s tone rotted with faux sympathy. “And you quite like that, don’t you?” 

“You don’t know the first thing about me, or how I feel about things.” The deflection sounded weak to her own ears, and she wanted to smack herself. She’d been too cocky, overconfident that a flashy show of power would be enough to bring the Gaunt patriarch to heel. 

“You enjoy people being afraid of you. In fact, that is what you wanted from this very meeting.” His words were cold, spoken with the conviction of someone who knew the truth. “You wanted me to be afraid of you.” 

Mira met his gaze. For a moment, the situation seemed absurd. Here was Ominis’s father, psychoanalyzing her in the middle of a restaurant, and doing an annoyingly good job of it. 

“Yes.” She murmured. “I did.” 

“And this is, of course, all about him. My soft little fool- My disappointment of a son.” An expression twisted Mortis Gaunt’s features that should not have been on the face of any father speaking about their child. And even the layers of cosmetic charms hiding his age did not keep the hatred from cracking through.

“Your biggest mistake is in how horribly you’ve overlooked him. For all your intelligence, you don’t notice the power of his kindness, of his restraint.” Miradevi snapped, her fingers fidgeting with the bangles on her wrist as she hid them beneath the white-clothed table. 

“What good is kindness? His restraint is what brought you here, to me.” Mortis lowered his voice, barely sparing a disgusted look at the Muggle waiter who passed by. “Stupid girl, do you not see the danger he put you in? You’re here because he abandoned you, exercising restraint in the name of protecting his precious little mudblood. And that is where he fails you. Where he fails himself. Because he doesn’t have the guts to get his elbows dirty, not even to save those he allegedly loves.”

Her palms were slightly clammy, but not from fear. “Violence isn’t as easy as you think it is, Mr. Gaunt.” She hissed. “I, for one, admire his insistence on keeping his hands free of bloodshed and dark magic.” 

“Don’t lie to me, Miss Lakshmi.” Mortis tapped a slow beat against the table, a ring with a black stone set on it gleaming under the sunlight. “You know, better than most, the price of being a leader. When the drums of war begin, you need someone at your back who is willing and eager to bathe the dirt with blood. Not someone who walks away from their problems, hoping their distance will fix it.” 

Mira’s tea had long since gone cold, her mind whirring with the tilted stage they were standing on. She was silent for a moment, not bothering to hide the concern that flitted across her face. If this was Ominis’s response to a threat…if his first instinct was to pull away to protect her instead of remaining steadfast at her side, then- 

But Miradevi knew the man she loved. He had not distanced himself out of fear, but rather out of mercy. Because- 

“Demons run when a good man goes to war,” Mira said quietly, conviction in her tone. “Ominis knows when to pick his battles. He was being selfless, in a way I can only hope to emulate. He miscalculated and I can forgive him for that, but he made a sacrifice, not an escape.” 

Whatever Mortis Gaunt was going to say was cut off by a sudden tension, a rise of voices by the arched doorway of the restaurant- and Miradevi’s security personnel flanking a figure she recognized all too well as he strode towards her with enough rage in his eyes to set the building alight. 

Mira held down a wince. Sebastian clearly failed to hold his tongue liked she asked him to. She was in trouble. 

Ominis Gaunt bore elegance like armor, aristocratic inidimiation like a sword. His wand had been transfigured into a sleek cane, his black leather gloves creaking from his near crushing grip. A dark suit hugged his figure, and Mira’s eyes fell to the small brooch pinned to the lapel- one she had not seen before. And her heart stuttered. 

The emblem of the Surya empire. A show of loyalty, of devotion- of allegiance. 

She exhaled shakily, her heart thumping ridiculously fast. She was so stupidly in love with that man. But before she could kiss him senseless, she had to ease the muscle ticking in his jaw, the tight draw of his eyebrows. And, of course, get rid of his  father sitting across from her. 

“Mira-” his voice was almost gravelly with anger, his head turning slowly to tilt in her direction. He stepped closer, angling himself in front of her. “Would you care to explain to me what the hell is going on?” 

“The House of Gaunt does not recognize the name Ominis Ciro Gaunt any longer.” Mortis cut in, looking strangely satisfied as he signed his name on the document with a scratch of a nib and callous detachment. “He will be stripped from the family records, burned off the tree, and his name will be lost to history. The line of Salazar Slytherin does not recognize him as one of ours.”

Ominis turned slowly to his father, his ears catching the sound of pen on paper- before starting to ring. “What-” he began, but Mortis stood, brushing down his suit. 

“I hope you realize how lucky you are, boy.” His gaze fixed on Ominis, who straightened his shoulders and fought down the urge to draw his wand. “If she was anything less that royalty, I would have put her six feet under by now.” 

“You would have tried. And failed.” Mira said quietly. “It was a pleasure, Mr. Gaunt. I do hope we never cross paths again.” 

Mortis nodded stiffly, turned on his heel and walked away without another word to her. 

Or to Ominis. 

____________________________________

“I suppose you expect me to thank you.” 

“There’s no need to be snippy. Besides, shouldn’t I be the one upset? You were fully prepared to throw away our relationship over a threat I managed to neutralize in less than an hour.” 

Ominis scoffed softly, taking a sip of his Earl Grey. He’d taken the seat his father had abandoned, sitting across from Miradevi as she finally decided that she was in a desperate mood for a croissant. 

“You were reckless. You took a gamble that could have ended up with you hurt, or dead-” 

It was Mira’s turn to scoff. “Ominis, if you think your father, of all people, could do anything to me, you severely underestimate my capabilities.” 

He was silent for a moment, and Mira sighed in contentment at the mouthful of buttery, flaky chocolate croissant that was absolutely melting in her mouth. “Here, try some of this-” 

“He got into your head though, didn’t he?” Ominis’s words were quiet. “I can tell. He’s got a talent for just… finding someone’s sorest spot and ripping it open. Let me guess. He implied that you were a perfect match for this family and makde you feel like a monster for it.” 

“That’s creepy. How did you-?” Ominis shrugged, a slight weariness in his shoulders that did seem to ease away. “You live with someone long enough, you know their patterns of behavior. Though I hope you know it’s a load of drivel. You’re so far beyond the scope of what my family could hope to be- a thousand times the person they could ever imagine.”

“He was right, though.” Mira ducked her gaze, unwilling to meet his eyes regardless of whether or not he could see her. “I- I do want people afraid of me. Not all of them, of course, but I’d rather be feared than seen as a target.” 

“And that is very different than wanting to be feared as a means of control and subjugation.” 

Miradevi huffed softly, lifting her gaze again. “When did you get so wise, Ominis Gaunt?” 

He grinned, taking another sip of tea. “I’m not a Gaunt anymore, remember? Its just Ominis. Ominis Ciro, I suppose. My aunt Noctua gave me the middle name- snuck it in there.” His lips quirked in fond memory. “It means ‘of the sun.” 

Mira froze, before gesturing with perhaps too much enthusiasm, making him laugh softly. “That’s- you’re joking. That’s what my middle name means! Surya- its the name of my empire and the lineage of my family. It literally translates to the word sun.”

“Are you implying that we’re made for each other, princess?” Ominis purred softly, reaching across the table and fumbling a little to find her hand, before resting his own over her fingers. “Drawn together by some celestial power?” 

Mira fought down a giggle, trying to harden her voice. “You have some apologizing to do before you can start your buttering up. You broke up with me.” 

“And you refused to accept it. Stubborn girl. You’re insane, you know that? When Sebastian told me what you’d done I almost lost it. I couldn’t imagine-” he sighed. “Don’t do something like that again.” 

“Don’t distance yourself and assume responsibility for our shared problems without speaking to me first.” 

A silence settled over the table, and Ominis tilted his head slightly. “I should apologize.” There was a slight growl in his voice. “Thoroughly.” 

“Quite.” 

He stood, smoothing down his suit and extending a hand to her. “Come along, my little sun.” He ducked his head and pressed a soft kiss to her neck- an utterly indecent gesture- and one she knew every last bodyguard in the vicinity would report back to her parents. But his next words wiped those thoughts away. 

“I fear I shall be apologizing to you all night.”

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

AN: Miradevi Lakshmi how I adore you. Anyways, I thought Ciro was a cool middle name for Ominis and then I realized it matches Mira's middle name too! Soulmates fr. I hope yall enjoyed reading!!! <3

[clove-pinks]

Hi and happy birthday!

recently while scouring a book on internet archive for any information on the children of my favourite Napoleonic general Jean-Andoche Junot, I found some poetry written by Paul Gavarni on the album of Constance Aubert, Junot’s second daughter. Since you are The Gavarni Guy I wanted to show it to you, and also ask if you know anything of Gavarni’s relationship to the Junot family:

Gavarni also drew Constance in 1839:

(sorry for the long ask!)

Thank you for the birthday wishes! And WOW thank you for this ask!!!

Despite recently finding Gavarni's Journal des gens du monde on Gallica, I'm actually unfamiliar with Gavarni's literary works. One Gavarni scholar compared him to the poet Alfred de Musset, and remarked that it was striking "how few writers Gavarni did not know." Honoré de Balzac said, "Gavarni fait un livre â son insu, il vole les écrivains du jour."

Gavarni's best(?) biography is by the de Goncourt brothers, Gavarni, l'homme et l'oeuvre, but it doesn't seem like they have anything to say about the Junot family. I found a few references to his friendship with Constance Aubert, however! (Seemingly no connection to the printer Aubert et Cie, who published many Gavarni prints).

[tibialtybalt]

MAG 150 - Cul-de-sac

Yayyy gay misery

Herman. What is going on man

I’d say that cheating on him was a foolish act of past me, but honestly it’s one of the few decisions I’ve ever made that I completely understand.

I don't

It didn’t help that over the course of a ten-year relationship, my friends had become our friends, and there weren’t any of them siding with me in this situation.

Well .

Hermaaannn what is your brainnn. Talk to me...

Okay I think the "road" "way" "lane" names are funny

There were no lights on behind the drawn curtains, and all the house numbers were zero.

🔥🔥🔥

I don’t know why I picked that house. It was exactly identical to all the others. I’ve often wondered if there was anything that drew me to it… perhaps I was just unlucky. Or perhaps there only ever was one house.

Okay I like how we're starting to mirror Jon in the statements. It gets stronger in s5 ofc but hiii

I pressed the remote again, a shopping channel. The host was a tall, clean-shaven man with close-cropped hair. He was holding a brick and talking about it in that same flow of non-words that still had a familiar salesman’s patter. The screen scrolled the message, BUY NOW! But there was neither price nor compact details, as this man who wouldn’t look at the camera earnestly pretended to sell me a brick. It was almost hypnotic.

I really really like this. It's charming. Sorry Herman

Anchors 😌

We are trying. Daisy, Basira and I, we don’t leave the Institute much anymore, so we do spend a lot of time together. It’s not that easy though. When everyone has so many walls, so many defenses, sometimes you can feel lonely even when you’re all in the same room.

The s4 vibe in a nutshell

Oh, uh – come in, Melanie.

The little rise in static :]

MELANIE I didn’t say I was going to quit, I said I’m not going to do my job. No researching, no filing, no field trips, nothing that is going to help the Institute in any way.

The therapy is helping.. god bless you Ms King. Heal my beloved

Jon is the king of saying the absolute worst thing he could to Melanie despite his good intentions 😭

MELANIE Look, I… didn’t come here for a fight. I just wanted to let you know what was going on. If you need me, I��ll be trying to get Daisy drunk.

You guys don't understand the blorbo is blorboing it's critical

[alabastshe]

eléonore de laroque

NAME. Eléonore de Laroque AGE. appears 27 / actual 416 BIRTHDAY. November 2nd ZODIAC SIGN. Scorpio BIRTHPLACE. Labourd, France PLACE OF LIVING. New Orleans, Louisiana ETHNICITY. French-Basque ALIGNMENT. chaotic evil (barely functioning under chaotic neutral thanks to one particular Celtic witch) OCCUPATION. former witch, now vampire, professional problem GENDER. female PRONOUNS. she/her SEXUALITY. lesbian FAMILY. long dead, wouldn’t have liked her anyway RELATIONSHIP. single, emotionally unavailable, deeply bonded to her platonic soulmate Sadhbh Ní Dhorchaidhe

PHYSICAL. Eléonore stands at 170 cm (5'7"), with a sinuous, feline kind of grace that never quite feels human. Her dark red black falls in waves to her waist, often tangled from nights she doesn’t bother to brush it. Her eyes are cold, piercing grey like storm clouds that never pass. Her skin is pale with a ghost-like translucence, a reminder of the centuries spent in shadow. Her presence is unsettling yet intoxicating, like the smell of jasmine on a grave. She carries the scent of dried rose petals, old smoke, and forgotten wine cellars decay turned into perfume.

PERSONALITY. Eléonore is chaos in a velvet corset. Her wit is as sharp as her bite, her cynicism bottomless. She feels too much and copes by pretending she doesn’t. Her cruelty is elegant, her bitterness legendary, but underneath all that venom lies something far more dangerous grief. After centuries of betrayal, loss, and forced transformation, Eléonore no longer believes in redemption or love. But despite her best efforts, she somehow stumbled into something resembling friendship with Sadhbh Ní Dhorchaidhe a relationship that confuses, irritates, and ultimately anchors her. They bicker like old gods, but Sadhbh is the only one who can talk Eléonore down from burning the world. Again.

Eléonore doesn’t care about your rules, your morals, or your fragile feelings. But if you touch Sadhbh, or her small circle of tolerated souls, she’ll gut you before you can blink.

BACKGROUND. Born in the Basque region of France, Eléonore was the daughter of a cunning herbalist and a disgraced nobleman. She was always sharp, always strange, always too powerful for a world that wanted women silent and soft. She thrived in shadows, practicing witchcraft with a coven hidden deep in the woods. But her beauty and defiance drew the wrong kind of attention. A monk became obsessed with her, a creature in holy robes who whispered damnation between breaths of lust. When she laughed in his face and told him to rot, he did what bitter men do he accused her. In the year 1609, during the Labourd witch trials, he had her hunted like an animal. She fled, hiding with her sisters. But he came for her again.

He wasn’t mortal anymore. He had made himself into something worse a vampire. And in a twisted act of obsession, he turned her. “If I cannot have you as a man,” he said, “I will bind you in eternity.” The witches killed him. Too late to save her. Eléonore was changed, cursed to live forever in a body she never chose. She went wild for years. Tore across Europe like a hurricane. Burned, drank, broke, destroyed. Until she met Sadhbh. A Celtic witch older than the stars, impossible to intimidate. Somehow, they stuck. One wild, chaotic vampire, and one wise, reckless witch who sees every bad decision before it happens and drags her friend back by the collar anyway.

They call it hatred. It looks suspiciously like love.

ABILITIES & SKILLS.

Vampirism: Eléonore is strong, fast, and terrifyingly lethal. She walks without sound and kills without hesitation.

Dark Magic (formerly): Though she no longer practices witchcraft, fragments of her old power still linger—hexes, curses, things better left forgotten.

Seduction & Manipulation: Eléonore knows how to charm, deceive, and destroy. She is both siren and executioner.

Enhanced Senses: Night vision, scent tracking, and heightened hearing make her a deadly predator.

Immortality: She does not age, and though she has tried to die before, nothing has worked yet.

Emotional Weaponry: Her sarcasm cuts deeper than fangs. She will talk you into your grave if she’s in the mood.

Eléonore de Laroque is everything they warned you about and nothing you were prepared for. Beautiful, bitter, and bound in shadow, she walks the fine line between chaos and control if only because someone keeps yanking her back from the edge.

[plantsandpotionz]

What drew you towards Stolas? What continues to inspire your love and / or writing for his character? Aside from Stolas, do you have a favorite character from another piece of media that holds your heart? What does belonging or "home" feel and look like for them? How do they define it?

Short answer? He was pretty and elegant lmao!

Long answer? Well, Truth be told, it's the same as the short one! Stolas's design caught my eye, and I thought his voice was really pretty. I loved his character in the pilot and the first episode and while I do wish they kept him a tad more villainous, I hope he winds up with the world he deserves.

As for another character? Poe De Spell from the 2017 Ducktales.

Despite having quite literally about 5 minutes of total screentime, I fell in love with that evil duck wizard twink hard and fast. An evil character voiced by Martin Freeman that was open for more character development than the series proper would ever give him? Sign me the fuck up. I've done so much with him in my own way throughout the years, he's practically my own OC at this point.

And what does home fell like for him? Anywhere his daughters are. Sure his relationship with one is a little rocky, but he'd die to protect both of his kiddos. His sense of belonging can also tie into them as well. He was not a good man in his youth, and he has a lot of crimes and mistakes to try and atone for now that he's trying to become a better person, and he wants to make damn sure neither of his kids make the same mistakes he did that.

[dollsbite]

☆. . . before the storm

ft. antón castillo + fem! reader, diego castillo and reader (platonic)

warning: hints of a toxic relationship, canon-typical violence, antón basically comes with his own warning lmao

despite the golden warmth of the setting sun peeking through the windows of the capitol building, a storm was slowly brewing.

you and your son sat in your husband's office. he was having a meeting with his most valued general in the conference room across from you, discussing their approach to combat the rioters in esperanza. it was a normal routine for you to gaze outside of the windows once the sun began to set, however, the crown city was in utter chaos: the demonstrators were anything but peaceful as they clashed with antón's forces, fighting tooth and nail. how could you enjoy the beauty of the sky as esperanza burned? the smoke tainted the scenery you loved so much. maybe this served as a morbid reminder that the man you'd married was at the center of this destruction.

"it looks amazing, mijo. you're so talented," you watched contently as diego applied the finishing touches to the model car he built - a blue 1956 beaumont valentina. though he wasn't your biological son (the tabloids pointed in the direction of the minister of culture), you cherished diego like he was your own, something that surprised you as your bond strengthened: the idea of being a mother never crossed your mind, you hadn't even thought of marriage.

diego tore his attention from his car to focus on you, pulling one earphone out as he smiled, "thank you, mamá."

"no need to thank me, i'm just telling you the truth," you grinned.

you allowed the boy to return to his project, turning your attention towards the book in your hand. you weren't enjoying the story, however; you had a hard time grasping the storyline as you were more worried about the violent protests occurring outside of the torre de león. a part of you was glad that diego was preoccupied, that he didn't have to hear the horrors happening outside. the other wished he'd listen to the screams, realizing how truly awful his father was.

the grand doors opened and your husband walked in. his presence was heavy, much to the point that you didn't even need to look up to know who it was. perfectly shined shoes stopped behind your son's chair.

