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underthetree845 · 6 months ago

Note

chuuya taking his hat off to hide when he kisses his partner 🤭

Hello saturn lovely! Sorry this took me so long to finish TwT I love the prompt, but as you know writer's block hit me kinda hard the second semester of school so over the summer I've been trying to get back into the swing of posting once in a while!

Hope you enjoy <3 thank you for the request! _

Kiss Me Hard Before You Go

Nakahara Chuuya/Reader (oneshot request)

cws: fem! reader, established relationship, bungou stray dogs s5 spoilers, meursault arc spoilers, fluff, hurt/comfort kinda? there was a little hurt, reuniting, airport reunion, ada dazai, reader cries about 2.5k words summary: Chuuya disappeared on a business trip for three whole days with no explanation- and no one would tell you why. Now he's returned to japan and back in your arms. a/n: This is my last fic for the summer before school starts aaa qwq I'm glad I was able to finish it before the semester starts though! *sigh* am I really incapable of writing something like this without accidentally creating so much plot? Anyways, hope you enjoy! <3 divider credit: (x) (x) ‧˚₊•┈┈┈┈୨୧┈┈┈┈•‧₊˚⊹ Chuuya had never considered himself to be a very possessive man; or a possessive boyfriend, for that matter. Protective, sure, but how could anyone expect him not to be? He understood, probably better than most, the risks that came with even so much as associating with a person in his position. It made Chuuya’s stomach churn unpleasantly to even imagine putting you in any sort of danger, so he used his position (along with the power and assets that came with it) to take certain preventative measures. The penthouse you shared was equipped with state of the art security, a technological system truly fit for an executive of the Port Mafia. Additionally, in case you ever needed to travel long distances without him, Chuuya often kept a trusted chauffeur on call. This individual also happened to be a professionally trained underground bodyguard of his personal selection. Even so, Chuuya knew you had a good head on your shoulders. He trusted that you would try to keep yourself out of trouble, or call for him at the first sign of it. It didn’t matter if he was on the road, halfway through a private meeting, or in the middle of pummeling down an enemy organization. Chuuya had always been a man with his priorities set straight. Not even Mori’s notifications were set to come through on silent mode. Coming home to you at the end of the day, allowing you to soothe away the crease between his brows, your voice uttering sweet nothings against the shell of his ear. You had become his lifeline, irreversibly carved your name into every cell of his body. He’d do anything to erase your pain, and it was making his heart break more than anything to know that he was the cause of the salty tears now streaming over your lash line. Chuuya did his best to hold back an ‘oof’ when you threw your frame into his own, burying your sobs in the crook of his neck. He was immediately overwhelmed with the scent of your perfume, the familiar feeling of your body against his own, the softness of the sweater you wore, and the glimmer that never seemed to escape your eyes. The red colored contacts from earlier had given Chuuya one hell of a headache, which only added to the pressure from taking off and being stuck in one of the mafia’s smallest private jets with the most insufferable jackass he’d ever met and some hair dye obsessed casino manager passed out on one of the couches. Chuuya’s gloved fingers almost trembled as they gripped the fabric of your shirt. He lifted a hand to cradle the back of your head while the other remained planted firmly on your lower back.

Sakaguchi Ango, if Chuuya remembered correctly, stood a few yards away. He simply observed the situation from afar, as if he dared not insert himself into the scene. A government agent whom Dazai used to maintain his connection with the outside world. Ango stood with one hand folded neatly over the other behind his back, the faint ghost of a smile residing behind his glasses as he watched Dazai reunite with his fellow agency members. The brunette walked on a crutch, but the uncharacteristically tired look in his eyes brightened ever so slightly when he was swarmed by his coworkers. Chuuya continued to hold you close, patiently waiting for your sobs to die down enough for you to be able to speak coherently. He loosened his grip slightly, removing one of his leather gloves behind your back and bringing that same hand up to cup your face. A whisper of your name left his lips, and your teary eyes finally refocused to meet the warmth of his own. “Chuuya… how could you just leave?” your voice cracked; he could see the hurt in your eyes. Guilt crept into his chest, eyebrows knitting together as you subconsciously leaned into his palm. This was exactly the sort of thing Chuuya promised himself he’d never do. You were the absolute number one priority in his life. There was no doubt in his mind; he didn’t want there to be any doubt in yours either. “I know, Doll, ‘m sorry, it was never my intention…” he muttered, allowing you to rest your hands on his chest. “I know that’s a shit excuse, but I’ll make it up to you, I swear.” A beat of silence passed, the indistinct chatter of the agency fell on deaf ears as you zoned in on the man in front of you. His breath, the way his eyes searched your expression, how you could once again feel the warmth of his skin against your own. “You’re not hurt, are you?” your voice was pricked with concern, hands gentle as you cupped his jaw and turned his head from side to side. Chuuya let out a breath, fondness flickering in his irises at your concern. “Barely a scratch,” he murmured, and you seemed to accept his answer. “Chuuya,” you started, and his gaze locked onto yours. He voiced your name in response. “I need you to promise me something, please?” “Anything.”

You bit your lip. Your mind told you it was a selfish request. You understood, probably better than most, how unpredictable your boyfriend’s line of work could be. But you had accepted it as an adequate price to pay for his love when the two of you started seeing each other, even more so when you moved in together. He was yours, you believed it with every fiber of your being. Chuuya had told enough stories of his old work partner for you to gather that the two had never exactly been the chummiest of pals. So the fact that they cooperated for this mission must’ve meant that it couldn’t have been a minor dilemma. You understood why Chuuya made the decision he did, and that it was probably just as difficult on him. Albeit, that didn’t make your feelings any less real. Your heart reminded you of the unconditional love and comfort that Chuuya always offered you. You knew he’d never intentionally hurt your feelings, especially not without talking it out and making up for it in some way afterward. “Doll…?” he barely breathed, giving you all the space you needed to voice what was on your mind. You took a deep breath. “Don’t… please don’t scare me like that again,” your voice wavered as you spoke, “Everything on the news is scary. And every time I watch it all I can think about is the fact that you’re out there.” You took a moment to glance at the group of Armed Detective Agency members on the airport runway to your left. One of the so-called terrorists you heard about on the news stood amongst the group about ten feet away from where you watched. The world was confusing, and scary, but there was a certain security in your heart that told you as long as you had Chuuya by your side, everything would be okay. “First you’re leaving before sunrise and staying out late on special missions, and I get it, I really do…” you felt a lump beginning to form in your throat, threatening to make you choke over your words, “but then you just leave on a business trip to Europe without so much as a ‘goodbye, I’ll be home soon’? And I have to find out from a call from your boss? I didn’t- I still don’t understand what’s happening. Do you know how scared I was? That I might not ever see you again?” Chuuya’s thumb swiped away the teardrop that ran down your cheek, his eyes trailing over your expression. “You’re right, it’s not fair… I don’t think I could ever apologize enough,” he began, his hold on you tightening slightly, “All that I can ask is for you to understand. I can explain everything to you when we get home. And I promise, I’ll do my best to not leave you in the dark so suddenly. It was an urgent mission, but it must have been scary. You’ll never have to feel like that again, not if I can help it.” Chuuya’s face softened, the corners of your lips curving up slightly at his sincerity as he cupped your cheek. “Shit… you deserve so much better.” You stood there for a moment, just breathing. Soaking in each other’s presence as your heartbeat gradually fell back to its usual pace.

“My my, Slug, is this the lovely lady you were so eager to get back to?” a voice chimed from your left, and you turned your head to face the man at the same time Chuuya snapped his head in that direction. Your boyfriend clicked his teeth, pressing your body closer to his own. “What’s it to you, huh, Dazai?” Chuuya was clearly trying to suppress his irritation. He was doing especially well, considering the fact that he had been holed up next to Dazai on an airplane for the past fourteen hours. “I’m just trying to acquaint myself,” the man went on, a grin playing on his lips despite Chuuya’s glare, “As a responsible owner, I should at least make sure my dog is in good hands.” You tilted your head slightly, and Chuuya sucked in a breath. “You’re treading on some pretty thin ice, Mackerel,” he growled through gritted teeth, “Watch what you say around my girl.” The taller man only took a step forward, his eyes glittering in amusement, a sharp contrast to the hollowed out, almost dead look he carried earlier. “Oh? Holding back your more vulgar language around the lady?” Dazai hummed with mild intrigue, “Perhaps my dog is being well taken care of.” You simply stood and watched with intrigue, the interaction clearly more complex than distinguishable at first glance. Despite their constant verbal jabs and ostentatious insults toward each other, there was a sense of familiarity between the two that was almost palpable to you. They bounced off each other, knowing exactly which buttons to press and which ones to avoid. It was probably a welcome change of tone in contrast to what they had just been through. Your gaze flickered between the two once more, and you couldn’t help but notice how the tension in Chuuya’s shoulders had been released. “Dazai-san?” your voice was level, and both of the men fell silent to give you their attention. You looked at your beloved, then to his ex-partner, then Chuuya, then Dazai again. Mirth swam in your eyes. “I want to thank you for making sure Chuuya was able to return home safely today. Truly, I cannot thank you enough.” You gave a slight bow of your head, and Chuuya looked like he wanted to protest. For once, Dazai didn’t immediately produce a response; he fell silent at your sentiment. This time, a gentler smile curved onto his lips. “Please spare me, Miss,” Dazai began, “Truth be told, I don’t believe I could have made it out without Chuuya’s help either.” The redhead raised his eyebrows. "I'm passing him into your capable hands now. I trust you’ll take good care of him?” Dazai seemed satisfied with the chuckle that slipped from your throat. “You have nothing to worry about,” you replied, “And I trust that your detective agency will treat you well?” “They always have.” Chuuya let out a breath, sharing a look with his partner before turning to face a black passenger vehicle that had pulled up a short distance away. Tinted windows that prevented anyone outside from peeking in; glass, body, and tires that were all bulletproof. It was one of the mafia’s.

“C’mon Dollface, we should get going. Don’t wanna be here when the press shows up, and the boss is probably dying for me to give him a call,” Chuuya nodded his head in the direction of the car; you brought your hand up to give a small wave to Dazai and the handful of agency members further away who glanced in your direction. You let out a sigh you didn’t know you were holding in, allowing your head to rest on Chuuya’s shoulder as you made your way to the car. You felt like you could finally breathe properly again. The door unlocked with a quiet click. Chuuya swung open the door of the vehicle with his non gloved hand and stepped aside to allow you to enter first. “...Chuu?” you started quietly, taking a step closer to where he stood. “Hm?” he raised an eyebrow. You placed your hands loosely on the back of his neck, fingers intertwined; Chuuya responded by resting his hands on your hips, listening intently. You could have held more of a grudge. He disappeared overnight without a word, and no one would tell you why. You’d been on edge for three days straight. Hardly even sleeping through the night as you kept up with the news almost obsessively, hoping to catch a glimpse of him. To be able to hold Chuuya close again so easily felt almost surreal. A soft smile creeped into your expression, the corners of your eyes crinkling as you tilted your head to the side. Chuuya’s breath stilled. “I’m just…” you paused for a moment, your voice pouring with sincerity, “I’m really glad you’re back, and that you’re safe.” Chuuya paused for another moment, studying you carefully as an equally tender look came to his face. He glanced to the side for a moment, and let out a disgruntled huff upon discovering that Dazai’s head was still tilted in your direction; he kept a curious eye on the situation from several meters away. Your boyfriend pursed his lips for a moment before snaking one of his hands further around your waist. He plucked his pork pie hat off the crown of his head, and before you had the chance to realize what was going on, you were already being gracefully tilted backwards, forcing your hands to grip onto the lapel of Chuuya’s jacket for support. Everything seemed to still the moment he slotted his lips into yours, holding his hat up to act as a shield from certain prying eyes. You didn’t hesitate to pull him in closer, your lashes fluttering shut as you savored what you felt like you had been missing for an eternity. Chuuya’s eyes were shut in concentration, his heart thrumming with delight at the familiar sensation of your lips molded against his own. Chuuya didn’t pull away until you were both light-headed from the lack of air. Cheeks flooded with warmth, looking at each other as if you were the only two people in the entire world. “I missed you so fucking much, you know that?” Chuuya’s voice was low as he brushed his thumb over your cheek. The two of you stood straight, lingering in each other’s embrace for a moment longer. Chuuya lightly tossed his hat inside the car and once more gestured with his arm out for you to enter first. The satisfied smile on his lips morphed into one of slight perplexion when you didn’t show a reaction, raising your fingertips to brush over your lips. “Chuuya?” you questioned, and his eyebrows furrowed in confusion. He replied with your name, all the more puzzled when you let out an incredulous chuckle. “Since when are your teeth so sharp?”

‧˚₊•┈┈┈┈୨୧┈┈┈┈•‧₊˚⊹ a/n: Thank you so much for reading! Have a day/night/morning/evening as lovely as yourself. tagging: @judasgot-it (I noticed that I wrote down that I agreed to tag you for chuuya fics but I can't seem to remember why?? TwT please tell me if this is incorrect! Thank you <3)

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sansaorgana · 2 months ago

Text

— CHRYSALIS (I)

PART TWO

PAIRING — Sauron x fem!half-Vala/half-Elf!Reader (Morgoth's Daughter)

SUMMARY — She is no Vala, no Maia and no Elf. Whatever she is remains the most exceptional and undeniably powerful. Morgoth's daughter can either heal Middle-earth or destroy it. Mairon makes a promise to her mother – the one he had once kidnapped for his master – that he would take care of this extraordinary creature but it is no easy task.

AUTHOR’S NOTE — It is a bit of a crazy idea, gotta admit, and I probably fucked with canon waaaay too much but bear with me, please! 🤣 I came up with this idea after reading on the Wiki that Morgoth was bound to his physical form, so I assumed he could actually have a child? 🤔 Anyway, in the beginning of this story you get the backstory of Reader's mother and Morgoth. Reader's mother was given a name (Tasarë, which is supposed to mean willow) but her physical appearance is not described (nor is Reader's). That backstory of Tasarë and Morgoth was my idea for another Sauron x Reader fanfic but I couldn't figure out how they could possibly end up together after she develops Stockholm's Syndrome for Morgoth, so I just used the idea in this fic as a backstory of Reader's mother. I also chose this title for the fic because butterflies appear quite a lot in this fanfic and I think the Reader is a bit like a chrysalis as well – nobody knows what will become of her.

WARNINGS — kidnapping, forced marriage, Stockholm's Syndrome (Reader's mother), abusive relationships (Reader's mother with Morgoth AND Reader with Sauron), manipulation, First Age Sauron being his loser self but still trying to get his way as usual, the Reader being half light/half darkness, which results in her acting unhinged at times (she mostly speaks in a dramatic manner lmao)

WORD COUNT — 6,400

ENGLISH IS MY SECOND LANGUAGE.

CHRYSALIS (I)

Tasarë was her name – young Elven girl Mairon saw through the trees in his wolf form. His yellow eyes of the beast were following the way she danced around the fire with her friends, her long hair waving in the wind and her laughter travelling through the cold air of the night.

Perhaps none of this story would happen if she hadn’t looked back, sensing his presence. He could sense from afar the shiver that went down her spine after spotting him and their eyes met – hers filling with fear after realising she had been observed by a werewolf.

Startled by her sensing his presence, Mairon ran away from there to meet with his master who impatiently awaited his report. As usual, Melkor wanted to make sure Mairon was not lying about anything, therefore he allowed himself to sneak into his servant’s mind. And amongst his memories of the battles and schemes, he found the one about the young Elven maiden Tasarë and Mairon’s fascination with her.

“You will bring her to me,” Melkor ordered. “And she will be untouched and unspoiled when she arrives here.”

Mairon nodded. He could not refuse, could he? And he could never defile what belonged to his master, so he obeyed the order completely.

He kidnapped Tasarë away from her village and her pure heart treated him with nothing but kindness throughout their whole journey. She begged him often to let her go and if it depended on him only – he would. He would, in a heartbeat.

Or perhaps he would not. Perhaps he would keep her for himself.

But he knew that he was taking her to her demise. What would Melkor do to her? Each time she smiled at Mairon while bathing in the moonlight, radiating pure beauty and light, he wondered about the pain that awaited her and his heart ached for her.

“When we arrive there, what will happen to me?” She asked once as if she had already accepted the fact she was kidnapped but the details had been kept from her until now.

“You will become a bride,” Mairon informed her and a hint of smile showed on her face, which surprised him.

“Yours?” She inquired. Perhaps such a thought was not as dreadful to her as he would expect – after all the weeks they had spent together, he became the devil she knew, after all.

“My master’s,” Mairon answered and her smile disappeared as her body froze.

“Your master?” Tasarë raised an eyebrow.

“I cannot tell you his name,” Mairon shook his head and she looked up at the night sky with tears filling her eyes.

“Do not then. I believe I know already,” she whispered.

When Mairon brought her to Melkor’s fortress, it was the last time he saw her. The Dark Lord sent him away right after as if he was afraid of the bond forged between Tasarë and his servant.

And when Mairon was back from his mission, Tasarë was not in the fortress anymore. From Melkor’s other servants, Mairon found out that his master sent her away to one of the most secluded castles up in the coldest and loneliest realms of the North. Where she was hidden from everyone and everything and where Melkor could visit her whenever he wanted to. His little bride no one else could even lay their eyes on.

“How can she endure that?” Mairon whispered but the answer he received was even sadder than whatever he had been expecting instead.

“She grew to love him. She had no other choice.”

Many long years had passed since that time and Mairon never expected to see Tasarë again but Melkor sent him – his most loyal servant – to his most secluded and hidden fortress to carry a very important message to his lover. Mairon was supposed to be a messenger and he tried his best not to show his enthusiasm too much because it could worry and alarm his master.

It was not pure joy or excitement, however, no. It was also a curiosity with a bit of anxiety at the thought of what could be left of Tasarë after all the centuries of being Melkor’s bride.

The journey was long and boring – there was nothing around but vast land of white snow and dried out trees. The place where she was being kept was the most secluded and the loneliest he could imagine. He wondered if it was still in the same dimension because the longer he travelled, the more he felt as if he was crossing a bridge from one world to another.

He spotted the castle first – enormous and black with tall towers shaped as if they were spikes. It contrasted with the white land of endless snow although the weather was dark and gloomy. Days were short here if they existed at all.

As he travelled through the snow, nearly effortlessly due to the fact he was a Maia, therefore the cold was not his enemy, he spotted something that made him furrow his brows – footsteps on the snow.

They belonged to a person – a female, he assumed, judging by the size. Was it possible that Tasarë was not as obedient to Melkor as her lover had been suspecting? After all, she was not supposed to ever leave the castle’s walls.

Mairon followed the traces with his heart pounding in his chest, awaiting to see her again but then he froze at the sight of a young woman sitting on the snow nearby one of the castle’s back doors, under a leafless tree with ice-decorated branches.

The young woman was certainly not Tasarë although she resembled her a little. Her ears were pointed but Mairon could feel even from afar that she was no ordinary Elf. She was a creature much more powerful and when he squinted his eyes, he noticed that flowers were growing under her hands and butterflies were flying around her as she laughed. She could not only bend the world to her liking but she could also create new life. She was no goddess, though, of that he was sure.

She was no Elf, no Maia, no Vala. What was she, he wondered…?

When she turned around for a moment while looking at the butterflies, his heart froze in his chest. Her face was… terrifying.

