#superior silver speaks

[acakefilledwithrainbowsandsmiles]

just want y’all to remember that throughout the events of the darkstalker book, he’s about five-six years old. in human terms, that’s the equivalent to a young 13-16 year old boy. imagine a 13 year old comes marching into the palace like “hi miss queen i am here to kill some icewings for you.”

[unproduciblesmackdown]

winston my quant of billions

[servicpop]

flowers for a little someone ♡ valentines special callahan ( detective oc ) x bttm m reader

NSFW⠀ⓘ⠀you're on house arrest but in his house , alastair (oc) mention , choking , degradation , phone call interruption , i wanted to make this freaky for valentines . . . so slightly cringey

Walking into his office on Valentines day was like if a mortuary celebrated Halloween; completely out of place for what they did. Red banners were haphazardly thrown over the walls and windows. The decorations had little to no cohesion, just oddly placed in the hopes it represented Valentines enough for people to notice and move on.

Callahan pushed through and ducked underneath ribbons and lace dangling from the ceiling to get to his office. It was a reserved space just for him—previously a small library room—in an attempt to persuade him to stay with the agency.

Sinking down on his slightly worn office chair, Callahan sighed, circling his temples with his index finger as he tried to soothe the oncoming headache. Seeing all the hearts and blindingly vibrant decorations made his head reel more than it already was. Red was a harsh, headache-inducing color, though he didn't particularly mind the soft pink elements of the cupid posters and occasional lace.

Before he could get up to brew himself a morning cup of black coffee, three sharp knocks were delivered to the door of his office. Callahan didn't even move and the man was already walking inside.

“Flowers for you sir,” A man with platinum dyed hair with a dark undercut and silver rimmed glasses chimed in with a bundle of roses in his right arm. He pushed his glasses up his nose bridge before striding over to Callahan's table and placing them down on the wood.

“From who...?” Callahan eyed the officer with a narrowed look.

“Not sure. A blonde lady if I saw correctly,” Alastair shrugged, reaching over to flip the card attached to the bouquet towards Callahan's prying eyes. It had a woman he's never heard the name of before neatly scribbled on it.

“Right,” Callahan curtly nodded, glaring down at the bunch of roses carefully placed together by a commissioned florist. The petals had a sultry red color, encased with black paper to deepen the natural tint of the flower. Tulips would've been better, or perhaps peonies in a gentle pastel.

“It's fitting,” Alastair smiles, “It's all dark and brooding—just like you.” He's waving his hands around like he's physically picturing and comparing Callahan with the roses. When he doesn't reply, Alastair flashes a sheepish smile, scratching the back of his neck as he speaks up for the silence, “No? Too much? Okay.” He backs up to the door and slips out without further conversation.

Callahan stares back down at the flowers; he had no use for it, though one thought stopped him from chucking the roses out into the trash.

Walking out of his office, he spotted Alastair again, casually chatting with a co-worker of his with a cup of milky coffee in his palms. With everyone in the building, Alastair was the one man who would drop his work in a futile attempt to impress his superior. And Callahan planned to use that.

“I'm taking my break early today, if anyone needs me, don't call; I won't pick up.”

Callahan had to brace himself for a second, pushing the door of his home open before scanning the open area for any signs of the little thief he had locked down in house arrest. He found you calmly nestled within the fortress of the pillows and blankets you'd pulled from his closets, on the couch with a cheesy 2000's Valentines movie playing.

He had to suppress the urge to call out 'I'm home,' since it was instinct to do so when someone else was home. You weren't meant to be his roommate let alone a friend. You were a criminal he'd swore to keep his eyes on.

His footsteps were heavy—a sign that he had come home if you couldn't hear the door unlock—as he loomed over the back of the couch, staring down at the crown of your head.

“Enjoy.” He tossed the bouquet of roses onto your blanketed lap carelessly, watching as you bring it up into your hands to get a better look at it. There's a strange feeling in his gut seeing you appreciate something he's brought home, like a cat hauling a dead rat onto its owner's porch. He'd only play it off as accomplishment to giving something a better use. Nothing more than that.

“It's pretty.” He can hear the smile in your voice and it pushes him to roll his eyes. “Thought you didn't like red roses though.” You tilt your head back to look at him, but you're met with narrowed eyes and a slight scowl to his face.

“I don't. That's why I gave them to you,” he scoffed, circling the couch before taking a seat a few pillows away from you.

“Why'd you come home so early?” You turn your attention away from the movie to him, gauging his reaction.

The question struck him like lightning, and his whole body tensed up. There was no other reason why he came home early than to give you the flowers, to see your facial expression change from the most insignificant gesture—in his eyes.

“You ask too many questions, brat,” He sighed, relaxing his body into the comfort of the couch as he spread his arms across the back, just shy of reaching you. His gaze is fixed straight before a slight rustling catches his attention.

From the corner of his eyes, he can see you look up at him, then back down to the roses, then back up again to flutter your eyelashes. His eyebrows knit together as he tries to decipher your looks before it dawns on him.

“Fuck, fine, I'll let it slide just 'cause its Valentines day.” He groans as he snatches the bouquet from your hands and treads toward his bedroom door, expecting you to follow him.

Callahan's got you laying flat on your stomach while he's standing on the edge of the bed between your parted legs. Both of your clothes discarded onto the floor, rumpled from the rough handling. He leans over your body to reach over the neglected bouquet to the side of you on his bed.

Callahan's fingers hook under the perfectly tied ribbon, undoing it with a simple movement. The flowers fall apart on his bed, scattering as the ribbon holding them together comes undone.

His palm slides under your chin, lifting your head up as he folds the red satin over your nape and around to the front column of your throat. His hands are surprisingly experienced with tying a bow, securing it just above your Adam's apple.

“This romantic enough for you?” He bites out, fingers curling along the ribbon at the back of your neck before he tugs at it. It strains against your neck, forcing your head to tilt back.

“You've got rose petals, a nice house to stay in, a pretty ribbon around your neck, and a fucking great guy to take care of you.” It's a sarcastic jab at himself, knowing how he's defying all his moral codes just for you—and it doesn't feel wrong at all.

He holds you there, observing how you just take it with no complaints, and that scarily turns him on more than he'd want to admit.

Callahan finally releases you, letting you catch your breath for about one good second before he's stuffing himself into you, sliding his thick ridge past that tight ring of muscle. He groans like he's restraining himself from liking it as his hand instinctively grips the ribbon—not pulling it yet.

He's holding you like he's gripping a saddle, and he plans to ride out his high for tonight.

He leans over your back just slightly to drag himself—even if just a centimetre more—deeper as he pushes until his own body slaps against yours. Callahan can feel you fluttering around him, stretching and adapting to his girth as he gently rocks himself forward to speed up the process.

When he assumes you've adapted enough, Callahan pulls out just enough that his tip is still keeping your hole stretched and open for him. He leans back to get a good view of your body connecting with his, gripping and groping the plush flesh of the back of your thighs before he spits on his dick and shoves it back into you.

The sudden intrusion has you yelping into the pillow, nails clawing at his pure white sheets, threatening to rake scratch marks all over them.

He pounds into you, the slick sound of lube and his spit mixing together while he's fucking an imprint into your walls. You feel every thick vein pulsing with need and it makes your legs tremble with each thrust.

“Don't act like you haven't been sleeping around like this before I caught you,” he grunted, giving you a sharp tug to the band around your neck. “But shit if those bastards aren't lucky,” you can't pick up what he's muttering under his breath from the obscene sound of wet slapping and creaking.

You'd protest if you're teeth weren't clamped down around the fluff of Callahan's pillow. The constant slide of his girth dragging along your walls makes you squirm like its ticklish.

Your neck is lightly throbbing from the pressure of the ribbon, but it's in a way that's sickly enjoyable. Not to mention your own cock is rubbing against Callahan's sheets, adding to the mind-numbing stimulation.

“You're quiet today. Where's that mouthy boy I know?” He says it as if he's gently cooing to a dog or a pet, but to you, its a sardonic mock. Callahan grips the satin like a rein, jerking your head up to let all those filthy noises spill from your lips.

His balls draw heavy with the burden of pleasure seeing you arched so much alike to a cat. One hand grips the spot where your waist meets you hips, and he digs his fingers deep enough for crescents to form. With the way you're whining out in esctasy, it tells him that he's found your prostate, and he's actively bumping it every time he thrusts.

There's a sharp vibrating sound that comes from Callahan's phone on the night stand and his screen lights up blue with the words 'Glasses police officer' on it. Callahan mentally curses out that son of a bitch, especially since he was explicit when asking him not to call.

“What?” He growls out into the phone, slotting it between his ear and a hiked up shoulder as he continues to roll his hips back and forth into you. He hears your whine and how you're turning your head to look back at him but he just pushes your face back down, not wanting to deal with your dejected look because he's diverting the tiniest bit of attention away from you.

“When are you coming back to work? You've got a few important paperwork you need to fill out,” Alastair's voice was like nails on a chalkboard right now, especially when that static sound coming from his phone was drowning out your cute moans.

“Do you think doing this will make me want to come back?”

“No... But sir I—”

Callahan's mind is pulled away from the phone call for a minute as he discries the small trembling of your torso, and how eagerly you're pushing back against him like you're trying to encourage him deeper.