"it's beautiful, mijo," antón's voice drew diego away from placing the mirrors on the car. diego stopped tapping his foot to the rhythm of his music, taking off both of his headphones to talk to his father,

"perfect," antón continued his praise, "but useless."

you frowned at his unnecessary comment, placing the book aside. you wished antón would just compliment diego instead of always having to shoot him down, to tear down his self-esteem only to build it back up. you wanted nothing more than for antón to stay in that meeting for a few more hours, allowing diego to just be a kid.

antón didn't acknowledge you as he sat down in the empty chair beside his son, "i have something for you, diego. give me your hands."

diego curiously held out his two hands, his father placing his own larger hands into his son's. antón dropped a heavy object into the palms of diego's hands, pulling away to reveal a grenade.

"papa - " diego retracted, noticeably tense at the sight of the explosive.

"antón, no. diego's gonna hurt himself," your protests went unheard as your husband continued,

"now, there is four basic parts: the shell, which contains the explosive. the fuze, the handle," antón pointed to each part, "and of course, the pin."

antón lingered on the pin before he pulled it out. the metallic ring rattled in your ears as you stood up in horror.

"what are you doing?" diego panicked as his father wrapped his hands around the startled boy's.

"breathe, diego. breathe. the pin simply holds the handle in place; it is only when you let go that this grenade goes boom," antón explained, too calmly for someone with an active grenade in front of him as he gestured his hands in the motion of an explosion.

"what the hell is wrong with you?" your furious voice cut through the tense air as you watched the sweat practically drip from your son's forehead.

"nothing is wrong, mi amor," his voice was cold and authoritative, devoid of any tenderness as he gazed at you with a deep frown. those sharp eyes lingered on you as if waiting for your response; almost urging you to speak up against him again.

you held your tongue, choosing to glare at your husband in disapproval.

antón stood up from his seat, "follow me,"

diego gulped, staring down at the grenade.

"now," your husband ordered.

with no other choice, you and diego followed in antón's footsteps. the journey to the top of the torre de león was short, however, it felt like an eternity. you could easily hear diego's heavy breathing as he trailed behind his father, clutching the grenade tightly. in an attempt to soothe him, you placed a hand on his shoulder, to let him know that you were right behind him and you weren't leaving anytime soon.

"i am el presidente, which means that someday, you will be el presidente and our people, they do not know how to be happy," your husband rambled, "they are torn apart by opinions, noise, indecision; strangled by their own freedoms."

you offered one of the guards a painful smile as you strutted past. your son still held the grenade firmly in his hands as he moped, the sweat forming on his forehead noticeably dampening his hair. he grimaced once he placed his feet on the first step of the staircase. your own hands were growing clammy, nails digging uncomfortably into your palms.

"and even if you have love in your heart, even if you want what's best for them, if you only want to save them from themselves," the masked, heavily armed guards saluted you when you made it up the entrance to the roof. antón opened the door to the roof, the sudden harsh light blinding.

"they will hate you, diego. whatever you say, do, believe, will be wrong," your husband explained bluntly.

with his attention fixed on the explosive in his hands, diego's foot became caught in a stray wire, causing the horrified boy to stumble. you quickly reached out to steady him, arms wrapped around his waist as you stared at him with widened, frightened eyes. your son nodded stiffly in appreciation, throat dry.

your husband, still not meeting your eye once, retrieved a cigar from his crisp, white suit. he pulled the roll of tobacco to his lips, lighting it and inhaling a long drag of smoke. a cloud of grey drifted from his lips.

"they will answer your screams," antón held a hand out to diego to join him at the edge of the roof. you reached out briefly to keep him close to you but to no avail, "call you evil. a monster."

with nothing more to do, you wrapped your arms around yourself, staring over the ledge to witness the demolition below. your efforts proved fruitless because they always did: you knew, deep down, that you were nothing more than a doll to stand at your husband's side, to smile and look pretty as he tainted yara's very core and poisoned your impressionable son with his measly propaganda. you were a helpless rabbit trapped in a wolf's den, doomed to perish under his rule.

there were a few protestors that were surrendering, their arms folded behind their head as they gave into yara's special forces, most likely succumbing to exhaustion.

"they will give you this," antón pulled the grenade closer to diego's eyes, revealing a crudely written message on its back:

muerte a castillo.

"so you tell me," antón's voice become grave, "are you, mijo? are you. . . a monster?" diego shook his head at his father's words just as a protestor tossed a firey molotov cocktail into the window of a vacant car.

"because our country is like this grenade except it has two basic parts: our people," antón motioned to the unruly crowd, "and you," he placed a hand on the boy's chest. diego closed his eyes and breathed in deeply at his father's words, "and you must clutch them nice and tight or we all go boom."

"do you understand now? prove it." antón urged the boy forwards, the grenade held high.

no, you couldn't let this happen. you couldn't let your son become a cold-hearted monster, driven by antón's own sick, twisted delusions of paradise. yet, you cowered behind him, not daring to stop him. maybe you were just as pathetic as your husband.

the shrill screams of your people echoed in your mind and your heart sunk, knowing that diego had dropped the grenade. some scrambled to their feet but you knew their efforts were in vain. you quickly averted your eyes just seconds before the blast went off. it was an action that you felt great shame for, the savage voice in your head hissing at you, reprimanding you for not saving them.

you knew their blood was on your hands. your mind raced but just as own blood trickled from your cut palms, you realized what you had to do:

get the hell of yara and never look back.

[missusplum]

Why are you so hopeful when these writers might bait and play us again?

What were you’re thoughts on the finale and what stories would you like to see next season?

Here’s hoping for one of your long essays

lmao i completely get the frustration, but the way i really see it, i don’t think the takeaway from this season is that armony will never be a focus; it’s that this show chooses to be chaotic just for the sake of being ~shocking~ and ~unexpected~ so really by that benchmark anything is possible lol

for those reasons i think going into the business of trying to predict anything on this show is generally a bad idea and a recipe to setting yourself up for disappointment. so i have no thoughts on what might go down in s3, just that i hope we get one loool. because despite all my yapping and complaining i really do want to see more of this show, and i think there are lots of stories still to tell. i started watching for elodie and i’m gonna stay for her too 😌

i’ll share my thoughts on s2 behind the cut:

my general sentiment on this season is a big meh lol. like all the criticism and worries i had about where the season was headed and about kamdar being nothing more than a lightning rod all stumbled into fruition. my biggest criticism is that the writing seems intent on delivering shocking moments and stressful situations at the sacrifice of interesting stories and actual character development. the biggest example of this is the show choosing to drop chris’ story, the far superior and more emotionally-compelling storyline, halfway into the season and choosing to fully focus on kamdar instead. i really think it was a gigantic misstep to veer into this direction and a misread of what drew people to this show in the first place. to me, the real strength of tcl was always, always, the chemistry between arman and thony, and between thony and fiona. people watched because of the actors’ chemistry; even in s1 the mob drama was always less interesting and draggingly melodramatic at times. but people put up with it because it was the vehicle to showcase the chemistry and relationships that intrigued everyone. s2 literally went full throttle into mob territory and sacrificed the emotional side and the relationships that made us care in the first place. and that is the true fumble here.

i do get frustrated reading some of the postmortem interviews with the EPs because i really want to know what progress they think this season made at all. almost all the new characters that they brought on have died (shoutout to JD for living to see another day!), the triangle of death is still in tact, thony is still single-mindedly focused on her family, luca is still sick, the de la rosas are still undocumented, arman still has no power, etc. and everyone is so miserable 🥴 something something about a clinic and helping out the community was completely overshadowed by this kamdar storyline which ended exactly how we all knew it would end, with him dead. oh i guess g*rrett miller died too. overdue imo but i’m sorry to his fans for your loss lol

one thing i will say is while i think it was very deliberate to have thony do unlikable things and behave antagonistically, i still think a lot of the fandom is being unfair with how much hate she’s getting and letting recency bias cloud their judgment. this is the same character that agreed in a second to sell street drugs because arman looked sad and then immediately incriminated herself when they got caught, literally only to protect arman. it’s a complete disservice to the character and franking oversimplifying just to write her off as selfish. she is anything but selfish imo. i do believe, and the EPs have said as much, that she has a tendency to be arrogant and to think she knows better, and this stems from her career as a surgeon. but to say she hasn’t paid for her mistakes is crazy lol, the entire two finale hours was basically nothing working out the way she wanted, and everyone telling her off and giving her shit for what she’s done. which for the record i liked; thony has often acted purely on instinct, but i like that this time that she had to lose and that the same instinct led her to make bad decisions. makes for a more compelling character vs. one who is always doing the right thing. i will say that i think reverting to anchoring all of thony’s actions to be about saving luca’s life was a narrative mistake. not only because it only underscores what we already learned about her in s1, but because atp (and i hate to say it) luca is nothing but a plot device imo. like people get frustrated when luca is thrust into the forefront again because aside from being a cute kid who is unfairly ill, there’s nothing else to the character. is he not literally only there to be sick and to cause thony to act irrationally? instead of investing time into actually making luca a well-rounded character with a personality, we wasted scenes on the likes of kamdar and maya, none of whom ended up having any staying power on the show anyway, and the stakes ended up feeling repetitive. i cannot understand why there was a need to bring on so many new (and temporary!?) characters in a short season when you already have existing shallowly-written core characters that the audience actually wants and needs to know more about.

i’ve already made my opinions on love triangles very clear lol and it still stands. like if you’re a fan of any of the characters of arman, thony, or nadia, i cannot for the life of me imagine why anyone would want this triangle to continue. it’s horrible for all of them; it’s unattractive to see arman continue to divide his heart between two women; it’s depressing to see thony reduce herself to an emotionless robot because she has to shut arman out; and it’s ridiculously unrealistic to think that nadia would still put up with arman after all the arguments they’ve had about thony already. if you’ve read any of the postseason interviews with melissa carter and miranda kwok they seem pretty intent on continuing to ride this out. i’m flummoxed because like what more is there to explore???

in one of the interviews, they said that they had to slow down armony because they went too fast in s1 which is wild to me when that’s one of the few reasons why people tuned in in the first place lol. the philosophy behind thinking that when a couple gets together it becomes boring is flawed and imo more of an indictment on the writing if interesting stories can’t be told with your leads in a relationship. miranda kwok said that the bond between arman and thony will be strengthened after surviving what they went through in s2, but literally none of that was communicated to the audience lol. melissa carter said there was an opportunity for more romance in s3 because there was none in s2 but like y’all literally wrote it that way 🥴🥴 i really do think the writing massively overestimated everyone’s patience and tolerance for nothingness and crumbs. it might have been more tolerable if the rest of the show was just as compelling, but imo it just isn’t so s2 was really just watching this show shoot itself in the foot repeatedly lol. fwiw i think a push and pull between these two could have worked but s2 was literally all pull lmao; like if you have guaranteed five seasons to arc out a molasses-paced relationship then sure but we’re barely scraping by here lol 🤧

anyhoo, all in all i hope the writers actually do get a chance to read some of the criticism of this season and it’s not just written off as shippers throwing a tantrum lol. s2 was a bit of a drag to get through but if nothing else, and for better or for worse, i feel like i have a better grasp of what this show is trying to be now so that’s something. all my criticism aside, at the core of it i do love that this is a show with southeast asians at the forefront, with elodie yung at the forefront, and for those facts alone i’ll happily keep rooting for it to succeed and keep contributing my views and ratings. the rest i’ll just keep hoping for the best.

[missdawnandherdusk]

Together In Paris

Auror!Draco X Auror!Reader

Summary: Cliche mini-series: There was only one bed/fake dating

A/n: I have no idea where this came from but it’s beautiful and so soft and cute and ugh. I love you guys so much so let me know what you think as always!! Also this is 8k words because I have no self control at all.

“There has to be some mistake,” I gasped. “Harry, you can’t be serious!”

“I need this case in the hands of my two best Aurors, and that’s you and Malfoy,” Harry leaned against his desk, arms crossed.

Draco was very quiet and very still beside me. Where my anger was loud and biting, I could tell that his was cold and unforgiving.

“Okay, and I’m flattered, but Harry,” I dismayed. “This is a weekend in Paris for a couples retreat. What the bloody hell do you expect us to do there?”

“Act like a couple,” Harry said, as if it were obvious. And I wished that it wasn’t. “And bring in this potions smuggler,”

I huffed and stormed off, heading to my desk to gather what I needed for this god forsaken case. Stupid Harry. Stupid Malfoy. Stupid shiny shoes that were in my line of vision.

“Bloody hell, Malfoy,” I looked up, abandoning my spare anti-hex potions in their bottom drawer. “What do you want?”

“You act like I’m happy about this,” He snapped coldly. “I’d rather spend a weekend in Paris doing something enjoyable with just about anyone else.”

Fury burned in my heart as his words pierced it. I couldn’t deny that they stung a bit. Truthfully, Draco wasn’t the worst person to get stuck on a case with. Instead I was angry because Harry just assumed that I’d be okay with pretending to date someone, even for a case.

“Just what every girl wants to hear,” I snarled. “What do you want Malfoy?” I sighed, continuing to pack my bag.

“What time would you like me to pick you up tonight?” His tone was so polite that it had me reeling, abandoning my task of packing.

“I’m sorry, what?”

“The case, it starts tomorrow evening. I assume that you’d like to get there early and see what we’re dealing with? You have with cases before,” He gave in tidbit of knowledge so offhandedly that I almost missed how Draco had somehow managed to pick up on my habits.

“I... uh. Yeah,” I zipped my bag and slung it over my shoulder. “Is seven alright with you? I have a few things that I need to get in order before we head out.”

“I’ll pick you up at seven then,”

Deciding that the interaction with Draco was one of the weirder moments of my life, I prepared myself for a weekend filled with... coupling—ugh. I spent about an hour ranting to my empty flat as I packed a suitcase and garment bag, my more expensive dresses safely inside. I paused in the mirror and sighed wistfully. Coupled with Draco Malfoy. Yeah right. We weren’t even in the same spheres of influence. Our spheres didn’t even touch remotely.

Promptly at seven, my doorbell rang, and I could tell that Draco was eyeing my jeans and sweater skeptically. I seemed like a teenager standing next to his immaculate, no doubt tailored- to-him suit. Lost. Lost was a good word that fit. I seemed lost when I stood beside Draco.

“Are you ready?” He asked.

“As I’ll ever be,” I sighed, letting him in so that we could apparate together.

I should have looked over the case notes a bit more. I would have dressed better if I had known Draco and I would be staying at the Ritz. I understood Draco’s look of contempt for my wardrobe earlier.

“Are you ready?” He asked again, softly.

“Yeah, sure.” I smiled settling into a fake persona that was desperately in love with Draco Malfoy. With the smile he returned, I could tell that Draco had done the same as he wrapped his arm around my waist. I tried not to gawk at the lavish lobby as Draco checked us in and I tried to also ignore the disapproving looks I got from the staff about my wardrobe. I stuck closer to Draco after one to many nasty stares.

French fell elegantly from his lips as he spoke to the receptionist. It escaped my mind that he could speak the language—it was probably one of the leading reasons that he was placed on this case: he could thrive without a translation spell. The small French woman made a remark that seemed to upset Draco, his words becoming harsh, his lip curling in anger. The woman started to stammer her words in what I assumed was apologies as she smiled nervously at me before pressing a key into Draco’s hands. A bellhop followed behind us with our luggage.

“What was that all about?” I asked Draco when we were alone in a imperial suite—either the Ministry had given Harry way too much power over funds or this had Malfoy written all over it.

“What was what?” Draco asked, drawing the curtains.

“The receptionist,” I gave, running my fingers over a marble statue of the Venus De Milo.

“Yes? What about her?” He raised an eyebrow at me, shrugging off his blazer and undoing his cufflinks.

“You snapped at her,”

“Ah,” Draco’s lips drew into a thin smile. “Well, I could hardly stand for her to be insulting the love of my life, now could I?” Sarcasm dripped in his tone as his smile became wicked.

“Oh, you stuffy people and your stuffy rules!” I dismayed. “Jeans are comfortable! So are sweaters!” I folded my arms childishly.

“I’m not arguing there, but Y/n, come on, at the Ritz?” Draco piqued an eyebrow.

“I didn’t know it would be here! Bloody hell, I would have dressed better if I knew!” It’s what I had been wanting to scream for the past hour that it felt nice to let the words finally leave my lips.

A chuckle fell from his lips as he sat at in a plush armchair, gesturing for me to join him. I sighed and sat in the adjacent chair, pulling my legs up onto the seat with me. If Draco disapproved, he didn’t voice his opinion.

“Now, before we begin,” His voice dropped into a formal tone, and I knew he was speaking about the case. “I need to know boundaries for you. Yes, we have to be a couple, but I don’t want to do anything that will make you uncomfortable or throw you off guard. I need you sharp and focused for us to do this case successfully,”

“That was... almost sweet,” I chuckled darkly.

My tongue darted between my lips as memories that I tried hard to keep locked down came resurfacing. It was another reason for my fury about the case. Harry knew that I had just gotten out of a toxic long-term relationship and I doubted he thought twice about my approval on the matter of this case. My eyes dropped to my lap; my eyebrows drawn together.

“Y/n,” He called softly, drawing my attention from my spiraling thoughts.

“Just...” I started. “I’m fine. Hug me, kiss me, hold me close, call me whatever, I don’t care,” The words were sharper than I meant them to be as I stormed out of the room and slammed whatever door was between us.

Leaning against the same door, fighting tears and the urge to apparate back home, my eyes settled on one large, silk draped, pillow lined, king sized bed.

“No,” I gasped. “No, no, no!” I screamed. “There is no way in hell!” 

“Y/n?” A soft knock was on the door behind me.

I yanked it open and met an anxious looking Draco.

“What the hell!?” I gestured wildly to the bed.

“Are you alright?” Draco neared me cautiously. “Are you sure you’re up for this case?” 

“Oh, don’t patronize me!” I snapped. “I’m just fine!”

“Then what in the world are you on about?” He folded his arms defiantly.

“The bed,” I hissed.

“Yes, what about it?” Oh, I wanted to punch him. 

