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dilatorywriting · 10 months ago

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Monster Mayhem: Siren's Song [Part 5]

Gender Neutral Reader x Vil Schoenheit Word Count: 6.8k

Summary: 'Rule 27: It’s a poor choice to help a hare at high noon, but it will certainly appreciate you if you do.'

WARNING for some descriptions of violence

[PART 1] [PART 1.5] [PART 2] [PART 3] [PART 4] [PART 5]

You’d first set foot on The Rose Queen when you were the tender age of eleven. Or, well, something close to that. It wasn’t like most peasant orphans were taught numbers, let alone how to interpret calendars well enough to mark the passing of years.

It was the first ship you’d ever seen up close—sleek, and salt-stained, and creaking beneath your toes. The Boy King at its helm had turned his nose up at you in his too big coat, with his too big boots and tricorn hat that kept slipping down over his eyes. It was a ragtag crew that you’d wandered into, made of nothing but runaways and street rats. The ship itself was just as unusual and fresh-faced. It was built in a very impractical sort of way, with hallways that led to nowhere and portholes that opened up into endless seas of shadow where you could tumble down, down, down for hours and never see an end (or so you’d been warned). There were paintings on the walls, all off-centered and hanging on crooked nails that wobbled with every dip in the waves. The masts and rails were stained a deep, bloody red, in honor of its title. And no matter how the raging winds and waves battered at those petals, your Captain would have you out there the next morning to paint them anew. The Rose Queen was the finest pirate ship in all the ocean, and you only half-said that out of personal bias.

The vessel of the Silver Songbirds was… not like that.

It was grand, certainly. But there was a barren cleanliness to it that didn’t feel lived in. Sure, Riddle’d had you literally scrubbing stains out of the deck with a toothbrush and pot of turpentine, but this was different. Sterile, rather than squeaky. The wood planks didn’t whine with a weary, seaworthy groan beneath your feet that you could feel through the heel of your boots—as if to reassure you it was there. The air smelled of salt, sure, and you could see a group of gulls circling overhead, but the whole of it felt… empty. Lonely.

The black haired man led you to a small, private room in the ship’s hull. That alone was strange. You’d been sharing quarters for the whole of your seafaring career. This new little suite of yours had a bed, and white paint on the walls, and a porthole for a window. He gently coaxed you into sitting at the foot of the mattress and readjusted the coat resting along your shoulders. His smile was soft, kind. The sort of warm, pretty expression that you could read about in a love poem.

You remembered your Siren’s vicious, pointed smirk—red, and haughty, and sharp enough to cut glass—and fought a pang of something you absolutely refused to put a name to.

When you blinked back into focus, his lips were moving in a slow, steady flow and you focused your best on the shape of them. It was hard, with how placid his expression was—with how little there was to make out of anything he was attempting to get across. And whether it be your furrowed brow or a sudden memory that oh right, you’d told him your ears worked as well as a three-legged horse pulling a one-wheeled cart, he startled into silence. His face twisted up with chagrin, and he offered you an apologetic smile with round, pink cheeks.

He fumbled around in his pockets for a piece of paper and scribbled out a hasty note to press into your palms.

‘My name is Neige Leblanche, and I’ll be taking care of you for this journey.’

You paused, fingers worrying at the sides of the neat, square bit of parchment. It felt right to offer your own name in return. That would be the polite thing, surely. But you paused, throat tight with uncertainty and a prickling, unpleasant sort of heat. Because you’d never even told your Siren your name, had you? Not even once.

And beneath that sudden, sour gut punch was something else.

‘Rule 116, your name is not a number, but it is your value. Do not offer it to any whose own interests are undue.’

The first time Ace had found himself with a wanted poster (‘Ugly,’ he’d complained, bitter. ‘How am I supposed to hook any tail with this? I look like a mutant potato. This stupid portrait is worse than prison.’), Riddle had taken your handwritten Book of Rules and underlined that one thrice over. You hadn’t thought much of it until you’d had to cut a hangman’s noose from around your idiot, foxy friend’s throat—the handiwork of the tavern folk he’d been boasting to only an afternoon before. And then it had made sense. Ace had survived (with a new, grand tale of woe that he liked to repeat ad nauseum until you wished you’d left him strung up), but the lesson had remained.

Carefully you swallowed the words resting on your tongue and offered a polite-ish nod in their place.

“Nice to meet you, sir. Thank you. For saving me.”

Neige shook his head in a panicked sort of rush, hands waving back and forth with a clear ‘none of that! None of that!’ before reaching back into his pockets to search for another note.

‘It was my honor,’ he wrote, words jumbled and sloppy in his haste. ‘It’s the duty of all officers to help those in need.’

Your brow pinched. Officer? Officer of what?

Your Siren had called these Songbirds dangerous. ‘Not safe’ written into the sand over and over again with his curled claws. You didn’t know much of mainland politics and other such nonsense, but maybe there was some sort of… Siren Hunting Order? Soldiers of the King sent out to scour the seas and keep them safe for a host of weary, would-be-merman-meals? That would make sense. It would make a lot of sense, actually.

Another note was pressed into your hands.

‘How did you end up stranded on that island?’

Islet, you wanted to correct petulantly. Riddle would have. Your Siren would have.

You opened your mouth and hesitated. Telling Nigel, or Nergal, or whatever his name was that your ship had been besieged by a pod of ravenous mers (and one fair-faced asshole who you already missed far, far too—) was as good as serving them up on a silver platter, wasn’t it? Siren hunters probably traded information like how pirates traded maps or merchants traded gold. And you’d be damned if your loose tongue was what led to your friend companion co-strandee’s family being hunted for sport just after he’d finally managed to make his way home again.

So you stiffened your upper lip and turned to look your savior in the eye.

“I fell overboard,” you said, firm. “Because I’m an idiot.”

He blinked, startled, and you could recognize the spluttered ‘…oh’ shaping his lips.

He handed you another scribbled bit of parchment, gaze averted and awkward.

‘I’m sorry.’

“Never apologize to the half-wit for whatever fallacy of their own led to them falling into the pit,” you recited naturally, and Nigel startled. His doe eyes went round with confusion and he tilted his head at you like a curious hound. Nothing intimidating, more like some kind of fluffy cocker spaniel or primped up lapdog staring up at you with too-long-lashes and too-few-thoughts.

You shrugged.

“Just a rule I was supposed to follow,” you shrugged off. You offered a slanted grin. “Though when you’re the idiot in question, it can be pretty hard to avoid.”

Neville smiled at you with a soft sort of laugh that you swore you could feel dancing along your skin.

Another note.

‘I’ll be back in a bit. Please enjoy the amenities here and get some rest. If you need anything, let us know and I’ll get it sorted personally.’

You dipped your chin in thanks and collapsed back against the small, flat mattress in the corner. It was soft, sturdy, probably good for your back and all that nonsense. The sheets were crisp and white, and they rubbed blandly at your weary hide. You could smell the lingering, sharp fragrance of some kind of tacky soap in the cotton. Totally not unpleasant at all. Theoretically, it should have actually been the best bed you’d ever slept in. But a part of you missed swaying back and forth in a net hammock, and an even bigger part missed plopping down in the sand with the heat of a crackling fire at your front and the even steadier warmth of the long, curling, press of gemstone scales at your back.

You flopped over onto your side and stared at the empty, carefully manicured surface of the desk opposite you and wished more than anything that you’d brought your shell.

The room was cold when you next woke, and you shivered into the jacket Neige had draped along your shoulders (because it was ‘Neige.’ It had been signed on the bottom of the note he’d left you that morning alongside your breakfast. Which was stupid. The dumbest name you’d ever heard). The starched fabric of it all wasn’t exactly comfortable, but it was better than shivering through the chilly ocean mists that were seeping in through the porthole.

You burrowed into the swathe of white and blue wool like a rabbit in a hole, and then winced in irritation when another of those stupid, gaudy pins dug into your cheek.

You plucked the first from its place—the duo of silver songbirds. It really was quite pretty, despite the ominous undertones and all. Two, graceful, delicate sets of feathered wings arching up into the sky—forever frozen in a dance to the clouds. You dropped it into the little, dark crevice between your bed and the wall. Good riddance.

Next came a crest that was familiar in a distant sort of way—a memory that tickled that back of your brain from days long past. You hadn’t noticed it before, what with the echoes of ‘not safe, not safe, not safe’ blaring in your head like an alarm, but it was just as neatly polished as the birds pinned above. It was diamond shaped, the edges embossed in twining lines like the cut of a rope. At its head sat a strange sort of crown, with the arches and more familiar pointed designs replaced by the billowing arcs of sails. All of that gallantry surrounded a pair of rearing stallions—hooves crossed along a golden edged sword and circled with blue ivy.

You twisted it between your fingers, watching the metal glint in the low light. You hadn’t set foot in proper society since Riddle had let your young, dumb self abscond into the ocean all those years ago. You could hardly remember the flag of our home country, let alone the specifics.

You frowned and the edges of the badge pricked at your fingers.

You dropped this one behind the bed too, with a petulant flick of your wrist to make sure it really stuck.

‘I’m sorry I haven’t been around more often, there’s some business I’ve been having to take care of.’

You handed the note back with a shrug.

“It’s no bother.”

Neige offered an apologetic grimace nonetheless and another of those smiles that looked a bit too sweet to be real.

‘Do you mind if I ask you something?’

You bristled before you could help it, thoughts spiraling away to harpoons, and nets, and hunting parties. And then you settled your shoulders into a polite, easy line and offered one of your own too-put-together smiles in return.

“Yeah, sure. I mean, you saved me after all.”

Neige smiled again, easy and comfortable, and pressed another slip of parchment into your palms.

‘Where were you headed? When you fell overboard?’

Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck you with a barbed cactus branch dipped in—

Ahem.

You cleared your throat in a way that was surely a Very Normal Person Thing To Do, and tried to ignore the fact that he was so brazenly attempting to map out his plan of attack—to pinpoint the route that the sirens had been chasing and run after it like hounds tracking a fresh scent. Which, to be fair, sirens were a scourge on the seas. Hundreds upon hundreds of good men and women had been lost to their crooning songs and wickedly sharp teeth. They were vicious, often cruel, and so much stronger than any mortal sailor that of course the world above would fear them. You’d been very much of the same opinion until only quite recently, and now—now you just couldn’t.

“I don’t know where we were going,” you lied, and Neige’s brow pinched in a dour, rejected kind of way. “But,” you tried, sprinkling in a touch of truth to make the lie go down easier, “I know we were coming from Port o'Bliss.”

He nodded, that uncongenial expression slipping off his face as easily as it’d settled there.

He rattled off something quick and bubbly, and you pointedly arched a brow. The brunette blushed bright pink and hastily scrabbled for another bit of paper.

‘Thank you for being so helpful. I know it can’t be easy.’

Your neutral expression froze on your face and when you smiled it felt more like a polite bearing of teeth. Did he know? Could he see right through you? Or worse, was he getting all the answers he wanted from you either way, no matter how you tried to coat it in a veneer of misdirection.

“Sure thing.”

He handed you another note, this time for his pocket. Crumpled and soft, the ink a bit smeared along the curling letters.

‘It’s a poor choice to help a heron at high noon,’ it said, ‘but it will certainly appreciate you if you do. So my thanks to you.’

Something settled in your gut at the familiarity, something deceptively warm and homey.

“It’s a hare,” you said, without much thought. “Not a heron.”

Neige nodded with a polite, smiling mumble that looked like another apology, and then left you to your own devices.

That night, a veritable feast was delivered to your tiny, white-walled cabin. A grand spread of food fit for a king. There was roasted fowl, pools of thick, spiced gravies, mountains of vegetables that you’d never even seen before. And tarts. So many colorful, fruity tarts that were so sweet they almost made your tongue curl.

“What’s the occasion?” you asked as Neige took a seat at your desk to nibble at the meal alongside you—a cloth napkin folded neatly across his nap and a clear glass flute for wine placed a bit precariously by his elbow.

He smiled, honey warm, and offered you another note.

‘For helping the hare.’

Neige didn’t come to visit you the next morning, and his absence had the hair at the nape of your neck standing on end.

You paced and paced around your cube of a barrack. It was maybe four steps from one end to the next, but the constant bumping your toes against the wall was better than just sitting there doing nothing. The worst part was the silence. Not the one in your head. Yes, yes, you were more than used to that. On and on, yada yada. But the silence of the ship. The Rose Queen had always felt like a living thing, a great, wooden beast with a pulse you could feel thrumming beneath your toes, your palms. All you had to do was lay a hand against its side and you could feel the rumble of the tide beyond, the rushing footsteps of sailors sprinting about to meet one of Riddle’s orders or other, the thump of heavy, wet mop heads smacking the deck overhead. It was quiet, but it wasn’t quiet. This ship? No matter how you laid against the boards or pressed flat to the walls, there was nothing. And it made you feel like you were trapped aboard a vessel full of ghosts.

The sun had long begun to set by the time Neige returned, and by then you were nothing but a livewire of nerves.

Had they found him? Your Siren? Was he there somewhere, just a few floors above—strung up like a fish in a net? Caught and displayed like a fine trophy? Or had they killed him outright? Had they found his pod? Had he put up a fight? Had he—

A piece of rolled parchment was held out for you to take, a satin blue ribbon tied along its belly. Neige’s soft, brown gaze was glued to the floor and you snatched the paper from his hands like a rabid cat and tore it open. You could barely keep your eyes steady to read it all—fine, pointed print done up in a neat hand.

‘—danger to those who venture—'

‘—for the safety of the people—’

‘—therefore, the decision has been made—'

‘—with the greatest consideration—’

‘—with immediate effect—'

‘—we have declared the extermination of—'

“You can’t!” you wailed, and Neige’s doe eyes darted up to yours and immediately away once more in guilt. “He’s—he’s not bad. I swear! I know how things look—and—and I know he’s not—that’s he’s a—but you can’t—”

Neige’s wavering stared jumped back to you in open surprise, and you saw his lips twitch on one word—delicate brows pinching in question.

‘He?’

You frowned and fought the urge to stomp your feet. Because, okay, fine. Sure, you were arguing tooth and nail for someone whose name you maybe didn’t even know. Someone who had swum away from your stupidly sentimental ass with all the power and grace of a beast fit to rule the depths of the oceans while you could barely flounder at its surface. And sure, sirens killed people and ate them. But this one was—he was special, and you’d be damned if you let some primped up fishermen try to reel him in on a hook just because he’d maybe eaten a few people. And—

There was a hand on your shoulder, and Neige was staring down at you with an expression not dissimilar to that of a parent about to tell their child that the cat had got out and met a terrible, squishy end beneath the wheels of your neighbor’s carriage. He sighed, dark lashes brushing along his cheeks, and then reached out with his other hand to tap a finger between your collar bones.

“What?” you snapped, and he tapped again. “Me? What about me?”

He paused, gaze meeting yours with a pointed sort of melancholy.

Oh.

You remembered the pins you’d dropped behind your bed, one by one. You remembered the strange coat of arms crowned with golden sails and bearing a great, shining sword. Something regal, something imperial that a commoner like you would have only caught fleeting glimpses of in parades, and marches, and war calls.

Something like, say, Pyroxene’s Royal Naval Fleet.

You glanced down at the parchment again, crumpled between your fists, and smoothed it out into something legible beneath your fingers. You reread the text with careful focus.

‘For the Crime of Piracy’ it said. Right at the tippity top. In red ink.

“…ah,” you blinked. “That makes a lot more sense.”

You were to walk the plank on the ‘morrow.

Which honestly, you hadn’t even thought was really a Thing—walking the plank, argh. Fiddly dee and a yo-ho-ho. That sort of storybook nonsense. The parables that parents passed onto their children to try and scare them away from a life of villainy. Real pirates were put to the rack, or hanged in the town squares to scare the adults away from doing the same.

But you supposed it was practical, at least. Blood was hard to scrub out of wooden decks, so beheading would have been a bit of a mess. Bullets were best to be conserved out on the high seas where stocks were already low, and honestly, your body would just have to be thrown overboard anyways before it stunk up the barracks. So, like, doing it all in one would be quite efficient. You could appreciate that.

Your hands would be bound at your back and you’d be given three breaths, three steps, and then you’d be tumbling down into the waves below. Claimed by the waters that you’d patrolled for so many years now. Fitting, honestly. Riddle would be proud (beneath the raging, spitting indignation of you being caught at all, but that was another matter). At least you wouldn’t be going out from food poisoning or something mundane like that, so that was a win. And who knew. Maybe your Siren would find you again when you were nestled to rest in some seabed not too far from here, and he could finally make a meal of your dumb ass yet. Happy endings abound.

You wondered idly at the dual branches of fate you’d wandered along in these past weeks, and if it would have been better to hide away when you’d first seen those sails on the horizon. To keep to the little, crescent island you’d found yourself on and slowly starved to death. Alone, abandoned, and sitting in a forever stillness worse than any silence you’d known before. Forever staring out over the horizon for a glance of amethyst fins that you knew you’d never see again.

If given the choice between the two, you’d take the plank.

Neige brought you another feast that night, and you gorged on it merrily.

When he nervously kept piling your plate with choice cuts after choice cuts, gaze diverted to the floor and looking like a kicked puppy dog with its tail between its legs, you rolled your eyes and swatted at his fingers.

“Unclench yourself,” you huffed, and he puffed up stuttery and pink in horror. “It’s not the end of the world. You’re just doing your job, right? If we’d met under different circumstances I bet I would have shot you first. So, really. All’s fair.”

He worried his lower lip between his teeth, guilt still swimming heavy and warm in those doe eyes of his.

He said something under his breath, something that you’d bet even if your ears were working at full capacity you wouldn’t have been able to parse out. He leaned forward to scrawl a note on the napkin beside your plate.

‘You’re happier now? After all this? I don’t get it.’

You reached out to pat him merrily on the shoulder, more a smack smack smack then anything really pleasant. He could see him fighting a wince with all the trembling sort of bravery of a field mouse. Poor dear. What was the Royal Navy thinking? Hiring on someone who looked like they belonged on an advert for rouge and sweets. This was the last face a pirate was expected to jeer into? This one? Really? It was a wonder this little, squirrely man hadn’t keeled over the first time someone spat on his boots.

“It’s a poor choice to help the fish at high noon,” you said around a mouthful of crumbs. “But it’s my choice. And I’m happy to do it.”

“Fish?” you saw him mouth, brow pinched, and you batted at his shoulder again before reaching for another of those too-sweet tarts.

There was a whole procession for your execution. With speeches. Which even with the slowly encroaching panic worming into your guts, you couldn’t help but think was at least a little funny.

The whole crew was lined up in solemn formation, listening stalwartly to some judge, or high ranking officer, or whatever rattle off who even knew what. Your crimes? A homily? The lunch menu? Fuck if you had any clue. And you were the one being fed to the sharks. There had to be some joke hidden in here, right? The scoundrel pirate who could never be tried, simply because they couldn’t hear their own sentencing. You wouldn’t even know when to stand up and shout ‘I object!’ It would probably be pretty funny, right? If you just did that out of nowhere. And what was the worst that could happen? Oh, no. A fine. Please, sir. Add it to the list of debts I owe from beyond my watery grave. Amen.