It was undeniably beautiful but gruesome at the same time. Whoever would stare at her for too long, could risk being turned into a stone. There was only one as godly beautiful as scary to the point of no one being able to look at his face for too long and Melkor was his name.

“Who are you? Why are you hiding there?” The young woman asked as a butterfly sat on her hand and she batted her snow-covered eyelashes while looking in the direction of Mairon who was hiding behind a huge rock covered with ice.

“I… Forgive me,” he cleared his throat and stepped out, bowing his head slightly and she chuckled.

“Your hair resembles fire,” she pointed out. “Are you here to burn me?”

“I don't even know who you are,” Mairon confessed. “I am here for Lady Tasarë,” he explained and the girl pouted.

“Sad,” she shrugged her arms. “I hoped that finally some adventure would happen to me. Do you know I have been living in this castle ever since I was born? A whole century!” She whined. She was an adult already but still very young and considering the fact she did not know the real world, it was understandable that she was still like a child in many ways. “Is there anything else except for the snow?”

“There is,” Mairon assured her and crouched down next to her as he pointed at the butterfly on her hand. “You create such things. Flowers, butterflies…”

“Oh, but they…” She looked down sadly and then she looked up again to meet his gaze but with so much mischief in her eyes that a shiver travelled down Mairon’s spine at how terrifying she truly was. “I bring them to life only to die. Look, they’re drying out already in the cold. I give them life and they suffer because of my whim,” she informed him without any emotion whatsoever.

“Why then?” Mairon inquired.

“Because I am selfish,” she answered. “I destroy.”

“You can heal, too,” Mairon assured her and reached out to help the dying butterfly. “Look,” he focused on giving away some of his energy to make the butterfly regain its strength and the young woman’s eyes sparkled as she laughed.

“You fed him with your own spirit,” she noticed. “Why do you think I would let any parasite feed off of me? Who would be ever worthy of sharing my power?” She asked and Mairon’s mouth opened slightly as he was thinking of an answer but they were interrupted by another woman walking out of the castle through the back door.

“(Y/N),” familiar but horribly changed voice caused his facial muscles to twitch out of nervousness. “You are forbidden from going outside. How many more times do I have to say that?”

“You’ve no control over me. I am my own storm; my own thunder,” the girl named (Y/N) stood up angrily.

Mairon stood up as well and straightened his back as he clasped his hands and kept staring down, not daring to look up before being addressed.

“Stop being dramatic and go back inside,” Tasarë sighed and (Y/N) groaned out of frustration before going inside the castle. “Mairon,” the Elf finally called his name and he raised his head.

His heart skipped a beat at the sight of her. Her kin was known for staying forever young, yet she aged in the most peculiar way. The corruption and rot had spread throughout her and there was nothing but a shell of her old self now. In a way, she reminded Mairon of the fallen Elves that Melkor had taken to turn into the Uruks but she remained more beautiful than them and she was not covered with any scars.

Because it was not his torture that had damaged her but his love. Everything about him was destructive and deadly.

The young Elven maiden dancing innocently around the fire in the moonlight was long gone. The woman standing in front of him was a mockery of her old self.

“Stop pitying me, Mairon,” she snarled at him with contempt. “Did he send you here or were you a fool to give in to your urges to find me and check on the state of me?” She asked.

“He sent me,” Mairon answered. “I have a message.”

“Come in then,” Tasarë pointed at the doors and he went inside the castle. It was as dark and cold on the inside as on the outside.

Tasarë led him to the big room where (Y/N) was sitting as well. She was reading a manuscript by the fire and looked up with a wicked smile at the sight of them.

“Leave us,” Tasarë ordered and the young girl clenched her jaw out of anger before walking out.

“Who is she?” Mairon asked in a whisper.

“You know who she is. You suspect. The answer is yes,” Tasarë sat by the table and reached her hand out for him to hand her the message.

Mairon did so but his brow remained furrowed. Well, it was possible for his master to become a father – as wicked as it sounded – but he was now bound to the form of his flesh. That was the very reason why he was avoiding taking part in his battles despite some accusing him of cowardice. And for a Vala, being bound to the form of your flesh also meant that you could reproduce.

“Forgive me. I have asked the wrong question,” Mairon interrupted Tasarë as she was reading and she looked up to meet his gaze, irritated. “I should have not asked who she was,” he nodded. “What is she?”

“It is hard to tell,” Tasarë answered. “She is like a god but weaker than one. Perhaps a bit like you. She can change her forms and no ordinary blow will slay her. She can create life as you have already seen. She… terrifies me,” Tasarë confessed. “But I love her.”

“Like you love her father?”

Tasarë gave him a scolding look.

“You are asking too many questions, Mairon. He will look through your mind, don’t you know? He will punish you for the fact you have seen (Y/N). That you know about her. That you dared to ask about her and now this… My sweet devil, you must enjoy the pain he is giving you,” she shook her head.

“So do you, apparently,” Mairon did not give up. The punishment would come anyway already, she was right about that.

“It is impossible not to… He is a god,” Tasarë explained as if she was surprised that she had to explain that at all. “Do you have any idea how it feels to be chosen by a god?”

“Not like you do,” Mairon admitted.

Long silence occurred and Tasarë looked around as if she was scared Melkor was right there, spying on them. Because, perhaps he could be. She beckoned Mairon over and he leaned in to hear her words better and her lips nearly brushed his slightly pointed ear as his ginger hair tickled her cheek.

“I have dismissed her to protect you and her from his wrath. You cannot know too much about her but one thing I shall tell you – she is half me, too. Half of the real me. The woman you saw dancing by the fire as a beast; the woman you kidnapped to lay her on his lethal altar and sacrifice her. And now her daughter terrifies me but the amount of her power is so vast… She can heal as much as destroy, my sweet master of deception. And I can see how much healing is what you truly crave,” Tasarë confessed. “Promise me that you will take care of her if anything happens. That you will watch over her. You owe me that. You owe that to the young maiden you took away from her family for him to destroy.”

“I can’t assure you I will be able to tame her,” Mairon breathed out, taken aback by her plea.

“I am not asking you to tame her,” Tasarë shot him a glance. “Don’t you even dare! I am asking you to… accompany her. She is awfully lonely here. She craves to see the world and I am sure the world craves to see her as well for she is a wonder.”

“I will,” Mairon nodded, with all seriousness.

He had seen (Y/N) only for a while but he was drawn to her already. In a way, he understood why Melkor was hiding her from the world. Everyone would be drawn to her. She was the most extraordinary creature. Her enormous power, the light balancing with the darkness within her – the innocence mixed with wickedness.

He was honoured to be chosen by her mother to be burdened with such a task. And he owed her that favor.

When Melkor fell and the Valar locked him away, Tasarë followed him even though she was offered mercy. But there was no life for her anymore except for the life next to her lover and she refused to abandon him in the abyss. She volunteered to spend the eternity there with him and the Valar were in awe of her devotion to the point they granted her Elven flesh the possibility of spending her forever alongside Melkor in the dimension of his prison.

The Valar also found out about the existence of (Y/N) and they debated for a long time about what to do with a creature so extraordinary. However, she remained completely innocent so far and the only danger about her was her father’s heritage.

Nienna, She Who Weeps, was (Y/N)’s greatest advocate. And when Mairon was given his second chance to come back to Valinor and face his judgement, they asked him to bring (Y/N) with him because they wanted to meet her – yet the castle she was in remained out of their grasp, which only made Mairon realise that it was truly another dimension that his master had created to hide his lover and offspring in from the world.

And so Mairon went back to that secluded realm in the North, trying to find his master’s daughter. And he found her inside the castle, curled on the floor, in the middle of the biggest room. She seemed to be frozen but she was obviously still alive. He crouched down next to her and touched her shoulder gently, which caused her to stir.

“They abandoned me. Both of them. I shall stay here forever,” she mumbled out.

“Did you not want to see the world?” Mairon asked her gently and (Y/N) looked up at him as she snorted.

“That was a long time ago. My father is defeated now. There is no world for me anymore,” she answered, as dramatically as when he had met her for the first time a few centuries earlier.

“Truth to be told, your father was destroying the world. There would be nothing for you to see if he succeeded. But it is still there, although hurt and bruised. Together, we can heal it,” Mairon offered her his hand.

(Y/N) raised an eyebrow at him, visibly intrigued. She sat up and fixed her hair.

“I promised your mother to watch over you if anything happens. She did not want you to be left alone,” he added to encourage her.

“Why would she ask you out of all?” (Y/N) remained suspicious, doubting his status.

“My name is Mairon. I was your father’s most powerful Lieutenant,” Mairon pointed out, nearly offended that he had to introduce himself to anyone. “Most people know me by a different name, though. It is… Sauron,” he winced a little while saying this.

“The Abhorred,” (Y/N) hummed to herself. “Ah, yes, my mother only spoke of you this way when you were not around,” she added and Mairon pursed his lips, trying not to show his irritation too much. “Well, do you promise me that I will see the world?” She asked as she held his hand, which he still kept extended.

“Yes, I do,” Mairon nodded.

It was never his intention to inform her about the chance the Valar wanted to give them. No, it was not his plan to take her to Valinor and to face their judgement. He had much better plans for the two of them.

Ever since he had seen her for the first time and the promise he had made to her mother, he could not help imagining and plotting them two ruling over Middle-earth. And when Melkor’s defeat had become a question of when instead of if, he had already known that (Y/N) was his future.

Despite the seed of evil deep inside of her – alongside the seed of goodness, of course – she was an innocent being who knew nothing of the real world. He could shape her the way he wished and whatever would come out of her was all in his hands now. In a way, he was a god of this situation – considering she would not be too uncontrollable due to her undeniable power. But which seed would grow within her was up to him entirely. It was his choice which part of her he would water and feed, pamper and spoil.

“We will go everywhere. We will heal and we will conquer. I will take your father’s place amongst the dark creatures of the shadows. I will lead them and I will rule over Middle-earth but you will not be hidden away any longer. No, you will be right by my side,” Mairon promised. He was always good with words and he could see how her terrifying eyes were starting to sparkle at his promises.

“As?” She inquired.

“What do you mean as?” He furrowed his brows.

“As whom? I will be by your side as whom?” (Y/N) explained her question.

“As whoever you wish to be. I am not here to tame you,” he remembered her mother’s words.

No, he was there to use her. To take advantage of her power and to bask in it. To introduce her as Morgoth’s daughter and his right hand, which would convince the dark creatures to follow him more eagerly.

And to have her as his own, to own her, to be the only man able to touch her and look at her. His master’s daughter – she was a prize indeed. Half-goddess he was unworthy of and yet she would eat from his hand.

Those were only bold daydreams that he knew his master and her mother would kill him for but they were far away and he remained out of their reach.

Because perhaps there was some goodness in him still and that urge to heal the world but at heart he was a predator and a warlord. And even though she still felt like nothing but Melkor’s humbled servant sometimes, he knew that with time he would eventually bloom into his worthy successor. Offering him her daughter while calling out the remains of his softness, Tasarë had not known that she had been giving (Y/N) away to Melkor’s shadow.

“I can sense your greed, Sauron,” (Y/N) squeezed his fingers tighter as if she was trapping him. “But greed is no stranger to me for I have been locked here since birth. I am greedy for life. Selfish for it. And I need your guidance,” she confessed, looking deep into his eyes.

He saw fire in her gaze – her father’s uncontrollable destruction. Perhaps he should slay her and leave her to rot. Perhaps it would be for the better for the whole of Middle-earth and for him, too. He got scared suddenly that he would never be able to keep her temper and her powers under control.

That not only she would finish her father’s work but she would overthrow him – Mairon himself.

But he could also see the flowers blooming and the sun rising above the green hills – she and she only could turn Middle-earth into a realm as beautiful as Valinor; the place he was no longer welcome.

Mairon helped (Y/N) to stand up and he adjusted her dresses as if he was a maid, getting rid of all the dust.

“Do you think the world will fall on its knees at the sight of me?” She asked without the smallest hint of irony. Nearly innocently she believed that she was the most exceptional and the most special creature. And the worst thing was that she had every right to because she was.

“I will make sure of it,” Mairon promised her and she smiled.

And when she was smiling, she was resembling her mother the most – the very same kind smile Tasarë had been giving him during their journey to Melkor after he had kidnapped her.

Mairon’s heart clenched at the memory.

From one fortress to another Mairon took her – from one prison to another, (Y/N) would say. They had moved South significantly but they hadn’t even left the North yet and (Y/N) was bitter about it since snow and ice was still all she could see. She was unprepared to roam freely around Middle-earth, though, and she was given much more space now instead while the new fortress was much fuller with creatures of all kinds, therefore she could no longer call herself lonely.

It made Mairon happy to see how the Orcs were bowing their heads at the sight of her, nearly touching the ground with their foreheads; too scared to look into her terrifying, cold eyes. He was so excited about it that he did not realise how suspicious Adar was getting.

(Y/N) was given the most beautiful gowns by Mairon and even though it was making him feel frustrated to feel this way – he truly enjoyed giving her gifts and watching her eyes sparkle, although sometimes she would openly admit she found something ugly. He waited for her harsh judgement with anticipation and her approval meant the world to him, meanwhile her rejection felt like a blow. And he hated that for one reason only – it was a brutal reminder that he was a Maia and his nature was of a servant.

His eyes always followed her – he told himself it was to protect her but truth to be told, it was the world that should be protected from her and not the other way around. Yet, he witnessed her whims and dramatic outbursts, her laughter – both pure and wicked – her dancing and her acts of creation. Within the walls of this fortress her butterflies lived much longer and she adorably found it endearing.

But she was also fascinated by the weapons of all sorts and forbidden magic spells left by her father. Her blood was as black and thick as his, Mairon noticed one day when she drew it with a dagger to perform one innocent spell.

He felt like a nanny sometimes – running towards her to take away the books with too dangerous spells from her. She was yet unprepared to use them. He did not even want to think about what would happen if she was left unsupervised.

Therefore, even in her dreams he followed her and she often dreamt of her mother and of imaginary lands since she had no idea what the real ones looked like. And he had to admit the realms (Y/N) was creating with her mind were… beautiful. They were full of sun and green fields of grass, butterflies and flowers. They were ideal and full of harmony – the very first time Mairon had joined them in her dreams, he nearly cried because it was exactly how he wanted the world to look like. But it also meant that at the end of the day (Y/N)’s heart remained pure and uncorrupted.

And just like that, he fell in love with her. As her protector, as her servant, as her subject, as her friend. As her lover.

One evening Mairon asked (Y/N) to join him in the forge where she had not yet been. She walked inside and looked around with widened eyes and a smile – soft but a little contemptuous as well.

“Do you like it?” Mairon asked her with his hands clasped nervously behind his back.

“Perhaps. But is it not a commoner’s work to commit himself to physical labour?” She leaned her back onto the pillar and Mairon chuckled nervously as he approached her.

“Would a commoner craft you such wonders?” He asked as he reached his hand out and showed her a necklace and a ring that he was holding inside his hand and that he had forged for her a few days earlier. He had been lacking the courage to give it to her until now, though.

“Are they for me?” (Y/N) asked as her eyes sparkled when she took the jewellery from him. Mairon nodded at her question, proud of himself because she visibly liked the gift. “Why?” She asked.

“You do not own any,” he answered.

“But who sees me here? I surely have no need to look grand for the Orcs,” she laughed.

“I see you,” Mairon pointed out and she froze.

He panicked at first, scared that those three words had been three too many. But she was not looking at him at all. She pointed her finger at the item behind his back.

“That is…” (Y/N) whispered.

“Your father’s crown,” Mairon nodded and walked up to it. “I am about to reforge it to fit me. Do you want to watch?” He asked and (Y/N) nodded, hesitantly.

She put on her new necklace and a new ring before Mairon offered her one of the leather aprons. It made her giggle when he was putting it over her gown.

“I would not want your robes to get damaged,” he informed her and she nodded as she sat on the chair nearby and watched with fascination how he worked.

When the black iron of her father’s crown melted, she sighed loudly and Mairon turned his head around to raise his eyebrow at her.

“What is it?”

“I was thinking if you could forge an item for me made out of this iron, too,” she looked up at him. “He was my father. I wish to keep a part of him with me always.”

“You are part of him,” Mairon laughed and she pouted. “But, surely, why not,” he promised and she grinned.

He poured a small amount of the liquid black iron aside to one of the cauldrons over the fire to avoid solidification. And while he worked on his new crown, he wondered what he could forge for (Y/N).

A bold idea came to his mind – an idea so forbidden that he felt a shiver travel down his spine at the thought of what her parents would do to him for having it.

Yet, he was out of their reach, so he went with it and at the end of the night, he handed (Y/N) a wedding band.

“Another ring?” She huffed. “Thought you would be more creative,” she sighed. “It doesn’t even have any gemstone attached to it!”

“Do you know what that is?” Mairon asked, a little impatiently, but mostly nervously. If she rejected him now, it would certainly be one of his grandest humiliations.

(Y/N) furrowed her brows and tilted her head as she stared at the item in her hand, looking at it from every angle. And when the light from the forge’s fire reflected upon the surface of the band, the letters glistened and she read them out loud in a whisper.

“It is a love declaration in Black Speech,” she looked up to meet his gaze as Mairon swallowed the lump in his throat. “That language was not made with love declarations in mind, that is for sure,” she remarked.

“Nevermind then,” Mairon tore the item out of her hands and walked away nervously to avoid her gaze. Taking deep breaths to calm himself down after such a humiliation, he did not hear her footsteps following him.

“Sauron…” She whispered, addressing him by the only name she was ever calling him with because her mother had taught her so, and touched his shoulder but he flinched. “You do not like that name, do you?”

“Yet you keep using it,” he drawled through gritted teeth.

“The Abhorred sounds so pretty to me,” she confessed and he softened a little but still refused to turn around and meet her gaze. “From the moment I saw you those centuries ago… I knew that you were the one for me,” she added and Mairon’s heart quickened. “You showed up out of nowhere like a knight out of my dreams who would save me. Your red hair contrasting with the snow… I shall never forget that day.”

Mairon finally turned around and he watched as she cupped his face gently and pulled his head down to be able to place a kiss upon his forehead while his heart began to pounder.

“However, I cannot marry a man who needs me more than I need him,” she added when she let go of him, her words shattering his heart into millions of pieces.

And alongside the pain, anger came as well. Mairon did not enjoy being rejected.

“If you think you do not need me, you are mistaken,” he spoke as the sudden fury overtook him, causing his veins to swell with thick, black blood. (Y/N) took a step back at the sight. “If it was not for me, you would still be rotting in that fortress, hidden away from the world. I took you here, I prepare your father’s armies to continue their march because you have never been taught anything. I am the one promising you the whole Middle-earth, ensuring its people will worship you. If you do not wish to be sent back there to rot, then you have to accept the fact that I am your only future!” He snapped and calmed down right after, softening immediately as his hands began to tremble slightly. He fixed his hair and clasped his shaky hands quickly to hide his nervousness from her.

“You… You dropped the band,” was all (Y/N) said to that as she pointed at the floor before crouching down to pick it up.

Before she stood up, she looked up at his face and it only made him feel even more guilty and scared for lashing out on her.

“Forgive me,” he grabbed her face and leaned in to be as close as he could. “Forgive me, please, I did not mean to… Gods, it has never been my intention to hurt you,” he was lying to herself as much as to his own self. “You must forgive me, it was only caused by fear. Fear of losing you,” he continued and felt her muscles relaxing eventually.