“There’s only one.”

“Oh, she can count, the day is saved,” Draco rolled his eyes. “Yes, there’s one bed, do you think a couple would be sleeping in separate beds? We have a cover to keep,”

My face scrunched up in anger as I sighed and scrubbed my face, my resolve falling flat.

“Right, the case.” I nodded, putting on a false calm smile. “Any boundaries of yours I need to know about?”

Draco eyed me warily, and whatever he wanted to say died on his tongue as he regained composure.

“Just be polite. Formal. We’re... how did you put it? Stuffy people, not teenagers,” There was a small smile on his lips.

“Right,” I nodded and sighed. “I’m sorry I yelled at you,”

“It’s my fault, I should have warned you.” His tone was soft. “And I also should have mentioned that I fully planned on sleeping on the floor, or perhaps a couch. I’d never impose on your privacy like that.”

I thawed a little more and my smile became a bit more real. “Thank you, Draco,”

“I’ll... leave you alone. If you’d like to change, we can explore a bit, though it’s all about the same here,”

“You say that like you come to Paris for lunch,” I drawled. “Not all of us have been out of the country, Malfoy,”

“You’ve—” He backtracked. “You’ve never been to Paris?” 

“No?”

“Get changed,” He ordered. “Never been to Paris,” He scoffed, closing the door behind him.

 __________________________

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

“Harry,” Draco hissed, his eyes darting away from your retreating form.

“Can it, Malfoy,” Harry pushed off his desk and rounded it. “I don’t want to hear how you don’t want the case either,”

“Forget about me.” Draco nearly roared. “Don’t you understand how bad this is going to be for Y/n? How much this is going to hurt her?”

Harry looked dumbfounded. “What do you mean?”

“Oh, you are so blind!” Draco distressed. “She just got out of a very unhealthy relationship not a month ago and you want her to pretend to be in love with someone else? Are you bloody mad?”

“It’s just one weekend,” Harry insisted.

“Oh, I pity the girl you take home,” Draco sneered. “I’ll do the case. For her sake.” 

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

Of course, Draco knew about your breakup. He worked with you for Merlin’s sake. He noticed when you were too quiet or skipped out on meals. Not that he ever meant to, but he liked his routine, and every other person in their rightful place as well. He noticed when a pattern was broken.

You were still a brilliant Auror despite it all. You smiled more. You actual made conversation with him now. He was happy for you. You seemed... free. Reanimated. He feared that this case would be the mental breakdown that everyone around you seemed to be waiting for. And Draco didn’t know if he was ready for that. He didn’t know if you were ready for that.

So, he’d be civil. He’d be a jerk if it meant sparing your feelings. He’d make this as easy as he could for you. He knew what it was like to need to break but terrified of the act itself. To hold his head high despite wanting to lash out at everyone and everything. And he had grown from it. Learned how to break in a healthy way. And how to pick himself back up.

It was about fifteen minutes before the bedroom door opened and you stepped out. Draco’s breath caught in his throat at the sight of you. Switching your jeans and sweater for an A-line black skirt that draped down your frame, paired with a white button up blouse, sheer thigh highs and a pair of heels in one hand and a Prada bag in the other.

“Is this okay?” You asked timidly. “I... I don’t really do this sort of thing,”

Your hair draped effortlessly down your shoulders, and light makeup that gave you an airbrushed look. An inviting look. Whatever made you think that you shouldn’t do this sort of thing needed to be stopped immediately because you looked wonderful.

“Draco?” You pulled him from his thoughts. He blinked a few times, recovering.

“Uh. Yes, that’s perfect,” He rushed out, your cheeks flushing pink. “Shall we?” He offered his arm.

Slipping on your heels, they clicked on the floor, a melody to the sharp sounds of his dress shoes harmonizing on the marble floors.

“So, you’ve never been to Paris?” He mused.

“No,” You looked down. “I’ve always wanted to travel but...” A sharp breath entered your glossy lips. “I guess I can now. Huh,” You smiled at the thought, holding your head high and Draco wondered if your ex-lover had prevented you from travelling. “So, this is Paris?” Your eyes flitted to the towering antique buildings, the smile remaining on your face.

“A small part of it,” Draco chuckled. “The night is coming soon, but if we have tomorrow, I’ll take you around the city,”

A laugh bubbled from your lips, a pretty sound that went with the flowers in the window boxes. The sun was setting and the streetlamps hanging their heads began to illuminate the Parisian streets. It gave the scene around them a softer look, painting you in a golden light.

“You know you don’t actually have to take me on a date,” You mused. “It’s just a case, Draco,”

“Case or not, I won’t have you in my city and not see some of it.” Draco decided.

“Your city?”

“You understand that I do have a summer home here, right?” He raised an eyebrow. “And this is where my family used to come on holiday? And that one of my best friends lives here?”

“Really?” Surprise flickered across your face. “Who?” 

“Pansy,” Draco smiled. “She moved here after...”

You nodded and your eyes traced to a small café and a couple sharing a soufflé on the patio. Your eyes dropped to the sidewalk under your heels, your smile falling.

“Would you like to get some dinner?” He asked softly.

“I... no thank you,” Your voice was quiet. “I already ate.” 

“Dessert then perhaps?” Draco tried. “Ever had crème brulee?” 

“Can’t say that I have,”

Your hand dropped from the crook of his shoulder as you wrapped your arms around yourself. He could see you shutting down at the thought and he wasn’t sure if he should keep pushing you or let you close yourself off.

“Don’t you think you deserve one? You’ve always wanted to come here, you’re here now. Don’t let him ruin it,” Scared he had overstepped his bounds as your silence dragged on, Draco began to grow more worried with each quiet second.

“You’re right,” You finally spoke. “I’m here now. I’m free to do as I please. And I really want to try a crème brulee,” There was a childlike smile on your face.

Draco led you across the cobblestone street to the small café that you had been eyeing earlier and swiftly ordered for the both of you in French as you got lost in the sights and smells around you.

Despite the later hour, the café was far from closing down. The waiter came with the assortment of bakery sweets that he had ordered, and you gaped at them.

“I thought we were getting one crème brulee,” You protested.

“Well, I figured you’d want to try a few other things as well. I know that you enjoy sweet things,”

Draco pushed the small dishes your way and watched you nibble your way through the pastries and desserts, hoarding the ones you enjoyed and passing to him the ones you didn’t prefer. You were lost in your own little world as you marveled at the Parisian pastries, particularly enjoying macarons—as well as your crème brulee.

“Thank you,” You looked down, a soft smile on your lips. “This was... really nice.” The dishes had been long cleared from the table and it left the pair staring that the stars through the shop window.

“I’m glad you enjoyed it,” Draco offered his arm again and led you back towards the hotel.

There was only one bathroom in the suite, so Draco allowed you to use it first. In the meantime, he stood out on the balcony of the suite, overlooking the Paris skyline. It hadn’t changed much since he was a small child. The only thing that seemed to change massively was the one looking out. Draco didn’t know how long he stood there, pondering the stars, but your small voice pulled him from those thoughts.

He turned and you were back into your normal favored attire: cotton sweats and a sweater, thick socks on your feet and your hair in a messy ponytail. A smile touched his lips, because you looked just as wonderful like this.

__________________________

The girl in the mirror looked confused, but happy all the same.

“We’re just friends,” I told her. “That’s all I need. This is a case. This is a job, and Draco’s a friend.” She smiled back at me and nodded.

“Draco?”

He was on the balcony, lost in thought I supposed. He turned all the same, a soft smile on his face.

“I... I can take the couch if you want,” I offered. “I’m shorter than you... it’ll probably be a nightmare for you to sleep on the couch,” My gaze dropped as I shifted from foot to foot.

“Don’t worry about it,” Draco smiled, closing the French doors to the balcony and drawing the curtains. “I’ve done it before, I can do it again,”

“Oh,” I wasn’t exactly sure what he meant by that but brushed off the intrusive thoughts that threatened.

Since the bathroom was connected to the master bedroom, I perched on the bed, the bedside lamps on allowing me to continue my book. It was an old muggle classic that I found myself lost in. The bathroom door opened, and my eyes darted over to see Draco with damp hair in an old pair of Slytherin sweats and a V-neck. A small laugh escaped my lips at the sight.

“What?” He demanded.

“Nothing just didn’t expect to see you in Slytherin sweats, that’s all,” I closed my book, resting it on my lap.

“Oh, well.” He flushed slightly. “Goodnight,” 

“Goodnight,”

He closed the door behind him, and I stared at the ornate doors for longer than I cared to admit. Sighing, I pulled out the case file and began to comb through the details. Harry wanted us to find potions smugglers who sold to high-brow cliental. From Polyjuice potion to Death Draught. The next sale was supposed to go down this weekend here at the Ritz during a couples ball. There were no names given for the criminals, but a description: male, two meters tall, brown cropped hair, and green eyes.

There was something almost familiar about the description, but I couldn’t place it. Sighing, I set down the file and turned off the lights, settling in for a long day tomorrow. The oversized pillows and expensive sheets offered me no comfort. They were too cold, to silky. I craved my quilt from home and my cotton sheets.

Giving up on the notion of sleep, I threw off the covers and went to the closet. There I found a knitted blanket that was heavenly soft to the touch. Stripping the bed of the top sheet and duvet as well as most of the pillows, I curled up with the blanket and a couple pillows and chased sleep.

“What in Merlin’s name?” The voice was confused and loud for this early in the morning. “What did the pillows ever do to you?”

I blinked out of the warmth of my dream and into the crisp morning, face to face with a disheveled sleepy Draco Malfoy.

“What?” I sat up, scrubbing my eyes.

“The bed? Hell, if I knew you were going to demolish it, I would have said take the couch,” There was a slight smile on his face.

“Didn’t feel right...” I mumbled, hugging my knees. “I’ll... I’ll clean it all up.”

“Don’t bother, we’re paying enough, housekeeping can take care of it. I’ll ask if they can switch the sheets to cotton for you,”

“Oh, no. Please don’t cause any trouble on my behalf.” I stammered quickly. 

“It’s not trouble,” Draco smiled. “It’s their job, darling,”

“Doesn’t mean we have to make it harder.” I stumbled out of bed and grabbed my wand, casting a spell so that the bed remade itself. “Why are you up so early anyway? The sun is barely up.”

“Old habit,” he gave a tight smile. “Fancy some breakfast?”

“It’s too early to eat,” I grumbled. “Coffee however is necessary so lead the way, darling,” I drawled sarcastically, draping one of the hotel house coats around me to mirror Draco’s silk green one that he no doubt owned already.

Draco paused at the door.

“If you need an out. Or a break. At any time. Let me know and I’ll get you out.” His voice was careful and serious.

“I’m not going to break,” I refuted defiantly. “If that’s what you’re waiting for.” I pushed past him and out the door, down the hall and to the elevator. The ride was quiet and tense.

“I never meant to imply—”

“Just leave it.” I cut him off. “I haven’t had enough caffeine to deal with this yet.”

“I’m sorry,” Draco whispered as we exited the elevator and I wasn’t quite sure what he was apologizing for, but it thawed me out a bit.

Breakfast was tense and quiet as we ate in silence. Draco read the Daily Prophet and I continued on my book. We made polite conversation with passersby and smiled like we were in love.

And I was in love. With the China teacups and their gold leaf accents. With the rich foods served and the beautiful decor. I was in love with the lavish tablecloths and the fancy napkins. I adored the chandeliers and sconces and fresh flowers that were on every table. It was beautiful and I was in love with it.

It wasn’t fair that Draco looked at home among the beautiful things. As if he came with them. “Are you still wanting to see the city?” He asked cautiously when we were back up in the suite.

“If you’re willing to put up with me for the day,” a smile touched my lips. “I... I know I can be a handful.”

“All things considered,” he mused softly. “I think you’re doing wonderfully.”

I smiled and lingered a moment longer than necessary before heading to the master bedroom to change. Favoring for a pair of high waisted black slim pants and a cold shoulder emerald top, I decided I could have looked worse. Lacing up my boots I headed out to Draco who was laying down his collar. His eyes swept over my figure, leaving me slightly self-conscious as I braided my hair loosely.

“Here,” Draco reached into the nearest drawer and pulled out a black ribbon and passed it to me before reaching back into the drawer. “These are my mother’s, but I don’t think she’ll mind you borrowing them,”

He offered me a black velvet box and inside were nestled a pair of diamond earrings. 

“Draco, I can’t—”

“You can and you will,” he smiled. “You deserve it,”

I looked at the earring and my resolves crumbled as I put them on.

“Is this your suite then?” I mused.

“Took you long enough to figure that one out,” he chuckled.

“Should have known from all the green,” I teased back.

“It’s a regal color,” Draco insisted.

“Sure thing darling,” a chuckle left my lips as we headed out the door. 

“It is!” He tried again, causing me to laugh. 

_________________________________

Draco had been to Paris just about as many times as he had been to London. Perhaps the city lost some of its shine over the years. Maybe after the war the Paris lights didn’t look the same to him. Perchance he had lost his childlike awe of the historical envied city.

But you... you had never been to Paris. You have never walked along the Seine. You had never seen the Eiffel Tower, never browsed the art of the Louvre. You’d never stood under the light filtered through the stain glass of the Notre Dame. Your fingers never ran over the rough stone of the Arc de Triomphe.

Now you had.

“This was a very nice not date,” You smiled, sitting beside him on a bench watching the people of Paris below you from the top of the Eiffel Tower. “I can see why you keep coming back,”

“I haven’t been since the... since I became an Auror,” Draco’s eyes were trained on the horizon.

“Well... I’m glad you came.” There was a gentle smile on your face as he caught your warm eyes. “On the case, I mean.” You recovered and looked down at your hands. “I know this probably isn’t easy for you either,”

“It could have been worse,” Draco teased lightly. “I could have been stuck with Greengrass,” His words seemed to pull you from your moping thoughts as your smile returned.

“She’s a sweet girl, I’m sure you would have been fine.” You went back to fidgeting with your hands, your eyes dropping to them, “Besides who wouldn’t want to go undercover as Draco Malfoy’s significant other,” It was a sad sort of humor.

“You?” Draco pressed softly.

You gnawed on your lip, lost in thought as your eyes became glassy with unshed tears. “We should go,” You barely whispered, standing. “We have a banquet tonight at the hotel.” 

“Y/n,” Draco followed you to the elevators.

“What?” It was a bit more defensive now.

“I didn’t mean—”

“You don’t mean a lot of things, I know,” Your arms folded tightly across your chest, your head ducked down. “It’s fine, we have a case to do and a criminal to catch. You said it yourself, I need to be sharp and focused to do this successfully,” Your tone was clipped, and Draco was taken aback at your sudden change of attitude on a drop of a dime as his words came back to haunt him. “So, if you don’t mean any of it, then neither do I,”

Draco opened his mouth to say something, but nothing came. Your abrasive words sent him reeling. What had happened to the girl who was wonderstruck by the city? The girl who was amused at the street performers and the girl who smiled something carefree? Just when he thought the real you was free beside him, you caged her back again and locked him out, and he shouldn’t care, but he did. Because you were hurting. The same way that he used to.

But he had to admit that you were right, he had a case to accomplish. And if he wasn’t focused you could get hurt, he could get hurt, or the felon could slip through your fingers.

In his well tailor suit and his hair coiffed back precisely, he was ready to do everything and mean nothing. A cold mask that you mirrored as he met you in a deep navy draped silk gown, your heels in hand again. His heart didn’t mean to skip a beat.

Tucked against his side, smiling like you didn’t have a care in the world, he was quite glad that the other guests and staff didn’t expect much animation from him. It gave him time to keep an eye on you. He could schmooze with ease and little effort, and he soon learned that so could you. From the outside, you two looked perfectly smitten with another. Despite his many shortcomings, Harry was right, you two were perfect with this case.

But that’s not what held Draco’s main focus. Instead, it was the constant reminder that this meant nothing. Every gentle touch of your hand, every smile, every pet name, every laugh, every praise of him, every declaration of love, every concerned and caring word—they all meant nothing. It meant nothing to you. It was an act. A job. A case.

And he was losing focus.

Because though you had stumbled into his affluent world in jeans and a sweater, you were now at home among the wealthy wizards you now rubbed elbows with, possessing the grace and poise of someone who was brought up like he was. You knew how to use the silverware set before you. You knew proper etiquette.

“Miss Y/n,”

Amelia Bones, the former head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement was sat at the banquet table along with you and Draco. You rose your head politely, nodding a hello.

“I’m surprised to see you so cozy with Mr. Malfoy, was it not a month ago you were engaged to another?” Her words seemed harmless, but Draco watched your smile become more forced as the breaths passed.

“My apologies,” Draco cut in coldly. “But I don’t see how that is any of your business,” 

“Oh, forgive me dearie, I meant no offense at all,” Mrs. Bones flutter her hand.

“Of course,” You smiled widely, “And yes, you’re correct, but well, since working with Draco it deemed nearly impossible not to fall for him,” The look you gave him made him lose focus completely. “And it was an arranged marriage, my parents offered me the option at the beginning of the war, and well, I had no reason to refuse,” Your hand slipped into his. “Until I met Draco that was,”

“Oh, isn’t that just lovely,” Mrs. Bones fawned to her husband beside her. “A real fairytale ending you have yourself Y/n, I’m sure others are just dying to be in your shoes,”

“I’m sure,” Your smile became forced again, but you held your composure.

But that didn’t mean that Draco didn’t commandeer the conversation to keep the attention off of you for the remainder of the banquet. You excused yourself slightly early, though it was a polite time to leave, nonetheless. Draco bid the folks he was talking to and followed you out.

He found you on the balcony, barefoot, your hair out of the tight bun it had been in, your dress still on. The stars stretched out before you over the rooftops of Paris, the Eiffel Tower illuminated in the distance.

“I told you, I’m fine,” Your words were barely audible.

“I didn’t say anything,” Draco retorted, slipping off his blazer and tie.

“You were thinking it,”

He smiled as he came beside you, leaning against the railing.

“Maybe I was,” He sighed softly. “Regardless, you’re my partner on this case, and I dare say you’re a friend of mine. I’d like to know if you’re okay. It’s what friends do,”

A sigh escaped your lips as your eyes lifted from your hands back to the skyline blinking back tears.

“Friends,” You muttered weakly. Not that he liked the word much either, but he’d take it to keep you close.