“He's about to cum,” He voices his thoughts shamelessly to the officer on the other line, “I'm not coming back 'till tomorrow.”

There's an air of silence from Alastair's part before he speaks up with a flustered and almost out of breath voice, “He's– Who? What—?”

Before anymore questions were thrown at Callahan, he hangs up and tosses his phone to a random corner of the bed, turning his full attention to you. More so to the slight jolting movements you're doing and the breathless and elonged moan you're sobbing into the pillow.

“Jesus christ,” He draws out; the sharp shock of his orgasm comes without warning from watching you lose yourself, and he's overbrimming you with his pleasure. No matter how hard you're squirming or twitching, Callahan holds you down with his hands, pushing down at your neck and the base of your spine, keeping you still as he pumps his generation into you.

Callahan pushes his hair back as he lets out a content sigh—as content as he could physically make himself sound.

“Who was that?” Your voice was so small and hoarse it almost made Callahan feel bad for making you scream your lungs out. Almost.

“Just go to sleep, I don't need your jealous whining,” he huffed, carefully taking off the ribbon from your neck and absent-mindedly rubbing your neck to soothe the pain he inflicted out of instinct.

You held your tongue just so he wouldn't notice he was doing it.

a / n ; hopefully this wasn't too freaky . . . m'not good at hard-core stuff T T , divider credits –> @/roseraris

[pucksandpower]

Don’t Judge a Book by Its Cover

Toto Wolff x Reader

Summary: a wealthy older man with a starry-eyed younger woman — it’s a tale as old as time and a scene the saleswoman has seen countless times before … or is it?

The showroom gleams under harsh fluorescent lights, every surface polished to a mirror finish. Cars, sleek and expensive, are lined up like jewels in a case. The hum of quiet conversation fills the space, punctuated by the occasional burst of laughter or the soft clink of champagne glasses.

It’s another day at the auto show, and the saleswoman, tall and sharp-eyed, watches it all with a thin veneer of polite disinterest. She’s been here long enough to know who’s serious and who’s just here to gawk.

She spots them before they even step into her section. The man is hard to miss — tall, broad-shouldered, with the kind of commanding presence that makes people step aside without even realizing it. His suit is tailored to perfection, probably costs more than her monthly salary.

And then there’s the girl — no, the woman — beside him. You’re much younger, that’s clear. You look out of place, wide-eyed and excited like a kid in a candy store, dressed in something trendy but understated, a deliberate contrast to the man’s sophistication.

The saleswoman’s eyes narrow as she watches you both approach. She’s seen this before — older man, younger woman, the kind of relationship that’s all too common in these circles. She doesn’t have to guess who’s footing the bill here.

“They’re all stunning,” you say, your voice carrying over the murmur of the crowd as you walk beside the man. “I don’t even know where to start.”

“Take your time,” the man says, his voice low, accented, and rich with an authority that’s clearly second nature to him. He’s smiling at you, and there’s a warmth there that the saleswoman finds almost disarming. Almost.

She steps forward, her professional smile firmly in place, and approaches the two of you. “Good afternoon,” she says, her tone perfectly neutral, though there’s an edge to it, just enough to make her feel superior in this little interaction. “Is there anything in particular you’re interested in today?”

You look up at the man, a slight question in your eyes, as if asking for permission to speak. The saleswoman notices this, of course, and it only confirms what she already thinks.

“The Porsche 911 S/T,” you say, your voice gaining a little confidence as you look back at her. “It’s — wow, it’s incredible.”

The saleswoman allows herself a small, condescending smile. Of course, you’d go for something flashy like that. “A beautiful choice,” she says smoothly. “Though it’s not currently available for sale. It’s more of a display model for now.”

You look disappointed, but before you can say anything, the man steps in. “Is that so?” He asks, his tone polite but firm. “And when will it be available?”

“Not for a few months, I’m afraid,” she replies, keeping her smile in place even as she feels a flicker of unease at the intensity in his eyes. “But we can certainly take your information and let you know the moment it is.”

You’re distracted by another car nearby — a sleek, silver Audi R8 — and the man follows your gaze. “Excuse me for a moment,” he says to the saleswoman, already moving toward the car that has caught your attention. She watches him go, a tightness forming in her chest.

You’re bending slightly, peering into the Audi’s interior, running your fingers over the smooth leather seats. The man is right behind you, his hand resting lightly on your lower back, a gesture that’s both protective and possessive.

“What do you think of this one?” He asks, leaning in close, his breath warm against your ear. You smile, and it’s a real smile, the kind that makes your whole face light up.

“It’s beautiful,” you say, your voice soft, almost reverent. “But I think I’m still in love with the Porsche.”

He chuckles, and the sound is deep, genuine. “You have good taste.”

The saleswoman doesn’t hear what you say next, but she sees the way you look up at him, like he’s the only person in the room. She almost rolls her eyes. Of course, you’re infatuated. Who wouldn’t be, with a man like that?

But there’s something else, something in the way he looks at you that makes her pause. There’s affection there, sure, but it’s more than that. It’s something deeper, more complicated.

He straightens up, leaving you to admire the Audi, and makes his way back to the saleswoman. She steels herself, ready to resume the dance of negotiation, but his next words take her by surprise.

“I want to buy the Porsche for my partner,” he says, his tone leaving no room for argument.

She blinks, momentarily thrown. “As I mentioned earlier, sir, it’s not for sale at the moment. But we can-”

“You misunderstand,” he interrupts, his eyes locking onto hers with a quiet intensity. “I’m not asking if it’s for sale. I’m telling you I want to buy it.”

The saleswoman feels a prickle of irritation, but she keeps her expression neutral. “I’m afraid that’s not possible, Mr …”

“Wolff,” he says, his voice steady. “Toto Wolff.”

The name rings a bell, and she stiffens slightly. Of course, she’s heard of him. Everyone in this business has. But she’s not about to let him walk all over her just because he’s some big shot.

“I’m sorry, Mr. Wolff, but even for you, the car isn’t available. It’s a prototype, and it won’t be released for sale until-”

He cuts her off with a low laugh, and there’s something almost dangerous in the sound. “For me,” he says slowly, as if explaining something very simple to a child, “they’ll make it available.”

She opens her mouth to protest, but the words die in her throat. There’s a look in his eyes that makes it clear this isn’t a man who’s used to hearing the word no. And she realizes, with a sinking feeling, that he’s right. If Toto Wolff wants that car, he’s going to get it.

The saleswoman swallows hard, her professional composure beginning to crack around the edges. “I’ll need to speak with my manager,” she says finally, her voice losing some of its earlier confidence.

“Please do,” he replies smoothly, his gaze flicking back to where you’re still admiring the Audi, completely unaware of the tension playing out behind you.

She turns on her heel, making her way to the back office with quick, clipped steps. The nerve of him, she thinks, but even as she seethes, she knows what the outcome will be. No one says no to someone like Toto Wolff.

As she waits for her manager to confirm the inevitable, she casts a glance through the glass wall of the office, watching you and him from a distance. You’re laughing at something he’s said, your hand resting on his arm, and for a moment, the saleswoman feels a strange, unwelcome pang of something close to envy.

It’s not just the money or the power that he has — though there’s plenty of that — it’s the way he looks at you, like you’re the only thing that matters. Like he would move mountains just to see you smile.

The manager finally appears, a mix of excitement and nerves on his face as he hurries over to speak with Toto. The saleswoman stays back, watching as they exchange words, her earlier confidence completely drained. She knows what’s coming, and sure enough, after a few minutes, the manager gestures for her to come forward.

“Mr. Wolff,” the manager says, his tone obsequious, “we’d be more than happy to arrange the purchase of the Porsche for you. It’s not something we typically do, but in your case, we can make an exception.”

Toto gives a small nod, as if this is exactly what he expected. “Good,” he says, then glances over at you, still absorbed in the Audi. “I’ll take care of the details later. For now, I’d prefer if my partner remains unaware of the purchase.”

The manager nods quickly. “Of course, of course. Discretion is our priority.”

The saleswoman feels a fresh wave of irritation as the manager all but trips over himself to please Toto. But what bothers her even more is the realization that she was wrong. This isn’t a simple sugar relationship, despite what she first thought. There’s something real here, something that makes her uncomfortable in ways she can’t quite put into words.

As Toto walks back over to you, the manager gives the saleswoman a sharp look, silently instructing her to follow his lead. She pastes on her best smile, swallowing her pride, and follows after him.

You don’t notice the shift in the atmosphere when Toto returns to your side. You’re too engrossed in the car, asking him questions about its specs and design, your enthusiasm infectious. The saleswoman watches the two of you interact, trying to reconcile the easy, genuine affection she sees with her initial assumptions.

“So,” Toto says, leaning in a little closer to you, “if you could choose any car here, which one would it be?”

You bite your lip, clearly torn, but finally, you sigh. “I know it’s silly, but I keep coming back to the Porsche. It’s just … it’s perfect.”

His smile widens, and the saleswoman feels a pang of something she refuses to name. “Then the Porsche it is,” he says softly, as if it’s the simplest thing in the world.

You laugh, a little embarrassed. "Toto, you can't just buy it because I like it. It's not even for sale."