She even dared to wrap her arms around him as she clinged to him like a child seeking warmth.

“I would never leave you,” she breathed out and brushed his ginger hair to put the loose hair strands behind his ears. “There is nothing I am scared of more than to be left all alone again. You were right and I was mistaken – I do need you. I was teasing you only but I did not expect such wrath in return. You are all I have. What is the point of being so powerful when there is no one to witness?” She finished with a playful question and Mairon sighed out of relief, leaning in to brush her nose a little with his own.

She winced slightly and giggled before moving her head to brush him with the tip of her nose as well. Like two kittens they played like that for a while until he finally joined their lips together and she opened her mouth to let him devour her.

He felt Melkor’s wrath even from all the dimensions away but he could not care less about any of that. To hold a creature like her so close and to feel the heart of her flesh beating so fast for him was a victory of its own. For a moment, he nearly wanted to abandon all his schemes and start a new life with her somewhere – to create a life like the one from her dreams but for the both of them only where they could hide from the world and spend eternity in each other’s embrace.

“Please, don’t send me away back there,” she whispered softly after breaking the kiss, her lower lip trembling slightly.

How silly she could be. He would not be able to do so even if he tried because she was too powerful for that. Yet, her loneliness caused her dependance on him and it was all for him for the taking. He felt bad taking advantage of that but it was too tempting to reject.

“My beautiful (Y/N),” he whispered and caressed her cheeks. “You will never be alone. Wherever you go, I shall follow. And wherever you go, I shall make sure everyone there worships your light and your darkness as equals for you are too powerful to be reduced to one. You will help me to heal, to create new life and I will lead your father’s armies to ensure our victories,” he promised and she smiled before pecking his lips once more.

(Y/N) took a small step back and he watched in awe as she put the wedding band onto her finger. His heart and soul sang at the sight.

“I refuse to be in the shadows like my mother once was. I want to lead the armies with you,” she met Mairon’s gaze. “I want to earn my own squalid name, Sauron. The Abhorred. I want to carry my own title with pride,” she revealed, her eyes sparkling with mischief.

How cute and innocent she could be one moment and how terrifying the next. Mairon wondered if the war of her two natures within her was exhausting her. Was she being haunted constantly by the duel of her light and her darkness?

But perhaps there was no war within her. It was only natural for her, after all. Perhaps they coexisted and balanced perfectly and it all made sense somehow. And perhaps it was not his duty to understand any of this but to accept her the way she was.

“You will be given a sword and armour,” he promised. “You will be their Queen of The Day and of The Night. You will be their rescue and their demise. Their Sun and their Moon. Their Life and their Death. And whatever path you choose, I shall follow you down the road.”

“Worry not,” (Y/N) chuckled and approached him to put her hands on his shoulders. “I know it is your wish to heal. And my wish is to rule over a world so beautiful like the ones from my dreams. I will only destroy those who stand on our way to create such greatness,” she swore.

Her words soothed him but could he truly trust her? She was Melkor’s daughter and his influence might have been stronger than they both suspected. What other choice did Mairon have, though? To slay her? He would never do that. Therefore, all he could do was to keep her close and take care of her.

Who was he fooling, though? His own self?

He was there to follow and serve and it was only the matter of time when she would realise how powerful she truly was and what a great influence she had over him as well.

Even if she would destroy the whole Middle-earth like her father wanted to and create a land of ashes, he would gladly rule over it by her side.

Gods, he would gladly serve there as his Queen’s subject and that would be enough.

“You have no idea what you are doing to me,” he breathed out and she giggled.

“I do. I can see inside your mind.”

MASTERLIST

#sauron x reader #halbrand x reader #annatar x reader #lilysfiction

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ellieslittleburrow · 9 months ago

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Summary : Your phone dies just when you lied to your father about where you are. How does he react when he finds you?

Warnings : Being chased by somebody

A/N : woo woo! First Beau fic, thanks to @dreamerbouquet 🪷🪷 alsooooooooo, i'm so angry at how my writing is so repetitive yall 😭 i hate it i need a change.

-------

-- Your phone dies before you get to send that last text..

Fucking hell. You just lied too-you weren't right...quite on Ousel Falls, you're still in the woods near by, limping your way out as you dragged your bicycle through the mud.

You SOMEHOW trip over something and fly forward, landing over a broken branch that brushes your skin just enough to remove it.

Fuckking hell..

Thankfully, you know your way through the vast space and so you walk...and walk, spinning around when a creaking sounds behind you..."Hello?" You say, frantically looking around. Dear god...

Another creak sounds and a figure appears from afar, seemingly running towards you. A gasp escapes your lips and you push away the bicycle before spriting forward, in spite of your aching foot. You run and hop over branches, looking over your shoulder at the person running after you.

You didn't have time to back down, you thought of your father, what he'd do-Thankfully you're only a little under a mile away from the entrance of the woods, and so your feet spring faster-and as you look back once more, you bump into something-which you push away.

"N-No." You push agaisnt it-

"I'ts me, it's me-it's dad."

"We have to go they're com-"

"Calm down, calm down honey-it's just a bunch of kids" Your dad shakes your body gently, leaning close to you to get your attention. "They ran away already, just a bunch of kids."

You take a breather, processing as your heatbeat starts slowing down...

"Come here." He says, pulling you into his chest, one hand envelopping your back and the other resting over the back of your head. "Dear god...you scared me-i thought-" He shut himself up, proceeding with a long sigh.

You pull away from him, biting your lip in an attempt to dtop your quivering chin. "I'm sorry...i-" a sob escapes your throat and you lean back into his chest- Relief has finally hit you and your muscles relaxed... "i'm sorry i didn't mean to scare you-or for my phone to die i-"

He interrupts you, pulling you away firmly. And when your eyes meet, a wave of emotions travels through his eyes. He looks worried and sad and relieved and angry, all of which overwhelm you.

"What did i say about going to the woods alone?" His voice is firm. But the tenderness in his furrowed eyebrows isn't. "What did i say about that?" He demands a response and you just don't have one.

"I-i m-i don't know-I I didn't take it that seriously-" you stop yourself, hell..you just exposed yourself-you shouldn't have.. "i'm sorry."

Your dad rubs your back "It's okay.." He rests his chin over your head, temporarily planting kisses on it.

"It's okay...i'm here now." Your dad reassures you one last time before stepping back. "Do we need to go to the hospital?" He kneels down when his attention lands on your bleeding leg.

"No, no need for that." You reassure him back, staggering back when he held your leg up a little high. You rested your hand on his shoulder, balancing yourself. "I'm okkay."

You're not-You wince as your father examines what turns out to be an open cut.

"Can you walk?"

You roll your eyes. "Dad, it's not that serious it's just a c-"

"Can you or can you not?" He cuts you off.

"I caaaan..." You groan in annoyance. It's a lie but-he's already tired enough

"Okay....let's go then. If i notice you're limping i'm carrying you back." He orders and a smile appears on your face.

"Okay" You can't fight that. "Thank you."

"I'm...i'm just glad you're okay, honey."

-----

I wish i could've made this one longer. But i'm too tired. Anyway, kissies yall, i hope you enjoyed reading this 🥀🥀🥀❤️❤️❤️

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thebluester2020 · 3 months ago

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[GI] Kinktober Day 19: "Stalking"

Summary: After traveling to Natlan to inspect the situation for himself, Pierro finds himself sidetracked and watching a cute local farmer.

Warning(s): Light stalking, Masturbation, Pierro being a shy old man (until he's not), Wholesome smut ngl, Dry-humping,

Side Note(s): I wanted to avoid this accidentally being a yandere-esque fic and more of a "too shy to talk to crush" type of fic.

Also with how much I write Genshin atp, I might as well get back to drawing my favs ngl.

Pierro's visit to Natlan was simple.

He wished to assess the situation himself after hearing the news of what happened, especially seeing as Capitano wasn't back yet nor had he reported anything regarding the Pyro Gnosis and whether it was taken or not!

However...he accidentally got sidetracked.

By you of all people, a simple farmer a part of a village that lived next to a lake teeming with Koholasauri. Beauty aside, the way you smiled so brightly as you did your work was...mesmerizing to him, a light that appeared way brighter than the very sun itself. And he wanted more of it, but, as a harbinger. The last thing he'd wish to present is the fact that he may have had a weakness.

So, he decided that he was better off watching from afar.

And you noticed almost immediately. After all, how frequently did Fatui soldiers have to patrol the area? There was nothing interesting about your village!

And every single time, there was a tall and imposing figure leading the charge. Most of the time, the patrol would simply pass by and other times? They'd go into the village, here and there, soldiers would look around and other times? They'd request to buy certain things that people were selling but...always, their leader stuck to the back as he watched his soldiers mingle with the small population. And each time you turned your head away, you'd immediately feel eyes on you.

It was driving you crazy, there was no good about being in the line of sight of a harbinger! And what's worse? You didn't have a vision to at least comfort you in the idea that you could simply waltz up to him and demand why he was constantly patrolling the village, why it seemed like his eyes were on you at every turn!

But one day, you finally worked up the nerve.

. . .

"Why are you watching me?" It sounded ridiculous when it came out of your mouth, despite the many days prior you prepped yourself for asking the question.

The harbinger's head tilted at the question. "Watching you?" His gruff voice made you cower a little, the mere act of him crossing his arms over his chest making you step back a little as you were quickly regretting your decision to confront him. "Yes," You finally answered. "You and your soldiers...if you're looking for someone, for something. We don't have it, we're a fishing village. There's nothing special about us!"

"I disagree." He said before he slowly looked off to the side.

Were his- were his ears beginning to turn pink?

"You're interesting, I...was trying to get to know you better." He said.

Your jaw dropped a little at the light confession. Out of all the people in the village, a...harbinger was interested in you? Although you weren't ugly in the slightest, you didn't think that you were capable of attracting the eyes of a harbinger, especially one that looked as important as the older man who stood before you. "If I have disgusted or offended you, please tell me—"

"N-No!" You stuttered. "It's not that, it's unexpected. But...not unwelcomed." As Pierro's head swiftly turned back to you, both of your faces grew redder and redder in unison as the tension in the air steadily grew. After weeks of pining for you, afraid that he'd never work up enough courage to actually talk to you. You talked to him, and it went so much better than he expected.

He felt like celebrating.

"Will you...show me around your village?" Pierro then asked after a few minutes of silence.

You shyly nodded your head before smiling up at the older man. "There's a beautiful cave nearby, I think...I think you'll like it."

. . .

"So pretty..." Pierro seemed to whisper almost as if he were in reverence of you as you were currently pressed up against a wall within the cave you both had decided to travel into. In truth though, you simply wanted a more private place to...play with the harbinger after his recent confession, you didn't even want to think about the rumors that would spread around the village if you were to invite him into your home!

"I—I didn't know that a harbinger could be so nice." You giggled as you rubbed your ass against the prominent bulge within Pierro's pants. His hands tightened around your waist at the feeling of your soft ass teasingly moving up and down, and side to side. The harbinger's mouth watered at the delectable display you were giving him, the combined addition of you looking over your shoulder as soft moans left your lips making his already obvious blush deepen even more.

"Such a little minx..." He hissed, a shaky moan of his own slipping from his lips as he relished in the feeling you provided him, beginning to grind and rub his hard-on against your ass. But, it was seldom enough, the friction of his cock moving against the front of his pants in a desperate attempt to reach you was maddening. So much so that he just had to pull down your skirt while his other hand began to fumble with his pants, tugging them down almost too eagerly before his cock slapped against his stomach.

You would've gulped nervously at the sight if you were so eager to him inside you weeping cunt. "W-Well?" You stuttered. You wiggled your hips, hoping to entice the older man to plunge himself in you finally rather than stare at you as if you were a goddess. "Do something—"

He ignored you as he slipped his throbbing cock between your thighs, the slick that ran between your thighs making it easier for him. "When we're on a bed." Pierro groaned as he leaned some of his weight onto your back, slithering a hand down to your neglected clit to gently begin circles into it as his hips began to move. Pierro could feel your cunt dripping more of your slick onto his cock as he rocked into your thighs, the plush doughy feeling of your skin making sinful noises leave his lips as he praised your softness. "S-So cute," He whispered. "Had I known that you were this soft..." His words got choked up in his throat when you suddenly squeezed your thighs a little tighter, teasing giggles escaping alongside your quieted whines and moans. "...I-I would've talked to you sooner." He finally managed to continue.

Your stomach clenched at the way his cock slid against your pussy, the stimulation plus the quick movements of his finger against your clit making you ball your hands into fists, your moans turning into needy pants where every breath felt like pleasurable electricity was being shocked into your system.

Pierro made sure to keep an eye on you, although the location was less than ideal of where he wanted to have you for the first time. He'd make do, besides, it was more than enjoyable for him with the way your eyes were beginning to glaze over. Your jaw slacked and forming into a gorgeous 'o' shape as you quietly whispered his name like a prayer. "P-Pierro..." You moaned.

"You're drenching me, pretty." The older man chuckled against your ear. "It's adorable." He said.

You swallowed hard, your face getting hotter at his lewd words. Your mouth opened to retort before your mouth formed into a straight line at how his cock began to tease your entrance, prodding at your sex as if he were playfully pressing a button before going back to his task of fucking your thighs. Each prod left your knees buckling, your mind getting foggier and foggier as you wanted to beg him to fuck you properly rather than tease you!

"Please..." You begged.

Pierro smirked at your desperate pleas. "Please?" He said as if he hadn't a single clue of what you were talking about. "Please what?"

"Please—" Your words were stolen from you when he prodded at your sex once again, this time, it seemed like he was almost going to slip into you before he chuckled sadistically as he resumed fucking your thighs. "Y-You sadist!"

"Don't complain, let me enjoy your body a little. I'm making up for loss time." He said before his thrusts steadily began to speed up along with his ministrations on your clit. Your nails threatened to cut into your palms as you squeezed your fists even tighter, the ever-tightening knot in your stomach making your knees buckle and your vision spin as you braced yourself for your orgasm. "Fuck...!" You whined. "C-Close..."

"Me too..." The harbinger groaned as his pace began to stutter, his fingers leaving your clit to begin fucking into your needy pussy, curling his knuckles in order to hit your g-spot and effortlessly push you over the edge. Your eyes screwed shut before your mouth fell open into a silent scream, your legs shaking from the force of your climax before you heard Pierro hiss out a curse from behind you before you felt a warmth trickle down your thigh and to your leg.

Pierro took your chin into his hand before he gently turned your face so that he could kiss you deeply on the lips, the softness of your lips enhancing that feeling of bliss that he was already on. He found you absolutely adorable in this moment, and when he slowly parted his lips from your own, that feeling only increased.

"Oh yes," He murmured. "We'll have to continue this in your home." He said with a firm certainty.

After all, a mere romp against the wall of a cave wasn't even close to being enough when it came to him wanting to express how he felt about you.

#smut #smut writing #genshin pierro #pierro x reader #pierro genshin impact #fatui x reader #fatui harbingers #genshin impact fatui #genshin fatui #genshin smut #genshin impact #genshin impact fanfics #genshin fandom #genshin fanfic #genshin impact fandom #pierro smut

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arabellaawrites · 8 months ago

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infrunami | cl16

[ drabble ]

by which, she loved him too early, he loved her too late

pairing: charles leclerc x reader

warnings: none

a/n: hello everyone! this is my first fic ever and I'm so happy with how this turned out! I hope it was an enjoyable experience and I hope there wasn't any element that was unpleasant or unenjoyable for yall! I'm aware that it lacks dialogue and everything is past paced and doesn't have much room for detail! I swear I'm working on that and once I've perfected that art, I hope my writing will be more enchanted etc! alright enough yapping. enjoy the fic!

back then, you and arthur hated watching charles kart. the idea that you both needed to sit under the scorching monegasque sun for afew hours was never exciting but at least you get to watch arthur’s older brother, charles, kart. you’ve always fancied charles ever since arthur introduced you to him at the playground.

he was 3 years older then you and was the exact opposite of arthur, he was matured, well mannered and wasn't childish like you both were. that's what you love so much about him.

until he started going around europe to join racing series, when Arthur broke the news to you, you acted like it wasn't a big deal. you'll still get to see him on the television or during family holidays, right?. but that also means you'll be seeing him once a week or every few months, eventually a week turned into a month, a month turned into a year until suddenly you wont be seeing him at all which broke heart.

soon it was arthur who left you to follow in charles footsteps, racing across europe, joining f4 and achieving great things. unlike Charles, Arthur still kept in contact with you, constantly inviting you to his races and you both still enjoyed each others company, f4 soon turned into f3 and nothing has changed you still admired Charles from afar and Arthur would constantly ask "do you still have a crush on Charles?" or the occasional "y/n you have to let go" but you never did, Charles was your first love and you wanted him and only him.

every night you sleep in bed, tossing and turning, with arthurs voice continuously replaying in your head, but he was right you do have to let go.

when Charles first debuted for formula 1 for haas was when he first reached out to you in years with no contact. inviting you to join the paddock, to see him race in the pinnacle of motorsport, you were above and beyond the moon. strutting down the paddock next to Pascale and Arthur towards the hospitaly while also trying not to pay focus on the ever lasting sounds of camera shutters and kept your composure.

it has been years since then now Charles was in his 6 years in formula 1 and you have never been prouder, seeing him through his ups and down, supporting him through out all the hardships that this sport had caused him.

you often found yourself in and out of college trying to balance study with the constant travel to different races to support your best boys, Arthur and Charles. which alway lead you to end up in his, Charles, driver room before a race reassuring that he'll be fine and his team wont let him down again.

"your the best, y/n" he smiles before suiting up, making you stunned in place with a subtle blush spread across your face as you took his compliment.

barcelona 2023, and you just arrived at the Ferrari hospitality per usual, greeting the staff and Ferrari mechanics as your make your way inside until you bumped into someone making you tumble back as the mysterious man reaches for your waist, holding you steady, you smiled at him and apologized which made him smile back and that's where thing took off.

ever since that day you took has been seeing each other non stop and with that it ruined you and Charles relationship, plans were often cancelled, phone calls were usually ignored and text messages were left unopened. this took a toll on Charles, he's new profound feelings for you was too strong and by the time he realized that he has fallen, it was too late.

"mate please!"

Charles begged to Arthur over the phone, trying to figure out what his feelings were and was trying to piece in the clues in himself. he was frustrated, angry and confused he loved you but it was too late.

while you were living your best life, you had a partner in bed, your home always had that comfortable warm presence of your new boyfriend everything felt perfect, he was everything you ever wanted.

he was also everything Charles ever wanted to be, your man.

until one rainy Tuesday afternoon where everything went downhill, you just came home from them store and was welcome home by the repetitive sound of feminine moans that rang threw out the house. your groceries dropped to the floor followed by the sound of glass in your bag smashing which made the moans stop and your boyfriend ran out to where you were standing. "please I can explain this-" he frantically said while holding on to you as you tried to push him away, "I-ive heard enough! just leave and get your stuff while your at it!" tears swell your eyes as you tried to swallow the horrid sensation in your throat and pushed him away before running back into the rain and in your car. you broke down in heavy tears, your heart ache with hurt and sorrow as you try to make way to Charles place.

"y/n- who did this to you..?"

Charles said as he watches you stand in the rain, mascara running down your face and your clothes all soaking wet, without hesitation he pulled you inside and wrapped a towel around you,

" he cheated on me! how could he-"

you sobs onto him, "he was my-" hiccups "he was my everything and he just!"

you weeped into his chest as he held you tight and tried to calm you down. eventually you stopped crying and lifted your head from his chest

"cha.." you called out to him as he stroked your head and then looking down on you.