“I... I know that we—I haven’t had much luck at this, but if... if you need someone to...” Draco trailed off, shaking his head. He knew it was a lost cause. He knew that you didn’t mean anything.

Again, you were quiet. He turned to leave, but you spoke up.

“He was supposed to be my happily ever after,” The words were soft and sad. “My prince charming come to save me.” Draco paused and turned back to you; his brows furrowed. “All this time I thought he’d save me... but I ended up saving myself, and him.” You went from facing the city to facing him, “And he refused to save himself. And made me feel terrible for saving myself... for becoming someone new... someone stronger.”

“You... seemed happier after...” Draco spoke carefully.

You nodded. “Everyone was waiting for me to break. To cry... go off the wall... and sometimes I wonder why I don’t. Why I can’t.” You turned your head to the side. “Sure, I get snappy... and the nights haunt me... but to cry? To miss someone who drained me?” A shrug fell from your shoulders. “I can’t do it...” A pause. “Maybe I am broken. I can’t even break properly.”

“No one said you had to break,” Draco took a careful step forward. “No one said you had to cry.” 

“But shouldn’t I?” There were tears in your eyes now.

“No,” Draco shook his head softly. “Breaking hurts, and it seems like you already have. Now you’re just picking up the pieces where you can,”

You mulled over the thought and nodded, facing the city once more.

“They always talk about the one who got away, but they never ask her why she left, do they?” The question was gentle from your lips as Draco left you alone to think. He was sure that he wasn’t meant to hear it, but he did.

____________________________

The cotton sheets of the king-sized bed that night welcomed me. The bedding had changed drastically, from silks and down feathers to cotton and quilted blankets. They were still green and gold, but it was an improvement as I stared at the paintings on the walls and ceiling. Despite the change in sheets, sleep still eluded me. Frustrated this time, I slipped on the housecoat and quietly opened the bedroom doors.

Only to find Draco awake with the light on, reading. I almost wanted to smile at how he was draped over the couch in sweats and nothing else, looking at home among the lavish furnishings. He looked up from his book.

“Can’t sleep,” I confessed, leaning against the door jam. “Thanks for the sheets and stuff though...”

“Is there something I can do?” He asked softly, setting down his book, sitting up.

“Got any Sleeping Draught on you?” I asked hopefully.

“Afraid not,” He pursed his lips.

Moving to the adjacent chaise lounge, I curled up under the throw blanket, running the golden fringe through my fingers.

I wasn’t aware of when I had fallen asleep. I was barely aware being carried to the lavish bed and tucked in. I was aware that I had moved when I awoke to the sun shining in through the curtains.

“Good morning,” Draco greeted as I exited the bedroom, dressed for the day.

The day was a quiet affair. Breakfast mimicked yesterday and lunch mirrored dinner last night. There was no time to go out on the city today, not with the masquerade ball tonight. This was the entire reason for this weekend in Paris. To get into this ball and catch the convict. It took the two hours that it took to get ready to remind myself that this was a case, and not a fairytale ending. I didn’t get those.

Draco escorted me down to the ballroom, commenting on how beautiful I was. I let the compliment roll off my shoulders though I desperately wanted to cling to his words. Words that he didn’t mean.

It didn’t seem fair that the entire Ritz hotel was something out of a fairytale and tonight I was required to pose as the perfect princess, though I felt far from it. My only relief was that my eyes were hidden behind a mask. No one would see accidental tears. I had told Draco that I didn’t need to break, but this might just break me.

An hour slipped by of talking and schmoozing other guests before Draco led me to an adjacent standing table, offering me a haven from the prying eyes and whispers.

“Would you care to dance?” Draco offered his hand, smiling, as the next waltz began from the live quartet.

“We don’t have time to dance,” I retorted. “We’re on a case here,”

“It’s just one dance,” He rolled his eyes, his hand sliding to my waist, ready to escort me.

“You need to focus on this case Draco,” I snapped. “We need to catch this guy in case you’ve forgotten.” I didn’t mean for the words to be so harsh.

“Of course,” His hand dropped from my waist, “If you’ll excuse me,” Draco said quietly. 

“Dray, wait, I didn’t mean—”

“I’d know those lips anywhere,” A familiar voice purred from behind me.

“Dean,” My breath caught in my throat as I turned, wishing I hadn’t just sent Draco off.

“And I thought he’d never leave.” Dean grinned. “I gotta say, didn’t think you’d move onto some stiff like Malfoy, and so soon. Does he know he’s a rebound?”

“Oh, fuck off,” I muttered, taking my clutch and walking away from him, scanning the crowd for Draco to no avail.

Dean grabbed my arm and spun me back, a dangerous look in his eyes. He pulled me to a quiet corner of the ballroom.

“Let go of me,” I shook him off, drawing my wand.

“Now, now, wouldn’t want to cause a scene, now would we?” His smile became predatory. “There are quite a few important Muggles in the crowd tonight,”

“You’re a bastard, you know that?” I hissed.

“Such naughty language in front of such high paying cliental.”

My eyes widened in surprise. “It’s you,” I breathed out. “You’re the seller,”

“In the flesh, sweetheart,” His green eyes held danger. “What, didn’t expect me to move onto something better? Like you went off and did anything valuable with your life after me, not that Malfoy is much of an improvement.”

I hid my surprise well: he didn’t know that I was an Auror. He didn’t know about the case. Now all I had to do was get him away from harming anyone and pray that Draco would find me to help detain Dean. But to get Dean away from these people, I was going to have to break. Hard.

A perfect masquerade to be someone that I wasn’t. Someone that Dean wanted me to be. Someone who would break my heart.

“Tell me about,” I smiled sweetly, “Maybe I’ll ditch the stiff.” My eyes scanned over Dean in false want.

“So, you realize that leaving me was a mistake,” Dean tilted his chin back.

“Since the moment I walked away,” The lie weighed heavy on my tongue. “Please De,” My hand trailed up his arm.

I could feel my heart splintering. 

_______________________________

“Not to alarm you Mr. Malfoy, but it seems that your lady is being entertained by another young man,” Mrs. Bones spoke softly. “They just left out the side door,”

Draco snapped out of his self-pity party as he scanned the crowd for you, his anxiety and adrenaline spiking. You had found the convict.

“Thank you,” Draco gave curtly, untying the mask from around his head and as soon as the door closed behind him, he took off running, wand out, desperate to find you.

He heard soft voices in coming from an adjacent sitting room and cautiously hovered outside the door.

“Remember this?” The voice was low and husky, and one he didn’t recognize. 

“Yes,” Your breathy voice came in response.

A thousand thoughts ran through Draco’s mind and for a moment he thought that you really had run off with someone else. That you hadn’t found the felon, but rather someone to... He didn’t want to finish the thought.

“Say it,” The first voice demanded.

“I’m s-sorry,” Your voice whimpered. “I’m sorry I ever left you. Draco... he—he’s nothing compared to you,” Fear and tears were mixed with your voice and Draco had a very good idea of who was in there with you.

Call it jealousy, or his job, Draco burst into the room, finding you pinned against the wall, hands above your head held there by a young man whose lips were pressed to your neck, making you whimper and squeeze your eyes shut. A man with green eyes and brown cropped hair. Their target. And you had found him. And he seemed to know you. Very well.

Then it clicked. The criminal was your ex-lover. Of course, it was. When Draco saw Harry again, he was going to sock him a-la-muggle.

You look absolutely terrified when Draco caught your eyes. Your mask was gone, and you looked disheveled and defeated.

“I was hoping you’d show Malfoy,” An amused smile curled on the target’s lips as he let you go. You fell to the floor, caught off balance.

“Don’t hurt him,” You pleaded, picking yourself up, and Draco didn’t know if you were talking to him or the target.

“You’re not in a place to bargain, sweetheart,” The target snapped. “Auror Malfoy. Here to turn me in I suppose?”

“After I beat the hell out of you, yeah, it’s on my list of things to do,” Draco snarled. 

“What? For taking your girl from you?” The target laughed. “She was never yours.” 

“She might not be mine, but she sure as hell doesn’t belong to you either,”

“I’m afraid she does,” The target grabbed your arm and jerked you in front of him, creating a shield between he and Draco with you. “And you obviously care for her, so here’s what’s going to happen.” The man drew his wand and held it to your throat. “You’re going to let me make the deal I need to, and then I’m going to take Miss Y/l/n here and leave,”

Draco glowered, his mind racing to figure out how to get you safely out of this. He could see you trembling, your eyes refusing to meet his.

“Dean, please,” You whimpered, curling yourself into his arms.

Your arms draped around the target’s—Dean’s shoulders as you whispered soft things into his ear that made Dean grin and Draco’s blood boil. How could Dean not see how uncomfortable you were? How you shied away from him? Draco’s grip on his wand tightened.

He watched as your lips pressed to Dean’s neck, your hands trailing down his ill-fitting polyester suit as you slinked your way around the felon, distracting Dean long enough that Draco was able to throw a Full Body Bind at him.

“You bitch!” Dean roared.

“You’re the bitch here,” You snarled. “How in a million years could you think that I would want you?” Seething you rounded your frozen ex, wand drawn. “I did do something with my life you asshole! I’m an Auror! And a damn good one!”

“You never had the guts,” Dean barked a laugh.

“On the contrary,” Draco grinned. “She’s the best one we’ve got,”

“You two set me up!”

“Duh,” You laughed, tucking away your wand.

Draco wanted to warn you about the dangers of the deed, but you surprised him and drew back your fist, landing it squarely on Dean’s nose.

“That’s for assaulting me!” Another to his jaw, “That’s for using me!” One more to his cheek, “And that’s for coming back into my life,”

You turned and walked away from Dean, leaving him bleeding, still petrified. Draco caught your hand before you stormed out of the room.

“I’m fine,” You shrugged him off.

“No, you’re not,” Draco refuted.

“Awe, trying to play hero, now?” Dean jeered.

You froze under Draco’s touch, squeezing your eyes shut, your jaw clenching.

“She doesn’t need a hero,” Draco let you go and faced Dean. “She picked herself back up and walked away from a lowlife like you. You were so wrong to ever assume that she needed to be saved.”

There was a knock on the door. 

______________________________

I was still trembling. It had been about two hours since Dean first touched me. First shoved me against a wall and forced his lips on mine. From when I had first started to shatter.

In that time, Mrs. Bones had intervened and called backup to detain and court away Dean to Azkaban, the room had been cleaned of any trace of our battle, and Draco and I were alone in the suite, for one last night before we left.

We hadn’t spoken a word since the fight and the tension between us was tangible. Curled up in a deck chair, I desperately tried to rid my mind from Dean and the feeling of his hands on me, his lips on my skin, his whispered words. I shouldn’t be afraid. Not like this. I was an Auror. I was independent and strong.

But hell, I was breaking. Fast and hard.

Draco knocked on the balcony door, drawing my attention. I looked to him, hopeless and terrified. He offered his hand, an invitation, a call. I rose, my resolve fading as I ran into his arms, breaking down in tears. His arms wrapped around me, cradling me to his chest. I frantically grasped at his white button up, trying to ground myself.

Draco gently tugged me to the floor, still cradling me in his arms.

“I—I’m sorry,” I cried out. “I... he... I thought I...”

He shushed me softly and rubbed my back softly. “You don’t owe me an explanation.” 

“I didn’t mean it,” I gasped out through tears. 

“I know,” His tone was somber.

But though the night dragged relentlessly, it was not the worst night of my life. I took comfort from that. And I was not alone. There was a great deal of comfort in that, too.

My hindsight seemed unbearably clear tonight. I could see every mistake I’d made, every bit of harm I’d done, the small things and the big things. Each pain I’d caused Draco, each wound I’d given myself, stacked up into neat piles that I could not ignore or deny.

And I realized that I’d been wrong all along about wanting to be alone. It had not been Draco and I that I’d been trying to force apart, it was the two parts of myself, the one who craved a companion and the one who was independent and free. But they didn’t know how to exist together, and I should have tried harder to figure it out.

I’d done so much damage.

Draco said little; he just held me on the floor and let me ruin his shirt, staining it with saltwater. At some point a blanket was draped around my shoulders and I was too miserable to figure out where it came from.

It took longer than I thought it would for that smaller, broken part of me to cry herself out. It happened, though, and I was eventually exhausted enough to sleep. While I slept, I felt warm, protected, comforted. I didn’t feel alone.

In the morning, I saw the reason why. It was one of the reasons that had me terrified in the beginning of this entire case:

There was only one bed.

And I wasn’t alone.

Epilogue:

“I did apologize right?” I asked again sheepishly.

“And I told you, you have nothing to apologize for,” Draco smiled. “It’s what friends are for Y/n,”

I smiled at the word. Friends. It was the solution to my dilemma. The part of myself that craved a companion but satisfied the girl with dreams and freedom. It was in front of me the entire time. I wished I had realized sooner, and maybe this weekend would have been different, but friends... more than friends, whatever we were or weren’t, Draco had decided to stand by me regardless, and I was grateful.

“Y/l/n, Malfoy, how was Paris?” Harry asked offhandedly as we reported to him Monday morning.

What I wasn’t expecting however, was Draco grabbing Harry’s collar and decking him.

I covered my mouth, trying to conceal a laugh but failed miserably.

“What the hell Malfoy?” Harry sputtered, holding his bleeding nose.

“You wanna know who was dealing those illegal potions?” Malfoy snarled. “Her ex. And you sent her into this weekend blind,”

Harry’s eyes widened in shock as he stammered out apologies.

I rolled my eyes and left the office, a warm smile on my face. Draco walked beside me.

“You didn’t have to do that you know,” I muttered. “Is your hand alright?”

“I know how to throw a punch and not injure myself,” Draco rolled his eyes at me. “And I’ll take any chance I can get to punch Potter in the face,”

I laughed as we apparated to Paris for lunch.

.

Tags: @coffee-addicti @msmcsmutt @ravn-87 @artemismohr18@whygz @crazywritingbug @fuzzy-panda @bitemebro522@zombiesnips-blog @savingdraco@welcometomyworldwithoutrules @akari180 @slytherin-emerald@memalfoy-spidey @queenfeatherwings @fanficflaneuse @go-whovian-universe @spicyshenanigans @darling-im-not-okay-i-promise  @dietkiwi @katsukink @takemetothekingdom @strangerr-things @tmnt-queen @hxneybgb @justsomerandomgur@belcvayelena @moviesbooksandfandoms @howdycharlie@xtrashmouthxtozierx @cocochanelthepupper @ninacotte@braelynn-j @jiggllyy @honeymarvel @darcypotter-blog@atomicpunkrock @thiccheerioss @lottie289 @boredashaeck@beautiful-pegasus @tceedlmao @deadlynyghtshayde@iconjuresnapeingrandmaclothes @anonymous034 @bi-andready-tocry @lunna-does-real-doodle @dragonsandbread  @okaydraco@the-queen-of-hell-things @cmxreader @alienmotel @oh-itsnothing @sunflowerxsadnessw @fattycooter @angelotakunerd08@thisisahugemistake @fanficsigottaread @gweaslvy@strawberriesonsummer @gaysludge @cleopatera @ray-of-sunrise@artist-bby @shadowsingeraxolotl @peters-legos@quillsareforwriting @ghostlytoadalmondhairdo​ @wollymalfoy​ @lilpieceoftoast​  @paper-cats​ @floweryjh​ @sdicapriox​ @slothgirl22​ @peachesandpinks​ ​ @hufflautia​ @livize75​ @annie-mcl​ @riathearora​ @live-like-luna​ @justathoughtfulangel​ @coconutdawn​ @skteaiy​ @wannabeskinny-thinspo​ @naughtygranger​ @queenofmankind​ @dragonsandbread​ @abundantxadorations​ @moony-artnstuff​ @myforeveryoungblog​ @and-then-a-girl-with-luv​ @1-800-luvsick​ @pandas-rice-field​ @strawberriesonsummer​ @jjustsomerandomgirl​ @mrvlfangirl3190​ @in-slytherin-we-trust​ @emmaa-t​ @introvertedrae​ @infinity1o1​ @stoleurmomsvan​ @echpr​ @sunkissed-hufflepuff​ @dekulover​ @marshmallowtraver​ @cereuselle​ @lonely-skywalker​ @xlosttdreamss​ @sleepysnapesnake​ @hoeforthefictional​ @coldlilheart​ @helen-paris​ @romance-geek​ @rosie-starlit-sky​ @californiaa-babyy​ @vulture-withafile​ @hogstupefy​ @littlepanda-love​ @eveft​ @iraniq​

[preciouslittletoonette]

So since it’s already considered pretty accepted that Cuthbert Coot is the father of Kildare Coot, I had gone onto my ponderings about who Kildare’s mother is.

One of the wikias said her name was Luna Loon but besides that, I found nothing on her. So I did the next best thing:

I made a mother for Kildare:

Meet Petronella Paperella, everyone!

Born in 1963 to a family of fishermen, Petronella is a spirited young woman hailing from the small sea side town of Cefalu in Sicily, Italy. Out of 5 siblings, she is the second youngest of her brood.

In 1982, while making her way to town, by chance she meets Cuthbert Coot, who was staying with his uncle Clarence Coot up in Palermo for the year and decided to check out Cefalu for the day while his aunt Rosabella shopped and visited friends. The two, quite literally, bumped into each other (both their bikes crashed into each other, it was a nastly bump and fall). Petronella, quickly panicked and fretted over the person she crashed into, apologising frantically in Italian before the other could get a word in.

Cuthbert, however, was quickly besotted with the speckled beauty before him.

And that moment was what could be explained as the start of a wonderful relationship.

Cuthbert and Petronella spent a good amount of their free time together, Cuthbert mainly coming to Cefalu on weekends to spend time with her. Rarely did Petronella ever go to Palermo unless her family had business there and dropped her off at the Coot-de Paperone residence, where Cuthbert stayed. When not being able to visit each other, they sent each other letters. The letters initially started out quite friendly before showing subtle hints of flirting from mostly Cuthbert’s side (ending usually with a blushing mess on Petronella’s end. Safe to say, the flirting was well received). The flirting eventually bled through to their actual face-to-face talks (and hoo boy it’s amazing how red one’s face can become under the right circumstances) and soon their friendship turned to romance.

Cuthbert stayed in Sicily for another year due to the new development in their relationship and quickly went to work on not only his relationship with Petronella, but also to work on further impressing her family and showing/proving that he is capable of taking care of her.