A hand at your lower back gave you a gentle nudge forward and you shifted against the ropes binding your wrists. They were nicer than your own stores aboard the Rose Queen. Not nearly as itchy, the fibers neat and clearly expensive. Neige stepped up beside you and offered you a look that was likely meant to be kind, but your growing nerves had started to eat through your willingness to play friendly. You could feel the weight of the crew around you, even if you couldn’t hear them. The creak of the deck beneath your toes as they shifted about, the way their bulk must have been shielding you from the worst of the wind. Unlike with your own mismatched family of castaways, their presence wasn’t reassuring. And you kept your eyes locked forward and away from the field of sharp gazes eating into your hide.

The plank was narrow, and immediately you were fighting the urge to sway on your toes. Having your hands bound at your rear only made it worse. It threw off the whole of your center of gravity and had you feeling dizzy and seasick.

You took one breath, stuttery, and one step. The wood whined beneath your heels in a vibration you could feel all the way up to your knees.

Another breath, another step. You could feel the salt soaked board starting to bend now. Clearly it wasn’t meant to support much of anything, let alone a whole person. And for some reason the idea of it breaking beneath you was so much worse than taking that last step all on your own. A sudden plunge that was out of your control. It had your heart hammering in your throat and cold nausea bubbling in your belly.

You looked down. You didn’t want to, but it was like your gaze was a weighted, magnetic thing. Pulled down into the salty depths below. The water looked rougher than it had a moment ago, or maybe you were just really starting to panic. You could see the white froth of the wake breaking against the ship’s hull. It churned like the start of a storm, which was really, terribly inconvenient. Seeing as it’d been so still and calm just a few minutes before. And, y’know, the fact that you had to fall into that mess of sharp peaks and rocking waves. You swore you could see dark shapes flitting about just beneath the surface, a flash of grey, or maybe green. It was hard to tell, with the brightness of the early morning sun in your eyes.

No one was poking at your back, urging you forward, which you thought was quite odd. You’d been taking your sweet ol’ time sauntering to your demise. You’d assumed they’d have less patience for a pirate with cold feet. Instead, the world around you was just silent and still. Shifting with the raging waves below, but empty and quiet as a tomb for all you knew otherwise.

You took your last breath, your last step.

And then the ship lurched and you were plummeting towards the water. The dissonance between having something beneath your feet—no matter how frail—and then nothing was jarring, and it had you gasping on impulse. Hair whipping at your cheeks and lungs squeezing tight as the air screamed past your throat. It felt like you were drowning before you even hit the water.

When you did finally crash into the waves, it hurt. You’d always been a fairly proficient swimmer, but whether it be the mind numbing panic or the ropes binding you tight, tight, tight, you just started to sink. The salt stung like an open wound, and the water was cold. Frigid. Like being tossed into the jagged side of a glacier. You at least had the sense not to gulp down a mouthful of water out of reflex, but that didn’t make things much better.

You screwed your eyes shut, bubbles frothing at your nose, and tried to find that peace that you’d clung to all night long. A life for a life, one catch for another. No one was going to miss you anyways. And if you had to meet the reaper some way, then of all the ends the universe could have spun for you, at least this one had some meaning to it.

You sighed into the darkness, soft, but when your lips parted next around what should have been a mouthful of icy saltwater, all you could taste was air.

Your eyes shot open in the gloom to a mess of familiar golds and purples that you’d thought you’d never see again.

Your Siren pulled back, bubbles curling from the edge of his lips into a soft stream of warmth between the two of you. Nestling as deep as a full breath all the way in the tightest corners of your lungs. You could feel the dip of his claws as he settled his hands at your shoulders—keeping you in place. And immediately you shrieked and flailed in your bindings.

“You—!”

You promptly choked on another mouthful of sea water and your Siren wailed—all that molten fondness in those lovely amethyst eyes of his sharpening into familiar, pissy exasperation from one second to the next. He dragged your face back to his, slotting his mouth against yours and pushing more air into your lungs. You leaned into it before you could help yourself. Half for the whole oxygen thing, and half, because, well—

When he pulled away this time he smacked a hand over your mouth with a sneer, his thumb and index finger hooked upward to pinch at your nose. He jabbed a claw in your face with a clear ‘stay put’ and immediately went to work cutting through the bindings twined along your arms. The ropes fell away beneath his talons like butter to a hot blade, and he fretfully ran his palms up and down your limbs—looking for any stray bits of netting like a compulsion. Once he seemed certain that you’d been properly freed from your ties, he hauled you up against his chest in a grip that had you losing all the air in your lungs all over again. You could feel the cool jut of the sea glass around his neck pressing into your collar, and he buried his head down into your throat until you didn’t know where he ended and you began. The frills of his tail fluttered in the water, and the bulk of those twining strands curled up and around your legs like a barnacle.

He was warm. Warmer than you’d been expecting, for a creature who spent his life patrolling the darkest depths of the ocean. It wasn’t the same sort of heat that would beat off a human’s hide, but it was more comforting than any you’d ever known. You burrowed down against his shoulder, nose scrunching against the side of his neck and the fins at his ears brushing your temple. You could feel his claws flexing at your sides, feel the shift of his scales against your skin. And just as your lungs were starting to burn, he ducked forward to pull you into another kiss—filling your chest with wonderful, wonderful oxygen all over again.

You blinked blearily past the sting of salt in your eyes and he scrubbed a thumb against your cheek.

Now that those high, wonderful, heart bursting emotions were settling back into something manageable beneath your ribs, you took a moment to look at him. Really look at him. Because you’d sent him on his way, hadn’t you? Waved him off with well wishes and a hope for his happiness. And all that aside, how had he even managed to find you—

Bubbles streamed from your nose as that newest shared breath began to run dry, and your Siren hooked an arm around your waist to propel you upwards.

You crested the surface with a gasp, paddling instinctively against the churning wake. When all that did was leave you smack, smack, smacking at your Siren’s chest like a flailing toddler, he hissed—a spitting, pissy thing you could feel on the breeze—and hauled you back up against him. Just like he had all those times you’d swum together in your cove. You forced yourself to settle, bobbing gently against the tide as he kept you both aloft.

Once your body had managed to catch up with your brain to realize that it was, in fact, not drowning, all of the adrenaline rushed out of you like a broken spicket. You slumped against the Siren’s chest, fuzzy headed and dizzy. Because he’d saved you. Which made no sense in the least. But you’d almost died, and he’d saved you—

Your gaze drifted back up to the ship from which you’d only so recently taken your Cannonball of Doom and startled.

There was blood everywhere.

Staining the railings, splashed along the low flying flags, dripping along the deck. A macabre mess of gore and claw marks gutting the once grand vessel like a beached whale. Some of the crew still seemed to be hanging onto the life rafts, others were taking running leaps into the water like they were under compulsion—eyes glazed over and distant. There was a prickling all along your skin, something twisting familiar and strange in your gut, and oh. Oh.

One of the grander looking officers (the one who had been giving your pre-execution speech, perhaps? He looked similar enough) was shouting something from his place at the bow of one of the life rafts—arm extended in a grand show of valor and sword glinting into the light of the morning. And then a great, emerald siren was rearing over the side of that tiny vessel with a sharp grin on his face and sharper talons on display. The officer was dragged overboard, and the siren’s tail came down on the guardrails with a force that had the wood splintering and the already haphazard little boat rock, rock, rocking until it caught on a high wave and capsized.

You could see the flash of colorful scales and the tips of even brighter fins all around. Cresting above the water just long enough to grab hold of another wailing victim and drag them down to the depths. There was enough blood in the water that you could smell it. Acrid and copper against the ocean’s already sharp, salty musk. And sure, you were a pirate. You’d been in raids, you’d seen death. Plenty of it. But this. Well. It was unfamiliar. In a strange, detached sort of way. These assholes had chucked you overboard, after all. So you only really had a teensy, tiny pinch of sympathy for the fact that being eaten alive probably hurt like a sonofabitch.

It was more strange, you supposed, to be at the center of a sirens’ hunt and not be the one facing down the angry, bitey end.

You kicked in the water, nose scrunching when the red tide lapped against your chin.

“This isn’t going to attract sharks, is it?”

Because if you were saved from drowning at the hands of a royal militia only to wind up as a fish’s dinner, you would be terribly annoyed.

Your Siren rolled his eyes at you, like you were just the most ridiculous and stupid creature in all of creation. And then he made a languid swipe of his large, fully-healed tail and began to swim away from the literal bloodbath he and his pod had wrought. With you and all your silly, fragile humanness in tow.

It was far too relaxing, being pulled along against his side. The gentle rocking of his tail beneath you as he swam at the surface—always ensuring to keep your head above the water as he did so. You could feel your eyes starting to dip, feel a yawn cracking along your lips. Maybe it was just the adrenaline crash hitting, or maybe it was the relief that you hadn’t even wanted to address. He’d come back. For you.

The earless pirate who never seemed to do much but stumble into one conundrum after another. Who had only annoyed him at best and shorn his fins to shredded, useless bits at worst. Who had thrown shells at his head and only nicked him a little when you cut the ropes from his hide.

Who had made him human foods with fire and taught him your language in a messy scrawl of sand and snark. Who swam with him in the bay and twined a necklace of shining, purple sea glass around his neck. Who braided his hair, and laughed at his pouting, and—

There was a rough roll of surf that splashed in your face and you spluttered against the white froth.

The Siren paused and beat his tail against the deeper waters, propping you upright as you hacked and fretfully patting at your back. You could see his mouth moving as he mumbled something, brow pinched, and stared back at him with your own wobbly frown—confused.

“Why did you come back?” you asked, and the Siren’s brows jumped up into his hairline. He looked startled, genuinely. And that only had you even more befuddled. “And how did you even find me?”