"know that I've-" you were cut off "yes I've known...I was an idiot, y/n...I realized too late. I really did love you...I was.." he sighed and looked down at her, "give me another chance, y/n.."

#bella's work⋆.˚ ᡣ𐭩 .𖥔˚#f1 #f1 x reader #charles leclerc #scuderia ferrari #charles x reader #f1 fanfic #f1 imagine #formula one #formula 1 fanfic #charles leclerc x reader #charles leclerc fanfic #charles leclerc imagine

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mysticgalsworld · 5 months ago

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a timeless encounter

a/n: this is my first Leopold Mountbatten fic you guys !! i’m rlly excited but disappointed bc i haven’t seen a lot of fics under this tag :( im sad cause he’s my dream man and i NEED more of him (that’s why i made this 😋) anyways lovelies, as always i take requests but lemme know what you think💕

summary: as the owner of a small cafe in New York that you hate, you don’t expect anybody to change your mind. But the strange-dressed man who wonders into the cafe one day may change your mind…

warnings: Leopold Mountbatten x f! reader, southern! reader, not spellchecked

The line in the cafe is piled up. When you hear the bell ding tediously, announcing another customer, you almost groan. You keep your head positioned on the lady in front of you, half listening as she drones on about what she got last time.

You continue conversing, almost forgetting about the person who just walked in, when an accented voice pulls you out of your thoughts.

“Good day. I am Sir Leopold Mountbatten. How do you do?”

Your head turns to the side as you look to him. Surprised that he has walked to the front of the line, skipping about 10 waiting people, you almost scoff.

When you glance at him more closely and notice the strange clothes he’s wearing, your eyebrows crease. When he introduces himself and asks you, how do you do?, confusion rises to your face.

Keeping a calm, but confused face, you go to respond. “I’m sorry sir, there is a very long line of people waiting. Do you mind going to the back and waiting your turn?”

Leopold looks around, realizing the error he made. He turns back towards you with a sheepish expression on his face. "I apologize, I was not paying due attention."

He glances around, noticing the queue of people waiting. "It appears there are quite a few individuals waiting in line. I shall take my place at the end of the line. Do forgive my oversight."

You nod your head in confusion, agreeing to whatever he’s saying so he listens to you. You watch as he retreats to the back of the line. Shall? Do forgive? You think in your head as you question his strange choice of language. It’s nothing like the people in New York. You were lucky if you even got a thank you, which is nothing like the south, where you were raised.

Meanwhile you continue helping the female customer who’s still gabbing on about what drink she got from the menu last time. Still your mind wonders to the strange man who walked through the cafe doors.

Leopold patiently waits in line, studying the establishment with a mixture of curiosity and wonder, taking in the scents of hot drinks, the lone woman behind the counter.

As he waits, he can’t help but wonder what you think of him, your confusion evident in your expression. He glances at you every now and then, waiting for his turn to approach the counter.

Nodding as the woman finally decides what she wants, you move to take the next customer’s order. You continue this until the line dwindles down, the next person in line being the strange man.

Putting a small smile on your face, you’re sure he can read that it’s not entirely genuine due to your stressed and frazzled appearance.

“Hey sir, what can I get for you today?”

The strange man—Leopold was his name, right?—glances at you with a kind smile. “Good day. I shall have a cup of your finest black tea please, if you would be so kind.”

He glances across the counter to you, taking in your stressed appearance, his expression betraying a hint of concern.

You nod and jot down the order on your frayed notebook before telling him the total. He reaches into his pocket, retrieving a few coins to pay for the tea.

Looking up to him, your mind is baffled with curiosity and wonder. He notices your confusion and gives you a small questioning smile. Your mouth moves before your brain can tell it to stop.

“You’re not from around here, are you?”

His eyebrows furrow in surprise before he clears his throat gently. “Indeed, I travel from afar. I hail from the city of Albany originally... Why do you ask?"

Your eyebrows raise in surprise as you turn around to prepare the tea on the counter behind you. Glancing over your shoulder absentmindedly but still curious, you respond.

“The clothes. Oh and the accent. But you do know Albany’s the capital of New York? So that wouldn’t make you a traveler from ‘afar’… Or British.”

Leopold chuckles at your abruptness, amused by your observation. You zone in on his face, the small crinkle of crows feet in the corners of his eyes as he smiles widely. "Ah yes, my attire. I am quite well aware of Albany's status as the capital of New York. I was referring to the era I originate from. I hail from the year...”

He pauses, a little uncomfortable as the next words come out of his mouth. You urge him on silently, turning from preparing the tea to instead lean against the counter.

He continues with a slight gulp, “—1876. That is what I meant by saying I am not from around here."

Your body pauses as you lean against the counter. Hoping to not show a reaction, you go back to the forgotten tea, starting to pour it. Your mind is reeling, wondering if he’s being truthful or if he’s just a strange crackhead that managed to wander in.

Blinking a couple times, you place the pot down once you are finished pouring and turn to him incredulously. “1876. You’re from 1876.”

Leopold stands straighter at this, wanting to see your reaction and more importantly wanting to see if you’ll believe him. He tries to put on an easy smile, boarderline smirk to suppress his nerves. “Indeed, I am. I assume you do not believe me, my lady?”

Blinking rapidly, you turn back around to grab the ceramic teacup from the other counter. Grabbing it and placing it in front of him, your voice almost wobbles as you place your hands on your hips.

“You’re not goin’ through some sort of psychosis or somethin’, right? Or you’re not like a really good street performer in character?”

Leopold takes the mug daintily from the counter, lifting it to his lips and taking a sip as he nods. He hums as he takes his first sip of the tea, almost distracted by how good it is. “No, my lady. I assure you I am neither a person dealing with mental illness nor a skillful street performer. I am very much real, and am not pretending in the slightest. I can provide you with further proof if you require it.”

A teasing scoff comes out of your mouth before you can stop it. A small smile appears on your face as you cross your arms. “I don’t need your whole life story, hon. I just met you.”

Leopold nods a little, the tips of ears ears almost reddening as he almost doesn’t catch your teasing tone. When it registers, he can almost scoff at your comment, but can’t help himself from smiling at your wit.

You glance down at the glass counter, an idea popping in your head before you can stop it. Before your brain can tell your body to stop, you bend down and grab a blueberry muffin. Placing it on a small plate, you hand it to him with a soft smile. “Well I’ve always wanted a man from the 19th century to try my desserts. On the house.”

He accepts the blueberry muffin with a gracious nod. “I appreciate your generosity, my lady. However, I must insist you allow me to pay for it. It doesn’t seem right, accepting something ‘on the house.’”

You shake your head, biting your lip to hold back a giggle. Smiling widely at him, you lean back on the counter. “Please just take the muffin and sit down…”

Leopold takes his muffin, tea, and your instruction to sit down, and finds an empty table in a quiet corner of the cafe. He sits down, taking a moment to examine the surroundings, his eyes landing on you, busy at work at the counter.

Looking down at the muffin, Leopold’s stomach grumbles in response to the delicious scent wafting up to him. He takes a small bite, the sweetness of the blueberry muffin filling his mouth. He lets out a satisfied hum, savoring the taste.

Now wiping down the counters, you watch the customers eat peacefully as the full cafe comes to a lull. You turn to restock inventory and leisurely take customer orders, almost forgetting the strange man supposedly from 1876.

Glancing down at the wall clock that’s nudged in the cozy wall of the cafe, you sigh knowing that you need to clean this entire place before you can go home. While you know working at the cafe may be a dream for some people, you are too busy with the hope for something better.

Owning this cafe was just a enclosed way for your late father to trap you. After he passed, he left it to you instead of your mother. Since they had been divorced for a while it made sense, but it was his last wish to spite her. Now this place is just a constant reminder of the crippling debt, unpaid loans, and quitting employees he left.

Taking out your troubles on the counters as you go back to wiping, you barely notice a pair of eyes on you. Leopold watched you as you work, observing your routine in the cafe. The slight tick of his pocket watch indicates that it's getting late. He takes another sip of his tea, watching as the last few customers start to trickle out of the cafe. Once they're gone, he steps back up to the counter.

"Excuse me, my lady. You'll be closed soon, yes?"

Emerging from around the counter, you pass him and walk to the space filled with tables. You move gracefully, picking up empty dishes and cups that people have left. Leopold walks behind you, watching as you gather the dishes.

His mind urges him to take the dishes from your hands, anything to help make it easier for you. He stills, patiently waiting for his answer while holding his hands out to assist you. Absentmindedly you nod, not noticing his outstretched hands.

“Yep, in about 20 minutes.”

He nods, clearing his throat gently. His eyebrow raises curiously before answering. “I see. And you’ll be closing up and cleaning by yourself? Where is your waitstaff?” You sigh, your chest rising and falling with exhaustion before answering with a teasing lift.

“No waitstaff, I own it. Currently taking applications though if your friends from the 19th century wanna help out…”

A small smile played on Leopold’s lips at your comment as he let out a small chuckle. Your eyes lift to his, listening to the deep rumble of his chuckle. Through his small laugh he responds, “I doubt any of my acquaintances from the 19th century would be able to assist even if they wanted to. Their knowledge certainly won't be up to standard here."

You nod with a small smile on your own lips, noticing as the plates start to get heavier in your arms. You adjust them, wanting to continue your easy conversation with Leopold, but he easily notices your discomfort. He steps closer, his arms outstretched.

"Might I offer my assistance, my lady?"

Your arms, filled to the brim with dishes, quake. Before you even nod your head, he moves to take the dishes from your hands. The huge pile of dishes seem almost small in his huge hands. You have to stop yourself from gawking down at them, instead moving to a small closed door that leads to the kitchen.

Turning slightly to the man with a smile, you try to open the small doorway wide so he can get in easily. The door sticks, giving you a hard time as you try to open it. You speak over your shoulder to him, half embarrassed and half frustrated.

“Thank you so much—I’m sorry, this ole thing gets stuck all the time and it’s annoying when you carrying a load’a dishes.”

Leopold just nods, a patient smile on his face as he waits. You open the door with a harsh pull as you open it enough for him to pass. He looks to you with a question and you guide him to the sink where the dishes go. After he sets down the dishes, his eyes remain on you, an earnest and determined expression on his face.

"Is there anything else I can assist with? I am at your disposal, my lady."

You almost flush at his words, used to honey, ma’am, and even sugar from your hometown, but my lady seeming completely different. Wiping your hands on your worn apron, you shake your head with a smile.

“My lady, huh? You sure do know how to make a lady feel special… But no, I got it. You should be focusin’ on how to get back to the 19th century. Seems a more pressin’ situation to get back to where you’re from..”

Leopold grins at your response, standing with his hands clasped behind his back as he listens to you. He question softly, his eyes fixed on you.

“Perhaps it is a pressing matter to get back to one’s home, but what about yourself? Earlier this evening, you asked about my own accent, but now I am wondering about yours.”

Turning away from him, you go to the large sink. You turn on the water, starting to wash the dishes, not noticing Leopold coming beside you. You stare down at the dishes as you respond, “I’m from Georgia.”

He nods, humming with sincerity. He goes to open his mouth to ask another question, but you turn to him, holding up a soapy hand to stop him. “Y’know you don’t have to stay here, I can’t pay you. You should be goin’ on your way.”

He shakes his head with a neutral smile on his face. He stands with his hands clasped behind his back as he leans forward towards you. “Perhaps. However, I simply cannot leave you to close and clean the cafe by yourself. It wouldn’t be very gentlemanly of me.”

You wipe your hands on your apron and they find their way to your hips. Your southern accent slips out heavily, frustration evident. “I assure you, I’m fine. You should be goin’ on your way Mr...” You pause, hoping for him to repeat his name.

“—Sir Leopold Mountbatten.” Leopold raises an eyebrow at your stubborn insistence, amused by your southern character. He continues, his voice lifting with a smile.

“And I have no doubt you can handle closing up on your own, my lady. But that does not mean you should have to.” He pushes off the doorframe, taking a step closer to you.

"Please, allow me to help. I cannot leave knowing you'll be here for the next few hours, finishing up all by yourself."

You almost smile at his insistence, but push it down. You walk past him towards the heavy, brown door which leads to the main entrance. You open the door with a grunt and hold it open for him. With a small smile, you place your hands on your hips. The twang comes out of your voice when you speak softly to him.

“Well, yes you can and you will. Thanks for the offer, hon…” Leopold looks at you with a mixture of disappointment and acceptance in his eyes. He nods, a small smile playing at the corner of his lips.

"Very well, my lady. If you're certain you don't need any aid, I shall take my leave then."

He takes an unnecessary large step in your direction before pausing in front of you, his eyes lingering on your face for a moment. Without a word, he lowers himself into a deep bow, his eyes never leaving your face.

"Farewell, my lady."

Your eyes narrow with confusion as he bows, but you nod and laugh softly in response. “Bye-bye Leopold…”

You watch as he hesitantly walks through the door to the main entrance. He turns back to you with doe eyes, giving you another opportunity for you to accept his offer, then leaves when you shake your head with a smile.

Leopold gives a final wave before stepping outside, the heavy cafe door closing slowly behind him. He pauses for a moment outside, gazing at your silhouette through the glass, a hint of reluctance in his eyes.

With a resigned sigh, he forces himself to turn away from the cafe, his footsteps heavy as he starts walking down the sidewalk. He mentally scolds himself for his impulsiveness and foolishness.

While you clean, you think of the strange man. You wish you accepted his offer. Or his telegram number.. you laugh to yourself at your stupid joke as you continue to scrub the counters.

Hours later, you finally finish. Grabbing your purse, you go to your house, and fall into a deep sleep. Filled with dreams of the 19th century and a man who is almost 150 + years older than you, you sleep more peacefully than you ever had before.

For Leopold, as the evening descends on the city, he finds himself unable to sleep. His mind is consumed with thoughts of the lady from the cafe. He tosses and turns in his bed, the events of the day replaying in his mind over and over again.

He wonders what she is doing at the moment. Is she asleep in her bed? Is she also lying awake, thinking about him? The questions plague his mind as he continues to lie in bed, struggling to find rest.

With a frustrated sigh, Leopold finally sits up in his bed. He throws the covers off and gets up, pacing restlessly in his room. The clock ticks loudly in the background, mocking his insomnia. He runs a hand through his hair, trying to ignore the thoughts of the lady that seem to be etched in his mind.

As the next day approaches, you continue your routine. You get out of bed, your feet cold against the unwelcoming tile of your small apartment. As you walk towards the kitchen, you continue your morning routine; making breakfast, showering, changing, and leaving.

When you finally make your way to the cafe, your anxious and somewhat excited. Secretly, you hope the mysterious man from the past comes back.

As the sun slowly rises, Leopold has still not gotten any sleep. He spent the rest of the night pacing in his room, his thoughts consumed by you. Eventually, he gave up on sleep, seeing as he wouldn't be able to get any.

While he goes about his day, his thoughts still drift back to you. He finds himself missing the warmth and homeliness of the cafe. He knows that he shouldn't, but he can't help it. He decides to pay the cafe another visit, hoping to see you again.

a/n: hey you guys, lemme know what you think pls !! i love Leopold so much so i am so excited to write more (he is my Mr. Darcy) also don’t forget i take requests.. anyways lemme know if u want a pt. 2 💕

#hugh jackman #hugh jackman x f! reader #hugh jackman x reader #leopold mountbatten x reader #kate and leopold #leopold mountbatten #duke of albany #tumblr fyp #kate and leopold fanfic #leopold mountbatten fanfic #leopold mountbatten x f! reader

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moineauz · 10 months ago

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જ⁀ 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐏𝐎𝐑𝐓𝐑𝐀𝐈𝐓 𝐎𝐅 𝐀 𝐌𝐀𝐍 𝐎𝐍 𝐅𝐈𝐑𝐄

synopsis: you are a travelling artist, transversing the galaxy. Thus, on your curt trip to penacony, you see a man and paint him.

including: aventurine

side comments: my rawest writing piece yet. the piece is meant to be up for interpretation and i wanted to take a more vague standpoint. this is not necessarily an x reader fic, please keep that in mind. thank you @/stellaronhvnters members for giving me tips. sending you all lots of love!

extra: angst, gn reader, boothill makes a short appearance, subtle 2.1 spoilers words count: roughly 963

You saw him on three occasions.

The first was under the incessant flash of Penacony's lights, the ubiquitous glint of inordinate advertisements trailed behind you like children. He stood amongst the dreamers with fashion and flare: the subtle sway of his right earing was charmed you. While his shoes reflected opulence and splendour. The number pressed onto his neck- similarly pressed against the folds of your mind: the place in which the eyes stare onto the shore and cast spells of what if’s.

Yet, despite the nature of his novelties and the soulful satire of his smile, you paused- traffic and light bending into sound.

What was he? You pondered. Perhaps he is perched in towers and rolls dice like candy; pecking it afterwards. Perhaps he sharpens his shoes as he does with his eyes. Perhaps he stands still in showers of salty rain, drying his cheeks with the rim of his velvet hat.

Was he a dreamer too? You would of blinked in affirmation, griped your breath a touch tighter and trace his footsteps. Lifting it on to the palm of your hand, tucked it into the haven of your pocket, cradling it like an infant, raising it like a lush fern. A portable paradise euphonious and maternal.

From there you shifted your weight onto your good side and tapped your feet to the beat of your heart, matching it to the song of his hushed ingenious breath.

He was here before, you noted. Clearly, not for leisure nor for pleasure. His strides were candid, curt, and clever. Yet, from afar, it was as if the tip of his shoes was his only connection between ground and sky. His steps bounced, rebounding off by sheer force alone; leaping mid-air, leaping with vigour and intention, leaping over wide yawning chasms.

He was galloping towards, not bothering to gaze back. His image blended into one of a horse standing amidst fields teeming with immeasurable and verdant grassland. The horse and their lush nature, a loneliness that can't be contended with as they lowered their gaze like swans. Their mane brushed against skin; preparing to consume the earth generously all on their own- unaccompanied by instruction, coddling or order.

You pause and step back from the slender and poised length of his legs, from the cage of his chest in which gold is born and coiled, from the rings of his eyes that pirouette and roulette. Hence, pondering curiously what kind of bone does not break despite its beatings.

The second time you saw him was when the sharp pungency of grapefruit- twirled with the salt which lined the rim of your glass- produced a sweet taste on the stage of your tongue. At the time the drink was fresh, garnished and plainly odd considering the dim, velvet aura which vibrated through the bar. The taste lingered in your mouth: reminiscent of a sultry summer afternoon.

His hair, you then realized, was scintillating in the gleam of bottles and booze. You wavered a bit, eyes blurry, hot and wet like the sea. He twirled and tuned with the light, the brand of his watch blurring with another sip of rum.

You don't recall any music, however, in that liminal moment between one song and the next, between one sip and a single swallow, your mouth split open in a wide glowing grin.

One foot over the other- glass in hand- serenading in dim light, crash after crash, bass strung with tangible words- it echoed deep and slow.

From there he stares forward, kissing the rim of his glass, dissipating with light as he seems to do. For a split second, he is vulnerable in the state of lassitude.

However, not before unfurling, smiling then melting. He was flying close to the sun; grazing his hands over its rims. Bright young man, you noted.