He chuckles, a warm, deep sound that makes you feel like you’re the only one in the room. “You’d be surprised what’s possible.”

The saleswoman shifts uncomfortably, watching as Toto brushes a strand of hair behind your ear, his fingers lingering a moment too long to be purely casual. You smile up at him, oblivious to everything except the man in front of you.

She clears her throat, forcing herself back into the conversation. “Actually, we can make arrangements for the Porsche. If you’d like, we can finalize the details and set up delivery.”

You blink, surprised. “Really? But I thought-”

Toto smiles, squeezing your hand gently. “It’s yours, if you want it.”

Your eyes widen, and for a moment, you’re speechless. Then you throw your arms around him, pressing your face into his chest as you mumble a heartfelt, “Thank you.”

The saleswoman watches, the professional smile on her face feeling more like a grimace now. She doesn’t understand it, doesn’t understand you or him, but she knows she was wrong.

You pull back, looking up at Toto with a softness in your eyes that’s almost too much to bear. “I don’t even know what to say,” you whisper.

“Just be happy,” he murmurs back, his voice tender in a way that makes the saleswoman want to look away.

And for a moment, she does. She turns her gaze to the gleaming cars, the reflections of the showroom lights bouncing off their polished surfaces. When she looks back, you’re both still there, lost in each other, completely oblivious to the rest of the world.

The saleswoman feels a strange, hollow emptiness settle in her chest as she turns to finalize the sale, realizing that perhaps, despite everything, this wasn’t about money or power at all.

Perhaps it was just about love.

***

The estate in Oxfordshire is nothing short of palatial, its sprawling grounds stretching out in every direction, bordered by neatly trimmed hedges and ancient oaks. The driveway is long and winding, leading up to a mansion that looks like it could have been lifted straight out of a Jane Austen novel — grand, elegant, with an air of timeless sophistication.

The saleswoman sits in the passenger seat of the delivery truck, her hands fidgeting with the edge of her jacket. She’s never been nervous about a delivery before, but then again, she’s never delivered to someone like Toto Wolff before.

Beside her, the driver is humming along to a tune on the radio, completely at ease as they turn onto the estate’s private road. She glances at the rearview mirror, catching sight of the Porsche 911 S/T, pristine and gleaming, with an oversized red bow affixed to the roof. It looks absurd, she thinks, a toy fit for a princess.

It takes several minutes to reach the front of the house, the tires crunching softly over the gravel. The saleswoman feels a knot tighten in her stomach as they pull to a stop.

She’s here to oversee the delivery, to make sure everything goes smoothly, but part of her wonders if this is all a colossal waste of time. Surely, she could’ve sent someone else. But she’d insisted on coming herself—perhaps out of some twisted sense of curiosity, or maybe it was just her bruised pride.

The driver cuts the engine, and there’s a brief moment of silence before the door to the mansion opens. Toto steps out first, his movements unhurried, as if he’s in no rush at all. And then you appear beside him, your hand lightly resting on his arm as you walk out together.

“Here we go,” the driver mutters, giving her a nod before he hops out to start the unloading process.

The saleswoman takes a deep breath, composing herself before she steps out of the truck. Her heels sink slightly into the gravel as she approaches, her professional smile back in place. Toto greets her with a nod, his expression unreadable, while you give her a warm, if somewhat shy, smile.

“I hope the drive wasn’t too difficult,” Toto says, his voice smooth and polite, but there’s a hint of something more behind his words. An expectation that everything will, of course, be perfect.

“Not at all, Mr. Wolff,” the saleswoman replies quickly, her smile tightening. “It was a pleasure, really.”

You step forward, your eyes wide with excitement as you look past her to the truck. “Is it …” you ask, your voice filled with a mix of disbelief and anticipation.

The driver is already lowering the truck’s ramp, and as the Porsche comes into view, you let out a small gasp. “It’s beautiful,” you whisper, taking a step closer, your hand still clutching Toto’s arm. “I can’t believe it’s really here.”

Toto watches you with a soft smile, the kind of smile that the saleswoman has started to recognize as reserved only for you. “I told you it would be,” he says quietly, as if this moment is just as special for him as it is for you.

The saleswoman clears her throat, drawing their attention back to her. “We took extra care during the transport,” she says, trying to regain some control over the situation. “Everything is exactly as it was when it left the showroom.”

“Thank you,” Toto says, but his focus is already back on you as you approach the car, your fingers brushing over the sleek lines of the Porsche as if you’re afraid it might disappear if you touch it too firmly.

You circle the car slowly, taking it all in, and for a moment, the saleswoman feels like an intruder in this private moment. She watches as you turn back to Toto, your eyes bright with unshed tears. “I don’t even know what to say,” you whisper, your voice thick with emotion.

He steps closer, his hand gently cupping your cheek. “You don’t have to say anything,” he murmurs, leaning in to press a kiss to your forehead. “I just want you to be happy.”

The saleswoman averts her gaze, the tenderness of the moment making her uncomfortable. She’s seen plenty of couples over the years, but there’s something about the way you and Toto interact that feels … different.

It’s not just the age difference, though that’s part of it. It’s the way he looks at you, like you’re the most precious thing in the world, and the way you look at him, like he’s your anchor in a storm.

The driver interrupts her thoughts as he finishes unloading the car. “All done here,” he says cheerfully, handing the keys over to Toto with a grin. “She’s all yours.”

Toto takes the keys with a nod of thanks, but instead of pocketing them, he holds them out to you. “Would you like to take her for a spin?”

Your eyes widen, and you laugh, a light, joyful sound that echoes in the evening air. “Now? I haven’t even driven a car like this before!”

“There’s a first time for everything,” he replies, his tone teasing yet encouraging. “And I trust you completely.”

You hesitate for a moment, glancing at the car and then back at Toto. The saleswoman can see the internal debate playing out on your face — excitement warring with nervousness. But then, with a deep breath, you take the keys from him, your fingers brushing against his as you do.

“Okay,” you say, your voice firming with determination. “Let’s do it.”

The saleswoman watches as you climb into the driver’s seat, adjusting the mirrors and running your hands over the steering wheel like you’re trying to familiarize yourself with every inch of the car. Toto takes the passenger seat beside you, and for a brief moment, the saleswoman catches a glimpse of his hand resting on your knee, a gesture that’s both reassuring and intimate.

She’s pulled out of her thoughts when the driver nudges her, motioning toward the truck. “We should get going,” he says, glancing over at the car. “Looks like they’ve got everything under control.”

But the saleswoman doesn’t move. She’s rooted to the spot, watching as you and Toto pull away from the estate, the Porsche purring softly as it glides down the driveway. There’s something about the scene that feels almost cinematic, like she’s watching a moment that she’s not supposed to be a part of.

The car disappears around a bend in the road, and the saleswoman finally exhales, not realizing she’s been holding her breath. She turns back to the driver, who’s looking at her with mild curiosity.

“Everything okay?” He asks, cocking his head to the side.

She forces a smile, pushing down the strange mix of emotions churning in her chest. “Yeah,” she says, though the word feels hollow. “Everything’s fine.”

They load back into the truck, the engine roaring to life as they begin the long drive back to the showroom. The saleswoman stares out the window, her thoughts racing, replaying the scene over and over in her mind.

She tries to tell herself that it’s just another delivery, just another rich couple flaunting their wealth. But no matter how hard she tries, she can’t shake the image of the way Toto looked at you, like you were his entire world.

The driver’s voice cuts through her thoughts as he asks, “So, you think they’re the real deal?”

She turns to look at him, frowning slightly. “What do you mean?”

He shrugs, keeping his eyes on the road. “I mean, a guy like him, a girl like her … you think it’s more than just the money?”

The saleswoman hesitates, her fingers curling around the edge of her seat. She wants to dismiss it, to laugh it off and say that of course it’s just about the money. But the words stick in her throat, refusing to come out.

“Yeah,” she finally says, her voice quieter than she intended. “I think it is.”

The driver nods, seemingly satisfied with her answer, and they fall into silence once more. But the saleswoman can’t shake the feeling that something has shifted, that this delivery has left her with more questions than answers.

As they drive away from the estate, the sun dips lower, casting long shadows across the road. The saleswoman stares at them, lost in thought, wondering what it must feel like to be loved the way Toto loves you.

She knows she’ll never have an answer to that question, but as the truck rumbles down the road, she can’t help but think that maybe — just maybe — there’s more to life than the things she’s always taken for granted.

And for the first time in a long time, she finds herself longing for something she can’t quite put into words.

[heliosunny]

Oooo, I thought of something maybe slightly cute! What about a yan Jing Yuan x Reader, but the reader tends to be much more affectionate with other people, and tends to be pretty formal with Jing Yuan?

Like...reader will hug and ruffle the hair of Yanquing and Yunli (much to their chagrin), but tends to be much more stiff with affection toward Jing Yuan, if showing him any at all. Maybe the reader thinks being affectionate with Jing Yuan would be considered inappropriate, considering he is the general and 'The Divine Foresight.'

The perfect distance

Yandere!Jing Yuan x Reader

The morning sun cast a golden glow over the Seat of Divine Foresight as you stepped through the grand doors, a small satchel of medicine tucked under your arm. Jing Yuan sat at his desk, the usual stack of reports before him, though his gaze lifted the moment you entered.