This time when he huffed, there was a subtle sort of irritation there that you’d learn to recognize well.

He was pouting.

Something brushed against your fingers in the water, soft and fleeting. You glanced down just in time to catch a blur of lavender flitting nervously below the choppy waves, never dipping close enough again to touch, but looking hesitant to keep much further either.

The Siren followed your gaze only to narrow his eyes, pointed teeth bared as he swatted at the poor, round, little octopus with his tail. A clear shoo, shoo if you’d ever seen one. The octopus squeaked, sending bubbles spiraling in all directions, and frantically looped out of the way of the mer’s petulant tantrum. You whacked him right back, indignant on your teeny friend’s behalf. Because—!

“You followed me,” you burbled, and the little octopus spun in a fretful circle. If you didn’t know better, you’d say the poor, little dear was wringing its hands. Your Siren bared his teeth and smacked out again. “Hey! Don’t be an ass! He saved me,” you argued, and your bitch of a merman just snapped his fangs in your face like a feral cat.

You gawked.

“No way. You can’t be annoyed that you were beat out by a baby, purple octopus the size of an orange.”

He huffed and turned up his nose, and you burst out into laughter for the first time since you’d watched him swim out of your cove all those days ago.

You laughed and laughed until tears were beading at the corners of your eyes, and your Siren was grumbling in complaint and pinching your sides with his curved claws. There wasn’t real malevolence in that stern glare of his, though—just more of the prickly, teasing sort of snide side eye he’d given you in your latter weeks together. Fondness, you realized. That’s what was softening it all. The same sort of warmth you held for him.

Your favorite, pissy, preening, self-righteous goldfish.

You snorted into his shoulder, still shaking on giggles, and you could feel his sigh against your temple. You burrowed down against his side, feeling his fins brush along your hips as he kept the both of you afloat.

“Thanks,” you said, soft. “For coming back.”

You were expecting another melodramatic sigh, another plaintive roll of the eyes. Instead, his fingers came up to twine with yours and tugged your hand to rest against the pendant at his throat. You blinked, confused, and he just curled your palm around that little, sand-smoothed piece of glass.

You arched a brow. “What does that have to do with anything?”

This time he did roll his eyes at you, and when he spoke he mouthed the word dramatic and wide so he was sure that you could see it.

‘Moron.’

You whined in complaint and smacked his fingers away. “But I’m your moron.”

Another huff, soft against the nape of your neck. And you could see the barest twitch of a smile on his red lips as he turned back into the tide and continued his trek home.

[TAG LIST - CLOSED]

@marvelous-maxi, @ilikefanfics4, @jackalope08, @crocwork-clockodile, @cosmicobubisi, @buttplugs-stuff, @pomefleur, @decemebercircus, @ailynyan, @genzombie, @meliade-ot, @sunlightocean, @theofficialantitherapist, @hermiona18, @sailorenthusiast, @fantasy-dating-sim-trash, @thefiasco-onyourblock, @insideous-beez, @its-clockwork-princess

@novaloptr, @imlost-sendhelp, @matcha-berry @preciosayorgullosa @whoretaglia, @kookygirlwholikescookiesandcoke, @nanauedorian, @trixeraptops, @voxnipop, @starkling25, @thedum1, @horcrux-alchemist, @sleepykitty21, @apathicace, @instantregret101, @nekanecorvus, @looney-mori, @re-ducing, @my2phetaliaheadcanons, @naughtybodypillow, @rendy-a, @carmen-404, @candy284, @thealiennamedterry, @their-name-is-fake, @huetolog, @glacticrose, @seraphinariddle, @rabioa, @sn00zl4x, @dreasimping, @jeidoreech, @ai-dev, @galaxyshine24-7, @fatally-incorrect, @juulranch, @camrastuff, @nocteetdie, @stargaryengirl, @warmsmilesandhugs, @01paige01

#twisted wonderland imagines #twisted wonderland #twst x reader #Vil Schoenheit x Reader #Vil x Reader #vil schoenheit #Monster Mayhem #My Writing #vil shoenheit #Siren!Vil #Mermaid!Vil #Fantasy AU #Monster Mayhem Vil Part 5

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bloggerspam · 4 months ago

Text

Not Exactly the Apple of my Eye

I wrote this for the @haunting-heroes-creative-games WWT Myths game last month, and subsequently co-won my first game!

Figured I'd post it here too, now that all the reveals have happened---have a DPxYJ/DPxDC Snow White AU Crack fic!

===

"You gotta be kidding me," Kon says as he looks down at himself, "this can't be real, right?"

"Feels pretty real to me!" Bart chirps happily, fiddling with his overly large green sleeves.

"Rad." Tim rolls his eyes, crossing his arms and popping his hip and yawning like a disgruntled cat. Sarcasm practically drips from every orifice of his body language, even as he looks 2 seconds away from falling asleep.

"Is this what I think it is?" Cassie yells from further into the room, the sound of a small clamor echoing behind her words.

"If by it you mean some kind of inter-dimensional fucky wucky, then yeah!" Kon waves his arms around, gesturing to the room at large even if she can't see; Tim and Bart can, and that's all that matters. "I think so!"

"No, I mean is this Snow White?" Cassie clarifies as she comes huffing into the room. She too is adjusting her clothes as best she can, trying to figure out what to do with the glasses suddenly on her face.

The four of them stand gathered in the middle of the cottage they've been dumped into, freshly shrunken in height, stripped of their powers and gadgets and suits, and dressed in what seems to be simple cotton peasant shirts and work leggings.

They also have comically large and weirdly soft and sturdy leather shoes, of the Snow White Dwarf variety.

"Aren't there supposed to be seven of us?" Tim mumbles thoughtfully, another yawn causing him to slump and looking mad about it.

"How can you be so calm about this?" Kon huffs, picking up Tim with very little resistance for once and dumping the yawning boy onto a bed labelled Sleepy. Kon himself grumbles as he takes a seat on the next bed over labelled Grumpy.

An angry Kryptonian is not a great idea. Who let this be okay?

"I'm not calm about this…" Tim yawns once more, irritated, "I just can't think straight, I'm too tired."

"You don't sleep on a daily basis though?" Bart walks his way to his own bed, labeled Dopey and test bouncing it. "But it seems fitting at least. Plus, You're not straight anyway. Who's Cassie supposed to be?"

"Doc, I think." Cassie goes to her own bed, looking at it dubiously before deciding to ignore it completely. "He's the only one with glasses right?"

"That…" Tim is curled up on his side now, "still…doesn't answer…"

Soft snores start to drift through the room, another anomaly, considering Tim doesn't actually snore.

"What did the genie lady say?" Bart starfishes on his bed, making snow angels with no snow, "This is all because you decided to hit on her anyway."

"How was I supposed to know?!" Kon angrily pulls the covers off his bed to dump over Tim. "All I said was that she was pretty!"

Before anybody else can say anything, there's another clatter outside the cottage.

"Seriously!?" A voice screams, "Seriously?! Three years and you-" A violent sneeze interrupts the voice—"-still make fucking wishes?"

A small murmur answers the voice, barely audible.

Kon, Cassie and Bart look at each other, before scrambling over to the door. Tim stays dead asleep. When they burst out, tumbling over each other, they're met with the other three dwarves: A young gothic looking girl who keeps sneezing, an African American boy hiding behind another boy with a bedsheet of all things tied around his neck like a cape. The caped boy, with his black hair and blue eyes, looks like he's trying to be a knock off superman.

Kon does not like that. At all.

"Hey!" Rao, it's like he has no control over his temper, "Were you guys fucked over by the genie lady too?"

"Language~" Bart singsongs, giggling. The gothic girl whirls towards them, angry like spitfire, and sneezing just as violently.

"Hello, citizens!" Super-knock-off intones, "What brings you into the ill graces of Desiree?"

"If by Desiree you mean the genie lady," Cassie jabs a thumb at him, "then this guy hit on her."

"O-oh," The shy boy still hiding behind Super-knock-off is blushing hard enough that Kon can see it even with his darker skin, "w-wow, you're pretty…"

"Thanks!" Cassie smiles, winking at him. "The ladies love it, anyway."

The boy squeaks, hiding behind super-knock-off again. Goth-girl rolls her eyes before addressing Cassie.

"Desiree hates that-" a sneeze, "-kind of shit." Goth-girl rubs her nose, to which the bashful boy passes her a tissue from his backpack as if dealing with a rabid animal. The girl takes it with a scoff-turned-sneeze.

"Figured." Cassie shrugs, waving to herself. "I'm Cassie, by the way. Grumpy over here is Connor, and Cutie Pie down here is Bart."

Kon huffs, waving begrudgingly as Bart does a happy little wave.

"Nice to meet you, I'm Danny!" Super-knock off puffs out his chest, before gesturing to the once more sneezing Goth. "This is Sam, and behind me is Tucker!"

"We're not—usually like this." Sam sniffles, sneezing between pauses, "Danny's usually more chill, and Tucker's not this—shy. But if my—math is mathing, it's because—of the dwarf traits."

"Why does being Happy make him so…" Kon sneers, "Do-goodey?"

"Long story. We call him Super Danny in this state." Tucker smiles, peeking out a little more, "Fun Danny was better."

"Hey!" Danny wraps an arm around his friend to bring him up to the forefront, causing Tucker to squeak. "Super Danny had his moments!"

"Where's-" Sam sneezes four times in a row, "-Sleepy?"

"Our friend Tim." Bart gestures towards inside the house, "He's napping in one of the beds inside. He's usually an insomniac, so this is actually pretty great!"

"So," Cassie gets them back on track as they all convene around a sleeping Tim. "Do you guys know how to escape?"