You pause and step back from his supple lips- insoluble when met with torrents, solid when left to eternity, liquid when set alive, gone when used up.

The third and final time was when his back faced you: his body resting, arms sprawled out in surrender, a single finger twitching. The memory is slipping. Like grains of sand trailing down your hand, like silk that won't hold a knot, like how rest is destined for those who truly slumber. Everecent in nature and poise. There, you wonder soundly, what stars have been bruised onto his back, and if you'd be able to draw them together- into one grand constellation that spans from one end of the world into another infinite void of true rapture.

"What a painting- or pain really."

"For someone who can't physically feel pain, your remark is rather funny," you quip back smoothly, your gaze still set towards the man's slackened joints and inner tenderness.

"You've been sitin' here for hours," bantered Boothill, "Four months really... since we left Penacony!"

You gingerly place the paintbrush down, pausing as you gradually step back from the lifesize portrait. A streak of yellow and purple paint stains your right cheek. "Today I am done."

Boothill raises an eyebrow as he watches you lift the painting onto a mantel: unhurried as a tree. Boothill watched you, morph the image of a stranger into blinding brilliance with each fastidious detail. How your subject- him- echoed volumes, his back against the world, facing tomorrow, embracing the amorous fold of limelight before departing, walking away into nothing with a princely smile and a single wave of his hand.

"Why do you paint him?" Boothill questions, his voice oddly dim and mellow, "You know nothin' about him."

Repose is found on your face as to your reply.

Boothill emits a frustrated sigh and reaches into his pockets; retrieving a lighter, you promptly flick it alive. The flame staring at you; wavering and swaying left then right. Your eyes are subtly idyllic and lulled as if drifting soundly in prayer; relishing the final wave of maudlin and soothing nuance.

"That's why I like him."

You set the portrait aflame.

"Because I know nothing about him."

masterlist.

interact with a comment! don’t be a silent reader 🤍

#writing ᝰ.ᐟ #—stellaronhvnters.#honkai star rail #hsr #honkai star rail aventurine #hsr aventurine #aventurine x reader angst #aventurine x you #hsr angst #honkai star rail angst #hsr boothill #boothill honkai star rail #aventurine honkai star rail #aventurine hsr

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california-112 · 1 month ago

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Travels Afar - Chapter 6 (/6)

General Audiences | No Archive Warnings Apply | Gen | English

Fandom: The X-Files

Characters: Fox Mulder, Dana Scully, Original Characters

Additional tags: Season/Series 02, Case Fic, New Years, Crafts, Hurt/Comfort, Iowa

Chapter summary:

Chapter 6: Wonderful, Excellent,- Unbelieveable! The investigation comes to a close, of sorts, and Mulder gets his perfect New Year.

Fic summary:

"More travelling?" Scully asked suspiciously, "I've already been on a plane for three hours this morning, Mulder, how much further is 'a bit'?" "A, uh, couple of hours," Mulder replied hesitantly, "maybe a bit longer. But it's worth it, I promise." They exchanged a look over the car's roof that was on one side sheepish and the other mildly annoyed. "It had better be." was all Scully said, before opening her door and disappearing into the passenger seat. As soon as they pulled out of their parking space, Scully was all business. After taking a moment with her eyes closed to recall the sparse details that Mulder had given her in his phone call the previous day, she delivered her planned reply to his claims in a wry tone. "So, the case. A Christmas crop circle, if I recall? In somewhere called Pot?" -or- Mulder and Scully make an unofficial visit to rural Iowa to investigate an alleged alien visitation, and a series of potentially related phenomena. Over the course of the case, they learn a little more about eachother, too. BRIEF REFERENCES TO SOME EVENTS IN S1

Link to AO3 | Read from the beginning

Taglist | DM for addition or removal @today-in-fic - @tressknight - @pwhlboston21 - @azure-firecracker

#yall it needs editing so bad but i made the deadline wahoo!!!#if there are any tags ive missed pls let me know i was having trouble thinking of them #anyway. well done me for completing it. pat pat pat.#pls enjoy #x files #the x files #the scientist speaks #my fic #my fic: travels afar #my gifs

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cassiebones · 3 months ago

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Some Agathario headcanons that I may fic later, who knows not me:

They are married. It took about fifty years for it to happen because they both had some serious commitment issues but eventually they couldn't really deny each other. They needed somebody to do the binding spell as well as one extra witness. Somebody who they weren't going to kill. I would love to believe that Lilia is the one who married them, but idk. But they got married. Agatha's wedding "ring" is the chain that her brooch sits on. Rio's is one of the vines that adorns her body.

Their wedding anniversary is June 2nd. They got married in a field in the middle of the woods during witching hour. It was super romantic. Rio cried, though she'll never admit it.

They cannot get divorced. Not unless they both truly want it. No lying to themselves. The magic knows what's in their hearts. It takes a lot to break a binding spell, even one that binds two witches together in matrimony.

Nicky was an accident. I think this is the funniest option, which is my only reasoning for it. I also predict he was born in the 1910's, just before the Spanish flu hit. He was too young for his magic to protect him. But Agatha and Rio were "experimenting" with sexy spells and stumbled upon a certain spell (magic strap) that worked a little too well. They found out Agatha was pregnant a month later and freaked out a little bc holy crap a baby!?!? But Agatha warmed to it first and Rio is very much whipped for her wifey. So they settled down somewhere secluded to raise their son. They still kill people ofc.

Before their son is born, Agatha and Rio spend time in Europe. Agatha is Jack the Ripper. I will not explain further bc honestly it makes more than enough sense.

They travel home on the Titanic. Agatha didn't cause it, but it's a nice bonus for Rio while Agatha chills in a lifeboat, playing the part of a grieving widow.

She did cause the Hindenburg just for shits and giggles. Also Rio was bored.

The Jolene stuff happens after Agatha leaves Rio. It wasn't Dolly's rank ass husband that Agatha was after. Dolly is a powerful witch and her music called to Agatha. Unfortunately, seducing Dolly only results in that song and a slap. Agatha leaves her be after the song gets insanely popular.

Agatha becomes an actress for a while. Her skills are good tier on the stage and she gains a small following before leaving it all behind. Nobody is able to connect her actress persona to The Agatha Harkness. She's very good at glamors

Rio watches Agatha's antics from afar, collects her bodies wherever Agatha drops them, certain that her wife is doing it all for her. She can't go to Agatha because of the Darkhold, but she's thankful for the work, loving her from afar.

Agatha thinks about Rio as often as she thinks about Nicky. The lock of hair in her locket is from Nicky, put there by Rio in apology of what she knew she had to do. Agatha accepted the lock, but not the apology.

Agatha honestly did forgive Rio after about a year, knowing that she had to do her job, but she was too stubborn to say it, to end the masking spell and allow Rio to find her. Rio built up a little resentment for that because, honestly, Nicky was HER SON TOO

Rio found her immediately when Wanda took the Darkhold and Agatha's power. She rushed to her side, sure that Agatha had forgiven her, but she was met with somebody unrecognizable, with bright smiles and a housewife attitude. Agatha bakes her muffins and tells her that she never wants to see her again with the most charming smile. Rio is scared of her for the first little while.

She takes part in all of Agatha's delusions, leaving sometimes to work, but always returning, desperate to break Agatha from the curse.

She didn't send the Salem Seven after Agatha. They were already after her. Rio kept them at bay while Agatha was in her hex, but wanted Agatha to ask for her help when she was finally lucid again.

She was nearby when she heard that the Boy, whom she recognized bc she's reaped William and sigils don't work on primordial beings, wanted to go to the road. She gave Lilia the list of names, using the black heart bc she knew it would get under Agatha's skin.

She waited on the Road knowing that one of them would die and she'd be able to make her entrance bc ain't no way Agatha isn't going to marry a bitch half as dramatic as her.

Agatha is already planning to return to Rio, dead or alive, bc they are meant to be together. Soulmates in life or in death.

#agathario #wives #agatha harkness #rio vidal

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hoakaikapo · 7 months ago

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CASUAL - red x chloe charming (descendants 4: rise of red)

a/n: literally watched the new descendants movie, and while there are some things that i thought could be better, i literally CANNOT stop shipping chloe and red more than anything else rn. it's like brainrot to me, so i have decided to write a fic on them (wattpad: hoakaikapo). here's the first chapter, it's currently 1am, so i'll write more tomorrow morning while my hype for them still lives.

warnings: none. just casual flirting (if that's how you interpret it).

__________________

Chloe found Red standing near the back of the courtyard after the ceremony, shoving her face with the endless pastries available on the dessert table. The princess of Wonderland seemed so childlike and innocent eating macaroons, almost as if they hadn’t gone back in time together and saved both of their mother’s from a certain fate.

“Enjoying that macaroon, Red?” said Chloe as she approached the table and laughed as she proceeded to eat another one. “You can calm down, they’re not going anywhere.”

Red rolled her eyes. “It’s not my fault time traveling could make a person so hungry.”

“I think famished is the word you’re going for since… you’ve nearly eaten the entire plate.” Chloe corrected her.

“Ok, yeah whatever, princess.”

There was a long silence between the two as they watched their mothers converse from afar. The Queen of Hearts embraced Cinderella so firmly as if they hadn’t seen each other in years. They laughed and talked like they were lifelong friends. Maybe it was true; neither of the girls were sure how they changed the timeline other than the fact that Red’s mom was a completely different person.

Although Red had finally gotten what she had wanted – a loving mother – she wasn’t sure why the sinking feeling in her stomach didn’t go away, no matter how many macaroons she ate. Maddox Hatter’s words still remained in her head: changing the timeline could affect everything as she knows it. But, for now, it was good enough for her to see her mother the way she had seen her in high school: a kind person.

Red could only hope that it would stay this way.

“So, our mission here is officially over,” Red breaks the silence at last. “This was a great way to start off the new school year.”

“Couldn’t agree more with you,” Chloe responds and turns to face Red. “You know, this doesn’t have to be the end.”

Red tilts her head in confusion. “What do you mean?”

“Like, we can be friends,” she slowly says, her tone sounding cautious as if to not anger the other princess, “If you wanted to be.”

Before Red could answer her, or even process the offer Chloe just made, their mothers called out to them, striding to their daughters arm in arm then breaking off once they reached their girls. Bridget plants a kiss on Red’s cheek and Cinderella strokes Chloe’s hair, a smile on both of the queen’s faces.

“We were going to introduce you girls formally, but it seems like you two have already met,” the Queen of Hearts said, looking between the two girls. They smile awkwardly at each other for a moment before looking away. “Red, this is my good friend, Ella – well, her majesty, her royal highness, I suppose. We went to high school together right here at Auradon Prep, or Merlin Academy as it was known for us.”

“Bridget, stop it. When it comes to you, there is no need for formalities,” Ella laughs. “It is so lovely to meet you at last, Princess Red. Your mother and I used to send letters back and forth just talking about our daughters when you both were babies.”

“Oh, really? I never knew that…” she says through gritted teeth.

“Yes, and now it gives me so much pleasure to introduce my daughter, Chloe, to you, Bridget. Formally and not written.” The queen’s laugh together for a brief moment.

Chloe holds out her hand to the red queen for her to shake. “Your highness, it is so lovely to meet you and your daughter.”

Red never really thought about it before, but Chloe was the spitting image of her mother: curly blue hair, big dark brown eyes, and quite charming, indeed, not to be ironic or anything. She mimicked Cinderella in every mannerism and every action, like a future queen.

It was odd for the two girls to listen to their mother’s talk, occasionally chiming in every once in a while. Both felt like they knew too little about their current future to produce no more than a sentence in their answers to each question. When Ella asked Red what she did in her free time, she froze. Usually, she would terrorize her mother’s portraits and disobey her ridiculous rules. But since changing the timeline, she wasn’t quite sure what else changed in Wonderland, so she settled for painting, which seemed to surprise her mother.

“You girls are going to have so much fun together!” Bridget exclaimed as the four began walking out of the courtyard. “Ella and I were never roommates while we were in school, but I know you two will have the best time being with each other.”

“Wait, what?” The two princesses said in unison, stopping in their tracks and passing a look of shock between each other.

Ella tilted her head. “Yes, you two are roommates. We were talking about it when we were checking in, remember? Your mom and I specifically sent a request to Principal Uma to allow you two girls to board together.”

“You did? We did?” Red responded in confusion.

Chloe nudged the girl in her side, causing her to grunt, as if to signal to her to play along. “Yes, mom, you did. Red mustn’t remember because she ate too many macaroons, didn’t you?”

Red snarled at Chloe. “Yeah, and I can’t wait, roomie.”

Their mother’s smile contentedly before turning and walking ahead of their daughters; they decided it was best for them to give the girls their alone time so that they may be acquainted with each other before their rooming situation.

If only they knew how familiar their two daughters already were with each other.

“So, about my offer-”

“Just because we’re roommates doesn’t mean we’re exactly friends, princess,” Red snaps slightly. “I can still feed you to the Jabberwocky.”

Chloe rolls her eyes. “Back to your attitude again, I see.”

“I do not have an attitude,” Red exclaims.

“Yes, you do.”

“Do not.

“Do too.”

“Shut up.”

“You shut up!”

“I said shut up first, princess.”

The walk back to the dorm was mainly silent between the two while their mothers chatted, gossiped, and laughed like they were still high schoolers. By the time they had reached their room, it was time for a swift goodbye from the two queen’s, and as simple as that, they were off.

Entering into their dorm room for the first time, they found that their stuff was already set up and situated to their liking. The right side of the room was Red’s, no surprise there since it was covered in red and black from corner to floor. Red smiled at the letter from Maddox Hatter on her desk, already missing her former tutor and friend terribly. Chloe’s side, on the other hand, was white and blue. It was quite simple to Red’s surprise -- she had originally thought the other girl would be more decorative. But to Chloe, it was exactly how she wanted it to be; the only thing missing was her sword on its respective stand, which she did so immediately.

There was one walk-in closet with Red’s clothes taking up one side and Chloe’s clothes taking up the either. The bathroom was lavish, completed with a tub, a walk-in shower, two sinks, some sort of fancy imported toilet, and a large mirror. But, by far, their common area was easily their favorite spot: a large gray sofa with Auradon crested throw pillows, two bookcases filled with books, a TV with some sort of gaming station hooked up to it, and two desks for studying – if there should be any time for that.

It was every girl’s dream room.

“You should turn that into Principal Uma,” Chloe says when she notices the time travel watch on Red’s desk as they were getting ready for bed. “It can be dangerous, you know. It’s not something you should just casually have.”

“Are you saying that because I’m a villain?” Red scoffs.

“You’re not a villain, Red,” she responds. “I just want to be cautious, considering how easy it was for us to time travel in the first place. This isn’t something that should be just laying around our room.”

Our room, Red thought. I can’t believe I have to share it with you for the rest of the year.

“You’re such a goody-goody,” she retorts. “Always abiding by the rules.”

Chloe’s starting to get annoyed. “We’re not having this argument again, Red, I was just saying that-”

“Then drop the topic if you don’t want to argue?”

“Don’t cut me off while I’m talking!” Chloe yells.

Red goes silent immediately over the girl’s sudden outburst. She had never seen this side of the princess before even though she had only gotten to know her over the past four days.

“I’m not being a goody-goody, you’re not a villain either. It could be so easy for someone to time travel accidentally and I just want us to be safe, especially you,” Chloe states, a mixed look of concern and shock over the realization of what she had said at the end.

There’s a pull in Red’s chest, as if a hand wrapped around her heart and started squeezing it when Chloe talked about their safety – her safety, specifically. Her heart pangs in the most unfamiliar way over repeating those words in her head.

“I-I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to yell at you. I’ll just, um, I’m gonna head to bed,” mutters Chloe as she turns off the light. “Night, Red.”

Red can feel herself giving into what Chloe was saying. A part of her didn’t want to, but another part of her understood where the princess was coming from. It was too easy for them to time travel in the first place; the watch could easily be mistaken as a regular pocket watch to anyone else. So, maybe Chloe was right…

Red was going to hate herself later for this.

“Rather than turning it in,” she says slowly amidst the cover of darkness, hoping that Chloe was still awake to hear her so she didn’t sound stupid talking to herself. “I’ll lock it away. That way I don’t have to give it up – per say – and you don’t need to worry about the whole safety thing, you know?”

It’s silent for a while, and dark, until the sound of a lamp turns on and the room is partially filled with light again.

“Red,” Chloe clears her throat, Red looks at her at the sound. “Are you offering a compromise right now?”

“I don’t know. Is that what it’s called?” Red asks.

Chloe laughs. “Yeah, it is.”

“Then, yes, I am, princess,” she grins slightly.

Chloe can’t help the smile on her face over Red’s supposed compromise – and maybe the nickname, even though they were both princesses.

“I can do that,” agreed Chloe, staring at Red from her bed and viewing her in a completely different view from when she first met her. “Just as long as you promise to not use it again for dumb purposes.”

Red chuckles then turns to face her. “Villains don’t make promises.”

“For the last time, you’re not a villain!” Chloe groans as she turns off the lamp, darkness taking hold of the girl’s room once again.

“Tonight, you will not be fed to my Jabberwocky.” Red jokes, still facing the direction where Chloe was earlier in her bed.

“Go to sleep, Red.”

“Fine. Night, princess.”

“Goodnight, Red.”

#descendants #rise of red #descendants the rise of red #red #chloe charming #chloe charming x red #redcharming #glassrose #charminghearts

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waywardstation · 9 months ago

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HAPPY WIP WEDNESDAY!!

This one is to promote @bananacreamphi ‘s dojoshipping week prompts !! I’m participating in it with a fic and accompanying art, each day’s prompt making up one of its seven chapters.

Even though it’s obviously for dojoshipping, just like all my other works you can probably read it entirely platonic as well if you want.

Here is a WIP from it!! It’s a little shorter today because the chapters themselves are shorter.

The overarching story is essentially Ingo helping Zisu fix up the dojo for a festival, because he’s sort of the one that busted it up in the first place with all his battling — it’s a plot that was taken from one of my fake fic title ideas when I was doing those!!

Enjoy! Wording is (VERY) subject to change.

————

“About that, Ingo,” Zisu laughed a little, but it felt more like she was just trying to keep the mood light. “I’ve been meaning to talk to you about something.”

“Oooh, you’re in trouble~” Akari’s teasing remark was bursting at the seams with amusement as she elbowed him. It seemed she was already fully aware of the subject, and had been waiting for Zisu to bring it up — her perceived delight only encouraged preemptive embarrassment to heat Ingo’s ears.

“Why am I in trouble?” Straightening his back as stiff as his tone, Ingo set his chopsticks down against the table under a flat hand, immediately looking at Zisu.

“He’s not in trouble,” Zisu pointed at Akari with her chopsticks before turning to Ingo. “You’re not in trouble.”

“I feel like I’m in trouble.”

“You’re not…” A pause, as the last syllable stretched out. “…exactly, in trouble.”

Ingo could only feel himself growing warmer in the face, and Akari’s snickering off to the side wasn’t helping. “Please don’t delay this any longer, what did I do that has caused such a concern?”

Zisu’s answer wasn’t immediate; while she was probably trying to be gentle about it, the effort only doubled the dread. “Well, you know the welcoming festival coming up in a few days?”

“…Indeed,” Ingo spoke slowly, giving a reaffirming nod. He couldn’t not know about it, what with the newly-finished homes; now empty but soon to be filled by residents traveling across the ocean, it was all anyone was talking about right now. But what could he possibly have to do with any of that?