"Good morning, General." you greeted with a polite bow.

"Ah, if it isn't my diligent healer." he mused, resting his chin on his palm. "Come to check on me again?"

"Of course. The healers at the Alchemy Commission insisted on a follow-up after your last mission." You approached, setting the satchel down neatly before stepping back, hands clasped behind you.

"Always so dutiful. You know, a little informality wouldn’t hurt."

"Respect is important, especially for someone of your standing."

He chuckled, but there was a weight to it. "Is that so?"

Before he could say more, the doors burst open, and Yanqing stumbled in, panting. "General! The—oh, Y/N! You're here!"

Your entire demeanor shifted instantly. A bright smile broke across your face, and before Yanqing could react, you reached out, ruffling his hair with a laugh. "Look at you! Did you run all the way here?"

"Hey—stop that!" Yanqing protested, though there was no real heat in his voice.

Jing Yuan's fingers twitched against his desk.

You only grinned, giving Yanqing’s cheek a playful pinch before turning back to the general—your expression smoothing back into polite professionalism. "My apologies for the interruption, General. I’ll ensure your medicine is properly prepared."

Jing Yuan hummed, his gaze lingering on you. "No need to apologize."

You were warm with everyone else—affectionate, even. But with him? Only proper distance.

-----

The Alchemy Commission was bustling as usual when you arrived, the scent of herbs and medicine thick in the air. Lingsha glanced up at you.

“Back again so soon?” she teased, setting down a mortar and pestle. “Don’t tell me the General’s been overworking himself again.”

You sighed, leaning against the counter. “You know how he is. I swear, if I didn’t bring him his medicine personally, he’d forget it entirely.”

Lingsha chuckled, but then her expression turned sly. “Speaking of the General… anything new with him?”

“New? Well, his recovery is progressing, though he still insists on working through fatigue. His blood circulation—”

She held up a hand, cutting you off. “That’s not what I meant.”

“Then…?”

“I mean, anything interesting? You’re around him all the time, and yet you never have anything to say about him besides his health reports.”

You shrugged. “There’s nothing else to say.”

Lingsha gave you an incredulous look. “Nothing? You’re telling me that the man who half of the Luofu sighs over doesn’t warrant any personal commentary from you?”

You frowned, genuinely confused. “I don’t see why it matters. I’m just doing my job.”

“That’s exactly the problem! You treat us like family. But with him, you act like a soldier reporting to a superior.”

Unbeknownst to you both, a certain silver-haired general had paused just outside the doorway, having been on his way to greet you—until the conversation took an unexpected turn. Now, he stood just out of sight, arms crossed, listening with far too much interest.

You sighed. “It’s different with him. It would be improper to act casually.”

“He’s still a person, you know.”

Jing Yuan, still eavesdropping, nodded silently in agreement.

You shook your head. “It’s not that simple. I respect his position too much to overstep.”

“Is that so?”

You nearly jumped out of your skin as Jing Yuan stepped into view.

“G-General!” you stammered, immediately straightening your posture.

“Speak of the devil.”

“I had no idea my presence was so… intimidating.”

You swallowed hard. “Not intimidating! Just… respectable.”

“Respect is one thing. But treating me like a statue is another, don’t you think?”

You opened your mouth, then closed it, unsure how to respond.

“Even he thinks you’re too stiff.”

Jing Yuan hummed in agreement. “Indeed. I was just passing by, but it seems I’ve stumbled upon quite the enlightening conversation.”

Your face burned.

Oh, this was bad.

----

The streets of the Xianzhou Luofu were alive with celebration—lanterns glowed warmly against the dusk, the scent of spiced wine and roasted delicacies filled the air, and laughter echoed through the bustling plaza. It was one of many festivals the Luofu held, but this one was special: a gathering to mark the General’s full recovery.

You hadn’t expected such an event to be held in his honor, much less to be personally invited. But when the summons arrived, you couldn’t refuse.

Dressed in simple but elegant robes, you arrived early, intending to help with the preparations. Yet the moment you reached for a stray decoration to adjust it, a familiar voice stopped you.

“Now, now. Must you always be working?”

You turned to see Jing Yuan standing behind you.

You quickly bowed. “General. I just thought I’d assist—”

“You’ve done more than enough,” he interrupted smoothly. “Tonight, you should enjoy yourself.”

You hesitated, but nodded. “…Understood.”

Jing Yuan lingered for a moment, as if waiting for something more, but when you said nothing else, he chuckled and turned away, disappearing into the crowd to attend to his duties as host.

Left to your own devices, you did what came naturally—you kept busy.

You helped a group of children untangle their kite strings, laughing as they tugged at your sleeves, begging you to join their game. You chatted with the servers, exchanging jokes and lighthearted complaints about the hectic preparations. And when you spotted a young man struggling with a heavy tray of fruits, nearly tripping into a table, you immediately stepped in, steadying him before disaster could strike.

“Careful” you said, helping him adjust his grip.

He exhaled in relief. “Thank you! I swear, these trays are cursed.”

You grinned. “Just take it slow.”

He smiled back, grateful, and before long, the two of you found yourselves sitting at one of the long banquet tables, sharing a drink and easy conversation. He was a junior clerk from the Sky-Faring Commission, you learned, and his stories about bureaucratic mishaps had you laughing into your cup.

You didn’t notice the pair of golden eyes watching from across the plaza.

Jing Yuan stood near the edge of the festivities, a cup of wine untouched in his hand.

How effortlessly you showed warmth to others.

And yet, with him, you still kept that careful distance.

Then, with deliberate steps, he began making his way toward your table.

The clerk noticed first, nearly choking on his drink when he recognized the approaching figure. “G-General?!”

“Mind if I join you?”

You weren’t entirely sure how you ended up being whisked away from your conversation, but Lingsha had appeared out of nowhere, looping her arm through yours with a cheerful, "There you are! I need your help with something!" before dragging you off without another word.

"What’s the emergency?"

She huffed, adjusting the sleeve of her robe. "This sash won’t stay straight. Fix it for me?"

You sighed but obliged, fingers deftly retying the fabric. "You could’ve asked one of the attendants."

"And miss the chance to rescue you? Please. You had no idea what is going to happen next."

You paused. "…What?"

Lingsha waved a hand. "Never mind. Just—try not to look so approachable to random people tonight, okay?"

Before you could ask what she meant, she was already slipping back into the crowd, leaving you standing there, confused.

Shaking your head, you decided to find Yanqing and Yunli instead—familiar faces, easy company. You spotted Yanqing first, the young swordsman grumbling as he tried (and failed) to sneak a pastry from one of the dessert trays. You snuck up behind him and ruffled his hair.

"Hey—!" He whipped around, scowling, but the moment he saw it was you, his expression shifted to exasperated fondness. "Oh. It’s you."

"Miss me?"

He rolled his eyes but didn’t pull away when you playfully tugged at his ponytail.

Yunli, ever the composed one, merely raised an eyebrow as you approached. "Must you torment him?"

"Absolutely," you said, reaching up to adjust the slightly crooked pin in her hair. She sighed but allowed it, her lips twitching in amusement.

Meanwhile, across the plaza, Jing Yuan was surrounded.

People of all kind—all vying for his attention, some with thinly veiled flirtation. He smiled, nodded, gave polite replies, but his gaze kept drifting—past them, past the crowd, to where you were, laughing with his disciple as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

The night had been a blur of laughter, music, and far too many cups of Xianzhou’s strongest liquor. You hadn’t meant to drink so much—truly, you hadn’t—but between Yanqing daring you to try the spiced wine and Lingsha cheerfully refilling your cup every time it emptied, you’d lost track.

By the time you realized you were swaying on your feet, it was too late.

The world spun pleasantly as you wandered away from the feast, the cool night air a welcome relief against your flushed skin. The lanterns blurred into golden streaks, the distant hum of voices fading as you found yourself near one of the Luofu’s tranquil ponds, the water shimmering under the moonlight.

You plopped down at the edge, legs dangling precariously over the water, and giggled to yourself.

Oops. Maybe too close.

You leaned forward—just a little—to peer at your reflection, but your balance betrayed you.

For a brief, dizzying moment, you felt yourself tipping—

Then strong arms caught you, pulling you back against a firm chest.

“Now, now,” a familiar voice murmured, “That would be a rather undignified way to end the night, don’t you think?”

You blinked up at him.

His silver hair glowed under the moonlight, his golden eyes crinkled in amusement. He looked unfairly handsome, and in your drunken state, you saw no reason not to say so.

“Wow,” you breathed, reaching up to poke his cheek. “You’re really pretty.”

His eyebrows shot up.

Then he laughed—a deep, rich sound that sent a pleasant shiver down your spine. “Is that so?”

You nodded sagely. “Mhm. Like a painting.”

His gaze softened. “And here I thought you only saw me as ‘The Divine Foresight.’”

You scrunched your nose. “That’s stupid.”

“Oh?”

“You’re Jing Yuan,” you declared, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. “You laugh at bad jokes. You forget your medicine. You let Yanqing win sometimes even though he definitely doesn’t deserve it.”