Eventually the time for Cuthbert to leave was drawing closer and time seemed to be moving much faster for the both of them as time drew quicker. Petronella was deeply in love with Cuthbert and vice versa and wasn’t willing to leave him for so long. She had even fancied the idea of running to America with him, buying a ranch and raising cattle, having their own family and watching her children play in the fields without much worries.

So imagine her surprise and delight, when Cuthbert asks her to go with him to Duckburg ala marriage proposal (with her family’s approval and acceptance of course).

After 6 months of friendship and 1 and 1/2 years of romance, Petronella Paperella became Petronella Coot and with tearful goodbyes to her family, left Sicily, Italy for Calisota, USA and from there her life would get much better as Cuthbert had promised to both her and her family.

To say meeting the in-laws was overwhelming was an understatement. The Coot-Duck family had her surrounded the moment she stepped foot on Coot Kin land soil. Gretchen Coot (nee Grebe) had her daughter-in-law in her arms in seconds, happily and enthusiastically welcoming her to the family while Casey merely smiled and shook her hand, offering to take her bags inside for her. Elvira had even baked a special pie for the occasion (which Humperdink kept trying and failing to coax his wife into giving him a slice much to everyone’s amusement). Fanny, Cuthbert’s sister, welcomed her warmly as well and the two came quickly to accept each other sisters. The Coots were quite a lively bunch.

But Her beloved husband’s cousins were an even livelier group. Meeting Quackmore, Daphne and Eider would forever be one of Petronella’s favourite memories. The absolute chaos that followed the trio wherever they went was hilarious to witness and getting involved in their misadventures was even moreso. The misadventures she had ended up in led to her striking a lovely friendship with Daphne and Lulubelle, Eider’s wife and Hortense, Quackmore’s wife.

And when she was not out and about with the cousins and siblings, she was helping Cuthbert out with the ranch. It was thrilling compared to fishing to her. Getting to ride a horse and guiding cattle to and from the large open green fields was an absolute pleasure to her compared to fishing.

However, one little family disagreed with her.

6-year old, Donald Duck vehemently disagreed with her notion. His adoration with the sea and sailing was the most adorable sight she had ever witnessed. Really to her, all of the kids were adorable. She’d often babysit them all when things were too hectic at the farm for Elvira to take care of them. 

All-in-all, Petronella’s relationship with the Coots and Ducks were as great as she had hoped it would be.

Then there were the McDucks.

Hortense’s family was... strange to say the least. Learning they too had immigrated to America from Europe made her feel a little more at ease with them when she’d first  met them. But she noted the relationship between the siblings wasn’t as.... like the Ducks.

And while interacting with one of the members of the McDuck family, Douglas McDuck, the Ducks and the Coots (minus Cuthbert) see that, despite being a sweet and demure lady, there was a lot vitriolic rage hidden under that sweetness (which honestly just strengthened the friendship she had with Hortense).

Long story short, for his own safety, Douglas and Petronella were no longer allowed in the same room together unless

But life was good for Petronella.

Then it became great, because by 1988, she was greeted by what she considered her and Cuthbert’s greatest treasure.

Her eyes, beak and- from what she could tell just by his size- her small body. Cuthbert’s hair and feather colours.

Little Kildare Coot, or Sgrizzo as she lovingly called him.

Kildare was simply the light of Petronella’s life. Her first child, her baby boy who’d she sing sweet soft lullabies to like her own mother once did. While the family and his birth certificate say his name is Kildare, Petronella (and Cuthbert at times) call him Sgrizzo. She also spoke mostly Italian to him as a baby and would mix in English as he grew older.

By 1991, Petronella felt like she was truly at the height of her life, despite all the exhaustion and aches she felt from taking care of Kildare and helping Cuthbert and the rest of the family. She’d gone from Petronella Paperella, to Petronella Coot to now known as “dear Aunt Nellie Coot” as her nephews and nieces called her. Her marriage was great, she was to have another child soon, the family was at peace despite certain bumps in the road. Her life was great....

Until it wasn’t.

UGH, this took way too long to write out. I’ve been thinking about Petronella and her story for a while now, since she does have a bit of a role, albeit a minor one, in The Obscure Family members of Coot-Duck-McDuck so I decided to introduce her.

I have no other reason for giving her speckled feathers other than for the fact that it looked nice on her and I am very much attached to her right now.

Feel free to ask any questions about her or the story!!

[gingeraleluke]

Hi! I was wondering if I could get a marvel and/or spn ship?

I’m bisexual, and roughly 6’2 with medium-long brown hair. I have freckles, blue eyes, and am on the lower end of plus size.

my interests include reading, writing, art, and history. my favourite weather is rain, I really like old architecture, and my favourite colour is purple.

personality-wise I’m definitely one of those people who will be super quiet and reserved around people they don’t know, but if I’m close with someone I will talk a lot and like to consider myself at least decently funny. I’m also usually the responsible mom friend.

also a random fun fact about me is that I can’t drive.

𝙏𝙃𝙀 𝘼𝙑𝙀𝙉𝙂𝙀𝙍 𝙄 𝙎𝙃𝙄𝙋 𝙔𝙊𝙐 𝙒𝙄𝙏𝙃 𝙄𝙎..

*✧･ﾟ:*𝗗𝗢𝗖𝗧𝗢𝗥 𝗦𝗧𝗥𝗔𝗡𝗚𝗘*:･ﾟ✧*

basic info:

✿ 𝗻𝗮𝗺𝗲: 𝘀𝘁𝗲𝗽𝗵𝗲𝗻 𝘀𝘁𝗿𝗮𝗻𝗴𝗲

✿ 𝗵𝗲𝗶𝗴𝗵𝘁: 𝟲’𝟭

✿ 𝘇𝗼𝗱𝗶𝗮𝗰 𝘀𝗶𝗴𝗻: 𝘀𝗰𝗼𝗿𝗽𝗶𝗼

✿ 𝗼𝗰𝗰𝘂𝗽𝗮𝘁𝗶𝗼𝗻: 𝗻𝗲𝘂𝗿𝗼𝘀𝘂𝗿𝗴𝗲𝗻

✿ 𝗽𝗼𝘄𝗲𝗿𝘀: 𝗺𝗮𝗴𝗶𝗰, 𝘀𝗸𝗶𝗹𝗹𝗲𝗱 𝗺𝗮𝗿𝘁𝗶𝗮𝗹 𝗮𝗿𝘁𝗶𝘀𝘁

✿ 𝗰𝗵𝗮𝗿𝗮𝗰𝘁𝗲𝗿 𝘁𝗿𝗮𝗶𝘁𝘀: 𝘀𝗺𝗮𝗿𝘁, 𝗿𝗲𝘀𝗼𝘂𝗿𝗰𝗲𝗳𝘂𝗹, 𝗱𝗲𝘁𝗲𝗿𝗺𝗶𝗻𝗲𝗱

｡ₓ ू ₒ ु ˚ ू ₒ ु ₓ｡｡ₓ ू ₒ ु ˚ ू ₒ ु ₓ｡｡ₓ ू ₒ ु ˚ ू ₒ ु ₓ｡

headcannons ༄

you were an avenger and one day was introduced to stephen

you were immediately drawn to him

and he was to you

everyone saw it so they would try and get you two together

a little seven minutes and heaven was what started your romance

and despite being mad at everyone at the time, you were grateful now

you were intimidated by how smart and powerful he was

but as time went on, you two grew closer and you became more comfortable with him

you guys literally never argue

it annoys everyone how in love you two are

the only problem with your relationship is that stephen has a hard time opening up to you

sometimes you can’t figure out what he’s thinking and it drives you crazy

after confronting him, he admitted that he was in love with you

it was scary how much he loved you

he’s constantly worried about you and just wants you safe

you love snuggling with him

falling asleep on his arm

“can i wear your cape?”

staying up late at night talking about random things

“if you could be one animal for a day, what would you be?”

“why do you think thanos is purple?”

“do you know any bird calls?”

reading books together

a glimpse at your relationship:

｡ₓ ू ₒ ु ˚ ू ₒ ु ₓ｡｡ₓ ू ₒ ु ˚ ू ₒ ु ₓ｡｡ₓ ू ₒ ु ˚ ू ₒ ु ₓ｡

𝙏𝙃𝙀 𝙓-𝙈𝙀𝙉 𝙄 𝙎𝙃𝙄𝙋 𝙔𝙊𝙐 𝙒𝙄𝙏𝙃 𝙄𝙎..

*✧･ﾟ:*𝗖𝗢𝗣𝗬𝗖𝗔𝗧*:･ﾟ✧*

basic info:

✿ 𝗻𝗮𝗺𝗲: 𝘃𝗮𝗻𝗲𝘀𝘀𝗮 𝗰𝗮𝗿𝗹𝘆𝘀𝗹𝗲

✿ 𝗵𝗲𝗶𝗴𝗵𝘁: 𝟲’

✿ 𝗼𝗰𝗰𝘂𝗽𝗮𝘁𝗶𝗼𝗻: 𝗳𝗼𝗿𝗺𝗲𝗿 𝗲𝘅𝗼𝘁𝗶𝗰 𝗱𝗮𝗻𝗰𝗲𝗿, 𝗽𝗿𝗼𝗽𝗿𝗶𝗮𝘁𝘆 𝗼𝗳 𝗮𝗻 𝗼𝗿𝗽𝗵𝗮𝗻𝗮𝗴𝗲

✿ 𝗽𝗼𝘄𝗲𝗿𝘀: 𝘀𝗵𝗮𝗽𝗲𝘀𝗵𝗶𝗳𝘁𝗶𝗻𝗴 𝗺𝘂𝘁𝗮𝘁𝗶𝗼𝗻

✿ 𝗰𝗵𝗮𝗿𝗮𝗰𝘁𝗲𝗿 𝘁𝗿𝗮𝗶𝘁𝘀: 𝗸𝗶𝗻𝗱, 𝗳𝗶𝗲𝘀𝘁𝘆, 𝘀𝗲𝗱𝘂𝗰𝘁𝗶𝘃𝗲

｡ₓ ू ₒ ु ˚ ू ₒ ु ₓ｡｡ₓ ू ₒ ु ˚ ू ₒ ु ₓ｡｡ₓ ू ₒ ु ˚ ू ₒ ु ₓ｡

headcannons ༄

you both met at a club which was totally out of character for you

you were super out of place and reserved which drew vanessa towards you

you are polar opposites on the surface

but get along so well

your friend ditched you and you can’t drive so vanessa gave you a ride home

which well….. lead to a hookup

i mean… have you seen her?

and have you seen you?

it was bound to happen

you both caught feelings and became kind of friends with benefits

she brought out a really fun and bright side of you that you loved

when she told you about her powers, you were nervous

you weren’t gonna lie

you had seen so much about mutants on tv and how controversial they were

you never imagined yourself dating one- forget falling in love with one!

but there you were

head over heels

not only was the sex good

but the conversations?

she had you seeing the world in an entirely different way

she told you when she ran into her old friend wade

whom you met as deadpool

he likes you a lot more than he would like to admit, considering he’s in love with your girlfriend

him begging for a threesome

“wade, shut the fuck up”

you guys love watching movies together

sometimes deadpool will join

and sometimes he will bring colossus

you yelling at colossus to get out of your chair because he broke the last one

TRAVELING!! you guys bring home souvenirs

going on plane rides with vanessa and her holding your hand

her shifting into a celebrity to get you both first class seats

her eyes get all bright when she looks at you 🥺

｡ₓ ू ₒ ु ˚ ू ₒ ु ₓ｡｡ₓ ू ₒ ु ˚ ू ₒ ु ₓ｡｡ₓ ू ₒ ु ˚ ू ₒ ु ₓ｡

a glimpse at your relationship:

｡ₓ ू ₒ ु ˚ ू ₒ ु ₓ｡｡ₓ ू ₒ ु ˚ ू ₒ ु ₓ｡｡ₓ ू ₒ ु ˚ ू ₒ ु ₓ｡

𝙏𝙃𝙀 𝙎𝙐𝙋𝙀𝙍𝙉𝘼𝙏𝙐𝙍𝘼𝙇 𝘾𝙃𝘼𝙍𝘼𝘾𝙏𝙀𝙍 𝙄 𝙎𝙃𝙄𝙋 𝙔𝙊𝙐 𝙒𝙄𝙏𝙃 𝙄𝙎..

*✧･ﾟ:*𝗦𝗔𝗠 𝗪𝗜𝗡𝗖𝗛𝗘𝗦𝗧𝗘𝗥*:･ﾟ✧*

basic info:

✿ 𝗵𝗲𝗶𝗴𝗵𝘁: 𝟲’𝟮

✿ 𝗼𝗰𝗰𝘂𝗽𝗮𝘁𝗶𝗼𝗻: 𝗵𝘂𝗻𝘁𝗲𝗿

✿ 𝘇𝗼𝗱𝗶𝗮𝗰 𝘀𝗶𝗴𝗻: 𝘁𝗮𝘂𝗿𝘂𝘀

✿ 𝗵𝗼𝗯𝗯𝗶𝗲𝘀: 𝗿𝗲𝗮𝗱𝗶𝗻𝗴, 𝗹𝗲𝗮𝗿𝗻𝗶𝗻𝗴, 𝘄𝗼𝗿𝗸𝗶𝗻𝗴 𝗼𝘂𝘁

✿ 𝗰𝗵𝗮𝗿𝗮𝗰𝘁𝗲𝗿 𝘁𝗿𝗮𝗶𝘁𝘀: 𝗸𝗶𝗻𝗱, 𝗶𝗻𝘁𝗲𝗹𝗹𝗶𝗴𝗲𝗻𝘁, 𝗲𝗺𝗽𝗮𝘁𝗵𝗲𝘁𝗶𝗰

｡ₓ ू ₒ ु ˚ ू ₒ ु ₓ｡｡ₓ ू ₒ ु ˚ ू ₒ ु ₓ｡｡ₓ ू ₒ ु ˚ ू ₒ ु ₓ｡

headcannons ༄

you bumped in to sam at a gas station and as stupid as it sounds, you exchange numbers and hit it off

dean kept pressing sam to reach out to you

“dude, it’s obvious you like the chick. just call her and take her out! you haven’t gotten laid in a while, it’d be good for you!”

he finally called you and you guys made plans to meet at a coffee shop

he took you to the beach and you both had a cute picnic

he wasn’t planning on telling you about the whole monster hunter thing

but when sam told you to grab the blanket in the back of the car, you assumed he meant the trunk

so when you opened it and found numerous symbols and weapons, you panicked

he got you to calm down and explained everything

when you didn’t believe him, he got cas to teleport to show you

then you believed him

you wanted to hunt so bad

but sam would never let you

dean ended up sneaking you out to hunt with him

sam found out and freaked

but eventually gave in

he’s still not in love with the idea of you in such a dangerous situation

you and dean became really close friends

you hate ruby with a passion and when sam told you about what she did to him, your blood was fucking boiling

putting sams hair up in a bun

you love sitting on his lap whenever he’s working

grinding down on him to get his attention

“fuck, please stop.”

playing board games with him and dean

trying to teach cas, but he just gets frustrated and leaves

always beating sam

“okay, there’s no way- you are definitely cheating!”

｡ₓ ू ₒ ु ˚ ू ₒ ु ₓ｡｡ₓ ू ₒ ु ˚ ू ₒ ु ₓ｡｡ₓ ू ₒ ु ˚ ू ₒ ु ₓ｡

a glimpse at your relationship:

[aurora077]

Intervention

Summary: Lan Xichen’s seclusion had gone on long enough, in Jiang Cheng’s opinion. It was time for an intervention. Fem!JC

Author's Note: This work is set in jiucengta ‘s haunting legacies au (https://archiveofourown.org/series/1716682)which I suggest you check out. Jiang Cheng is female and was married to Wei Wuxian before shit hit the fan. The relationships are not explicitly stated here, it's very background. I just had this idea and wanted to get it out there. I may or may not do another fic very similar to this one but not set in an AU, just post-canon instead.

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Two years had gone by since the fateful Guanyin Temple incident that rocked the cultivation world. Two years (a little more really) since Jiang Cheng’s erstwhile husband had returned from the dead. Two years (a little less actually but who’s counting) since she lost her widowed status and gained an extra love to boot somewhere in the middle. And two years since Sect Leader Lan had gone into seclusion, punishing himself for his blindness and mourning the loss of both his sworn brothers.

Normally Jiang Cheng would not stick her nose in other sects’ business. But Gusu Lan had become more than just another sect to her; it was important to those she loved and so, it was also important to her. And even if things hadn’t turned out the way they did in her personal life, Lan Xichen is someone she would have wanted to help anyway. During the thirteen years her husband had been dead he had been one of the few to show any open support for her.

She would never forget that fateful discussion conference-- the one where she’d been dubbed Wife of the Yiling Demon after she rebuffed Jin Guangshan’s attempt to pressure her into marriage (brokered by him no less-- undoubtedly trying to get her to wed one of his own relatives...control over the Jiang could only work in his favour). Loudmouthed Sect Leader Yao would have turned things even uglier for her had it not been for Lan Xichen’s timely intervention on her behalf. His steady support had helped her in more ways than one over the years despite the fact that they were not ever particularly close. With Gusu Lan seemingly in her corner, the voices that would (and initially, did) loudly decry a young female Sect Leader were forced to whisper instead.

That was why she found herself sitting opposite the man, sipping on a cup of tea as he gazed inquisitively at her.

“Sect Leader Jiang,” he greeted, sounding weary, voice containing only a trace of his former warmth, “What brings you here? As you know I am still in seclusion, technically, I should not be having visitors. Is there something urgent that you need my help with?”

“Yes,” she said, and continued bluntly as was her way, “I’m here to convince you to leave it.”

His eyes widened slightly. “Excuse me?”

“You heard me.”

It spoke to the measure of self control the Lan’s had that he didn’t simply kick her out of the hanshi.

“I beg your pardon but I don’t see how that’s any of your business.”

She cleared her throat and tried to measure her words more carefully; she didn’t want to be asked to leave before she had made her arguments and she tried to remember that this Lan Xichen had been hurt too deeply to retain his former magnanimity.

“You may not know it Lan Xichen, but outside these walls you are sorely missed.”