“Kamado wants the entire village to be at its best for our new residents when they arrive — and I mean the entire village. Every building, every street, every bucket, every grain of dirt, it has to be perfect. Well he came by the training grounds early this morning, before you had even gotten there, and he was…” A pause to figure out how to put it nicely. “Not particularly overjoyed with the current state of it.”

“Oh,” Ingo could see where this was going now. “Oh dear.”

The dojo was sturdy, but it was not indestructible. Ingo was well aware that the battles he conducted at the training grounds were never delicate or subdued. They were oftentimes quite intense with Akari’s help, and over time, such intensity left wood paneling splintered, paint chipped, and dirt in areas there certainly should not be dirt.

No one could deny that it had considerable wear and tear, noticeable from afar and unsightly up close. That was certainly not a presentable sight in a village that apparently needed everything perfectly in place for this festival, down to the specks of dirt on the ground.

#wip wednesday

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sapphire-writes · 2 years ago

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A Night Out ~ Aemond x Reader

request: So now that requests are open 😏…. What do you think about a fic where y/n has lived in kings landing her whole life but has never left the safety of the red keep. She expresses to her best friend Helaena that she wants to travel the world one day but when Aegon over hears her he makes fun of her with Aemond, telling her she wouldn’t last a day. To prove them wrong she sneaks out of the castle but Aemond follows her to make sure she doesn’t get hurt 🥰 ~ @missscarletta7 word count: 1.1k warnings: suggestive language, mentions of reader being in danger, nothing explicit note: love this request, I love me a protective Aemond 😩 thanks for the request friend 💚

“I should like to travel,” you tell Helaena, who rests with her head in your lap, eyes closed as the summer sun washes over her.

“Would you?” Helaena murmurs, keeping her eyes closed. A soft smile decorates her lovely face.

“You wouldn’t last a day in the world,” Aegon says, chuckling from where he also lays in the grass.

The days had grown cold with the promise of autumn, but for some reason today the weather was lovely. The sun bathed the gardens in warmth, which led to everyone spending as much time in the sun as possible.

Aemond doesn’t lay, he is seated on a bench nearby, and a book open across his lap as he listens to the conversation. Your cheeks flush at Aegon’s teasing.

“That is not true-”

“It is true,” he says sitting up to face you, “you’ve been kept in the Keep your whole life. The second you leave this castle wicked men will corrupt you.”

Helaena opens her eyes then, turning her head toward her brother.

“Come now Aeg, you shall frighten her,” she says, defending her lady-in-waiting. Aegon shrugs.

“I speak only the truth, a lovely creature such as yourself is destined to ruin.”

Your mouth drops open, cheeks pink.

“What horrible things you say, Aegon,” you scold, “and anyhow it is not like I would go unarmed.”

Aegon cocks a brow at you.

“And what access to the armory do you have, my lady?” he questions causing you to pout.

“Ser Criston would allow me a weapon of my choosing, I am sure of it,” you tell him. Aegon chuckles.

“That would be rather unwise of him,” Aemond chimes in, “considering you’ve never had a lesson with the blade in your life.”

Your frown deepens.

“How hard can it be?” you challenge, causing Aemond to close his book.

“Hard enough,” Aemond tells you, causing you to roll your eyes.

“Stay where it is safe, my lady,” he tells you, “I hope to not see you on my own adventures into the streets of King’s Landing.”

Your cheeks seem to darken at this, knowing Aegon is referring to his trips to the Streets of Silk.

That night you decide you will go into town. You shall prove them wrong.

Aemond was returning from a rather late night spent in the library. He has gotten into reading a new book and lost track of time, only stopping when his candle fizzled out.

As he walked down the silent corridors he spotted you, a cape draped over your shoulders, as you pulled the hood over your head. Where on earth were you going? What were you doing?

Your movements were slow and calculated as you evaded several goldcloaks, as a small kitten would evade the crashing feet of passersby. Aemond found himself smirking, as he watched you. Grabbing a cloak of his own, he decided he would follow you. He could not let one of his sister’s ladies fall prey to the madness outside of these walls. It wouldn’t be right.

Somehow, someway, he followed as you made your way through the gates unseen.

He follows behind you, remaining unseen as you find your way to a tavern. Aemond enters several moments after you, planning to continue to guard you against afar.

You sit at a table, removing your hood, eyes lit up with wonder. A tavern girl walks over to you.

“What’ll it be?” she says, gruffly, with her hands on her hips.

“Is there something you recommend?” you ask and the lady makes a face at you.

“We have mead, and we have bread,” she tells you.

“Sounds lovely,” you tell her and she walks away, perplexed.

Aemond chuckles to himself, keeping his head low. He is terribly recognizable, let alone with just his Valyrian coloring. The eyepatch does not allow for anonymity.

“Hello beautiful,” a voice says, causing you to turn. A man gazes down at you.

“Good evening,” you say politely, feeling your heartbeat thumping against your chest.

“Fancy a shag?” he asks, and your eyes widen.

“No,” you tell him, but he grabs your arm, pulling you from your seat.

“Come deary, let me show you what I can-”

The man never has the chance to finish his sentence as he is torn away from you. You fall back against the table, the corner biting into your hip. The man had been thrown to the floor and moaned in pain.

You look toward your savior, a tall man hidden behind a cloak.

“The lady said no,” he says, voice caressing you like silk. Wait a minute. You know that voice.

Your savior turns to you, keeping his head low, but you spot the patch across his face.

“Aem-” you begin before he brings a finger to his lips to silence you.

“Come,” he says, taking your hand and leading you from the tavern into the streets. He brings you to a nearby alley, away from the bustling chatter of the nightlife.

“Did you follow me?” you accuse.

“I only planned on watching, if only you needed assistance,” he tells you, “which you did.”

“I could have handled myself,” you argue.

“Oh could you?” he teases, but his eye widens as you reveal a small blade from the pockets of your skirts.

“Yes,” you insist.

Aemond lets out a laugh.

“You planned to stab a man in the middle of a tavern?”

“I will do what needs to be done!” you tell him, “I am not a maiden in need of protection.”

You remind him yet again of a small kitten, claws out. Aemond finds himself grinning at your ferocity.

“What if I enjoy protecting you?” he tells you.

You scoff, cheeks reddening.

“You are making fun of me,” you accuse, bringing a hand up to push his chest.

Aemond grabs your hand, taking a step forward, forcing you backward until your back hits the wall.

“What would you do?” he asks, as your breathing picks up, “if I was a madman, wanting to have his way with you right now, right here?”

You wet your lips at the implication.

“Because that is what that man was thinking,” he tells you, his face serious, “stab me? The goldcloaks would throw you in a black cell. Or worse.”

Your gaze flickers to his mouth before you turn your head away.

“I just wanted to see,” you tell him, “I know, I know it is dangerous. I just do not wish to live life like a prisoner.”

Aemond watches you as your eyes become glassy with frustrated tears.

“I can give you that,” Aemond tells you, placing a hand under your chin. You meet his gaze.

“You need only ask,” Aemond continues, watching as your lips part.

“Please,” you beg, and Aemond connects his lips to yours, kissing you with such ferocity you are sure you shall melt into the wall behind you.

“I shall not be kept locked up in the Keep,” you breathe against his mouth. He hums before kissing you once more.

“You do not need to be,” he murmurs, “Vhagar can take you anywhere you wish to go. As long as you take me with you.”

note: UGH my heart explodes with fluffy protective Aemond why can't I be pushed up against a wall by him 😩 hope you enjoyed it loves 💚

#aemond targaryen #aemond x fem!reader #aemond x reader #aemond x y/n #aemond x you #aemond targaryen imagine #aemond targaryen oneshot #aemond targaryen x female reader #aemond targaryen x reader #aemond targaryen x you #aemond targaryen x y/n #protective!aemond #aemond one eye #aemond the kinslayer

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chantsdemarins · 1 year ago

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New Fic: Breath of the Æsir ⚔︎🏰 (Loki X Reader)

Formally (Collapsing in the Arms of Chaos) I changed the name. 😬 I know Medieval stories aren't everyone's fav but heck, I hope you like it! It has been brewing in the coffee pot that is in my head for over a year. I feel slightly self-conscious that after my first time with COVID, my brain is not the same. I hope I still have my ability to write! My last story published a few weeks ago was written while I was falling ill and I know it wasn't my best!

Thank you for reading!! If you want to comment I would be so happy and reblogs are like the most precious thing to me. All art is mine, it's a Photoshop-crazed situation.

Summary: Disenchanted with the Danes' misuse of Norse gods to sanction their brutality, Loki finds himself ostracized. Stripped of his divine powers and bearing a severe injury, he wanders into the realm of the conquered. By a twist of fate, he arrives at your manor, where you await your husband's return. However, destiny has other plans.

Warnings: Blood.

Words: 2,471

Smut rating: Not yet...but there sure will be!

Posting schedule: Every Saturday! I am going to stick to this!

Chapter 1 The Embroidery of Destiny Chapter 2 The Stranger Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5

@lokis-little-fawn @lcolumbia1988 @thesoftboiledegg @anukulee @mochie85 @lokisgoodgirl @lokischambermaid @nildespirandum @caffiend-queen @mochie85 @maple-seed @mischief2sarawr @kikster606 @thedistractedagglomeration @glitchquake@simplyholl @holdmytesseract @holymultiplefandomsbatman @wheredafandomat @fictive-sl0th @ijuststareatstuffhereok89 @muddyorbs @vickie5446 @trickster-maiden @grymrayven

Before your family settled again, you had been travelers, moving from one darkened patch of earth to the next. Soil on your boots muddied your paths, creating difficulties in finding a home. There were many things to see, some horrors, some things magical and unfounded. Shapes shifted in the forest where you camped at night. One day your father showed you where they lowered men into the bogs, decorated with bronze. These were not the ways of your people. They did not worship like that. It might have been too much for you to know where some ended up when they were no longer living, not in graves or on pyres. Something else.

By the time you reached the northern lands, your family had negotiated your belongings down to just what the pallid horses could carry. Your croft was built into the very earth you had struggled to cross, with bedrooms burrowed into the side of a hill. It was not built for so much rain. Buckets and sluices were not enough to keep out the floods.

So, when your husband came to marry you, you packed your things neatly, placed them in a pack, and left your parents’ home without drawing a breath. You walked a distance far greater than any you had as a child to his family's land, your new home. The way your family had negotiated the marriage remained a blind spot in your mind. You couldn't fathom it. From a croft to a manor.

Over time, nothing in your marriage seemed to flourish. The land, though beautiful, yielded nothing you sowed. Too sandy or too chelated, perhaps unfortunate timing. You became a wife in the loneliest ways. No spinning of yarn would produce a cloth finer than the wool you began with. Hours of practice composing embroidery resulted in nothing more than half completed sea escarpments, knots, and birds with no flight.

The elegant window that surveyed the tenants' labors only deepened your isolation. They carried on with their duties, and you retired to your quarters, curtains drawn. The chill from your childhood followed you here. The stone walls held a dampness no fire could dispel. You knew somewhere across the hills where your parents still sleeping too close to the earth. Rooms still flooded. Though your loyalty never wavered, even as your husband wandered afar, absent for days at a time, his pursuits as obscure as the horizon beyond your room filled with half-finished tasks.

In kindness or disappointment, he had ensured your education extended beyond your lowly beginnings. Through travels and courtly audiences, barons and other titled men and women recounted their lives' poetry over each glass of mead or wine. You listened for moments when they forgot their lines, most days this was more interesting than their images they wanted you to see.

Although had you not met Isolde of Easting, you would not have thought to plant the spiky yellow gorse along the manor's borders. When the proper conversation waned, you had discovered the titled people still spun tales of their lands. The places they had come or been uprooted from. In the best conversations, you gleaned knowledge of the plants, herbs, and tokens from the first peoples, their ways overshadowed by the new cultures but nonetheless seeming to flow from them to you during the quieter moments—the men away hunting, the embroidery thread running low, the teapot empty. These things were spoken of in hushed tones so the servants would not get ideas.

You spoke of the hawthorn tree, the ravens' work, the swords warriors cast into the cold estuary, found along all the lakes' shores. The Roman merchants who brought tales of Jesus and his cross. The god Woden came from the Angles, and Odin, from the North. Their wars and bloodshed filled the spaces between village homes and now the courts. If asked if you prayed to the Christian god, you couldn't say. You longed to speak of the place where they lowered men into the bogs, the place your father once showed you. Later, in the quiet of your room, you would pull out a relic from beneath the blankets in your chest, and it would look unrecognizable. It once held meaning, but that meaning didn't travel with it.

Sometimes when you were awake much too early, the nightingales still singing, you would dip your quill into the small pot of black soot. You would unroll a small piece of parchment, discarded by the cooks, and write down your dreams. Which had room in your sleep since they were so often unimpeded by the presence of your husband. You wrote in the lais of the Frankish people, counting eight sounds to the line, braiding your dreams with your words.

Had I found a small shell, not rope I would have held it to my ear The ocean's song would have come to me Instead, I was swallowed wholly

This was how things proceeded until the day they did not.

As you came to learn, in the void and closeness of life, nothing is reliable enough to expect its continuation the next day. You should allow for change to slip through the crevices of even the dampest chambers. It just had not happened in so long you almost did not recognize it when something remarkable unfolded at your manor.

On this day, as you sipped your tea, with half-finished yards of cloth draped across your lap, and the unopened book of hours on the small, worn table, your gaze was fixed on the wind billowing the emerald curtains—silk from an era long past, traded by hands unknown. Like much of the decor in the manor, these were vestiges of your husband's family's trade in finery, symbols of their stature akin to that of minor kings.

Elinor, your companion for the last 10 years, rapped on your door abruptly, breaking your contemplative gaze.

“My lady, please excuse me,” she croaked, as the door opened before you could arrange a pretext to delay her entry.

“What is it, Elinor?” you asked, not wishing to dwell on the trivialities of the manor that day. Clearing her throat, she reported urgently of a man in a bad way, injured and lying on the steps. She hastened to your window, the portal to the land beyond your manor, and pointed to the makeshift courtyard where a man lay seemingly lifeless if not for the faint moan you heard.

“Why have you not sought my husband or some other man of decisions?” you questioned with a twinge of fear edging into your refuge of solitude.

“Lady, your husband has traveled beyond into the land of the Scots, and the aldermen are not present either,” she informed you.

“A household of women only, then? How did I overlook such an event?” you pondered.

“Lady, you are often engrossed in your own pursuits within these walls. How could you have noticed your husband's departure?” Elinor reasoned, her words not easing the panic now fully upon you. The thought that your husband had left you unprotected added another layer of anguish.

“At such a time, Elinor, how shall we defend ourselves?” you barely articulated.

“I suspect he gave little thought to the matter,” Elinor replied, her head bowed even lower than her subdued voice.

“Then it falls to me to act in their absence,” you reasoned. Not wanting this conflict or the talk that may ensue you knew you must act quickly. This man perhaps knew your husband, or perhaps it was only a small political scuffle that may have resulted in his injuries. You thought of the many reasons he could have ended up at the steps of your manor of this day. None of them added up entirely.

As you navigated the long, narrow corridors, your thin morning jacket provided little relief from the chill as Elinor aided you with the heavy door. You both stood in awe of the man at your feet. Having seen men before, chiefly your husband. This man’s appearance was now shocking at close view. He was unlike your husband in all ways you could imagine.

“Holy Jesus save us,” Elinor yelled through her missing teeth.

“He will not assist with this, Elinor,” you responded, your eyes surveying the severe wound from his stomach to his chest, the dark blood pooling around his lean form.

The man’s hair was a shade darker than the darkest night. Had night possessed more depth, it would resemble the hue of his locks. His attire suggested nobility, which only intensified the chill you felt. He had clearly been bested in whatever skirmish he had come from, and with no healer at hand, it seemed likely that a burial might soon follow—until his eyes fluttered open.

A striking blue that drew your own darker gaze, hinting at his foreign language or origins. His hand reached out feebly before falling back to his side.

He whispered faintly, “Ásjá.”

“He's alive!” you declared, as if the statement itself could reverse his fate.

“Yes, lady, he lives, I told you. Now what shall we do?” Elinor asked, concern evident in her voice.

“We save him. It is the right thing to do,” you answered.

“But without a healer, we risk much by sheltering him,” Elinor’s voice trembled.

“Then we shall tend to his needs ourselves,” you declared, your courage unusual, unfounded, drawn from the same well that had seen men saved from death at a distance. An instinct came over you. You directed Elinor to gather wood, cloth, herbs, and other necessities that seemed more from your imagination than any practical experience. You quickly cut away his clothes, exposing the dire wound more fully.

“Lady, he may not survive this,” Elinor observed with a somber tone. The unhinged flesh flapping against the seemingly unended torrent of blood emerging from him. How could there be so much blood.

“Silence, Elinor,” you hushed her. Your hands, though failed in the art of tapestry, were adept with needle and thread. So much failure had given you courage.

“We must stem the bleeding before we can stitch him up,” you instructed, asking for a branch from the fire.

“Lady, you cannot—” Elinor began, but you had already pressed the smoldering wood to the wound. The man awoke suddenly, thrashing in pain.

“Hold him down!” you ordered. Elinor, small but determined, restrained his arms.

You envisioned repairing his injury as if it were the "Galley of the Titan’s Moons," a rare piece of embroidery from the northern lands.

“I shall map the night sky upon your body, sir,” you said, speaking into the silence as he drifted further from this world. You sensed the ancestors gather, ready to welcome him, but you were not ready to let him go.

“No, not yet” you whispered, a soft rebuke to the invisible presence.

Elinor looked at you, puzzled. To whom were you speaking?

You were determined. This man would not die. Though you had sent for a proper healer, your task was to keep him alive until they arrived, hoping they would be sober enough to be of use. Much worse would be a drunk priest should your help not find any healer available.

It was not until you had finished suturing his wound that you noticed how his body appeared in the dim light of the great room. Your loneliness resonated with the landscape of his injury. It was a peculiar reaction, but there was something else broken within this man, beyond the sword wound. It was something familiar to your own. You held you own stomach for a moment, it felt as if you were the one almost slain, not him.

Eventually, his bleeding ceased, and the healer arrived, tended to him with poultices and what looked like grain spirits. You wrapped your furs around his sleeping form. He did not pass away. The stranger in your home survived. You had been told he might still not make the night. You watched him for as long as your eyes could. His faint inhalations mirrored in your own. But the exhaustion took over, and before you could retreat to your own chamber, you found yourself lying at his side.

“How improper, Lady!” Elinor’s voice pierced the quiet as dawn crept in and your eyes, heavy with sleep, opened. You hadn’t realized you had fallen asleep beside the stranger. Startled, you rose, wrapping a blanket around yourself. Quickly finding a reason that you had slept at his side.

“He remains unconscious, Elinor. The healer was unsure if he would wake,” you confided in the servant who had been by your side for so many years. She looked briefly placated. Yet you knew her mind was racing. The healer would tell the burgh folk of this strange man. Your husband was nowhere to be known. Northman had recently been subdued with heavy piles of church silver, and that arrangement was delicate at best. They would be back and this time they would perhaps sack the village since you knew the last of the silver had been promised away to visiting bishops and clergy. The wealth had run its course.

“He must stay until he awakens, until he can speak for himself,” you quickly decided.

It was better to know who he was. He would surely tell you since you saved his life.