“I see alcohol makes you rather… honest.”

You sighed dramatically, flopping back against him. “I’m always honest. You just never listen.”

He hummed, shifting to steady you. “Then perhaps you should tell me something else.”

“Like what?”

“Why,” he said, voice dropping to a murmur, “you treat everyone else with such ease… but with me, you keep your distance.”

You frowned, struggling to form a coherent thought through the haze of liquor. “Because… you’re important.”

“And that means I deserve less of your kindness?”

“No!” You huffed, frustrated. “It means I can’t mess up. If I’m too casual, if I say the wrong thing—what if you realize I’m not as put-together as I pretend to be?”

The confession tumbled out before you could stop it.

Jing Yuan went very still.

Then, slowly, he tilted your chin up, forcing you to meet his gaze. “That’s what you’ve been worried about?”

You pouted. “It’s a valid concern.”

He chuckled, thumb brushing lightly over your cheek. “Silly thing. Do you really think I don’t know you?”

“I’ve watched you scold Yanqing for skipping training,” he continued, amused. “I’ve seen you trip over your own feet in the halls. I know you sneak extra sweets when you think no one’s looking.”

Your face burned. “You—noticed that?”

“I notice everything,” he said, “Especially when it comes to you.”

Your drunken brain short-circuited.

Before you could respond, he sighed, shifting to lift you into his arms. “Come on. Let’s get you somewhere you won’t drown.”

You whined but didn’t protest, too busy marveling at how nice his chest felt to lean against.

Somewhere in the distance, Lingsha watched the scene unfold—then smirked and turned away, deciding some things were better left uninterrupted.

>The Morning After<

Your head pounded.

Groaning, you buried your face into the pillow, willing the world to stop spinning.

Wait.

Not your pillow.

Your eyes flew open.

This was not your room.

Oh no.

Fragmented memories flashed in your mind—Jing Yuan’s arms around you, his laughter, your embarrassingly honest rambling—

You sat bolt upright, then immediately regretted it as your skull throbbed in protest.

A cup of water and a small vial of medicine sat on the bedside table, along with a note:

"Drink this. We’ll talk later."

Your heart hammered in your chest as you scurried into the Alchemy Commission, still nursing the remnants of your hangover. The moment you arrived, you grabbed the nearest healer by the sleeve.

"Switch shifts with me. Please. I'll owe you forever."

They blinked at your desperate expression but shrugged. "Uh… sure?"

You nearly collapsed in relief. Perfect. Now you could hide behind the counter, avoid all human interaction, and—most importantly—never have to face him again.

-----

The General of the Luofu was distracted.

Reports lay unfinished on his desk, his usually sharp mind clouded with thoughts of you—your drunken confession, the way you'd curled against him, the way you'd finally spoken to him without that infuriating formality.

And then you'd vanished.

His fingers tightened around his brush.

Did you regret it?

Was it just the wine talking?

Or worse—had that clerk from the Sky-Faring Commission caught your interest instead?

The brush snapped in his hand.

"…I see."

He exhaled slowly, setting the pieces aside. He was Jing Yuan, the Divine Foresight. He did not lose composure over such things.

…Yet here he was, standing up, cloak already swinging over his shoulders as he strode out of his office.

Fine. If you wouldn’t come to him, he’d find you himself.

----

You were safe.

Hunched behind the counter, pretending to organize herbs, you let out a slow breath. Maybe if you stayed here long enough, he’d—

"Where is Y/N?"

Your blood turned to ice.

You ducked lower, praying that he wouldn’t see you.

"They, uh… switched shifts?" the other healer said nervously.

Footsteps. Moving away.

You nearly sobbed in relief.

…Until a shadow loomed over you.

"Hiding, are we?"

Slowly, painfully, you turned your head.

You swallowed.

"G-General! I—uh—was just—"

"Crawling away?" he supplied helpfully.

You winced.

Before you could react, his hand shot out, gripping the back of your collar like a misbehaving kitten. "Up."

You yelped as he hauled you to your feet.

You knelt before him in the empty side room, hands raised in surrender, face burning with shame.

"Explain."

You gulped. "I… may have acted inappropriately last night."

"Oh?" He tilted his head. "How so?"

"I—I drank too much. I said things I shouldn’t have. I embarrassed myself—and you—and then I ran away like a coward—"

"So you do remember."

You nodded miserably.

"And yet," he continued, voice dropping, "instead of facing me, you chose to hide?"

You flinched. "I thought… you’d be angry."

"Angry?" He laughed, but it wasn’t a happy sound. "I was worried."

Your eyes widened.

"Now," he said, stepping closer, "come here."

You blinked. "Wh—?"

"I can’t hear you from there."

You hesitated, then shuffled forward on your knees until you were right in front of him.

He leaned down, his face inches from yours, his voice a low murmur.

"Now. Tell me again—why did you run?"

"I… was scared."

"Of?"

"Of… you realizing I’m not as composed as I pretend to be."

"I already told you—I know you."

You bit your lip.

"And," he added, fingers brushing under your chin, "I rather like the real you."

"So no more hiding," he murmured. "No more formality. Understood?"

You nodded weakly.

"Good." He straightened, offering you a hand. "Now get up. We have work to do."

You took it, your face still burning.

After The Incident (as you now referred to it in your head), things… changed.

Not drastically—you weren’t suddenly clinging to Jing Yuan’s arm or calling him by some ridiculous nickname—but the stiffness in your interactions had melted away.

You still bowed when necessary, still addressed him with respect, but now…When he made a terrible joke during strategy meetings, you rolled your eyes instead of forcing a polite laugh. When he "forgot" his medicine (again), you scolded him openly instead of couching your words in deference. And when he teased you—which was often—you gave as good as you got.

Jing Yuan, for his part, seemed delighted by this shift.

But there was something else, too.

A lingering glance when someone spoke to you a little too familiarly.

A casual step closer when a visiting diplomat eyed you with a little too much interest.

A look—one that had even Yanqing gulping and backing away when he tried to drag you into another ill-advised sparring match.

At first, you thought you were imagining it.

But then Lingsha smirked at you over her tea.

"You really don’t see it, do you?"

"See what?"

She just laughed.

Whispers spread through the Luofu.

"Did you hear? The General personally reprimanded that merchant for overcharging them."

"He reassigned three clerks just because they were rude to Y/N in passing."

"I heard he nearly leveled a training ground because someone accidentally knocked them over during drills."

(That last one was an exaggeration.…Probably.)

It hit you one evening, as you sat across from him in his study, reviewing supply reports.

He was leaning back in his chair, sleeves rolled up, hair slightly mussed from running a hand through it one too many times. He looked… relaxed.

And then it struck you—

He likes having you here.

Not as a subordinate.

Just… as you.

Jing Yuan noticed your stare and raised an eyebrow. "Something on my face?"

You shook your head, smiling slightly. "No. Just thinking."

"Dangerous habit" he teased.

You threw a crumpled piece of paper at him.

He caught it effortlessly, grinning.

No one dared to mistreat you.

No one dared to overstep.

And no one—absolutely no one—dared to flirt with you within Jing Yuan’s line of sight.

(You weren’t sure whether to be exasperated or touched.)

But when you mentioned it to him, he merely sipped his tea and said,

"I have no idea what you’re talking about."

You snorted.

Liar.

-----

I'm currently facing writer's blockkkkkkkkkkkkk.(╥﹏╥)

[mahalachives]

This Is Why We Can’t Have Diplomatic Visits

Pairing: Azriel x F!Reader (mated-pairing), minor reader x Eris

Genre: Crack Humor, Unserious, Canon-Compliant (ish)

Summary: When a diplomatic dinner in the Autumn Court takes a turn, a few too many glasses of wine—and Eris Vanserra’s smug face—lead you to publicly threaten him on Azriel’s behalf. What follows is an escalating war of petty letters, unsolicited gifts, and one extremely scandalous painting. Azriel is jealous. You are chaotic. Eris is entertained. And the Inner Circle is placing bets.

It started with wine.

Not just any wine. Autumn Court wine—potent, honey-sweet, and designed to hit like a chariot on fire. You’d only had two glasses. Three if you counted the one you “borrowed” from Mor when she wasn’t looking.

But it wasn’t the wine that did it. It was Eris.

He’d leaned back in his golden chair, flicking imaginary lint off his jacket, and said, in that voice that oozed smarm and superiority.

“Spymaster. Still hiding behind shadows and secrets? Tell me—do your little spies send love letters, too?”

Azriel didn’t flinch. He never did. Just stared, quiet and lethal, like he was already planning where to bury the body.

But you flinched. And then you stood.

Fast.

“Alright, you flaming ginger string bean,” you said, slamming your goblet down. “That’s it.”

Everyone at the table froze.

Even Rhysand blinked.

Feyre whispered, “Oh no.”

Cassian mouthed, do it, while Nesta smacked him.

Azriel’s voice was quiet, deadly. “Y/N. Sit.”

You didn’t.

“You’ve got some nerve, Eris Flame-Me-Up Vanserra,” you slurred, pointing at him like an accusatory ghost. “You don’t get to talk to Az like that. Not while I’m here. Not while I have working limbs.”