His lips twitched, as if he wanted to smile but couldn’t quite make it.

“I’m aware my family may miss me, Sect Leader Jiang, but I had no idea that you harbored such strong feelings towards me that you now miss my presence.”

She sputtered slightly, not expecting him to joke about it when he looked like he could keel over if she spoke too loudly. “I…” her face turned red, “That wasn’t what…”

Taking pity on her he waved her protests away, voice becoming more solemn, “Why don’t you tell me why you think I should leave my seclusion. You of all people should understand why I need to do this. It was your family hurt the most by my ignorance.”

She drew in a breath to steady herself, “Did you hold me responsible when Wei Wuxian did all the crap that he did?”

“That’s different, he was manipulated,” he frowned.

“Nobody knew that until recently Zewu-Jun. And manipulation or not he still made choices that led to a lot of harm. So I ask you again, was I to blame? Should I not have been able to stop my husband? Is it not, therefore also my fault? Maybe I should join you in seclusion since his demonic cultivation was partly because he gave me his core and had no options left.”

He looked pained, “I have never blamed you for his choices. You couldn’t help what you didn’t know. None of us knew he didn’t have a core.”

“And none of us knew Jin Guangyao was a megalomaniac either. So how can you be blamed for his choices? If you are to shoulder the blame then so should all the rest of us.”

“The rest of you weren’t his sworn brothers!” he almost shouted.

“Mingjue knew. He warned me not to trust him so many times. I dismissed him. I thought he was paranoid and misjudging A-Yao like so many others. If he could see it, why didn’t I? I wronged Da-ge in the worst way because I thought I knew better than him,” His breathing was coming out ragged, “I thought A-Yao was the one who knew me best. Who I knew best.”

It spoke to his state of mind that he even let all of that out in front of her.

“Sect Leader Jiang, the man I considered my closest companion is the man most hated by the cultivation world and reviled as a monster. How do you think I must look in comparison? I am sure there are those out there wondering if I had known and if I even helped him with all of his plans. There are people who will speculate as to the bounds of our relationship. If I did not go into seclusion they would say I had no shame, look what his sworn brother did and he’s out and about like normal. Then there are those who look at my decision to seclude myself as an indicator of guilt and may accuse me of complicity. Or they will look at my mourning and see someone who mourns a monster and who does that? Why mourn a monster? Sect Leader Yao even openly criticised your young nephew for crying at the coffin of his uncle who also helped raise him. A parentless child who saw one of his only remaining close family members die brutally after being exposed as a serious criminal, who even threatened him with bodily harm, could not grieve him without censure. What of a grown man, and a Sect Leader at that!”

“With all due respect, so what?”

“E..excuse me?” Lan Xichen was torn between being confused and insulted.

“You heard me. So. What?” she started, “So what if they think these things? Does that make it true? If Sect Leader Yao thinks that you’re an incestuous troll would that make it true? If Sect Leader Ouyang says ‘hey did you know that Sect Leader Lan likes to visit brothels in secret’ would that make it true? Just because people think something does not make it a reality. Your sect certainly does not believe you are responsible for the actions of Jin Guangyao and would stand by you if anyone insinuates otherwise. You have your brother and your uncle who love you and are worried about you. Your sect has thrived under your leadership and undoubtedly they all miss you too.”

That Lan Jingyi kid couldn’t shut up about how much he missed Zewu-Jun. And she knew Lan Zhan missed his brother and lamented that he could not do more for him. He and Lan Qiren were working themselves ragged trying to pick up the pieces. He’d hardly had time to come back to Lotus Pier and she and Wei Ying missed him dearly. They’d had to make up so many ‘official’ reasons to find themselves in the Cloud Recesses so that they could spend some time together. So yes on the one hand it would be good for them if Zewu-Jun were to leave seclusion but she wasn’t simply doing it for that reason. It was because if anyone could understand what Zewu-Jun was going through, it would be her. And she didn’t think that seclusion was going to help anything. All it would do is make him ruminate on his mistakes over and over again until he likely went mad himself.

“You said that the man you considered your closest companion turned out to be a monster. Gee, I wonder what that feels like? You said that people will wonder if you helped him with his plans, oh gee, I wonder what that feels like?” Zewu-Jun had the grace to look abashed at that.

She continued, softer, “You said people will talk about what kind of person mourns a monster. But you’re not mourning a monster, are you? When A-Ling cried over his coffin, did you blame him for it? Did you think ‘why is this child mourning when he should celebrate the end of the one who fractured his family?’ like Sect Leader Yao did?” Zewu-Jun shook his head but didn’t say anything, letting her continue.

“A-Ling was mourning the loss of the uncle he knew. And you are mourning the loss of the companion he had been to you. The world will only ever view him as a monster because the world never knew him. But you did. Maybe you didn’t know everything about him, but not everything about him was fake. I hate Jin Guangyao, I will not pretend otherwise. But I was there, Zewu-Jun. I was there, and I could see that he truly did care for you and value you. Not everything he showed you would have been fake. You of all people probably got more sincerity out of him than anyone else. And so you, of all people, have a right to mourn the man he was, the same way A-Ling still mourns the loss of the man who gifted a lonely child a dog. Not everything had an ulterior motive. Even monsters can love can’t they? Even monsters had people who loved them. I would know. So if you need to mourn him… then just mourn him.

Who gives a damn what people will say about it? People will always talk, Zewu-Jun. It doesn’t matter what you do or don’t do, people will believe what they want to believe. So why let their opinions force you into repenting for something you didn’t even do? Let them think what they want to think. It is not a crime to be deceived. We all were. Why take the world on your shoulders when you don’t actually have to? And again, with all due respect Sect Leader Lan, if I, a family-less, alliance-less woman whose husband was the most reviled personage in the jianghu, who suffered the scorn of the cultivation world for over a decade, could raise my nephew on my own and build my sect back from literal ashes into one of the strongest and most respected once again, then you, who have a strong sect and people who love you, who believe in you and will support you no matter what… you can manage to live too.”

“Sect Leader Jiang…” Zewu-Jun was at a loss for words. What could he say? It only sounded selfish and petty to claim that he suffered more than she did, because he truly didn’t. She was right after all. Sect Leader Jiang was a remarkable woman. Life had not been kind to her. And...her words struck something within him. He felt ashamed. He hadn’t even thought about what it was like for her before this. He’d never offered her any support, but here she was trying to get him to live his life again without guilt. She, whose family most assuredly suffered because of his inaction, was here telling him to let it go, to not take responsibility. But how could he do that so easily?

“How did you do it? Sect Leader Jiang...” his voice cracked, “Can you ever forgive me, for the harm that my inaction caused you and your family?” Maybe if he heard it from her, maybe he could begin to forgive himself.

She sighed. “On my part, there is nothing to forgive Zewu-Jun. And so I can’t grant you forgiveness because you haven’t done me any wrong. But there are a few people who do deserve an apology from you. And your seclusion is a self-imposed punishment that you feel you deserve but at the end of the day, it does not actually do anything tangible when it comes to making amends to those who have been hurt.”

He was silent for a moment, stunned by her words. He hadn’t considered that his seclusion might have been causing others even more harm than he’d already done to them. Sect Leader Jiang was wise (she would disagree...she’d just learned from bitter experience in her opinion). He felt like he’d done her a great disservice all of these years, by not making an effort to reach out to her.

“Please, tell me. I.. I confess I no longer trust my judgement. I thought I knew A-Yao. I thought I was a good judge of character. I no longer know how to tell what is up from down. All I know is that I was so, so wrong about A-Yao. If you say that I have not harmed you then I am glad. I would hate to be the cause of more pain. You said that I am not responsible for A-Yao’s actions, and though it isn’t easy to believe that just yet, if there are those who I have truly wronged then please...please tell me. I still don’t know if I am ready to leave seclusion, if I even know how to, but I need to atone for my actions.”

Jiang Cheng nodded, “That’s the right attitude at least. So to start with I’d say you need to have a chat with Huaisang.”

His eyes widened, “I… I don’t know if that’s such a good idea, Sect Leader Jiang.” His face darkened slightly. He wasn’t pleased with Huaisang at the moment. It felt like he never even knew him.

“And why not? Out of everyone, it’s Huaisang that you unintentionally hurt. And I don’t mean because of not listening to Nie Mingjue. His death was not your fault.” He was about to protest but she cut him off. “It wasn’t. I told you, stop taking responsibility for what isn’t your fault and own up to what is.”

He sighed heavily, “If it’s not about Da-ge then how did I wrong Huaisang?”

“Well for one, you’re still his Er-ge. Yet you seem to have forgotten that in lieu of what happened in the temple. Huaisang… has lost everyone. He may have been acting like a shady shit for the past however many years but… do you know what it’s like to be the last one of your family, Zewu-Jun? To have nobody beside you except subordinates?” He inhaled sharply. “I.. I hadn’t thought of that,” he said mournfully. How much did he just not consider? What kind of a person was he that he resented Huaisang for his deceit but yet did not consider for one moment that Huaisang may have done those things because he thought he was all alone and could not come to him for help? What kind of brother was he that his little brother could not confide in him? He should have been there for Huaisang, instead he had thought so highly of Jin Guangyao, even dismissing da-ge’s claims, that Huaisang had not dared to approach him with his suspicions.

Sect Leader Jiang was being very understanding however, “Zewu-Jun, I know you’re not pleased with Huaisang. I know there are many things that he’s done that are not right. I know there’s a possibility that he lied and forced your hand at the end. Believe me, I know the feeling...more than anyone, I know what it feels like to be deceived by someone you love...to kill someone you love. I know what it feels like when everyone praises you for it. Like you did such a great thing and you should be happy and celebrating with everyone else, except you can’t because your heart has shattered…has been ripped to shreds.

As someone who once loved a so-called monster...as someone who as good as killed that person with their own hands, I understand better than anyone what you’re going through. What Huaisang did was cruel, even though I’m glad Jin Guangyao is dead. It was cruel to have you be the one to end him. Huaisang likely knew that Jin Guangyao valued you. He knew it would be the worst end for him to be killed by your hand. I can’t speak for Huaisang, but I don’t believe he did it to hurt you, even though that’s inevitably what happened anyway. He did it to hurt Jin Guangyao. But even though it was not kind of him to have you be the arbiter of justice, he still deserves to have his Er-ge in his life.

She paused remembering the pain of losing her husband and sister all in one night.

She didn't have to imagine how Huaisang would have felt at losing the last member of his family at the hands of someone he cared about.“You and I aren’t the only ones who were deceived by someone we loved. Huaisang loved Jin Guangyao too, didn’t he? He loved and trusted him. When Nie Mingjue was getting worse, didn’t Huaisang trust and rely on both you and Jin Guangyao? It wasn’t a front. You were both dear to him. He loved him. He loved him and was betrayed by him in the worst way. And then yes, he orchestrated a whole convoluted plan to have him exposed and killed.

But you and I can both attest that justice, and even revenge, doesn’t stop the pain does it? Huaisang avenged his brother, but he lost another in the process, the same way you did. Don’t let him lose you too. You said you wronged Nie Mingjue by not listening to him. I think you’d wrong him even more if you left his little brother alone, without anyone to call family. You don’t have to forgive Huaisang right away, or at all if you don’t want to, but eventually you should at least try and reconcile with him. You’re his big brother... the only one left. And you know, Huaisang would have had the realisation that he was fooled by Jin Guangyao all on his own. But you don’t have to be alone.

Huaisang and you share the experience of being blinded by him. It would be much easier to talk to someone who has gone through the same things, no? Huaisang is there. And I am here. You don’t have to endure this on your own. We may not be very close Zewu-Jun, but we can understand each other, not so? So I’m here if you need someone to confide in. And Huaisang...Huaisang must be waiting too. For his Er-ge. You both owe each other apologies.”

By the time she was done speaking there were tears rolling down his face. She didn’t think it was quite appropriate given their positions, (though she was sort of his secret sister-in-law so really, he counted as family) but she moved over to his side and embraced him. If he was surprised he didn’t show it, only moving to cling to her more tightly and sob with a ferocity that had her a bit surprised. She wondered if this was the first time since the temple that he’d allowed himself to fully grieve what he had lost, without the guilt of letting his sworn brother die, killing the other one, and feeling bad for mourning for someone who he should hate.

Everyone praised him for killing Jin Guangyao however, it was something he didn’t want to be praised for. But what could he say? That he hated the fact that he killed him? He was right about one thing, if he ever said something like that people would most assuredly say he was complicit and probably want to implicate him. Jiang Cheng of all people knew how hard it was to listen to people praising you for a deed you were not proud of. And so she was the only person who would understand. The only person who would, who could, acknowledge the hurt it would have caused him to do what he did, especially if he was tricked into it.

His feelings about Huaisang would be complicated, but it wasn’t too late to reconcile as long as they were both alive.

She rubbed his back consolingly and just let him cry. It must have been no more than 15 minutes, but it felt much longer, before his tears slowed. When his sobs petered out he tried to compose himself. She let go of him and he embarrassedly turned away, sipping his tea. He cleared his throat, “I’m sorry Sect Leader Jiang, that was unbecoming of me.”

“Don’t mention it,” she waved off. She was there to help after all.

“I will give your words due consideration. It was remiss of me to forget that I was not the only one affected by A-Yao’s schemes. I truly regret not thinking of how Huaisang would have felt when he first found out. You are right. I have done my little brother a disservice,” he said, voice croaky from his bout of sobbing.

“You said that there were people I needed to apologise to. Who else have I wronged?” he continued. His respect and admiration for Sect Leader Jiang had grown exponentially since the start of this visit. He would take her words under advisement if he could.

“Oh Zewu-Jun,” she sighed, “What you’re doing with this seclusion, doesn’t it remind you of someone? Because it sure reminds your uncle.”

Zewu-Jun looked as if she had slapped him.

“Nobody would begrudge you needing time to grieve and to come to terms with what happened, it is human nature. It’s understandable. We were all blindsided. And I understand the wish to seclude yourself because I wish I could have as well, though I didn’t have the luxury,” she said, not unkindly but it made him wince anyway, “But it’s been too long. A few months would be okay, though grief will last longer than that, but more than that is just being unfair to others. You are the Sect Leader. Your uncle has already had to watch his brother shirk his duties and seclude himself from the world for the rest of his life.

Your uncle has had to pick up the slack. He raised you and your brother like a father would, while taking care of sect matters. None of those things were his responsibility yet he did it. And now… now he has to go through it all over again. Master Lan is elderly though and he cannot keep up with all of the duties required of an elder, teacher and now Sect Leader once more. And so that leads me to the last person that you have wronged.

Lan Zhan is Chief Cultivator now, did you know? His duties are myriad and yet he has to come back here and help Master Lan run the sect. It pains Master Lan to see history repeating itself. A younger brother once again has to take the reins from his older brother and he does it without complaint, because he loves you. But it is unfair to A-Zhan. He can’t live his own life because he’s too busy living yours. He’s barely managing to keep up with both sets of duties, but he’s doing it for you. It has been two years, Zewu-Jun. He worries so much about you, as does your uncle. It pains them to see you this way. And so Sect Leader Lan,” she pointedly used his rank, “I beg of you to consider leaving your seclusion. You have people who love you waiting for you. Your family needs you.”

His eyes were glittering once more, but no tears were shed this time. He swallowed thickly. The past few months it had seemed as if he was living in a fog. He’d barely managed to keep his routine up, it was only through decades of strict routine that he’d gotten himself off the bed and eaten his food and meditated everyday on his shortcomings. But it seemed that while he was doing that he’d missed quite a few. Because she was right wasn’t she? He hid himself away like a coward and didn’t even think about how it would affect Wangji and Uncle. He hadn’t even considered how hurt his uncle would feel to see him go down the same route as his father.

Her words were like a splash of cold water. It seemed to wake him up; it got him out of the daze he was in. If this woman before him could raise a child and a sect from the ashes all alone after going through more tragedy than a hundred people in one lifetime would...he could get himself in gear and do what he had to do. He felt ashamed in front of her. She was right that she didn’t have the luxury to seclude herself. But he did. He did, and he took advantage of the support system that he had to take time for himself. More time than he should have.

She said it was understandable, and maybe it was, but she was also right that it should not have been going on for this long. He had no desire to be Qingheng-Jun the second. But if she hadn’t come here today… if she hadn’t said all that she had said… He would not have even thought of those things. He was too busy thinking of himself. It was likely that he would have stayed for years in his seclusion, just ruminating on what went wrong and what he could have changed. It was all too easy to get caught up in could-have-beens.

“Sect Leader Jiang,” he said, devastated at the thought of his uncle, the man who raised him when he didn’t have to, who did his best to prevent them from turning out like their father, thinking that he had failed when it was Lan Xichen who failed, “I’ve heard you loud and clear. But…”

“But?”

“But I don’t know if I even know how to go about being Sect Leader anymore. I feel like the decisions I make would be questionable now. How can I trust that I will do what’s best for the sect? I have already failed in so many ways. Now I have failed Wangji and Uncle too.”

“What did I tell you? You’re not alone Zewu-Jun. You don’t have to leave seclusion immediately. You don’t even have to start doing everything right away. Ease back into it. Your family will be there to help you. I’m offering to help you. If you need to talk about things that you can’t with them, you can write to me. Master Qiren should not have to be taking on these responsibilities any longer and A-Zhan needs to have time to breathe...his own position is challenging enough. Besides you haven’t failed, you’ve just had some setbacks is all. Failure would be wallowing in self-pity forever and leaving everyone else to do your duties indefinitely,” she looked at him pointedly. He got the hint.

“Okay Sect Leader Jiang. I shall take you up on that then. But I do have a question if you’ll indulge me,” he said.

“Shoot.”

“I mean no offense at all, in fact I’m actually extremely grateful for your concern, but I am curious….why do you even care? You didn’t have to do any of this. I’m well aware that you have your own duties and worries. Why bother about mine?”

She smiled for the first time since she walked into the Hanshi. He was struck by it. It had been a long time since he’d seen her smile... truly smile. In fact, the last time he’d seen a smile as bright as that on her face was probably right here in the Cloud Recesses when she was a student.

“You may not remember it, Zewu-Jun, but there was a time Jin Guangshan sought to marry me off. It was your words of support for me, against that awful Sect Leader Yao, that saved my skin, though they still called me Wife of the Yiling Demon after that. But at least I was only his wife. I will be eternally grateful to you for that. It was thanks to your words that nobody else tried to make me marry. I was able to focus on my sect in relative peace. It was a kindness that I have never been able to repay until now, though you shouldn’t think that it is only because of repayment.”