“But what if he is a demon, my lady? Have you considered that he may have come from Hell to bring us further misfortune?” Elinor ventured, instantly regretting her words as her face contorted with shame.

“I apologize. I did not mean to imply you are cursed,” she hastily added.

You felt pity for Elinor, she was not as traveled as you had become. Had not the stories you knew, but you also could not see beyond, you had no way to know if it was safe to keep him with you. If your husband should arrive back, there would be no way to convince him that this man had not abused you in some way, but you did know something of him. There was something you did recognize.

“This man is no curse, no demon,” you affirmed, your gaze fixed on his hair, as dark as the ink with which you wrote.

“How can you be certain?” she queried.

“He spoke in the old tongue, asking for aid. Did you not hear him, Elinor?” you questioned, your voice steady.

The woman stepped back, tossing another log onto the fire, her confusion apparent. “I did not recognize the language, nor do I understand how you did,” she admitted.

The language was familiar to you, it was the tongue of your people from so long ago. From the place of your birth. The place that was destroyed till there was nothing but darkness.

Chapter 2 below!

#loki #loki laufeyson #loki fandom #loki fanfic #loki fanfiction #loki smut #loki x reader #mcu #norse mythology #medieval fanfic #AU loki #tom hiddleston

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fanaticsnail · 9 months ago

Text

Daughter of the Sea: Chapter 3

Masterlist Here, Header Masterlist Here

Word Count: 4,500+

Synopsis: Being called to a small island in the east blue, you enjoy a day out with your five-year-old niece. Her line of questioning has you question some moments yourself, your checkered past revealed to her in no uncertain terms.

Themes: Unrequited requited love, slow burn, long fic, long distance relationship, friends to lovers, found family dynamics, love over time, (smut, mdni 18+, NSFW - chapters will be marked accordingly), love-making, angst, hurt, gendered terms used, swearing, adult language.

Notes: Benn Beckman x f!reader, platonic!Mihawk x f!reader, platonic!Shanks x f!reader, slight mention of MiShanks ship, Beginning: Shanks is 19, Mihawk is 23, Beckman is 30, f!reader is 22, Uta is 2 months old for the sake of the plot (canonically she's 2 years old). The f!reader is suggested to be native to Kuraigana with her mannerisms and language.

Tag List: @sordidmusings @i-am-vita @since-im-already-here @mfreedomstuff @gingernut1314 @feral-artistry @writingmysanity @indydonuts

Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3, Chapter 4, Chapter 5

The next three years flew by, each of you experiencing the time catching up with you. Uta was now a small five-year-old, Shanks was no longer a teenager, and you were rapidly approaching your thirties.

Each time you were called to get an update on your niece, you smiled at the information given to you. Benn Beckman was always on the other end of the transponder, his yearning and longing from afar only growing in fondness for each moment that stretched between you.

He had begun sending you trinkets alongside his letters: a shell from the Red-Force's new birth port, a small bottle of rum he purchased to drink with you of an evening over the shell. He'd send you pressed flowers, sweet-smelling perfumes, and he'd even begun sending you jewelry.

He would never explain the gifts to you, just uttering a simple: “Uta said you needed it,” or “Uta wanted to buy it for her ‘Pretty Aunty'.” You had an inkling that Beckman was using Uta as an excuse to buy you pretty things, but chose to remain silent. Considering Beckman had never lied to you, you couldn't quite gauge how he was able to do so now.

Mihawk had also opened up over the years, sending several gifts here and there for Uta, all symbolic of Kuraigana and who he was to her: her favorite uncle from the land of gloom.

It was well past ten o’clock in the evening when your personal shell shook with a lively bounce, prompting you to get out of your settled position in your bed suite and gather it. After placing it in your ear, you were not expecting to hear soft sobs falling into the receiver end of the call.

“Pretty Aunty?” a small voice whimpered from the other end. You immediately sat upright in your bed, glaring at your wall as you answered.

“Uta, is that you my love?” you asked her. She responded with a soft sniffle, biting back a sob as she continued to talk into your shell.

“C-Can we have girl time?” her soft song called on your heartstrings, prompting you to begin readying yourself to flee from Kuraigana to come to her aid.

“Sweetheart, where are you?” you asked her, slipping out of your nightdress and pulling on your traveling clothes.

“It's in the east-blue,” she whimpered into the mouthpiece, “Dawn Island, Foosha Village in Goa Kingdom.”

You began gathering a satchel bag, hurriedly placing a few of your essentials within the canvas and slinging it over your shoulder, “Talk to me, Uta. Tell me what's going on so I can get ready to see you.”

“I just miss my favorite pretty aunty,” she wailed, “And I want you to be here with my favorite uncle. I want you both together.” You hesitated, looking at your clock face to read the time and current date.

“Oh, sweety. I don't think Mihawk will be back-,” you attempted to relay while fastening your shoe, but Uta never gave you the chance to finish that sentence.

“-Not Uncle Mihawk,” she sniffed, hardening her resolve, “I want you with Uncle Beckman. He misses you so much, and it's really hard to watch.”

You dropped your shoe, your foot falling onto the floor as you adjusted your earpiece. Hastily recovering, you slung your satchel over your shoulder.

“Gorgeous girl, I don't know what you-,” you began, again halted by Uta's hardened determination.

“-He misses you so much, Pretty Aunty,” she hurriedly spat. Taking a moment to collect her thoughts, she inhaled through her nose and continued, “He thinks about you all the time. He always asks me what I think you'll like, and makes me choose things to buy you.”

You smile at this knowledge, shaking your head before collecting your thoughts and relaying your words.

“Oh, sweetheart,” you hummed at her, sighing and shaking your head, “Uncle Becks and I are very good friends. I miss him too, sometimes.”

“Then why don't you come with us?” She whined, “Why do you always stay with Uncle Hawk all the time? Are you and Uncle Hawk married? Captain Shanks says the only way a pirate makes a home on land is sometimes when they find someone they like enough to marry.”

You bit back the urge to laugh, struggling to contain a few escaped snickers.

“Sweet pea,” you inhaled a deep breath, “Uncle Hawk is the world's greatest swordsman. He stays here at Kuraigana to hold that title, and because it's his home.”

“Did you marry Uncle Hawk, Pretty Aunty?” she asked sternly. You could tangibly feel the holes she was burning into you through the transmitter, the rage of the five year old physically scorching you.

“Uta, I work for Uncle Hawk,” you informed her, calmly, “I live in Kuraigana with him to make sure he's safe. Also, between us girls,” you draw the mouthpiece in closer, “Uncle Hawk gets very lonely.”

“But I’m lonely,” she uttered with somber defeat, “There's only men here, and I need girl time!”

You giggled, taking out a piece of parchment from your desk drawer, and hastily scribbled on tanned note paper.

“Okay, sweetheart,” you finally inform her, “If I sail for two full days, without any sleep,” you smiled into the snail, “I’ll be in Goa Kingdom before you know it.”

“Yes!” She exclaimed gleefully, “I'll tell Captain Shanks! I'll tell the crew! Uncle Becks will finally stop being so sad all the time!”

“Uta, please,” you hurriedly attempt to snuff out the growing embers of her joy, “You can tell Captain Shanks, but can we try to keep it a surprise?”

“Oh, like a secret?” Uta asked you, her curiosity ticking up in her cadence.

“No, sweety,” you giggled, “Secrets are to be held forever, surprises are to be revealed later.” She hummed at that explanation, opting to instead elevate her spirit once more.

“Okay, okay, Pretty Aunty,” her voice began buzzing once again in excitement, “We’ll be in Goa for maybe another week. I am so happy you're coming!”

Making your way to the front door, you hung your note depicting your absence from Kuraigana to Mihawk should he arrive back to the high-keep before you. Exiting the castle, you readied your personal sailboat and began the tireless journey of traveling, sleeplessly, for two full days.

In those two full days, Uta had never been so excited. The entirety of the Red-Hair crew noticed the subtle jump in her step, the hum in her voice and the smile on her lips. By the time midday managed to hit its peak, she rushed down to the docks with a thundering pace.

“Oi, Uta!” Hongo called after the child, immediately turning from his reclined position and racing after her. It was his turn to watch over the child, and this was a job he took absolutely seriously considering her tendency to sprint.

It was no use calling after her, Uta picking up her pace and propelling her body like a cannonball fired from a barrel. Hongo was breathless when he reached the peer, his eyes widening when Uta jumped into the arms of a crouching woman, hooded and cloaked.

“Pretty Aunty!” Uta cried, burying her face in the crook of your shoulder and sobbing loudly.

“Gorgeous Girl,” you hummed down at her, your eyes closed and lifting her to your standing height, “You're getting so big now, but I can still lift you like this.”

Uta continued sobbing into your shoulder, her smile burried against your neck as you soaked in her embrace. Fighting back a release of emotion yourself, you gulped back your sob and opened your eyes to see the shocked face of the Red-Hair Pirate, Hongo.

“Doctor,” you hummed at him, your sultry voice smiling at him.

“Secretary,” he blinked back his surprise with a small smirk, “Captain know you were coming?”

“I'm not certain,” you admitted, looking down at the emotional child in your arms, “Sweetheart, did you tell your Captain I was coming?”

“Mm-mmm,” she shook her head in denial, “A surprise.” You sighed an “Ah,” in response, smiling back up at Hongo.

“Evidently not, Doctor,” you nodded with a soft shrug, “Why don't we go and tell him all together, hm?” Uta nodded into your chest, kicking her legs lightly and wriggling in your arms.

“Let's go!” She squealed, grabbing at your hand and prompting you to hurry after her. Hongo huffed out a soft laugh, shaking his head and trailing behind you.

As you approached the tavern at the top of the hill, laughter and clinking of glasses reverberating within the wooden walls. Uta released your hand, rushing in towards her red-headed adoptive father and tugging at his white shirt.

Shanks lay leaning on the bar, laughing at a joke told by Yassop and clapping him on the shoulder. He turned down to the child, who clutched at the base of his shirt and yanked for him to stoop to her level.

You took a moment to look around the tavern, noticing a green haired hostess scuttling around the room and tending to collecting tankards and empty bottles. You turned to see Lucky Roux diving into a large smoked lamb leg, Hongo tapping him on the shoulder and informing him to slow down to ease digestion.

Several of the red-hair crew were scattered, all men entertaining a coupling counterpart aside from both Yassop and Shanks who remained conversing with Uta. Your gaze scanned over the room, finally halting on the burly figure of the man you had conversed with for the past five years.

Beckman hunched his body against the wall, his arm extended over his head as his eyes twinkled with flirtatious mischief. A woman coyly batted her eyelashes, hiding her giggle behind her hand at Beckman's words. He reached forward, tucking her hair behind her ear, an act that the woman playfully swatted away with her lips pursed in mischief.

You shook your head with a soft smile, looking to your toes before turning your attention towards your adoptive niece and approaching her father in a slow and steady step.

“Captain Shanks,” you uttered in a low voice, his head immediately spring up from Uta with his left hand clutching Yassop’s shirt.

“P-Pretty lady,” he stuttered out, his body lunging forward. He staggered in his movements, collecting your left cheek in his right hand with his calloused thumb tracing a soft circle over your jaw, “Y-You’re here? Why are you here? Did something happen to Hawk-Eyes? Is he okay-?”

“-He’s fine, Captain,” you hushed him, raising your left hand to collect his right, “He's away from Kuraigana presently, off collecting some easy bounties to add to his hoard of treasures and to keep his skills sharp,” you removed his hand from your cheek, continuing to clutch it within your own, “And he's doing remarkably well.”

“Oh,” Shanks sighed in relief, before furrowing his brows in confusion, “But if he's thriving, why are you here?” Understanding his chain of reasoning, you smiled with tight lips before leaning in towards his face.

“Uta called me on my personal transponder,” you uttered, pressing your lips against his cheek in a chase kiss, “Said she needed ‘girl time’ with her favorite aunty-.”

“-That’s not what I said!” Uta cried in frustration, breaking you both away from your trance and glancing down at the pearl and ruby-haired child.

You softened your smile, pulling away from Shanks' cheek and crouching down in a low stoop to greet Uta. You claimed the young girl’s hands within your own, nodding to her for clarification. She gulps back her courage, hardening her features and grimacing.

“I said I needed my Pretty Aunty to have girl time,” she pouted, glancing between your eyes and Shanks’ hazelnut orbs, “And that she needs to see Uncle Beckman because he's lonely and sad.”

Both you, Shanks and Yassop drew your eyes over to Benn Beckman as he stooped down to whisper into his companion’s ear. The three of you raised your eyebrows, all exchanging knowing glances between you as you watched his descent.

As Beckman collected the woman's lips beneath his, her willing lips smiling against his as the kiss lingered on. Eyes widening at witnessing Beckman’s flirtatious advances collect it's due reward, you looked down at your niece who was glaring at him with utter anger.

You shook your head at Uta, darting your eyes between hers and softened your expression further, turning her chin to meet her gaze. She continued to pout, frowning deeply at you.

“Seems Uncle Beckman is not as lonely as you thought, sweet pea,” you giggled at her while scrunching your nose, “What would you like first?” Uta, her orbs looking up at you through thick red and white eyelashes, looked hopefully up into your eyes.

“He told me he missed you!” Uta growled, looking to her dad, “Did Uncle Beckman lie to me? I thought he liked Pretty Aunty! He told me-.” You waved your hands, regaining your niece's attention with your genuine smile.

“-What do you like to do on this island?” you asked her, tucking her hair behind her ear and giving her a playful dab on the nose, “I haven't been here before, and I would love to see some of the sights.” Uta lost her train of thought, eyes now filling with hope.

“Can we go to the salon?” she squeaked out rapidly, “Do nails and hair? Maybe some makeup? Can we go shopping, get snacks and clothes? Can we-?”

“-Uta, please!” Shanks huffed out a loud laugh, “Your pretty aunty has only just arrived, let her rest a bit before shooting questions at her.” You laughed alongside him.

“Truthfully, Captain,” you rose from your crouch to meet your smile with his own at eye level, “I came here knowing what I was in for. With your permission, may I take my niece for the remainder of the day?”

“By all means,” he smiled at you, gesturing to the door with his right hand, “Enjoy what's left of the sun. And you,” he snapped his head over at Hongo, “You owe the lady your gratitude for getting out of uncle-duty, Hongo.”

Hongo closed the gap between you, collecting your right hand in his right and stopping down to place his lips on your knuckles. You felt his gratitude from the lengthy kiss he pressed against you, finishing the first kiss with three rapid kisses to follow in its stead.

“Thank you,” he mumbled against your knuckles, his warm breath tickling your skin.

“Go and have a drink, doctor,” you suggested, “You've earned it after that quick sprint.” He rose from his stoop, eyes meeting yours with a soft smile as he released your hand. You quickly turned to see Shanks and Uta in a soft embrace before she ran to your side.

Reaching out your hand to her, you quickly wave to Shanks, Yassop and Hongo before leaving the bar; just as Beckman and the woman on his arm approach to get another round of drinks.

Beckman ordered his usual beverage, and something similar for the companion who said she could handle it. Relinquishing a small wad of Berry, he reached for the drinks and clinked the rim against hers. While she looked towards her friend, who was currently seated on the lap of Limejuice, he noticed Hongo drinking a shot of tequila with Yassop and Shanks.

“Hongo,” his gruff voice called over to them before turning to the lady at his side, “Sorry, doll. Would you excuse me for a moment?” She shrugged him off, enjoying a sip of the drink and feeling the subtle burn in her throat.

He immediately marched over to the doctor, his hand cupping his shoulder and turning Hongo to face him.

“Steady on, Beckman,” Hongo frowned, shrugging off his arm and raising the short glass to his lips, “What's gotten into you?”

“Where's Uta?” he barked lowly, his gaze pointed and accusatory, “You were on next rotation, where is our niece?” Shanks placed his right arm over Beckman's forearm, drawing his attention to the redhead instead of the doctor.

“She's safe, big guy,” Shanks smirked, gesturing for another round for the three of them, “She's in very capable, and extremely attentive hands.”

“If you've palmed her off to the woman in Mount Colubo for the day-,” Beckman threatened, Shanks laughing into his shot-glass, downing the drink in a single gulp.

“-Absolutely not, Becks,” Shanks finished his drink, ordering another with salt and lemon this time, “Someone made the trip especially to see her here. Someone you affectionately refer to as ‘Darlin’,’ when you call her.”

Beckman dropped his glass, the container shattering at his boots as his mind raced with several questions. The ones eclipsing the more mundane: ‘how did you get here?’ and ‘is everything okay with Mihawk?’ were of ‘did you see him flirt with another woman?' and ‘did you see him kiss her?’.

“She saw, Becks,” Shanks broke him from his trance, prompting him to look up as his captain began sweeping at the glass by his feet with a wicker broom, “You've spoken of your conquests in the past with her, why should seeing it in action be any different?”

“Because I don’t want her to think less of me-...” he quickly stifled his words, wincing as his captain's grin spread up his lips as fast as lightning.

“Oh, Becks,” Shanks taunted him with a slow mock, “I thought you had a little crush, but come on man. It's been years!” Beckman chose to remain silent in lieu of spilling more of his heart.

“Is it a curiosity, a small infatuation?” Shanks prompted, placing a replacement beverage in Beckman's hand once the glass was cleared, “Or are you in love with her?”

Beckman looked at the glass, his lip quipping up in gratitude for the replacement and the clean up before he carefully responded.

“I am in love with her.”

Shanks lulled his head on his shoulders, his elbows anchoring on the bar top as he slunk back into his rounded seat.

“And what are you going to do about it, Becks?” Shanks asked again, leaning his head on Yassop’s shoulder, “Wanna take a vow of celibacy at sea like our sharpshooter here?” Yassop shook his head, smiling with his mind swimming with thoughts of his wife in Syrup Village.

Beckman was perplexed. He was bewildered. Some could go so far as to say he was disorientated. The rush of admitting this unrequited love aloud to anyone other than Uta had him discombobulated, especially due to the fact that Shanks had not said a word against his confession.

“Still with us, Becks?” Shanks asked, waving his hand in front of Beckman to regain a sense of attention back. Snapping back to his present tense, he shook his head at his captain and downed his drink in a single gulp.

“She's with Uta, havin’ girl time?” Beckman asked, Shanks nodded in response. Taking a moment to pay a handful of Berry to the bar, Beckman purchased a round of drinks for his date, her friend, Limejuice and Shanks.

“Her name is Belmira, the friend with Limejuice is Dahlia,” Beckman informed Shanks, placing the tray of drinks in his hand and ushering him over to her, “Give her a drink with my apologies, Captain. I'm gonna do somethin’ about it.”

“That's my first-mate,” Shanks smiled, accepting the drinks and gleefully approaching the table with Dahlia, Limejuice and Belmira. As Shanks began offering the woman Beckman's apologies, Beckman was already out the door and walking into town.

Enjoying the salon first: hot combs, scalp massages, aromatherapy and waterfall conditioning were offered to both yours and Uta's scalps. You both relaxed into the experience, enjoying catching up on times lost between you. Your hands were always clasped tightly around one another's, your seats pushed flush together so you could talk closer.

Next was stopping for a small snack, both enjoying a quick sample of local fruits with ice cream before gathering some chicken smoked on skewers. You informed Uta you would both be eating something a little heartier later in the evening, but you enjoyed indulging your niece on her impulses.

Dresses, skirts, pants, socks, shoes and jewelry was next: all catered to Uta's unique taste. She picked out a few items for you to try on, her small hands raking at your freshly dried hair to style it up before releasing it with a nod.