“I am merely speaking—”

“I will feed you to your own court’s sentient trees,” you cut in. “How dare you insult the love of my life when he’s literally ten seconds away from shadow-smothering you into next week.”

Eris blinked. “Love of your—?”

“That’s right,” you snapped, wobbling slightly as you turned to the room. “I’m his mate. His mate. Which means I’m contractually obligated to throw hands when someone comes for him. I will fistfight a High Lord’s son, I swear it.”

“I am a High Lord’s son,” Eris said mildly.

“Perfect. That means I get extra points.”

Rhysand choked on his wine. Mor was wheezing.

Azriel, still seated, rubbed his temples. “I need to get her out of here.”

“I’m fine,” you said, trying to lunge across the table. Azriel caught you mid-launch, shadows wrapping around your waist like a seatbelt.

“No murder tonight,” he murmured into your ear as you flailed. “You promised. Remember the chart?”

You paused. “…I forgot about the chart.”

He shadow-walked you right out of the room, bridal-style, as you shouted behind him, “Tell Eris his hair looks like expired cider!”

(Later in your shared rooms...)

You lay face-down on the bed.

Azriel sat beside you, silent, until you peeked up at him and muttered, “You mad?”

He sighed. “No. But next time, maybe let me handle the diplomatic incidents.”

You grinned, cheek smushed into the pillow. “Yeah. But you can’t deny it was hot.”

His shadows twitched.

“…Maybe a little.”

The next morning...

You were halfway through your hangover tea (Azriel’s special brew—spitefully effective and probably brewed over the bones of your enemies), when a knock echoed through your suite.

You blinked at the door. “Did you order breakfast?”

Azriel looked up from his perch at the window, sharpening Truth-Teller like he was fantasizing about Eris-shaped practice targets. “No.”

The door creaked open before either of you could reach it.

And in walked a servant. Carrying flowers.

Not just any flowers. Fiery red, golden-tipped Autumn Court blooms. A bouquet the size of a small wyvern. Tucked inside was a silver card with your name on it.

Azriel was on his feet in a blink. “Is that—”

You snatched the card, flipped it open, and promptly choked on your tea.

To the Spirited Mate of the Shadowsinger, Your defense was both reckless and deeply entertaining. Consider me intrigued. — Eris Vanserra (P.S. His brooding is a bit much, isn’t it?)

You slapped a hand over your mouth. “Oh my gods.”

Azriel snatched the card out of your hand like it offended the air.

He read it.

He blinked once.

Twice.

“…He flirted with you.”

“He did.”

“He flirted. With my mate. After you threatened him.”

You beamed. “I think I impressed him.”

Azriel looked like he was experiencing all five stages of grief at once.

Azriel, deadpan: “I will end him.”

You: “Please don’t. I want to see if he sends chocolates next.”

(Later that afternoon.)

Cassian nearly fell off the roof when he saw the flowers.

“Wait—wait—he sent you a bouquet? Like a come-hither bouquet??” he hollered.

You nodded solemnly. “Apparently, threatening political figures while intoxicated is a turn-on.”

Mor snorted wine through her nose. “You have to frame that card.”

Azriel, pacing behind you, muttering, “I’m going to set his hair on fire.”

You leaned back and grinned. “You jealous, Az?”

His shadows twitched. “I am offended on a spiritual level.”

“Don’t worry,” you said sweetly, grabbing his belt and tugging him close. “You’re still my favorite broody bastard.”

He glared, then kissed you hard enough to shut you up.

Cassian: “Gross. Az, do that in private. Or at least wait until I’m done throwing the bouquet off the balcony—!”

It was quiet.

Too quiet.

You found Azriel hunched over the desk in your shared study, shadows swirling like angry cats, quill scratching furiously on parchment. He didn’t look up when you entered.

You peered over his shoulder.

Dear Lord Eris,

Thank you for your recent gift.

It is always a joy to be reminded that the Autumn Court has mastered both combustion and desperation.

Combustion and desperation? You clapped a hand over your mouth.

I assure you, the letter continued, that my mate is not accepting applications, suggestions, or flame-adjacent flirtations. She is, as you might have noticed, spoken for.

By me.

P.S. Your hairline is retreating faster than your moral compass.

“Az.”

He kept writing.

P.P.S. If you send one more gift, I will return it—on fire.

“Azriel.”

He didn’t stop.

P.P.P.S. My mate says hello. She also says your flowers were basic.

“AZRIEL.”

He blinked up at you, shadows pausing mid-scribble.

You snatched the letter from his hands. “You’re writing to him? Like some kind of spiteful pen pal?”

“I am responding diplomatically,” he said flatly.

“You called him desperate with a receding hairline.”

“I lied about neither.”

You stared at him. “You signed it P.P.P.S. Az.”

He crossed his arms. “If he wants to play games, he should at least know I play better.”

Three days later...

It arrived in a crate.

A massive, magically-sealed crate, right in the middle of your shared living room. Wrapped in velvet. Stamped with the Autumn Court crest.

Azriel stood in front of it with arms crossed and a look on his face like someone had personally insulted his siphons.

You blinked at the shipping label.

“…Why is it addressed to 'The Mate of the Shadowsinger'?”

Azriel growled. “Because Eris is a walking provocation with a god complex.”

Rhysand strolled in, already grinning. “Is this the painting?”

You whipped around. “Wait—you knew about this?”

“Oh yes,” Rhys said, summoning wine. “Eris sent me a copy of the concept sketch. Asked if it was too much. I told him to go bigger.”

You: “Rhysand!”

Azriel: “He dies. Today.”

Cassian burst through the door with popcorn and a chair.

“Wait for me to sit down,” he said. “I need to see Azzy’s face.”

Mor followed behind him with her phone. “I’m recording this for posterity. Also, Feyre’s demanding updates.”

Nesta: “You people are sick.”

You: “Nesta, you’re holding a betting slip.”

Nesta: “Your point?”

Azriel hissed under his breath and yanked the crate open with a sharp crack of shadow.

The velvet fell away.

Everyone stared.

It was a painting. A life-sized, oil-painted portrait of Eris Vanserra, lounging on a chaise, completely shirtless. Smirking like sin.

Wearing a robe.

Not just any robe.

A robe made of Azriel’s shadows.

You choked. “Oh my gods.”

Mor dropped her drink.

Cassian fell out of the chair.

Nesta whispered, “He committed to the bit.”

Rhysand, between wheezes: “Look at the brushwork. He used actual shadow magic to give it texture. It’s…magnificent.”

Azriel was frozen. Face blank. Siphons pulsing.

“…He stole my shadows,” Azriel said, voice flat. “He stole my sentient, living shadows and turned them into a bathrobe.”

You: “Technically it’s a cape-robe hybrid, but yes.”

Azriel turned to you slowly. “You are not helping.”

You swallowed a snort. “I’m sorry. I’m panicking. My coping mechanism is commentary.”

Rhysand wiped a tear away. “Can we hang it in the River House?”

Azriel: “I will burn it.”

Cassian: “NO. This is history.”

Azriel, quietly: “He signed it.”

You all leaned in.

At the bottom corner, in crimson ink:

To Azriel, with admiration. Your shadows look better on me. — E

You: “…You have to kill him now.”

Azriel: “I’m writing a second letter.”

Cassian: “Make it a sonnet.”

Rhys: “Make it a duel.”

Azriel vanished into his shadows, already plotting vengeance.

You stood there, blinking at the painting. "...I kind of want to keep it."

Two days later...

You were eating breakfast when a letter appeared in a swirl of shadows and glitter.

Glitter.

That was the first sign something was deeply wrong.

Mor peered at the envelope. “Is… is that a glitter bomb curse?”

You blinked. “Azriel knows how to do that?”

Rhysand, sipping tea: “He’s been studying with Amren. She’s very proud.”

The envelope was addressed to:

To Eris Vanserra, Lord of Autumn, King of Flamboyant Delusions.

You opened it carefully.

Inside was a single glamoured photo.

You gasped.

So did everyone else.

It was Azriel.

Shirtless. Covered in shadows and golden siphon light. Standing in the training ring like a bat-winged revenge model.

Arms crossed. Wings flared. Muscles rude.

And across the bottom, in elegant Night Court script:

“Thanks for the inspiration. I decided to try robes too. Mine actually fit.”

Cassian dropped his toast. “He made a revenge thirst trap.”

Rhys was howling. “This is the most aggressive form of flirting I’ve ever seen—and they’re not even flirting with each other!”

Mor fanned herself. “I’m not even into Azriel and I need a moment.”

Nesta blinked. “Send it to Eris twice.”

You were speechless. “Did he… pose for this??”

You were so close to getting away with it.

The Eris painting? Hidden behind your old training gear.

Azriel’s shirtless calendar? Laminated. Hung on the inside of your closet door. Discreet. Artistic. Totally justified.

The flower crown? Just a seasonal craft project gone awry. (You may have hot glued it to his head in the July page.)

But then Azriel found it.

You came home to find him sitting on the bed.

Silent. Staring at the open closet.

The calendar dangled from his fingers.

His flower-crowned portrait smiling back at you like an idiot with a six-pack.

You froze.

He didn’t look at you.

Just said, flatly:

“…You laminated me.”

You opened your mouth. “That could’ve been anyone.”