She got up and dusted off her clothes perfunctorily.

“I shall take my leave now, Zewu-Jun.”

“Please, call me Xichen,” he said, thinking that after all of the things that were said that day, she might as well.

“Well then, Xichen you may call me Wanyin. Thank you for hearing me out and please forgive me for barging in unexpectedly. I have intruded upon your hospitality long enough.”

“It is no matter,” he said, and for the first time in a long while he was able to manage a weak smile, “I was honored by your company. If you did not give me so much to think about, I would offer you some more tea.”

She laughed, “Thank you Xichen, but I will be missed soon anyway. I do not need to cause an uproar in Cloud Recesses if they can’t find a Sect Leader. Plus the scandal that would happen if someone other than A-Zhan or A-Yuan finds me in here will not be pleasant.”

“A-Zhan?” he raised an eyebrow, “Is there something I should know about, Wanyin?”

She snorted and threw him a cheeky smirk, “If you want to find out you’ll have to come to Lotus Pier.” And with that she saw herself out, leaving nothing but the scent of lotuses behind her.

Huh. Well then. How curious. He’d thought that Wangji had gone off with Wei Wuxian, who he’d been in love with since he met him. How did Sect Leader Jiang factor into this? As far as he knew they didn’t even particularly like each other. It seemed like he missed quite a lot while he was in seclusion. Was his little brother in a love triangle? It would explain why Wanyin said that he shouldn’t only think of her visit as repayment to him. It wasn’t the purest motivation but huh maybe he would leave seclusion after all. His brother might need support in more ways than one. Sect Leader Lan leaving seclusion because he was too invested in his brother’s love life was a hilarious thought, and for the first time in two years, he chuckled mirthfully to himself. Maybe he would be okay after all.

[prurientpuddlejumper]

Out Tonight (Part 2)

K!nktober 2020 Kink Bingo!: Papi

<- Part 1 | Part 3 ->

Summary: After a night of karaoke, Barba teaches you some Spanish, gives you some slightly patronizing advice, and follows you up to your hotel room. (Lo siento por mi español. Por favor dime si cometí algún error!)

Rafael Barba x female reader

Warning: NSFW/18+, Dub-con!! Everyone is enthusiastically willing, but also super drunk.

For @thatesqcrush​’s kink bingo!

6,089 words

“So… Rafael Barba,” you changed the subject away from today’s trial. His failure to get a conviction had sent him into such a steep emotional spiral he cried in your arms at the bar, despite having just met you an hour ago. “That’s Spanish, right?”

The vulnerability in his eyes flattened. “Cuban,” he said, already bracing for the “but you don’t look Latino” comments, or worse, something about rafts or cigars. Instead your eyes got wide like he just ripped off a mask and revealed himself to be David Bowie.

“Cool!”

“I… guess?” There were eighty thousand Cuban-Americans living in New York, but sure.

“Hablar… I mean, hablas español?”

“Sí, lo hablo,” he answered with wry amusement, pinching the bridge of his nose.

You chewed your lip in thought before slowly saying, “Aprendí un poco de español en la escuela, y lo me gusta mucho.”

His brow raised. You actually knew more than he expected, which is to say, you could string more than two words together. “Not bad. Toda mi familia es de Cuba, así que el español es mi lengua materna. Soy el primer estadounidense.”

He spoke faster, at a natural pace, expecting you to follow, but when your eyes glazed over and you awkwardly squeaked out, “...Qué?” it became clear you did not, in fact, speak Spanish.

“Let’s stick to English,” he grimaced.

You whined in disappointment. “But that was so hot! Please? Un poco más. Dime algo en español!”

“Algo.”

An unflattering snort erupted from your nostrils, and you started giggling like a manic school girl. Barba shook his head with second-hand embarrassment, though a smile crept over his lips as you continued struggling to contain yourself, pleased at how well his bad joke had gone over.

“Come on, teach me something,” you pouted, leaning towards him, pushing your chest out. “Por favor… papi?”

He choked on his drink so hard burning whisky shot up his nose. “Ay, dios!” He pounded his chest and ordered a water. “OK, OK, bueno,” he put up his hands in defeat. “Hablaré en español. Solo para ti, mamita. Te gusta?”

“Mucho, papi.” You were taking advantage of calling him that now that you’d seen his reaction. He didn’t nearly die this time, but a red blush was sweeping up his neck under his shirt collar. Emboldened, he leaned toward you, eyes heavily lidded as he flirtatiously held your gaze.

“Tienes novio?”

“A husband? Do I look married?” you flipped your ringless left hand back and front and worried about your age.

He laughed, raising a hand to his forehead with his palm shading his eyes. “That would be esposo.”

“Oh. Right.” Your face darkened. “No, yo soy… single.”

“Estás soltera,” he prompted.

“Ah, gracias. Estoy soltera. Y tú?” you tilted your face down shyly and looked up at him through your lashes. “Tienes esposo? O novia?”

“Nope,” he popped the p, staring into the empty bottom of his scotch glass and wishing he hadn’t decided to cut himself off. The sip of water he took was boring and not numbly soothing at all. He had been single for a depressingly long time, in fact.

“Muy bien,” you smiled with delight, and he suddenly realized his years of failure at relationships were, tonight, a positive. It was the answer a very beautiful woman was hoping for. He may have been suffering from a string of humiliating losses, but winning you over reawakened his cocky self-assurance.

“Acércate.” He curled his finger to beckon you closer, and you swung onto his lap. God, you were so close. Your body fit so perfectly in his arms and you smelled like strawberry lemonade from that cocktail. Before he could help it, he was kissing you again. Softer and a little less desperate this time. A little more… something else. He just met you, but the way you made him feel cared about was stronger than he had ever felt, depressing as that was to admit. The one time he had put his whole heart into a relationship, he’d had it shattered so badly he was still picking up the pieces. Since then, he chose relationships that were mutually guarded, partners he knew he would never connect with, and who didn’t expect anything back. Barba did not open up to people. He’d never let himself cry on anyone before, except his abuelita. He must have been extremely drunk to let his guard down so much, but he pushed the realization out of mind as your fingers curled through his hair around the back of his head and pulled him deeper, your strawberry tongue slipping between his bitter lips. He wanted this. He needed it. He felt so close to you, so right—that was all that mattered.

He started whispering to you in Spanish between kisses, phrases you couldn’t understand, some that you got the gist of. He cringed a little at your attempts to reply in his first language, but kissed you more softly each time. You were trying, at least. You were trying very hard to understand a piece of him. The phrases he murmured against your lips grew progressively more filthy, which your keen ears picked up on even if you weren’t entirely sure what they meant.

“Como se dice, ‘fuck me harder’?” you asked in a low voice full of lust, fingers tightening against his scalp.

“...damelo más duro,” he said with a shudder. His cock twitched and he wondered if you’d noticed the growing erection pressed against your thigh as you sat in his lap. What you would think. But you must have noticed, and you weren’t moving to get away from him.

“Damelo duro, papi,” you purred, leaning to say it into his ear, your breath warm and tickling.

He swallowed, heart hammering in his chest. Barba, always so eloquent under pressure in court, could barely form words to express a coherent thought. You were just joking. You must have been. To you it was a foreign language, and it didn’t sound like a real request to your ears. This was just a flirty game, teaching you naughty Spanish. “Y-you are… getting into dangerous territory here,” he tried to laugh jokingly, but his throat was dry. He swallowed again.

You lowered your voice and your eyelids. “I mean it,” you whispered against the shell of his ear. To punctuate your point, you rolled your hips, deliberately grinding your inner thigh against his forming erection. He was so wildly aroused with alcohol he thought he would come right there, but its effects were also preventing him from getting completely hard yet, something he should probably have been concerned about, but wasn’t.

“Would you like to go somewhere?” he said, voice strained with urgency. “I would very much like to go somewhere immediately and fuck your brains out, please. If that’s… alright with you.”

***

The streets of Midtown were as bright and crowded as they were during the day, just a little less hurried—except for two people. You held Barba’s large hand, long elegant fingers laced with yours, laughing giddily in the warm summer air as you raced toward your hotel, stopping only to desperately kiss each other, fingers in each other’s hair, reigniting the flames that pulled you together.

Barba broke away panting, his lips wet with your saliva. The fresh air had a sobering effect, and something serious occurred to him. He had been animated and outgoing all night at the bar, but he suddenly very much resembled the shrewd lawyer whose picture you had seen in a news article. You felt like you’d been called to the principal’s office under the severity of his gaze, waiting for whatever it was he had to say.

“Did you take any pictures of us together?”

“I… might have taken a few selfies,” you admitted, terrified you’d committed a heinous faux pas.

“Good,” he said. “Do you have location data enabled? You should send those to someone you trust, along with the time you left the bar, and where we’re going.”

Gears in your head turned slowly to put together an intelligible response. You opened your mouth and declared, “...whuh?”

“You’re out drinking alone, taking a stranger home!” he gripped your shoulders as if to shake you. “Do you know how many cases never get off the ground because there’s no ID, no proof the victim and assailant were ever in the same room? Those photos would establish a timeline and a suspect, and would be enough for a warrant. Do you know what I would give to have evidence like that in every case? A lot more rapists would go to jail.”

“Are you… saying you’re a rapist?” you said slowly, cocking your head.

He stiffened, mentally replaying his own words. His eyes darted to the side, up, down, and three other directions in rapid succession. “N-no… But you have no way of knowing that. You’re too trusting. No matter how charming someone seems, it’s better to be paranoid and take precautions.”

“Uh-huh. Real charming. You know, it’s creepy telling someone that right before you’re going to sleep with them. How do you say that in Spanish?”

He groaned and looked so crestfallen it impressed upon you how much horror he must deal with every day, prosecuting special victims cases in the big city. How much that weighed on him and made him see nothing but worst-case scenarios around every corner. It didn’t seem so strange now that he was single—it must be impossible to connect with anyone when you live like that.

“I just… want you to be safe,” he said quietly, eyes down. A swelling of sympathy flooded your heart, and formed a lump in your throat. Before you could think twice, you’d pulled him into your arms.

“I feel very safe with you, Rafael.” Your words drew a tiny, strangled noise from his chest, and his grip around you tightened.

The mood had shifted catastrophically, to the point that it seemed unlikely a one-night stand was in your future any longer. Barba walked slowly by your side, lost in reflective silence. Sex or no, you invited him up to your hotel room. You would never get enough of being around him, and couldn’t bear to say goodbye, even if you were only sitting up talking of somber issues late into the night.

But by the time the elevator doors closed, leaving you completely alone together for the first time, your libidos overpowered the gloom and his hands were all over your body, his mouth hot and fervent against your throat. You moaned wantonly, confident in the privacy the elevator afforded as it whisked you upward toward the eleventh floor. You slipped your hands inside his jacket, feeling his solid pectoral muscles stretching his shirt, and he cupped a hand between your legs, kneading the crotch of your pants. Even through your jeans, it sparked a fire that sizzled through your whole body. You pulled at his back, drawing more of his weight against you.

The elevator chimed and the doors slid open. Several cleaning ladies stared unimpressed as you and Barba quickly unhanded each other, stood straighter, and tried to pretend you were dignified professionals just riding an elevator together and definitely not almost having sex in there.

They were far more used to seeing this sort of thing than you were, judging by their almost bored eye rolls, but as you passed them on your way into the hall, one of them muttered something in rapid Spanish that made the other women giggle and Barba trip over his feet, face neon red, and look down at the front of his pants which were sporting a very conspicuous tent.

“Madre de Dios,” he groaned.

Shoulders convulsing with laughter, you took his arm and led him to room, uh… You fumbled in your purse for your room key with the number written on it.

“This is my first time doing this,” you confessed as the magnetic lock clicked and the light on the door changed from red to green.

“Having sex?”

“With someone I just met. In a bar!” you teased, turning the handle.

Part of you wondered when both of you were going to wake up and realize you were acting like horny teenagers—that you shouldn’t be doing this. But you hoped you wouldn’t, at least not until morning. You weren’t nervous. If you had been introspective that night, that would have surprised you the most. The whole confident, sexy Mimi Márquez, Out Tonight act was just a character you put on for karaoke to get psyched up and out of your shell. If you had been questioning yourself, you would have wondered how a shy good girl was having a one-night stand with a handsome Manhattan lawyer wearing a suit that cost more than your mortgage and not having an anxiety attack. But you weren’t questioning yourself, and you weren’t nervous. You looked in his intelligent eyes that were as pale as the underside of a silver maple leaf or dark as a dense hemlock grove depending on the lighting, and you simply wanted him.

***

He followed you into the dark hotel room, which was disappointingly small and shoddy for how expensive it was, so you left the lights off to preserve some mystery. The city glowed through the window brighter than a full moon, anyway. Barba pulled off his suit jacket, tossing it recklessly aside as he prowled toward you. Almost immediately, he thought better of this and found the heap of designer fabric on the floor next to the sandals you had kicked off, picked it up, smoothed it out, and carefully folded it over the back of an office chair at the little desk. He removed his tie and did the same.

You grinned behind your hand. Changing tunes so quickly from ravenously horny to prim—it didn’t surprise you that a guy who dressed as sharply as he did would have his priorities on wrinkle-avoidance even in the heat of the moment. It might have rubbed you as snobbish if it wasn’t so funny.

When he returned to you, his back was to the window, so you couldn’t make out the expression on his shadowed face, but the silhouettes of his shoulders were tense and his voice sheepish as if expecting a rebuke. “Sorry. I couldn’t leave it there. It’s a Brioni and—”

You slid your fingers under the pink-striped suspenders at both shoulders, closed your fists around them, and tugged. He lurched forward, and you caught his lips with yours. Letting out a surprised moan, he closed his eyes, and wrapped his arms around you, grateful you weren’t accusing him of vanity. You held firm to the elastic bands like a leash on him, pulling him closer when you wanted to deepen the contact until he was so enraptured he needed no extra encouragement to shove his tongue between your lips as they parted, his hands roaming your sides, your hair, and over the swell of your bottom, grabbing a handful.

“You really do… have the best ass… below 14th street,” he said devilishly, in between crushing his hungry mouth against yours.

Running down the length of his suspenders, your hands took a tour of his entire torso, enjoying the firm bulk of his chest, and the softness of his belly. You liked that there was something to love there. Gym rats with nothing but hard muscle were painfully dull. His stomach twitched ticklishly at your probing touch and he broke away from your lips to protest, so you continued your suspender tour all the way to the bottom, where the leather straps attached the elastic bands to his pants. His hips rocked forward, and his clothed cock pressed into your thigh. You let out a sultry breath and pushed your own hips back against him, lining him up against your clit to ignite a burning, tempting pressure between you. You couldn’t even kiss him. Your mouth hung slack, and all you could focus on was the friction of his hard cock against your aching cunt. You had to get out of these clothes.

“Bed. Now,” you huffed.

“Yeah.”

As he toed off his leather shoes, you slipped his suspenders off his shoulders and were slightly disappointed this did not immediately make his pants fall off. He climbed on top of the blanket, and you climbed onto his lap, throwing a leg over his hips.

An impressively sized hand with a vein meandering across it curled around that tempting leg, palming the tight denim stretched over your thighs. The hand rode up, found the bottom hem of your blouse and dove under it. You shivered as warm fingertips crested over your jeans and found your waiting skin.

“Are you okay with this?” he rasped, eyes flicking across your face.

“Keep going,” you nodded, the prickles of your skin screaming in protest at the thought that he might stop. His hand worked up your side, exploring new territory under your shirt. Every point of contact sent warm waves vibrating out to your most intimate parts. You lowered your mouth to his and your lips melted against his, pussy soaking through your underwear as you felt his body respond beneath you. His clever fingers found the band of your bra and inched over the fabric.

“Is this alright?” he paused his advance to check in again.

You leaned close and whispered, “I want you to touch me, papi,” darting your tongue just below his ear, and rolling your hips over his cock again. “Touch me everywhere.”

He growled, deep and throaty and thick with lust, his own hips bucking up to grind himself against yours. With your carte blanche permission given, a switch flipped inside him and he dove in, roughly palming your breasts with both hands, rolling the fat and finding your hardened nipples through your bra cups. Even through the thicker fabric, his thumbs circled and pinched the sensitive peaks hard enough that you whimpered with every sensation. Your hips were moving without your leave, desperately driving against his cock while your hands quickly worked to unbutton the front of your shirt. He had become an animal, his eyes unfocused, breathing heavy, lost in voracious need.

“S-slow down,” you tried asking, wondering if he would—if he could at this point, despite all his earlier talk of consent.

His hands were off you in an instant, and he was apologizing and asking if you were OK.

“Just testing your off switch,” you smirked as you finished the final button, and your blouse opened up. Marveling at the man beneath your legs, you unhooked the front clasp of your bra and felt his cock stir at the naked sight of you. Any lingering uncertainty was gone—you managed to score the most principled lay in all of New York sitting by himself in a karaoke bar, and you trusted him completely. “Since I already know your on switch, don’t I papi?”

He swore in Spanish, some excitingly lusty expressions you would have to take note of later.

“What was it again? Cómo se dice...” you teased, tapping your index finger against your lips in thought. You watched his pupils widen as you pinched your finger between your teeth. “Oh yeah. Damelo, papi. Damelo duro.”

Hearing those words from your perfect sensuous lips drove him wild. Grabbing your hips, he rolled you onto your back, swapping positions. His fevered mouth pressed wet kisses all over your exposed skin, heated breath dancing over your neck as his tongue flicked out to taste you. You reached down to curl your fingers into his thick, dark hair. He pushed your breasts, which had fallen to the sides, back together and ran his tongue through the cleavage. You drew in a sharp breath. “Just like that, papi,” you moaned. He took a nipple in his mouth, sucking and circling his tongue over it until your cunt was pulsating and your breath coming out in hard, ragged whimpers, then pinched it between his teeth, drawing a yelp of pleasure mixed with pain. You yanked at his hair and your hips bucked jerkily. Your core ached with emptiness, longing to be filled by his cock. You wrapped your legs around his lower back and pulled his hips down against you to feel more of him. The strangled noises in his throat were practically feral as his clothed sex rutted up against you, valiantly striving to be inside you through your pants. His mouth sloppily devoured your breasts until they were burned raw from his stubble.