"That is difficult," Danny hums, patting at Tucker who seems to be taking deep breaths to overcome his shyness. Kon tries to follow suit, to temper himself. "Did you perhaps make a wish when hitting on Desiree?"

Kon felt his face go blotchy red, rubbing at his cheek with the back of his hand and looking away.

"Connor." Cassie's voice goes threatening, hands on her hips like a mom scolding a child.

"All I said was Move over Snow White, 'cause you're truly the fairest in the land!" Kon grumbles, crossing his arms. "And that she made me all Bashful, or whatever! I didn't wish for anything!"

"All I did was wish Sam would lighten up," Tucker scratches the back of his neck, inching closer to Danny when Sam bears her teeth. "Normally Desiree would just make Sam glow, or something."

"Who is Desiree anyway?" Bart starts to frown down at himself, rubbing his tummy absentmindedly. "We were just having lunch with Tim's brother-"

Suddenly Kon, Cassie and Bart whip their heads towards each other, exclaiming at the same time: "Dick!"

"Language?" Tucker, who had startled at the sudden yelling and is firmly hiding behind Danny again.

"No, Tim's brother, Richard—he goes by Dick." Cassie explains as the three of them separate to look under furniture and through the house for the older man. They collectively ignore the whispered on purpose? from the other trio.

"He was with us when we got snapped here." Tim yawns, rubbing his eyes and sitting up. "Who are you?"

The new trio introduces themselves to Tim as the rest of them split. Kon is looking under the beds, Bart is upstairs, and Cassie is opening cabinets in the kitchen, if the sounds are to be believed.

"This doesn't really feel like Desiree's usual fare." Sam taps her foot, for some reason the only dwarf who was able to keep her own black studded combat boots. It looks comical paired with her brown shirt and red pants. At least the black belt matches?

"How would you," Tim yawns, standing up and leaning heavily against Kon when he comes back around. "Usually…get rid of her?"

"Usually Phantom would deal with her." Tucker mumbles as Sam starts to pace. She's no longer sneezing now that they're inside, which seems odd.

"Who's Phantom?" Bart's voice bounces as he descends the stairs back to join them. "He's not upstairs, by the way."

"He's Amity Park's local hero!" Danny flashes a gleaming smile, before frowning. "Truly a mystery why she's hanging out around Bludhaven."

"What were you guys-" Kon is interrupted by Sam, who knocks twice on the window she's stopped in front of.

"Uh, guys?" She's staring at something confusedly, "Is Dick…uh, black haired, wearing eye-searingly ugly patterns?"

"That's…" Tim yawns again, sluggishly making his way over to Sam, "probably…him."

"I think he's in the backyard?" Sam tilts her head, "and I think we've found our Snow White."

The seven of them gather quickly around the window, pushing and shoving and…

"Is that a fucking glass coffin?"

===

Jazz has fucked up.

Oooooh she's definitely fucked up.

How was she supposed to know Ghost Writer and Desiree just wanted to hang out?

How was she supposed to know that Desiree's cousin was Scheherazade?

How was she supposed to know Ghost Writer knew that infamous One Thousand and One Night's protagonist?

She just wanted to finally meet her online friend and talk about Jane Austen books, have dinner with her brother and his friends in Bludhaven after!

She really should have aimed better. Stupid thermos, Danny always made it seem so easy!

Now she's running around in this random forest trying to find her brother and his friends dressed like some kind of Prince.

Why do Princes wear such white tights? It's impractical is what it is, there's already a bunch of dirt on the back of her calves!

She's been in this forest for what feels like hours when she hears it; sweet salvation in the form of other people. Jazz frantically makes her way towards it.

"—Snow White?" A boyish voice asks.

"Well, he's certainly—achoo!—pretty enough for it." Sam is saying—is she with the others? "Even with all…that going on."

"At least Danny isn't in the coffin this time?" Tucker sounds unusually shy and timid—it makes Jazz quicken her steps and almost trip over tree roots at least twice.

"Hey—" An unfamiliar feminine voice cuts in, "Tucker, what does that mean?"

"Worry not, Cassie!" Danny! Oh sweet souls, Danny!! "It's an inside joke!"

"It's not really funny…" Another voice, sounding sleepy beyond compare and yawning like a "…is it?"

"Believe it or not," The mysterious feminine voice, Cassie cuts in. "He's usually the one in charge of the brain-cell. We're smart too, he just has no humor."

"I…" Another yawn, "...resent that."

"Tim just doesn't have that sense of whimsy!" That first boyish voice cuts in, ignoring who Jazz presumes is Tim.

"Does that mean we have to find a Prince?" Another masculine voice, angry and fed up, "In the forest?"

And, well, there's never been a better time for Jazz to stumble ass over kettle into the clearing.

"Jazz!" Her trio yells in greeting, rushing over to her as she rights herself. She blinks.

They're all…a lot smaller than she left them. No matter, hugs first, confusion later. (And crying/yelling much much later after that).

They're small enough for her to hoist all three into her arms, even as she notices the other four dwarves and the…glass coffin housing a fully grown man.

"What the—" Jazz whispers, eyeing the strangers.

"Are you the Prince?" Danny asks, and in this form he reminds her so much of when he was little—she wants to squeal but she won't, she won't.

"I think I am." Jazz answers, putting everyone down as they clamor to introduce the new kids and update her on the situation. Jazz, through years of dealing with her brother's trio, manages to understand and reciprocate the exchange of information.

"So I have to kiss him?" Jazz looks at the man, Dick, in the glass coffin dubiously. "I don't even know him?"

"This might be the first time someone's seen him and not kissed him on sight." Bart jokes, "Or, at least, not wanted to."

"Consent is important." Jazz scrunches up her face in consternation. "I will not subject someone to a kiss when they cannot consent."

"What about a kiss on the…hand?" Tim yawns, desperately trying to stay awake. "Nobody…said you had to kiss him on the…lips."

Jazz makes a face in thought. Hm. "What about you?"

"What…about me?" Jazz gestures at Dick when Tim looks at her in confusion.

"He's your brother, you love him, right?" Jazz picks up the sleeping man's hand. "Nobody said it had to be romantic love. Besides, again, I don't believe in love at first sight. I'm demi."

"Demi like, demigod?" Cassie's brow furrows. "What's that got to do with anything?"

"Demi as in demi-sexual or-" Sam sneezes, "-demi-romantic."

Tim seems to think on that a moment, before shrugging. "I do love him. And I used to have a crush on him when I was little, before I got adopted." He picks up the hand and kisses it lightly.

"Oh dude, same." Connor laughs, turning to them. "I think everyone's had a crush on Dick before."

"Not me!" Cassie harrumphs to Bart's laughter and agreement. "Though I do love the guy."

"That doesn't count!" Connor huffs, "Lesbians and Aces are obviously excluded!"

"I'm Ace…" Tucker shyly raises his hand, making a little eep! sound when everyone turns to him. "And I, uhm, have eyes. He's real pretty…"

"Fairest of them all," Sam sniffles, sort of agreeing. "And all that."

"I think," Danny cuts in, "That you have no choice here Jazz. I'm sorry, but it doesn't seem like Tim's kiss is the solution!"

Jazz eyes the sleeping man once more, pursing her lips. No, she really doesn't think she'll do that. Pretty as he is, he's a stranger. And bodily autonomy is important, even if it's just his hand. It sounds like this guy has a lot of admirers, but nobody's actually said anything about how Dick himself feels about it.

Plus, he definitely looks at least a couple years older than her. Though it's hard to tell when you're in your mid twenties.

"Just think of it this way, Jazz." Danny tries to gently say, "You're saving his life, sort of. Like CPR."

Jazz hums, leaning over the man and observing the man's throat. Hm...

"What's she taking so long for?" Cassie whispers, to which Sam only sneezes in response.

Jazz grabs the man by the shoulders, sitting him up and…whack!

"Jazz!" The chorus of children yell at her, some even grabbing at her but she ignores them.

She gives the man's back another smack! And then another, and another until—

Hack! Dick coughs out the piece of poisoned apple lodged in his throat, taking in deep breaths as Jazz rubs his back in support.

"Th-thanks." Dick wipes at his mouth, smiling up gratefully at Jazz. She smiles back, before stepping away to let Tim and his little friends crowd over Dick and give him hugs.

Sam, Tucker and Danny make their way to Jazz, and they watch the reunion fondly.

"How'd you know that would work?" Danny asks her, laughing as Jazz shrugs.

"In the original fairy tale, the Prince discovers Snow White in her glass coffin and decides to keep her because she's so beautiful." Jazz bares her teeth in disgust. "The guards that were with him were kind of clumsy and dropped the casket on its corner, dislodging the apple piece from Snow White's throat. She wakes up, and then they get married."

"That's…" Tucker whispers, shuddering.

"Yeah." Jazz rubs her arms. "Figured I'd give it a shot. Thankfully it worked."

Just as Dick gets out of the coffin, the world around them starts to waver. The dwarven teenagers flicker until they're bigger, almost glitching into their original sizes and proportions. Sam stops sneezing, Tim stops yawning and falling asleep (though he still sports eyebags the size of Guam), and Danny's little blanket sheet disappears.

Jazz, Dick, and seven 17 year olds suddenly find themselves in the middle of the streets of Bludhaven, in the outdoor seating of the local restaurant all of them were eating at before the whole debacle.

Ghost Writer and Desiree are sitting at one of the tables, having tea.

"Well, that was certainly quick." Ghost Writer mumbles, Desiree groaning as she puts down her cup. "I thought we'd have at least a couple more hours."

"I knew I shouldn't have set win conditions." Desiree pouts. "We were just getting to the good part!"