His head turned slowly. “You gave me dimples.”

“They’re accurate!”

“There are sparkles on my abs.”

You folded your arms. “What do you want from me, Az? You looked hot. I have eyes. I commemorated the moment.”

“You hot glued a floral tiara to my head.”

You stepped closer, hands on hips. “It’s not a tiara. It’s a statement.

He stared at you for a long, long moment.

Then:

“…What’s the statement? That I moonlight as a whimsical forest prince?”

You grinned. “Exactly. A deadly, brooding, morally ambiguous flower fae.”

His shadows twitched. His jaw worked.

Then—slowly—he stood.

Crossed the room.

Picked you up without warning and threw you over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes.

“AZRIEL!”

“You’re going to explain to my face,” he said, walking toward the bedroom, “why I’m September and March in your calendar.”

“BECAUSE YOU PEAKED TWICE.”

“You’re lucky you’re pretty.”

“YOU’RE LUCKY I DIDN’T MAKE IT A STICKER BOOK!”

He slammed the door behind him—laughing.

End

This oneshot is unserious, and It had no direction whatsoever. Enjoy the chaos. 🩵

[underratedbreadcrust]

Chance Equals Fortune — Prologue

Squid Game | The Salesman x F!Reader

Summary: parasites. that is the only thing he thinks of when he meets the players he is meant to recruit. but what happens when he meets you and you are nothing of what he expects.

an au where the salesman lives and becomes a player.

Warnings: swearing and classist thinking. in the future there will probably be canon-typical violence and i'm still debating on smut.

a/n: happy new years! i'm sorry i couldn't upload this earlier i had to deal with some long distant relatives. however, due to popular demand here is the gong yoo fic as promised. this was originally supposed to be under 1k words...

Words: 2.1k

next part>>

Click. Click. Click

Those are the sounds of pristine perfectly polished black shoes on concrete. The soles of the shoes worn by a handsome-looking businessman echoed loudly, causing the sounds to reverberate into the jet-black sky. As he walked beneath the faint luminescence of street lights, case in hand and his head held high, his eyes searched for the next prey to fall victim to his silver tongue. The same mouth that twisted dark truths into sweet promises others couldn't dare reject. Never once has his articulate way of speaking failed to deliver the precise words necessary to provide his superiors with a new batch of fresh meat to satisfy their sadistic tendencies. To him, it was all the same. One less piece of vermin in the world, and more importantly, one less leech to drain the well-oiled machine that is society.

Today was no different as he strolled along the sidewalk of a small park near the outskirts of Seoul. While he walked, he felt indifferent towards the small details, like the light breeze swaying the tree branches above or the faint smell of dog shit wafting through the air. Having trained himself to ignore anything and everything that could be a possible distraction from his mission. What was his mission again? Ah yes, currently that would be you.

His steps immediately halted as he spotted your figure in the distance, a dark shadow looming over a bed of flowers and a trail of smoke emitting from the cigarette between your fingers. There you are. He squared his shoulders as he fixed his expression into one of casual ease. Now, all he had left to do was to convince you all of the problems that have stemmed from your pathetic life could be solved in the blink of an eye. That your worries could dissolve as quickly as skin in acid.

He began to move again, taking long strides to where you were standing. In the time he took to reach you, he jotted some quick mental notes.

One. Your relaxed stance oozed confidence and uninterest despite being a young lady positioned in one of the most crime-infested spots of the city in the dead of night. Meaning you either had a weapon on you or had sufficient defense skills, possibly both. He must tread carefully.

Two. You were positioned next to a tall fountain, atop stood a small marble figure of a gumiho. The spot infamously known for the shady transactions dealing with drugs and other nefarious crimes. Perhaps you were waiting for someone? He'd have to keep an eye out for any newcomers that could interrupt his process.

Three. Your mouth was...moving?

His steps faltered. There was no other person around within a 3-mile radius whom you could be conversing with, nor did you have a phone in hand. How odd. In his time as a recruiter, he has encountered all kinds of people. Drug addicts, the mentally ill, and one memorable case a delirious man on the brink of death, hallucinating from hunger. You, however, seemed perfectly sane. Keyword…seemed. He shook his head, quickly putting a halt to his thoughts. He had no time to ponder over whatever weird traits you may have, he came here to do one job. He resumed his trek towards you and was soon standing mere feet from you.

Show time.

“Excuse me miss, may I have a minute of your time?”

You remain standing still, making no indication that you had noticed him. Your eyes were distant while you continued to murmur but no sound came out. He wasn’t sure if you were ignoring him or if you really were that unaware of your surroundings. Now that won’t do.

“Miss?” He tried again tentatively, his head tilting curiously as he stepped in your line of sight. “Are you alright?”

Finally, your eyes shifted into focus, taking a moment to adjust. For a brief moment, it appeared as if you were lost. However, that moment soon passed and your eyes narrowed, annoyance filling your features.

“Why did you interrupt me?”

The bite in your tone was enough to make him raise an eyebrow. Perhaps you really weren’t in the right state of mind after all. “Interrupt?”

You scoffed, ignoring the question you brought the cigarette back to your lips. Taking in a long drag before you released the smoke right in his face. His mouth turned downward in displeasure.

“Do you need something?” You snapped, your jaw clenching as you slid your free hand in your pocket. He caught the way your finger twitched as you did so. Weapon it is then.

His face instantly changed back to that previous pleasant expression, his lips curving into a kind smile though with a lack of warmth in his eyes. Instead replaced by an empty, clinical look.

”I don’t mean to be a bother ma’am, but I’m here to offer you a proposal you’re sure to like,” he states in a neutral tone, having uttered a variation of those words dozens of times. “A way to better improve your current economic situation.”

Your body tenses as your eyes dart over his figure eyeing the suitcase, no doubt analyzing him as a threat. “Look I already said I’d pay him back!” He watches as you chuck the cigarette to the ground and stomp on it. “If he keeps rushing me like this then don’t expect to get a single won out of me! I don’t give a shit who he is!” Your volume rises as you take a step back, ready to sprint if needed.

He raises his arm in surrender. “That’s not what I’m here for. As I’ve stated, I only want to help.” His mind is conjuring up the best way to ease the tension.

He hesitantly takes a step forward.

Your eyes immediately look back down. “What’s in the case?”

Another step.

“I work for a group of people whose only interest is to help those who are struggling. Our objective being to ease the burden of the majority.” He swiftly places the case at the base of the fountain, unlocking the latch but leaving it closed. “See for yourself.”

You were the one to take the final step, closing the gap between the two of you. You gave him one more skeptical look before you focused all of your attention on what was in front of you. Slowly, both hands reached out and flipped the top wide open. Your eyes widened as you took in the contents of what was inside, or more specifically, the big wads of cash.

You remained silent, frozen as a statue as you simply stared. In an instant, you whipped your head in his direction. You took the time to study him, your mouth slightly agape and a certain look in your eye he couldn't quite place. A couple of seconds passed, you clamped your mouth shut and swallowed thickly, licking your lips before you finally managed to whisper, "What do you want?"

His mouth quirked upward in a smirk. Got you. "I'd like to play a game."

You belted out a high-pitched, contorted laugh. A childlike glee completely overcoming you. "Ab-so-fucking-lutely," you grinned from ear to ear, bouncing on the balls of your feet.

It dawned on him what that look in your gaze was...

Unstable.

A jolt of thrill shoots down his spine. "I'm sure you're familiar with the game ddakji," he reaches until he grabs the two colorful squares, carefully placing the red one on the ground, "for every time your square manages to flip mine, I will pay you 100,000 won."

You nod enthusiastically, your hand shooting out as he draws his hand in at the same time. "However, if you lose...you must pay me back the same amount."

You snatched the piece from him. “Deal.” You don't waste a single moment in hurling it, the force of the impact causing the sound to ricochet like a gunshot. The square goes flying, becoming a red blur. It stays in the air for a couple of seconds, but that time is enough for the experienced recruiter to know that you've already won. By the time it hits the ground, he doesn't even have to look to know it's flipped.

You look up expectantly at him.

He glances at her, jaw clenching. Well, this isn't how it usually goes. Before he can move to pay you, your voice cuts through the silence. "From the look on your face, you didn't want me to win, correct?" The lack of response on his part encourages you to continue. "How about, instead of doing whatever the hell you were thinking, I propose a new rule," you lean forward, your eyes sparkling with mirth, "we both keep throwing until one of us loses. If I win...you give me everything that's in that case."

"And what if I win?"

Your mouth twists into a devilish smirk. "Don't worry, you won't."

His eyes look you up and down, scanning you. His hands twitch in anticipation at the challenge, adrenaline manifesting itself as electricity in his veins. His bruised ego from losing the first round combined with his competitive nature was enough to make him agree. This was not part of the plan. He could just give you the money, the card, and go about his day like he has so many times before. He has no reason to play along other than he just wants to beat you.

"Alright," his previously fabricated smile now becoming genuine, "my turn."

With renewed vigor, he launches his square and as expected, it flips. He lets out an arrogant chuckle as he fixes his suit and stands up straight, his lips stretching into a satisfied smile.

This cycle continued for multiple rounds, the money long forgotten. The need to succeed fueled the violent fire between the two of you. After a while, he lost all track of time, fixating all of his attention solely on the game.