He released your nipple with a wet noise and sat up to free his straining erection from his pants. The latching mechanism didn’t seem particularly hard, but after nearly a minute of fumbling he had made very little progress, and you held up a hand and told him to stop.

He whined and gave you puppy dog eyes, but did as you asked. “Is this another test?”

“No. It’s just… those pants are not that complicated.”

His head tipped in confusion.

“You’re really drunk, aren’t you?” You were tipsy yourself, but considering you could at least manage buttons, you had a sudden, sinking realization that he was far more incapacitated than you. He was so well-spoken and thoughtful you hadn’t noticed, but he was a lawyer—staying controlled and eloquent was his job. You might have been drunk, but he was drunk drunk. “If we have sex right now I think that would make me a predator.”

He frowned, cock still straining against the binds of his pants. “Technically, in New York state, being intoxicated does not invalidate sexual consent.”

“Don’t you lawyer this! I don’t care what’s technically legal—you are way too drunk. And I don’t want you waking up with regrets.”

His shoulders fell, because he knew you were right. It was a law he considered a glaring loophole, and he admired you for doing the right thing, but ¡maldita sea! he wished you were just a little less ethical. Deep down he knew he wouldn’t be doing this if he were in full command of himself tonight. But that was why he was so desperate to do it now. He would never let himself go again, not for a long time, and he would miss out on experiencing an intense—if ultimately not real—connection with someone. He would miss out on getting to be with you.

“Well...” you hesitated, watching the disappointment in his eyes displace what had moments ago been confidence and excitement, and tormented by your own unsatisfied ache. “I mean, we can still fool around, right?”

He laid his body down alongside you, his breath still coming in hot, shallow pants. His comforting weight settling beside you on the soft hotel mattress stirred up the coiling insistent heat between your legs. “Is this OK?” he whispered, voice heavy with lust. Blood pounded in your ears as his hand slipped under your waistband.

“Y-yeah, that’s OK,” you nodded. A compromise. It wasn’t sex. Technically.

Trapped tightly between your skin and your jeans, his fingers reached your slit, spreading it with surprising deftness to find your clit. Waves of pleasure exploded through your body as he pressed an irresistible finger to it, making your thighs spasm and lift off the mattress as you bit back a sinful cry. You were almost screaming from just one touch. The sound of throbbing blood in your ears was deafening, and your cunt throbbed in time with it to an unbearable tempo. God, you wanted him to fuck you with his cock.

He drew in a shaking breath as he observed your response, his lust-clouded eyes boring into you with a hint of the keen perceptiveness he used in court. He risked probing deeper, pushing a long digit farther into your panties, dragging it through your pussylips as you squirmed beneath him, then drew it back, dripping, to circle your clit, and smiled as you clamped a hand over your mouth to keep a neighbor-waking vocalization in check. You were soaking wet for him, and it made his erection strain jealously against the closure of his slacks. It had been too long, since he’d allowed himself time for anything other than work. It was almost unbearable having someone moan for him and not be able to fuck them. But you said no, so he focused on what you would allow him to do—on giving you the most earthshaking orgasm you’d ever experienced.

The tightness of your jeans was too restrictive, and you quickly unbuttoned them and zipped them down. “My papi’s fingers feel so good,” you groaned. “I want more of them.”

“You feel… so good,” he answered, lowering his mouth to yours for a fervent, but surprisingly tender kiss as he moved his fingertips over your swollen, stimulated cunt. He traced over your dripping entrance, and pressed in just the tip of one finger, leaving you gasping for more. He withdrew from your pants and brought his fingers to his lips, sucking them clean, his eyes closing as he savored it. “You taste good, too,” he whispered low and gravelly, almost a growl, though not one you would describe as predatory. There was no danger lurking behind those perceptive eyes—the thrill he gave you had a different source. Your tongue darted over his, dipping into his mouth to taste yourself on his broad tongue.

“Is papi going to fuck me with those fingers?” you challenged, enjoying the way his breath hitched every time you called him that. You’d heard it in passing and knew it was something like calling him “daddy,” but you’d never expected it to have such a big effect.

He helped you pull your jeans down below the swell of you ass, not bothering to take them all the way off and interrupt your pleasure any longer. Once he had all the access he needed, he plunged his fingers into you. He observed carefully, gauging your reaction in the way the slick walls of your cunt gripped and twitched around him, and the tone and frequency of your pleading moans. When one finger wasn’t enough, he added a second, satisfied with his judgment as you cried out and arched against him, your hands gripping the blanket at the stretch. “Te gusta, mamita?” he purred, but you were too breathless to give an answer except a throaty carnal whimper.

Adapting himself to your responses, he alternated penetrating you with his fingers and teasing your clit, kissing you hot and fierce, ramping up his intensity to draw louder and louder cries, leaving a trail of wet bruises down your neck. Curling his fingers inside you, he hit a sweet spot that made your legs begin to tremble. You wailed uninhibited and raw, too overwhelmed with pleasure to try to rile him with another “papi.” He sucked your pulse point under your ear, savoring the feeling of your blood racing beneath his lips. Knowing how turned you were, how much he was affecting you was so deliciously invigorating to his ego. As easily as he could command a courtroom, he’d never had the same confidence in his body. Past lovers would say he had perfect technique, but no soul, no intuition for what a they needed—but here you were, cunt twitching on his fingers, moaning over and over for him.

Your eyes kept closing to focus on what he was doing between your thighs, but when they opened you saw how intensely he was watching you. The arousal on his face as he watched was intoxicating. You had never seen such anyone look at you with such wanton lust, and it heightened your excitement.

“Rafael… Raf—oh, fuck,” you hissed, jerking your hips up to deepen the penetration. “Keep going... deeper!”

“Dime, ‘más profundo,’” he ordered softly, but confidently.

“M-más profundo, papi.”

“Eres buena estudiante,” he praised, a smile lighting his eyes as he sank his fingers deeper with enthusiasm. You were getting close, the fire singing between your thighs blossoming outward through your entire body but always coiling tighter in your core, building an unbearable tension that threatened to break you. He rocked his hips, and the heat twisted tighter at the feeling of his iron-hard cock grinding against you.

You squeezed your hand between your two bodies, groping blindly down his stomach until you found his pants and the massive tent he was pushing into your leg. You grasped the hard outline of his cock, squeezing it and working it through his clothes. He drew a sharp breath and for a moment the rhythmic thrusting of his fingers stuttered and paused. His hemlock-green eyes were black with arousal as they examined you. Then he rocked his hips, thrusting into your palm with a low groan, and his fingers pumped into you again with renewed vigor.

“Que buena chica eres… Just like that,” he croaked. His breathing was growing ragged, he was starting to fall apart with your hand working his cock.

He adjusted his weight to free his other hand, stroking the side of your face as he pressed a passionate kiss to your lips. His thumb kneaded your cheeks as they smiled against his mouth and went slack with lust. His mouth wandered lower, teasing your collar bone with light nips to make you yelp and sigh, then bending to take a mouthful of breast. He withdrew his two slick fingers from the depths of your cunt and circled your clit slowly, gently—then fast and rough as he sucked at a hardened nipple, drawing a shattered gasp from your throat. You rubbed his cock frantically, trying to repay some small amount of the pleasure he was giving you. When he plunged his fingers back inside, he added a third, and you moaned at the added fullness—at being stuffed tight, almost too much for you to handle, an intense pleasure threaded through with pain.

“Oh, fuck,” you cried out, eyes rolling back as you felt your climax build, every nerve ending in your body on fire.

“Is that a good fuck, or a bad fuck?”

“Good,” you stammered, barely holding yourself together. “Don’t stop, papi, I’m almost there.” The hint of pain faded into pure bliss as you imagined it was his cock splitting you open.

His eyes gleamed wickedly as he pumped his fingers in and out of you, watching you come undone with every stroke. This horrible week, he had felt so helpless, useless. It made him doubt himself. But this—this he had control over. Your body. Your arousal. Everything that had fallen apart wasn’t his fault; it was because of circumstances outside his authority to influence. When he was given complete control, this was his effect. He could get any result he wanted, elicit any twitch of your cunt, any moan from your lips, and have you singing in ecstasy just from his fingers. Imagine if you let him fuck you, the songs he could have you singing then.

He angled his hand so his palm was rubbing against your clit as he thrust, and he could tell you were riding the edge of the precipice by the helpless mewling whimpers pouring from your lips with increased fervor, how your walls began to invite him deeper, taking more of him until he was buried three knuckles deep and you were still bucking your hips to intensify each thrust, starving for more. His own hips began rocking at a frantic pace into your hand.

“Rafael… Oh, Rafael,” you moaned. You loved the shape of his name in your mouth. It was like you weren’t even strangers, the more you said it. For him, it would have been too personal for a casual hookup most nights, but for some reason it turned him on even more than when you called him papi.

“Ven conmigo,” he urged softly, his hips stroking at a delirious pace that did not match his calm tone. You didn’t recognize what it meant, but the sound of Spanish rolling over his tongue mixed with the wet lewd noises of his fingers fucking you drove you to the edge.

“I’m gonna—I’m gonna...” Your voice broke.

He ducked his head back to your chest and drew a nipple between his teeth, sucking hard just as you came over the precipice and pushing you off it with a violent shove until you wailed out loud, careening into a free-fall steeper and farther than you’d prepared for, your back arching and your walls crashing around his fingers, clenching and convulsing around them.

“Open your eyes,” he said. “Look at me.” You could hear the lawyer in his voice—controlled, assertive. Not quite a command, but your eyes fluttered open obediently. Holding eye contact while your body was being rocked by wave upon wave of fierce climax was too intimate, but he repeated his request low and soft as a tiger’s purr. Your met his gaze and held it. The look of lust on his face, his lips softly parted, lower lip quivering, renewed the strength of your orgasm and sent another shockwave coursing through you.

He kept pumping into you through your orgasm, riding out the aftershocks, until your legs were shaking and weak. The sensation of you coming on his fingers turned him on so much, he only needed to rock into your hand once more, flick his tongue over your breast, and he lost control. He was not vocal as you were as his thighs trembled with his own release, but his hips slowed, and then stopped, their desperate thrusting, and you felt a warm, wet spot soak through the front of his pants. Your gasping cries were stochastic and desperate now, overstimulated—you pushed his hand out of your underwear to stop his relentless fingers, and he rolled off of you heavily.

Laying back on the soft pile of hotel pillows, he slowed his breathing, then sucked his fingers clean one by one with a lascivious growl of pleasure. You watched him, shivering with fascination, and he glanced back at you with a piercing gaze. “I want to fuck you next time. Por favor, déjame a cogerte.”

Next time. You turned away, your cheeks burning up. You never assumed there would be a next time to this, but your heart wouldn’t stop beating at the thought.

“Next time sounds good. That was…” You turned back to praise him, but his eyes were already closed, and a light snore was emanating from his nose. “...Amazing, you lightweight.”

The dizzying effect of all the booze was catching up alarmingly quickly now that you were spent. After the strenuous effort of tugging the blanket out from under Barba so you could tuck it over him, you were completely worn out, and within a minute you were fast asleep as well, cuddled under his arm, your chests rising and falling in unison.

[somegirl29]

Sherlock X reader- a romance to killing it (first chapter)

Synopsis: Sherlock falls in love with a girl, but what he didn't know was that she was a murderer sent by moriarty to kill him

Sherlock X reader

Author's notes: this is my first fanfic here

I may have a spelling mistake because I am Brazilian and my English is not very good

feel free to make requests, or constructive criticism, say what you think of this fanfic so I can know if I keep writing or not

When Sherlock first saw the girl at a crime scene as a transferred detective he didn't pay much attention, he was focused on the case and thought she would just be more of an annoying cop who would just hinder him, in a matter of minutes she won her attention interrupting his remarks by saying details that went unnoticed at the crime scene, this made him question himself his observational power had never failed before. When he let his eyes fall on her, all he could see were unknown. She looked like a blank sheet of paper. He couldn't deduce anything about her and that completely puzzled him.

     It was a matter of time before she became one of the closest people he has ever had in his life, perhaps the factor of thinking similarly to not understanding human feelings, or she was able to reach complex case conclusions in seconds being the most experienced person who he already knew even surpassing himself. At one point he fell in love with the girl, then she moved to Baker Street and as she was perfect, he was never frightened by the body parts in the fridge or the house, he did not interrupt him in his mental palace, nor his days in silence where he only played the violin. And he never felt bored or felt the need to use drugs, because she was a great mystery that entertained him when he had no cases to solve, he wanted to understand her and was in fact beginning to believe that love is not a chemical defect, and he accepted that if he really was, he was willing to accept such a defect.

(Y / N) was a really mysterious girl, nobody knew what she was thinking, they never knew how she would react to anything, they also had no information about her personal life or past she emerged as a ghost without anyone knowing an explanation to do so, however, their talents to solve crimes drew the attention of everyone by diverting their suspicions. The cruel truth was that the girl was a murderer, everyone in the world of crime knew her for her cold and bloodthirsty murders. She had fun with what she did, tortured victims until she was bored again, killed when she wanted or when they hired her for such a function, her life came down to that, and this time his mission was more than just ordinary murder.

Moryart told Sherlock that he would burn his heart and that was the criminal adviser's new plan, he knew that girl would be able to win over the detective and knew that he would suffer from the sad reality when he discovered that it was all just a plan, when she got tired playing house with Sherlock she might as well kill him as she wished, and her fame as a torturer gave evidence that she would destroy him physically and psychologically, it was all just a game.

A very fun game

-

Eight months passed, Sherlock and (Y / N) had a six-month relationship. Both were on an ordinary day, the girl was lying on the leather sofa staring at the ceiling, the detective was out chasing some criminal as usual. Her attention was diverted by a call which she answered simultaneously

'' This game is starting to get boring, does he keep meddling where he shouldn't and taking away my patience, when you plans to kill him? '' The girl hesitates to answer '' don't tell me you got attached to him, I expected more from you, 24 hours to kill him or others will go after him and in that case know that the target will also include you '' and so the call was disconnected without her being able to say a word.

It was a blow to the assassin's pride when she realize she had become attached to that boy, the way he thought of her intelligence, the way he looked at her as if she were the most important being on the planet with those beautiful blue eyes despite his terrible temper and difficulty expressing feelings she knew he really loved her. However, this was her job, she always knew that this moment would come.

'' Why is this so difficult? '' She yells at herself in frustration

''What is so difficult? '' She jumps up, sitting on the sofa, turns around and looks at Sherlock in the doorframe, how long had he been there without saying anything?

Without saying a word she walks up to him and hugs him making him be amazed

‘'I’m starting to get scared, you usually hate any show of affection, and you avoid them more than I’ ”he jokes

She walks away and offers him tea walking towards the kitchen where she makes one of the most painful decisions of her life.

When he returns to the other room, he hands the cup to the boy, who soon ingests the liquid and extinguishes it in his chair. She walks to the room where she picks up all her belongings, changes clothes by dressing discreetly, she would need to go unnoticed when she runs away. At the bottom of her bag is a loaded gun which she hesitantly holds. She closes her purse and walks towards Sherlock, unlit sleeping innocently with her calm face. She wished he had found out who she was, ending up in prison would be better than that.

Hours passed she walked uncertainly around the environment, he could wake up at any moment, and then in an attempt to buy time she vacates her hands by placing the gun on a support on her leg, removing handcuffs from her pocket '' doing this with him awake and a little dizzy and helpless can be better isn't it?" I always liked to see the despair in the eyes of the victims' I tried to convince herself, by closing the handcuff on one wrist she is surprised because he quickly attaches it to the other side of the handcuff.

Surprised and without knowing how to react she looks at him, he opens his eyes and looks at her seriously

‘’ I knew something was strange ’'

‘'Did you take time to realize ohh great detective, why did you hand cuff me to you?’'

‘‘Thinking fast, I deduced that it mustn’t be pleasant to be attached to a corpse ..’' he would say something but it was cut off with a gunshot

In the case the noise came from her gun which she pulled quickly and fired at an assassin at the door.

‘'I advise you to get up and follow me now Sherlock’'

‘’ What happened to nicknames like love or Sher? ’’ He asks sarcastically as he stands up and has the question completely ignored.

'' I think you've already noticed what's going on at that point .. '' he can feel the regret in her voice '' Where are we going? '' He asks being ignored as she drags him running along dark, little-moving paths from London, watching the surrounding area fearing new assassins lurking.

—

At some point she shot the handcuffs, breaking them apart, separating the two, but she forced him into a car, he silently obeyed her, but soon he couldn't contain himself.

‘'Was that car your plan for escape? ’’ She nodded saying yes in response ‘‘ have a gun in the glove compartment, I advise you to take it out just in case, there must be more assassins on the way ‘’

After that they spent hours in silence in that car until she finally parked it and was followed by him.

''Where are we ? Would you mind answering me now please ’'Sherlock asked in anguish, the whole situation was destroying him.

She closed the door locks and sat on a large sofa

‘’ This is the safest place I know, my house, the rest you deduced already ‘’ he felt hurt when she talked about that being his home, he really liked to believe that her house was on 221B with him

''You are a murderer, hired to kill me, because of the way you shot that man, you seem to do that often, can I dare to ask why? ’'

‘’ I was bored ’’ the room was flooded with silence until he got up his courage, he handed her the gun he had picked up in the car and placed next to her on the couch, he knelt in front of her.

‘'Go ahead, kill me’'she cannot help being astonished to hear Sherlock utter such words

‘'What do you think you’re saying?’'

'' Feeling is a chemical defect found in losers, I am admitting my defeat, love is in fact a dangerous disadvantage .. ’'

(Y / N) stares at him in amazement as he completes '' I really love you '' ducking his head waiting for a coup de grace from her '' Stop being so heartless and kill me .. '' he is cut by a kiss, her arms soon fall over the girl's waist and hers hug her neck. When they separate, she dries a lonely tear that drips from one of his beautiful blue eyes. ‘'I love you Sher, at first I really planned to kill you but I ended up falling in love, we’re two losers’' she hugs him

‘’ What’s going to happen now?’’ He asks fearfully '‘I’m going to murder everyone who might hurt you and protect the love of my life’ ’

It would be difficult from now on. But nothing they could not face for each other, she would surely save him.

second chapter: here