"Every story has to have some kind of conclusion." Ghost Writer argues, jabbing his mug at her. "Besides, I can just-"

"Yeah. Nope." Danny deadpans, grabbing his backpack and jabbing a hand into the bag. "Fuck you."

Before Ghost Writer Desiree can do more than charge an ecto-blast, Danny pulls out a Fenton Thermos and aims it expertly at the two, sucking them up with very little fuss and muss. Jazz is not jealous or mad about it. At all.

As long as she doesn't have to wear those stupid white tights again, everything is A-OK.

"Well." Dick breathes, putting his hands on his hips like some kind of mom. "That was...anti-climactic."

"What the hell was that?" Tim asks Danny, trying to get a closer look at the thermos, "Is that a thermos?"

Jazz looks up at the restaurant, waving over a sever as she takes a seat and beckons for everyone else to do the same. The others start to squish in a couple tables and take seats.

"I'm sure everyone has questions," Jazz smiles up at the waitress in thanks as she passes out menus. "But first, since it's still…" She checks her watch, "just past three, lets have a late lunch, shall we?"

"As long as there's no apple pie for dessert." Dick laughs, opening up his own menu to peruse.

"As you wish!" Jazz rolls her eyes, grinning. Everyone at the table groans.

#danny phantom #young justice #core four #snow white au #dpxdc #dcxdp #dp x dc #dc x dp #my writing #dick grayson #jazz fenton #everlasting trio

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ozzgin · 8 months ago

Note

crossover au where streamer reader gets sent to the dating show and everyone recognizes them immediately🙏

-🪢(knot anon teehee) (if take can be lystrosaurus anon)

I feel like there's two possible scenarios:

Your monster followers are supportive of your choice. They're convinced it's a money grab, and you wouldn't actually date the contestants; so, there's no reason whatsoever to be jealous of the peasants embarrassing themselves on camera. They'll show up to the live recording to cheer on you and express their adoration. "What the hell?" Mr. Host gawks at the never-ending mass of monsters gathered outside. They're wearing (Y/N) merch and waving flags and posters of your face. Did he miss something? The show hasn't even been released yet. "Oh, those are-" you stutter, trying to explain. "They're my viewers. I...I do livestreams sometimes." "Sometimes?" the gorgon eyes the hundreds of elated beasts, baffled and incredulous.

Your monster followers are vehemently against it. Absolutely not. You will not be paraded for the profane eyes of the uninitiated. If you're going to date someone, it should be one of them instead! They know you better than whatever buffoon they chose to perform on camera. Mr. Host nearly falls out of his chair, tumbling back from the sudden burst of the doors. Several monsters march in with a determined frown. "We're leaving, (Y/N). You want dating shows? We have that at home." Before the staff can react, you're swiftly hauled up by the angry mob and carried away. You can only gaze helplessly at the gorgon presenter, as he crawls on his fours and screams about deadlines and disastrous consequences for the budget.

Monster Dating Show | Streaming to Monsters

#monster dating show #monster streaming #monster x reader #monster x human #monster fucker #🪢 anon

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rodolfoparras · 10 months ago

Text

Thinking about you being the older man for once, and being out and about at some bar with some close friends when this young guy approaches you. Despite the group of big burly man staring him down, he looks confident as ever when he approaches you and asks if he can buy you a drink. You laugh in disbelief, before swiftly turning him down “I already got one here” you say and wave the glass in his face. That would be enough to send anyone away with their tail tucked between their legs. But not him, instead he shoots you a cheeky smile and says “tell me when you need a refill,” before he returns back to his table. You just snort at his words before you turn back to your friends, but no matter what you can still feel his gaze burning into the back of your neck. And when you turn around you meet his eyes, and see the cheeky smile still plastered on his face.

At some point you walk up to the bar to order another round of drinks when you feel a presence next to you. There he is again, elbow brushing up against yours and with that cheeky smile still plastered on his face “here for those refills?” This time you have to suppress the smile on your face when you tell him he can gladly order for the whole table if he wishes to do so. Instead of backing down the man happily agrees and you almost scoff when you realize you got a rich little kid tugging at your pant leg.

Nonetheless you thank him and return back to your group of friends, and once you do you can’t help but notice how the drinks just keep on coming. And just like before, every time you turn around he’s sitting there with a shit eating grin on his face, and waving his half empty glass in your direction.

At some point you just accept your fate and enjoy your free drinks noticing how reality slowly but surely keeps on blurring and its when you have to take a piss that you notice someone next to you in the stall. this time you don’t have to turn to know it’s him. “You again” you say, as you continue on with your business. “Me again” he says with a smile on his face, as if you’re not right there with your dick in your hand. “What do you want?” You ask, finishing up with what you’re doing before you go to wash your hands “i thought I made it pretty obvious,” you scoff at that as you gaze at him through the bathroom mirror “not going to happen kid” the smile dims a bit and something in you can’t help but feel a bit of satisfaction because of it “why?” You toss the paper towels into the trash before you turn to the younger man “because Im old enough to be your dad ;” you say in a matter of fact voice but the man just shrugs like he isn’t bothered at all “and?” You scoff again trying to walk through the door when the man stops you just as you grip the handle

“What do I have to do to convince you?” He says, for a second there’s none of that confident persona, just a man pleading.

“Sorry kid, just not interested,” you say before you walk out.

The night continues, you don’t feel his eyes on you anymore nor do you even see him in his old spot. Maybe he went home? Good. Kid like him had no business being here. By the time the night bleeds to an end you can barely stand on two legs and on your way out you stumble into a stranger “oops, so sorry about that,” you slur out as you gently push away from the stranger, which causes you to almost tumble over in the process. The stranger is quick to catch you though, hand steady on your waist as they pull you into their embrace.

“Woops, I apologize,.. again” the stranger just chuckles in response and you can’t help but notice how peasant it sounds, and being this close to them you can’t help but notice how good they smell.

“It’s okay, how about you sit down a bit?” You nod without a thought as you sit on the couch you’d earlier sat on.

“So you’re here alone?” You hear the pleasant voice say as they hand you a cup of water. You just shake your head as you down the content.

“Friends”

“They still around?”

You just shake your head. You’d told them they could leave even though they’d been persistent in helping you back home,

“Want me to call them?” You shake your head again.

“No,” you say and finally you take a good look at the other man. Unfortunately your vision is too blurry to see and the bar is way too dark but from the features you can make out he looks rather handsome “besides I don’t mind the company”

The handsome stranger just chuckles and you can’t help but think how even his laugh is attractive

“Would you like me to take you home?” You hear the stranger say. “I got my car parked outside and I promise you I haven’t had a drop of alcohol tonight,” scouts honor,” you snort at the words and without thinking twice you accept his offer.

You don’t remember much of the ride home. That could be because you kept dozing off. The stranger hadn’t talked much, all you could hear was the hum of the radio. He’d turned the ac on enough to make you feel you were cuddled up in a blanket or two and it was awfully pleasant to fall asleep to the lingering scent of his cologne.

It was somewhere your apartment and his car that you had invited him back in, still drunk and not thinking much about the consequences of things. And it wasn’t until the two of you had stumbled into the bed and the lights slipping through the window hit his face, that you recognized just who it was.

But by that time he’d already had your hard cock in the palm of his hand and it was awfully hard to think when he kept pressing kisses to your exposed skin.

“You planned this all along didn’t you?” You say as you watch him slink his way between your legs, looking way too eager to get his mouth on your dick.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about” he says before he licks a stripe along your shaft.

“Bastard” you say through gritted teeth but your words are soon swallowed when he sinks down on your cock.

“I’m old enough to be your father you know?” You say with a fistful of his hair as you show him closer to your crotch.

The man takes a while to respond but when he comes up for air there’s still that shit eating grin on his face, cheeks smeared with pre and sounding out of breath “good”

#this is the movie in my head atm

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haikyu-mp4 · 5 months ago

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Figures – Bokuto x reader wc 1148 – f!reader hockey player x figure skater au

When their hockey training finished and the figure skaters took to the ice, Bokuto constantly got distracted. While the rest of his team shuffled out, he leaned on the edge of the rink to watch you, completely mesmerised.

Everyone knew he wasn’t there for figure skating. He was there for you.

“He’s watching you again,” one of your friends hummed while skating past you as you all warmed up and got used to the ice roughly scratched up from the hockey practice. Another skater passed on your other side, muttering “Figures…”

You glanced over your shoulder, hesitating to make eye contact with Bokuto. The man flushed at the returned attention and stumbled when his skate fought against his attempt at a smooth exit. With a little snort under your breath, you continued warm-ups like usual, flicking your hair as you turned back to your friends. “Whatever.”

It’s no use getting involved with those puckheads anyway.

Kuroo patted Bokuto on the back. “I know I’ve asked before, but shouldn’t you try talking to her?”

Bokuto gasped and looked at Kuroo in disbelief. “As if I could ever be on her level. I’m a mere peasant watching her regalness from afar.”

The expression on Kuroo’s face was a mix of sympathy and scowling. “Okay, Shakespeare on ice.”

As they exited, Bokuto loosely pushed Kuroo’s shoulder, grumbling something about him being unromantic. “Doesn’t matter, she barely looks at me.”

Little did he know that destiny had taken the wheel and was driving full speed forward.

As they finished their next training, Bokuto hung around the goalie for a while longer to tease him for the last puck he got in that day, skating circles around him as he tried to make his way off the rink.

So Bokuto didn’t see when the pristine figure skaters came on and, spoiler alert, destiny crashed his car straight into you.

He just barely found the time to catch you, twisting so he and his equipment could take most of the fall. You ended up halfway on top of him, eyes wide open as you registered what had happened.

“You-“ You puckhead! is what you tried to sputter, but the words wouldn’t come out. Instead, you just stared with the sudden realisation that he was so… pretty?