Walking hand in hand, you approached a small vendor selling books with sheet music, all easy to decipher and follow. You purchased a small collection of them for Uta to take back to the Red-Force, adding it to the growing number of items you'd purchased for her.

Uta arched her back and stumbled in her footing briefly, her eyes drooping from the sheer amount of walking you did together, always hand in hand. You approached the docks, both your ship and the Red-Force remained rocking lightly with the tide.

“Pretty Aunty?” she asked suddenly, her voice slow and cautious. She gave your hand a gentle squeeze to halt your approach.

“Yes gorgeous girl?” you replied, scrunching your nose and looking down at the young girl at your side. Her eyes held curiosity, but also an air of precaution.

“Do you like Uncle Hawk?” she asked in a low tone, “Is that why you stay in Kuraigana and not come with us? Do you kiss him sometimes?”

“Uta!” you shook your head with a small laugh, “Absolutely not, sweet girl. While I do love Uncle Hawk, our love is not the way you think,” you confessed to her.

“I don't understand,” she shrugged with a soft pout. You rolled your shoulders back, huffing out a breath before leading her down to sit just before boarding her home at sea. You crouched in front of her, holding her gaze at eye level.

Attempting to commence your history, easy enough for a child to comprehend, and condense several brutal steps and details, you pursed your lips.

“Uncle Hawk and I fought each other a few times,” you admitted, gauging her comprehension by carefully looking in her eyes, “I won once, he won once. One day after that; we fought so hard, I ended up needing to see a special doctor to fix me up.” She nodded, waiting for more of your history to be shared with her.

“Uncle Hawk took me to the doctor, and waited for me to wake up to talk with me,” you continued. “He offered me a choice to leave a very, very bad person who had me do very, very bad things.” You shuddered at the memory that still caused your blood to run cold. You shook off the feeling, continuing to relay your explanation to the young child.

“I love him for that,” you admit to her, “Uncle Hawk showed me mercy where he had every right to make my heart stop. I have been living in my home in Kuraigana ever since, and I truly enjoy helping him remain as the World's Greatest Swordsman.”

She hummed, taking in the information like a dry sponge soaking up warm water. She allowed several moments to pass before she asked a pointed question.

“Do you kiss him like Uncle Beckman kissed that lady?” Uta narrowed her eyes, your comprehension of exactly what she was asking finally dawning on you.

“No, gorgeous girl,” you shook your head, “Uncle Hawk and I do not kiss. I make his coffee, I prepare his schedule, he cooks for me, and he shares wine with me. We do not kiss, we do not hold hands. We are both very good friends.”

“But aren't you very good friends with Uncle Beckman? Don't you love him too?” Uta said quickly, her line of reasoning quickly turning into an interrogation. You rolled your head on your shoulders, eyes closing and lips smiling.

“Uncle Beckman and I are excellent friends,” you nodded, lowering your head below her eyeline and collecting the bags beside her, “I have known him for longer than I knew Uncle Hawk-.”

“-Do you want him to kiss you like he kissed that lady in the bar? Do you love him?” Uta hurriedly spat, weaseling the truth from you in a similar way you managed to do so in your own childhood. You laughed joyfully, shaking your head at her question and taking a moment to think about it.

Teetering off your laughter, you looked down at the pouting child. Uta's hands were folded over her chest, her brows in a deep frown. Whispering in the native Kuraigana tongue, you tucked her hair behind her ear, “I love Beckman more than he's fully aware. He's had my heart the moment he placed you in my arms, beautiful girl.”

“I don't understand when you speak that language, pretty aunty,” she grumbled, swatting your hands away from her face, “Can you tell me what you said?”

“Of course I love him, Uta,” you shook your head, “I love all of the Red-Hair crew, including their little musician. Now, let's put your clothes, toys and makeup away before we go back to see them, okay?” You ensured there was no air for misinterpretation, looking at Uta's large eyes as she took in the information.

After taking a small breath, Uta stood on her feet and let you lead her and her items to the Red-Force and down into her room to put it all away.

Unbeknownst to you, Benn Beckman hurried back to the Red-Force immediately after bidding Shanks a hasty farewell. He bathed himself, washed his hair, sifted through his wardrobe to find his best clothes, and began shaving his face out on the deck with his shirt folded neatly beside him.

When hearing your chatter and approach, he hastily wiped the suds away from his face, checking himself over in the deck mirror for any scruff he missed. He scowled when he noticed a small tuft of hair on his jaw, hastily drawing up his barbering blade to scrape away the coarse fuzz.

He heard every word spoken, every soft giggle from you, and every pointed word from Uta. The interaction drew a smile up his lips, all grins and soft laughs, until the mention of love and kisses caused his heart to stumble.

The thought of you and Mihawk together romantically had never crossed his mind until now, truly ignorant to the reason you remained in Kuraigana. He knew you had been injured badly in a large fight with Mihawk, but never truly knew the reason you followed him.

When Uta asked you if you wanted him, if you loved him, he was frozen in place. He wanted to give you privacy to answer, but his heart was screaming at him to hone in on your response. Ears straining, he barely caught your voice whisper to Uta in Kuraiganian. He could admit to himself, his Kuraiganian was seriously lacking, but he did manage to pick up just the smallest phrase. This phrase had his shoulders fall in relief, his breath stolen from his lungs and his eyes clench tightly shut in bliss.

“I love Beckman,” you said, his mind repeating your soft whisper to Uta as a musician would repeat a favored section of their skillful melody. He translated that one phrase as he placed a cigarette between his lips.

“I love Beckman.”

#one piece #x reader #benn beckman #op benn beckman #op beckman #beckman x reader #f!reader #one piece x reader

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mjanelupinblack · 9 months ago

Text

starving creatures | chapter two 🖤

pairing: xu minghao x reader // jun x reader (mainly lol)

description: starving creatures have arrived at your homeland in forks. little do you know, they not only intend to drain the blood out of you... they'll also to break your heart in two.

genres: slowburn (please bare with me), fluff, angst, vampire!au

warnings: blood drinking, lot of blood related themes, repressed emotions, family issues, miscommunication, kinda toxic friendship with cheol? blood and smut will be mixed. emotionally and physically starved vampires oops. did i mentioned blood?

minors dni!!!

Check out the fic’s playlist 🖤

CHAPTER 2

Not even two days were necessary for your neighbors to become a sensation at the school hallways. Rumors are quick travelers, as you told Joshua before. But you forgot to warn him about how easily they tend to blend with the truth. Especially when they linger around people with such an enigmatic aura, like Jun and Minghao. How maddening it is to know that they have so many adventurous stories to tell, but neither of them dares to share a word about them! How unfair to admire their beauty from afar, since they won’t come close enough for one to scrutinize their eyes. Locals get upset with strangers who refuse to comply with their requests...

That’s when fantasy starts to play its game.

Who are they? Orphans of neglectful parents. Why did they leave California? A girl accused Jun of leaving her pregnant but he’s actually not the father and she ruined his reputation and his life. Some people even say their parents kill themselves, but there’s no way of knowing the truth. So, what are they doing in Forks? Protecting each other. Trying to heal from generational trauma. Finding refuge. Surviving. And it is a heart-rending story. Minghao would do anything to protect his younger brother and the only reason why you’d find them separated from each other would be because of school… where Jun sits next to you.

And who are you? Of course, Cheol's friend, but they've never seen you around that much. That is probably because you used to miss the majority of your classes and now you don't because Jun is here, so you must be a gold digger. A freshman asserts he heard you and Cheol get into a fight because of Jun the other day. Another one is saying that your aunt is sick. But one of your classmates bets that, actually, she's a witch. So maybe you are one too. Who lives in the middle of the woods in plain XXI century anyway?

You never liked the attention. You neither want it, nor need it. It’s impractical in a town like Forks. So, during history class, you decide to confront your seatmate about it.

“I would like to know how you handle all this stuff, because it’s driving me crazy.” You say, assuming he will know exactly what you’re talking about. Most of the time, he does.

“Ignore them,” he advises. “They will find someone else.”

“You ignored them, they found me, how do you fix that?” you say. “They say I’m a witch.”

He chuckles. His usually petrified gesture gives up and breaks into a wide smile. You start laughing too, given the ridiculousness of the situation. Rumors are so dumb.

“Mr. Wen,” Professor Moon calls. “As you are so distended in my class, I’ll assume you know by heart all of the themes we’re talking about in this lesson. Please, enlighten us with your knowledge. Let’s go back to World War I. Maybe you can tell us why it was initiated.”

“That’s a tricky question, professor,” Jun answers, still cheerful. “But if you want a concrete answer, I’d go with the assassination of Archduke Franz Ferdinand of Austria-Hungary.”

“Place and date?”

“Sarajevo. 1914.”

“You said a concrete answer. Let’s go with the wider one.”

“I’ll have to ask you to be more specific about it. What do you want me to talk about? The alliance system? Economic factors? Nationalism? I can go on all day.”

Well, well, well… If someone had told you Jun would’ve been so thrilled about playing trivia with Professor Moon, you wouldn’t believe them.

“That’s enough, kid.”

After that, he comes back to your conversation.

“You could be a witch, you know?”

“Sorry?”

Before he can say anything, Jun stops himself.

“Nothing,” he answers. “It’s a compliment.”

•••

Minghao avoids discussing the details about the night he got turned. As for most of his kind, it’s a sensitive topic; no one wants to remember the moment they lost their right to die.

He hardly discusses the topic with Jun. Primarly because his brother was the sole reason he ventured into this sick lifestyle.

After a century of consumption, it would be easy to believe that Minghao would have grown accustomed to replacing his bitter coffee with morning packs of blood, but that isn’t the truth. The heavy liquid turns his stomach the same as the first time he tasted it. However, after all these years, the feeling comes hand in hand with the pleasure of satiety and the twisted desire for it not to come from an animal, but from a palpitating neck.

An unthinkable notion that no one dares to speak out loud, leaving Minghao feeling horrible about it.

Joshua tries to reassure him. He says that, in terms of nutrients and structure, pig blood is the most similar to human blood. They’ll have to endure it for a couple of months, at least until Vernon gains the trust of the hospital staff and it becomes easier to sneak out some bags of human blood.

Minghao envies Josh’s lack of interest in human nourishment. Many times he tried to free himself from his appetite, but his instincts won every battle, obliging him to succumb to hospital blood. His instincts are stronger and also wiser than he is. Nevertheless, he tries to suppress them every chance he gets. He does so by exercising, or perhaps painting. He no longer dances because he found movement is a catalyst that, sooner or later, will make his needs erupt like a volcano. So he replaced it with painting, meditation and pottery.

Given the circumstances, his knowledge as a nurse is only a remote memory.

“Hi.”

He’s grown accustomed to suffocating his desires to the point where he completely forgot how to experience them. You, on the other hand, aren’t quite as skilled at concealing your emotions.

“You’re Minghao, right?”

Minghao answers without ceasing his task. With his upper body unclothed, you find him outside his house, leaning over his pottery wheel, his clay-stained arms embracing the wet piece as if it were a long-awaited lover. A wave of heat quickly flushes your cheeks. Your neighbor stares at you, likely curious about the reason for your interruption. He’s used to being interrupted while working. Encountering a nearly naked man in the middle of the forest isn't something you can claim to be accustomed to, on the other hand.

“Sorry for interrupting. Have you seen a white cat?” You ask, with a jar of sardines in your hand.

“Cotton ball-like fluffy, with a black spot on his left eye…”

“Sorry, I’m afraid not,” Minghao answers. “What’s his name?”

“Cat,” You say, a bit embarrassed of your thirteen years old self. “Just cat.”

“I’ll let you know if I find Cat then.”

“Great! I’ll keep looking. Thanks.”

As much as you’d love to continue chatting with Minghao about anything —truly anything— else, your lack of creativity doesn’t stop at your difficulty to name your pet. He continues working on the edges of his raw ceramic vase; fingers sticky from the wet paste he tries to stick the handles with. You don’t have the heart —nor the ideas— to interrupt him once again. And that’s when your seatmate comes to save the day.

“You’re not going anywhere, y/n,” Jun says, appearing next to you like a magician mesmerizing everyone with the trick of teleportation. “I mean… not alone. Especially with a storm coming. Where are your manners, brother?”

“Shouldn’t you be studying or something?”

“Get your ass off that wheel and help us look for the pet. One cup less isn’t gonna hurt anyone.”

“It’s a vase.”

“Honestly, I couldn’t care less.”

You thought he’d be harder to convince, but as soon as Jun orders it, his brother stops the wheel and puts on the t-shirt he was sitting on. Minghao's resistance to the cold weather impresses you. His muscles don’t even flinch at the freezing breeze coming from the north.

“A penny for your thoughts?” your neighbor teases.

“You’re so annoying.”

•••

It was a huge mistake not to get rid of that mirror the moment they got it.

There was no use for it in the middle of the living room. But there was also no reason to keep it in the basement, as Vernon had insisted. It usually wasn’t pleasant to get into a discussion with his friend. So, as he attended his interview to get a job at the town’s hospital, Joshua found himself following his orders and carrying the furniture down the stairs and to the basement.

The material it was made of felt unbelievably heavy, even for a human-fed vampire. Like Sisyphus, Joshua repeated the same routine until he reached the cellar; going down two steps, stopping abruptly, and trying to catch his breath before continuing.

When he finally reaches the ground, he understands the reason behind Seungkwan’s little present. And he’s grateful that Vernon is not there to see it.

In front of him, he finds his own image. First young, like he hadn’t seen it in more than a hundred years, and then gradually rotting until his skin starts to detach from his cheeks. So that’s the infamous Life Mirror. There are very few in the world, and Joshua never thought he’d get to see himself in one. The more you mesmerize yourself at your young image, the more crudely it’s going to show you the reality of your soul. Joshua used to believe it was just a myth from the vampire folklore. But he should’ve known better. Myths tend to be history for the immortals.

“Son of a bitch.”

That's the last straw. Joshua doesn't care about Vernon's instructions when the Boo Family's welcome was, in fact, a declaration of war—a war they're not ready to fight, nor would they be even if they wanted to. Years of weakened minds and bodies are not so easy to recover, not even with a gallon of fresh blood.

He needs to destroy that mirror before his friend comes home. But his knuckles aren’t strong enough to do it, and the hammer is near Minghao’s workspace, who’s most definitely going to be curious about the reason behind his urgency. As a temporary measure, he decides to throw an old blanket over the structure.

He needs air.

Outside, the ground shakes with the wind. Minghao is no longer at his station, yet the piece he was working on lies unfinished over the wheel. Rain will catch it any second, converting it into a liquid vestige of what could’ve been a beautiful plant vase. That’s an odd behavior from him. Where could he possibly be?

His question is quickly answered by laughter emanating from behind the lodge. Joshua follows his senses until he finds Jun and you jumping like crazy to reach one of the thickest branches of a tree.

“Stop! You’re scaring him.” You tell Jun, who insists on being the one to bring the cat back to the ground.

“Scared? No! He rubbed his head on my wrist.” Jun complains. He sounds very determined.

“Jun, Y/n is right. It’ll be better to bring a ladder. He doesn’t know you.”

“I got…I got him!”

“Wait! He’s gonna…”

Blood. Lots of it pouring from your hand. Maybe trimming your cat’s nails would’ve been a wise decision to make before throwing yourself in the territory of four very thirsty vampires. Your scent is strong, like cold pennies resting on the palm of your sweaty hands, but it is also sweet. Pig’s blood could never be that sweet. The thought of it makes Jun’s fangs start showing without him being able to notice. Minghao notices and quickly grabs your wrist. He turns you around to face him, leaving a trace of dry clay over the spot your blood flowed.

Clay and blood, intertwined.

Your heart races. Minghao's touch is both frightening and tender. He worked hard on his self-control just to be able to handle these types of situations. If you saw Jun in that state, it would be over for them.

“Are you okay?”

But now that he thinks about it, your blood smells like candy taken out of its wrapper. And it running so fast due to your nervousness releases a scent he never sensed before. One that has him dying to let go of his virtues and succumb to sin.

And Joshua notices.

“T/n! Come here, let me see.”

He rips you out of Minghao’s clutcht to check at your wound and you head inside together.

“Guys, grab the cat and come inside before it rains. T/n, does it hurt too much?”

In another scenario, you might have noticed he was trying to distract you. But right now, the spot where Minghao's hand was grabbing still feels hot and throbbing when Joshua touches your hand. It’s hard to concentrate. He gestures for you to sit on the sofa, and you comply. Not even two seconds later, he returns with a first aid kit. You can't help but contrast Minghao's firm grasp with the compassionate way Joshua is holding you while disinfecting your cut.

“You must think I’m a terrible mother,” you say, watching Joshua shake his head as he kneels in front of you to examine your hand more closely. “He’s not usually like this. I don’t know why he got so scared.”

Animals rely on their intuition. They detect danger and protect the people who love them and take good care of them. Joshua knows you’re not a terrible mother. It was Jun’s hand your cat was trying to sever.

“Don’t punish yourself,” he says. “He’s lucky to have you. It was Jun who drove him crazy.”

“He was so nice though, trying to help me,” you hiss at the strong liquid Joshua pours over your skin. “Do you think Hao is okay? His eyes went all weird when he looked at the scratch.”

“What do you mean, weird?”

“I don’t know, dark? I think it disgusted him.”

Thank goodness you think that, among all the things Minghao’s look could have made you think.

“Oh… Yes. Hao can’t stand blood. There’s no wonder he refuses to become a doctor.”

“He doesn’t need to. He’s so talented in ceramics.”

“He is. He will appreciate it if you tell him. Do you see all of the pots and vessels in the house? They’re all his work. Minghao is an artist, he’s always been.”

He truly is. The fact that the piece he was working on has already lost its shape due to the rain makes you feel sad and guilty about interrupting him. You're amazed at how your neighbor achieved most of the patterns and textures. They highlight the house, once yours, with the sparkle you thought it would never regain after your uncle’s death. It’s fascinating to realize that Minghao’s mind is so vibrant with colors.

“You don’t stay behind,” you say to Joshua, as he bandages your now disinfected hand. “Suddenly it doesn’t even hurt.”

“You are too kind,” he answers, smiling shyly while he stands on his feet. “I appreciate the compliment. But I hope I never have to display my skills on you again.”

“Sorry. I’ll pay you next time.”

It’s heartwarming to make him laugh. Before making the comment, you had a hunch that Joshua would crack a smile if you told him something along those lines. His smile is not only kind, but also genuine. It makes you wonder how many of the ones you were given before might have been only half as sincere.

“God, no, t/n,” he answers. “Please just take care of yourself.”

After a few minutes of watching the storm shake the trees, a soaking wet Jun opens the door for his brother, who enters with your cat purring in his arms. You wonder if your eyes are deceiving you. Cat is an animal of strong character and delicate temper. Yet, he sleeps like a baby in your neighbor's embrace, as if he has been charmed into tranquility.

“He liked Hao best,” Jun explains, with his hands on his waist. “I don’t care. I’m not a cat person anyways… Now, who’s making dinner?”

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Heyyyyyy let’s play a game. I write and you tell me how many taylor’s songs possible references you find ⸜(｡˃ ᵕ ˂ )⸝♡ (there’ll be many lol)

Taglist: @90s-belladonna @milopenne @angel-ishere @cheiyoma @hipsdofangirl

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masterlist | next chapter (soon)

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