“Hi,” he said and giggled, lips splitting to show the brightest, most blinding smile like he hadn’t just landed harshly on the ice.

You returned the smile, only to realise where you were and how exactly you were positioned. Scrambling off him, you sat on your knees and hid your face in your hands while your friends whistled.

Bokuto got up on his feet, cheeks burning at the attention from the rest of your group. He held out his hand, clearing his throat. “I’m so sorry, let me help you up.”

You took his hand and let him, very thankful that your coaches called on each of you so you could skate away, pretending your heart hadn’t skipped a beat from a stupid hockey player.

As the hockey players filed out, you straightened your back as you got on the ice. One of the last ones out was Bokuto, and you smiled fondly at the memory of the last time you two interacted.

“Hi, Bokuto,” you greeted him with a nod before moving on with training like usual.

“Hi!” Bokuto almost yelled, eyes following you dreamily. You noticed him voluntarily!

Kuroo urgently held out a hand, as if that would help, only to realise his warning was much too late. “Watch out!“

Bokuto tumbled off the ice in the least elegant way possible, but he couldn’t even feel the pain when he landed. All he could do was smile while staring at the ceiling from his spot on the ground. “She said hi.”

“I heard.”

There was no stopping Bokuto. He was developing into one of the most powerful players in the league, and scouts were watching him like hawks at games.

But he celebrated just as loudly at training.

“WHOOOHOO!” he hooted at his own goal, spreading his arms as he glided across the ice in victory. He was just about to focus back into the game, hoping to score one more in the last stretch of their practice, when he found you.

So this is how you felt when he stuck around to watch you. You were leaning on the palm of your hand, eyes following him from the second closest bench. In his mind, he could even see your eyelashes batting when you blinked.

Now, he wasn’t getting another goal in, so flustered he could barely stop giggling inside his helmet. Might as well accept defeat since you had him putty in your hands.

Kuroo raised an eyebrow at you in passing, but you pretended to be checking your nails instead. Well, until an owl hopped over at least.

“Were you waiting for… someone?” he asked, hoping his burning cheeks could be blamed on the climate.

You shrugged. “I just got here early, no big deal.”

It was just an act, but you pursed your lips when you saw his smile falter with a small muttered “Oh.”

“I saw that goal.” You smiled, happy when he returned it. “It looked cool.”

When you walked past him, his heart was running faster than it had been all practice, and you mentally scolded yourself for matching his heartbeat.

Which one is his? you muttered under your breath, crouched over by the hockey team’s bags to try and find Bokuto’s.

In your hand was a note asking him out on a date, despite your better judgment. It’s sealed safely inside an envelope marked for Bo in cursive because even when you’re making questionable decisions, you’re doing it in style.

You always told yourself that being involved with something as brute as a hockey player would never do you any good. It became a practised sentiment until you finally noticed Bokuto for who he was.

His smile, his enthusiasm, his dedication, his biceps…

Slowly, despite your efforts, he crept into your heart and crushed it. Wait, that’s not what I mean. You developed a crush, is the more appropriate way to put it.

So you tucked the letter into a bag with a familiar hoodie hanging halfway out of it and an owl charm clipped onto the main zipper.

The damage had been done.

Later that evening, about ten minutes into your practice, you looked up to find Bokuto at the entrance. He jumped up and down until you noticed him, then pointed at the opened note in his hand and gave you a thumbs-up.

You returned it as subtly as possible, but of course, your friends saw it.

“You’re getting distracted again,” one of them hummed while skating past you. You rolled your eyes and tried to skate away when another friend passed by your side, muttering “Figures…”

masterlist

thank you to my personal saint, @cottonlemonade, for helping me with developing the bag scene<3

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thesafireartist · 9 months ago

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THE FACT THAT THE BAT IS ACCURATE

All the other Ashas were awkwardly acquainted with Star but then TFS!Asha just went “GTFO OF MY HOUSE”

@rascalentertainments @thesafireartist @chillwildwave @annymation @oh-shtars @uva124

#tumble I missed you #I want to post the next part of TFS but this ONE POSE is breaking me #but also yes TFS!Asha is ✨not like other girls✨#aka not a peasant lol #wish au #the fallen star #wish fanfiction #disney wish

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quietplace26 · 1 month ago

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Notes: This is what happens when you read several Manwhas that have fathers who I want to strangle. One does not a make a promised marry or come back to your pregnant partner, only to then fuck off to marry someone else-

Zhongli x MC x surprise!

It was by pure chance that MC met him that day, deep in the woods.

Zhongli, one of the younger princes of the Golden Dragon Dynasty of the Empire of Liyue.

In a bitter rage he had left the palace in a huff, going into the forest to hunt as a way to cool off, before stumbling across a peasant that was hunting for some herbs in the forest.

That peasant was a young woman named MC.

And this was a case of 'Love at first sight' between these two souls.

MC would sneak out to the forest every chance she got to meet up with Zhongli, who in turn did the same thing.

They grew close. VERY close.

Close enough that it eventually ended up with them sleeping together in that same forest, with the night sky and stars as their only witnesses.

But this tumble in the sheets had consequences. Consequences that MC soon noticed when she started feeling sick. Certain smells made her sick, she wanted to eat certain food, and most of all... a small bump was starting to form on her belly.

Both Zhongli and her were more than a little scared at the news, but the prince only cared about her and his child's safety. If his siblings or father found out, they could-

With bitter resignation, Zhongli tells MC he couldn't protect her. He couldn't even marry her. Not without power.

He needed the power of the throne, and there was no way he would inherit it as he had older brothers who were in line, and also, his father wasn't all too fond of him

So... he would have to take it by force.

MC, knowing this, promises to wait for him. That she and their child would be waiting for his return.

And that's how the rebellion within the empire began. Soon heir after heir falls, and Zhongli's name starts to spread. A vicious Dragon worthy of the Throne, and would have it in his claws soon enough...

...So, here's the thing. One would think, oh, Zhongli becomes Emperor, he comes back for his love and child, and happily ever after, right?

WRONG.

Why? Because MC knows.

And all it took was her hitting her head when she and her father got in an argument over him finding out she was pregnant and he slapped her, causing her to fall.

It brought back memories of her past life. A normal woman living in modern day, only to meet an untimely demised while heading home from work one night.

Truly she was getting the Manwha treatment. Death by Truck-kun? Really?!

But back to the subject at hand. She knows Zhongli won't come back for her because she read it in a novel before she died.

Have you ever heard the saying 'Out of sight, out of mind'? Because as said in the novel, as Zhongli claws his way up to the throne, his feelings for her began to fade.

And soon, his time with MC would be nothing more than a fleeting memory.

After all, he was always destined for a life in the palace. Which had no place for lowly peasants like MC.

What's more... MC was destined to die. She would die only a few years later due to poor health and her family not even attempting to take care of her.

...And her daughter would be left alone to suffer under heavy abuse by not only MC's family, but the whole village.

Even worse when Zhongli finally remembering he had a blood child.

Her daughter would be treated like a waste of space, abused by Zhongli's stepchildren, as he married a noble lady who already had children after becoming emperor, letting his daughter be beaten and worse.

MC's daughter would eventually snap, becoming the villainess of the novel... and then eventually executed by Zhongli's own hands.

No. No, no, no MC would not stand for this! She refused to let her baby live that role! She'll live and be the happy child she was meant to be!

And Zhongli... Fuck him. MC didn't need him. She would LIVE and take care of her daughter herself!

But first... she had to get out of this village, and far away from her 'family'. They would let her die; they would abuse her daughter.

She needed to get the hell out of there!

Thankfully, with small mercies, her 'parents' threw her out after she called them certain names that shall not be repeated, meaning she was disowned and FREE.

With a small bag filled with some gifts that Zhongli once gave her, MC knew she could sell them for a good price and move far, far away from the plot.

Placing a hand on her belly, feeling the tiny bump, MC promises her daughter, her precious little one, would be safe and love.

Throwing one last bitter look of hatred at the palace far off in the distance, MC begins her journey...

5 years later, and MC liked to say she was living the best life.

She had found a peaceful village far away from the plot and danger of the novel. The villagers didn't pry into her business or asked where the father was when they saw her belly.

They welcomed her with open arms, and quite the number of housewarming gifts and much needed things she needed for her future child.

And her child, her precious daughter, her little Xue, born on a rare snowy day in the Empire of Liyue, was a healthy, happy 4-year-old. What she was meant to be.

She wasn't abused. She wasn't starving. She was safe. That was all that mattered to MC.

And MC herself? She was happy too. She and Xue had a roof over their heads, she had a job at a bakery, plenty of friends and family figures.

What more could she ask for?

Zhongli? Ah, hell no. He made his choice. MC already long heard that he married a noble woman, what was her name? Guizhong? The moment he became emperor.

MC was only 6 months pregnant when this happened. And just like the novel... Zhongli never once came looking for her.

Even with all her bitterness towards the man, she... ugh, she hated to admit it, but she still held some feelings for him.

MC sighs, looking down at her hand and playing with the promise ring he left her before everything changed.

Some part of her hoped he would come back to her, back to meet his daughter, but MC knew that would never happen.

Looking a Xue, who was playing with some village children, MC knew even if he did come back for them, it would only lead to pain and suffering for Xue.

Because by all accounts, Xue was a bastard child.

She would likely be taken from MC and end up with the same fate her novel counterpart suffered. Death.

And MC would never let that happen. Even if she had to get her own hands bloody, Xue would be safe... she had to be.

MC might break if she lost her...

But enough with those negative thoughts! There was no reason for her to worry as she and Xue was far, FAR away from the palace and Zhongli.

They were out of the plot. they were no longer characters that mattered. They would disappear into the background and live a safe life in this little village...

...Or so she thought.

Everything falls apart on a joyous day.

A friend from the bakery invited MC and Xue to come with her family to another village, one that was bigger than this one, and it was having a giant festival!

MC wasn't sure, as it was rather close to the capital of Liyue, which meant close to the royal family...

But seeing Xue's big, golden eyes (Zhongli's eyes) look up at her so cutely, MC couldn't say no.

So, they went. It wasn't like anything bad could happen, right? ...Right?

The festival itself was nice. It had great food and music; the games were fun. All and all, a grand old time.

MC smiles down at Xue as the now 5-year-old cuddled her new Dragon plush toy (This). It was almost as big as she was, with the tail fluff being dragged on the ground as she walked beside MC.

Mc honestly didn't like it. It reminded her too much of Zhongli, which in truth, wasn't that far off as the plush was apparently supposed be based off him as a dragon.

But Xue wanted it, so how could MC say no?

As the sun falls and the moon rises, the festival slowly came to an end for the day.

So, MC plucks up a now sleepy Xue into her arms, big dragon plush and all, and begins to make her way to the inn where she knew her friend was waiting for her.

Thing is, she wasn't counting on this.

And by this, I mean, she wasn't counting on meeting a pair of very familiar face.

There, standing right before her, was Zhongli.

MC felt her soul nearly leave her body as sees him... and he sees her.

The emperor's eyes widen, before schooling back to a colder look, nearly making MC flinch as she takes a step back.

The moment only gets worse when a voice calls out "Father!", and a small sandy hair girl darts up to Zhongli, hugging his leg. Another sandy hair child soon follows, a boy this time, and then a woman with the same color hair.

Guizhong...

MC awkwardly tries to inch away as the family chatted before Xue caught their attention as she yawned, showing off cute little fangs, and nuzzles back into her dragon plush.

"Oh? What an adorable little darling! Is she yours?" Guizhong had walked up, gazing down at the sleepy child with curiosity.

MC, meanwhile, wanted to hide in a hole because she hadn't known Guizhong was this pretty-

On that note, she avoids Zhongli's gaze, as his eyes zero in on Xue as well, finally noticing her.

MC doesn't notice how his face goes slightly pale, or his eyes widen again as if he was remembering something very important.

(yes, your child, you bas-)

The two children, Guizhong's if MC guessed correctly, followed their mother over to MC. Their eyes were filled with the same curiosity Guizhong had.

"Y-yes, she's mine. Her name is Xue." MC stammered, looking for a way out of this situation as she held Xue closer.

Trying desperately to ignore how Guizhong cooed over Xue's 'cuteness', Guizhong's children tugging on her dress, asking if they could see Xue, and especially Zhongli's increasingly burning gaze as he stares at Xue before shifting back to MC... and he looked lost.

MC wanted to punch his handsome face. Like hell he gets to look at her with a look like that after abandoning her-

It was only then that Xue lifts her head to yawn again before blinking open her eyes. Showing off her very beautiful eyes of gold.

The same gold eyes that the emperor himself had.

Guizhong pauses. She looks at MC, before glancing back at a now haggard looking Zhongli who takes a step forward, hesitantly whispering MC's name.

But MC takes this chance to leave.

With a swift goodbye, she hurries off, trying not to cry from the sheer stress.

This wasn't good! this wasn't good! THIS. WAS. NOT. GOOD!!!

What was going to happen now?! Was Xue going to be taken away?! Would they both be killed by Guizhong's jealously?! Or would it be worse-

"-and I can't begin to explain how pissed I was when Zhongli told me he more or less ghosted you! How dare he!"

MC stares blankly as Guizhong sits before her in her room at the end, a positively sad looking Zhongli right beside her as he seems to hunch in on himself a every insult Guizhong threw at him.

No where was the Emperor of War and Contracts. He was a man who before a woman who could bring his ego down with words alone.

And maybe her fists too judging by how Guizhong was waving her fist around...

The empress' children, who MC remembered was called Guifang (Girl), and Guiying (Boy), were on one of the beds playing a game of sorts, with Xue in the middle.

Xue was still holding her dragon plush as her wide, innocent gold eyes kept looking back and forth between the twins as they played.

Apparently, the winner would be 'cute' Xue's best friend???

This whole scenario flipped what MC knew onto her head. In the novel the twins would've been cruel and uncaring towards Xue, but here they were arguing over who would get a hug from her.

And there's still the fact Guizhong showed up dragging Zhongli by his ear into her room at the inn, politely asking to talk that had MC questioning everything she knew...

Even so, MC couldn't help but feel a spark of pleasure seeing Zhongli, on his KNEES, apologizing to her for abandoning both her and Xue.

"...I want to hate you." Zhongli twitches but doesn't raise his head. "But I don't, and I hate that. You promised me, Zhongli, promised to come back for me, for our baby... but you didn't. So, I had to take charge of everything. Xue... she's everything to me..."

MC feels tears build up in her eyes as she quietly asks if they were going to take Xue away from her.

Guizhong gets up, sitting down beside her, and pulls MC into a side hug. "Why separate you from your daughter when the both of you are coming back to the palace with us, hm?"

"P-pardon?" MC squeaks, as she finds her face squished into the now grinning empress's chest.

"Guizhong..." Zhongli voice held warning as he glares at his wife... was that- was that the look of jealously?! And who was he even jealous of?!

"What? You know you were thinking about it too when you saw her and that adorable little dragon." Guizhong teases, placing her chin onto of MC's as she hugs the flustered woman tighter.

"U-uh, excuse me, but what do you mean by that?" MC's voice was muffled as she tried to squirm free, but Guizhong only latched on tighter.

"What I mean, pretty one-" MC wheezes, blushing bight cherry red while Zhongli could be heard hissing Guizhong's name in embarrassment. "-is that you should become our pretty little concubine."

"...C-concubine?!"

What was happening?! Concubine?! Her?! And Guizhong was suggesting it?! This- this wasn't-

"Or you can just be MY concubine as Zhongli is being a big, dumb Blockhead right now." Another squeak leaves MC as Guizhong pulls back to press a kiss to her cheek.

Ok. Ok! Guizhong was apparently flirting with her... while Zhongli was standing right there. Great. Lovely.

...MC could NOT handle this! God! Celestia! Or anyone that was listening! Help!

Things only got more hectic as Zhongli had enough of Guizhong's actions and slid up on the other side of MC, causing MC to squish between them as the couple bickered over her head.

"Guizhong, you can't just-"

"Oh hush, Blockhead! You know you agree-

"That's not- Stop kissing her!"

...MC would like to keep one thing straight. She was still VERY mad at Zhongli. Which, she had every right to be.

So, in saying that, she had a lot of mixed feelings with the royal couple seemingly arguing over her. She was literally locked in a tug of war between two grown adults. How childish.

But... she couldn't help but laugh in disbelief as both Zhongli and Guizhong hissed and bickered with one another, not at all acting as if they were married or ruled a whole ass empire.

This also gives her a moment to think. To think about the offer she was given.

Being a concubine truthfully doesn't sound all too pleasant. MC read enough novels in her past life to know that, but this sounded different.

By Guizhong's words, she wouldn't be just Zhongli's, she would be Guizhong's as well, which, honestly, didn't sound that bad.

She would be spoiled, and wouldn't have to worry about money or anything...

However! It didn't matter if it sounded nice, as in the end, it all comes down to Xue's safety and comfort, and only Xue's safety and comfort.

Right, MC sighs. Time to be the adult.

"Ok. Stop!" The couple stops, turning their attention back to MC as she finally controls her blushing.

"Before I give you an answer, I want to know where Xue stands in all of this. I want her safe... S-she's my baby, so-" MC stutters, feeling her eyes become wet with tears again.

"...She'll be the princess she was meant to be." Zhongli hesitates for a moment before grabbing her hand, squeezing it gently.

It reminded MC of the times when they were seeing each other years ago, when there were days when she was stressed, and he'd calm her down.

MC wanted to hate him so badly for daring to reenact such a thing, but... she sniffles, squeezing his hand back as Guizhong rubbed her tears away.

They tell her Xue would be crown princess, Zhongli's heir. Guizhong's twins didn't count as they weren't of Zhongli's blood, but even still-

"They already show much affection for the little dragon, so I doubt that they would be jealous." Guizhong hums thoughtfully, as she glances over at the now sleeping children. Both were curled around Xue, one twin on either side.

Seeing how the twins, two of the worst characters in the novel and one of the many reasons Xue would become a villainess, acting protective over her daughter...

Maybe... Maybe it would be alright to accept Guizhong's offer... but only-

"...I'll go to the palace, but!" MC sternly looks at the now excited royals. "I won't act as your Concubine. I won't sleep with either of you. We will have separate rooms. No kissing, touching, or anything sexual. Not until we get to know each other. Or, in Zhongli's case,"

MC glances over at Zhongli, eyes narrowed coldly. "-gain my trust. Again." Zhongli wilts slightly at her words but agrees.

"I... I'll do better. Even if you never fully forgive me, I'll respect your boundaries. I'll take care of you and our child... Gemheart."

Seeing Guizhong and Zhongli respect her decision, hearing how Zhongli called Xue his child, and even calling hearing him call her his old nickname for her, MC finally relaxes.

She smiles wearily at the pair as they look at her like she was the sun, moon, and stars.

Really... to think her presence would change the plot so much...

Well then, now all that's left is to tell Xue the big news when she woke up...

Tagging: @platinumrosetail, @arn9tails, @bloodytea, @esthelily, @uniquecutie-puffs

#genshin impact #genshin impact x reader #zhongli x reader #zhongli x guizhong #zhongli is going to grovel #for a long time #manhwa au

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