By now, his hair was disheveled and sweat dripped down his forehead. He panted as he recovered, his arm muscles aching from the consistent use. It was taking more energy than he was willing to admit in order to keep going but like hell if he'd let exhaustion be the cause of failing.

On his turn, he prepared himself to once again launch the disc. He readied himself, drawing his arm back and—

His eyes suddenly flickered to your lips, where your tongue darted out lick them. He watches intensely at your now damp, chapped lips, mouth slightly parted as you breathe heavily from fatigue.

In his moment of distraction, the square slips from his hand. He scrambles quickly to catch it but it's too late...

He's lost.

There is a long pause of silence, before your high-pitched cackle cuts through the air. His eyes widen in shock, the realization slowly setting in.

How...

He breathes out deeply through his nose, trying his best to compose himself. What the hell was that? How on earth could he have lost? He Never. Loses. He doesn't have any longer to dwell on the fact as you practically skip in joy to the case, already counting the amount. All of this because you managed to distract him.

Your voice soon interrupts his thoughts. "Maybe the next time you want to win, you might try not to let your eyes stray so far..." you say as you wink.

How did you even notice? Wait...was that on purpose? He clenches his fists until they turn white, the thought making his blood boil. He has half the mind to kill you and call it an accident just to quell his anger.

He closes his eyes in frustration. No, I can't ruin the games.

He takes in a couple of deep breaths, forcing himself to calm down. Once he knows that his voice won't betray any conflict he feels, he speaks again, "you know, there are other games such as the one we just played. And for much larger prizes as well."

He's back in his element, his persuasive tone of voice exuding reliability. He hands you the card, explaining how it works, how to enlist, and so on.

By the time he finishes his speech, you look mostly convinced. After inspecting the card more closely, your stare finds his, "I appreciate what you have done and thank you for the opportunity. I will consider your offer. If I do accept know it will only be due to a singular fact," your head leans closer, voice lowering to a whisper and your breath fanning over his, "I never lose"

On that note, you step back and walk away, never once turning to glance back at him. You soon disappear into the dark Seoul night, shadows blending with that of buildings and trees.

He lets out a small huff in amusement. If that is true, then he's excited to see how you'll fare in the games.

please don't be a silent reader i love reading comments and hearing your thoughts.

[yuurei20]

Is sebek racist? Only a fun question, do not take seriously

Hello hello! Thank you so much for this question, I have been so excited to discuss Sebek's speech patterns since Book 7 reached EN~🥳

Silver says outright that Sebek can be prejudiced at times and Lilia states in the beginning of Book 7 that Sebek is the very picture of his grandfather, from the way he talks to the way he thinks.

We as the players do not realize how literally he means this comment until later in Book 7 when we meet Baul Zigvolt and realize that their speech patterns have a lot in common:

While maybe difficult to put across in the English-language adaptation of the game, Sebek has always spoken very old fashioned.

(Ace: "Okay grandpa, you gonna take her for a buggy ride next?")

He will occasionally say "this Sebek" in reference to himself, which Baul also does. (They are also both canonically quite loud, possibly another trait that Sebek adopted from Baul).

Sebek will also infamously refer to others using the 貴様 form of "you," which doesn't really exist outside of fiction and is such a rude form that it is practically a swear word. More here ->

Sebek uses it constantly, in everyday conversation.

And see Baul using it in Book 7 just all the time, with everyone except his superiors such as Lilia and Maleanor (there is even a time he becomes very angry and uses it with the senate).

Also like Baul, Sebek will switch to the extremely old-fashioned and formal "kiden" to refer to people who have impressed him. More here ->

Sebek's battle cry of "I'll swallow you whole" even seems to come from Baul!

And another thing Baul did in Book 7: refer to Sebek as human rather than by his name until Sebek earned his respect, which we have also seen happen between Sebek and Azul.

(In a Nightmare Before Christmas voiceline Sebek refers to Zero as a ghost and then a dog, eventually settling on his name, while he refers to Jack Skellington as "Bones." Is Sebek not just calling out humans, but referring to everyone by what they are rather than who they are?*)

(Does he simply yell human more than "dog," "ghost," etc., because humans are the species we have seen him interact with the most? It was confirmed in the novels that mermaids, beast-people, etc., are all referred to as "human" within the Twst universe, which has yet to be confirmed by the game but also has yet to be disproved.)

Sebek also refers to Grim as "dire beast."

There is a significant moment where he shifts to calling both Grim and the prefect by their names in Book 7, which the prefect even has the option of acknowledging aloud: "Whoa, you called me by my name?"

In a Harveston sub-plot Sebek even refuses to use an honorific with Epel's grandmother Marja until she proves herself worth of his respect.

Silver calls Sebek out on his inappropriate use of "kisama," while both Riddle and Sebek scold him for referring to people as "humans."

Whereas Epel's rude speech patterns can be explained by how it is a part of the dialect he was raised to speak and therefore he doesn't know any better (more here ->) Sebek is consciously and intentionally speaking down to others until they prove themselves worthy--is this something he learned from Baul?

Sebek says that Baul provided him with "an enriching education," but what exactly did that education entail?

Lilia expresses frustration with Sebek's inability to adapt to society, but canonically Sebek has only been outside of Briar Valley for 6 months, while he's been emulating his grandfather for 16 years.

Lilia says that Sebek has always been close to Baul and Jamil has a line of, "When admiration goes too far, the consequences can be dire."

I always assumed this was meant to be about Malleus, and while it still might be, is it also a reference to Sebek's devoted imitation of his beloved grandfather?

And we can go even deeper if we want, though this goes into theoretical territory:

Sebek was born after Briarland had already fallen to its invaders, but he was raised in a community where the war is still living memory.

Baul fought to protect his home against those who overran the land, exploited its resources, labeled him a monster, and drove them all into a fraction of their former territory.

He remembers what Briarland was before it the invasion, he fought to save it, he failed, and he survived to help put what was left of the country back together.

And then his daughter married someone who is potentially a direct descendent of the very invaders who had spent years killing anyone who looked like him and destroying everything he'd known (with even his native language possibly disappearing: Sebek says that speakers are "somewhat rare" in modern day, as the fae have generally adopted Common as their language of choice).

Sebek: "This has been weighing on me ever since we entered Lilia's dream. That my own father's distant ancestors may very well have been involved in all this too..."

And due to the long lifespans of the fae he isn't the only one with trauma and loss that feels both recent and personal.

Sebek and his siblings were not raised amongst the offspring of those who survived the war but the literal survivors themselves, unlike the humans to whom the wars are ancient history.

Sebek: "You must remember: from Lilia, Grandfather, and Malleus's perspectives...the Dawn Knight is not likely someone they consider to belong to the 'distant past.'"

While not confirmed in-game, it is not too wild to imagine that Sebek has chosen to ally himself with the survivors rather the invaders, and especially when he has been raised to idolize Malleus, whose own mother they killed not very long ago by fae standards.

While humans have been reproducing and dying at such a rapid pace that the current generation might not know that dragons are real, the same fae that managed to escape the slaughter are still there, and are now being met with the people born of those who stole their country but to whom there doesn't seem to be much significance to it all beyond a chapter in a history book.

And that might all be very well tied up in Sebek's use of "human"! (Disclaimer: this is all just a personal analysis and one of many possible explanations!)

Not only does it seem to be a speech pattern that Sebek has adopted directly from the grandfather he adores (and from Lilia and Malleus, who are also known to refer to non-fae as "humans" and whom he idolizes), but it may also be a reminder both to himself and to everyone around that while he may be two worlds in one, he does not approve of those that tore apart the community he grew up in, lest someone wrongfully assume that he agrees with the actions of his human ancestors.

Which would make it a form of self-preservation while growing up in a predominantly fae area.

Sebek's speech patterns and behaviors might be serving as a way for him to assert his loyalty to the fae, the people whom he admires, identifies with and was raised by, and distance himself from the humans who tried to eradicate them.

(If Sebek’s mother brought his father to Briar Valley from somewhere else (possibly Sunset Savanna) as has been implied, it’s possible Sebek’s human lineage isn’t tied to the invaders at all, but this is still vague.)

*Sebek refers to Sally as "Sally" throughout the Halloween event, using her name without an honorific but at least using it, much like he did with Marja. He also chastises Trey for failing to offer his hand to Sally and help her to her feet when she falls to the ground. Does Sebek possibly have a chivalrous side, not dissimilar to Leona? Memo: must check.

[yandere-daydreams]

tw - implied non/con, extreme pet play, dehumanization, psychological/physical abuse, and unbalanced power dynamics.

commissioned piece. donate to palestinians in gaza here.

Sometimes, you really do think Suguru thinks of you as a pet.

It shouldn’t be as difficult to believe as it is. Of course you’d be less than human to him, less than equal to the god-like status he has among his followers. But, Suguru knows he’s not a god, and while you might not be the only person he claims to be superior to, you are the only one he keeps locked in a steel-barred dog crate padded only by thread-bare blankets and distant memories of what it felt like to sleep in a real bed. You’re special – albeit, not the kind of special you’d like to be. You can disregard most of his grandiose speeches about ‘complete non-sorcerer elimination’ and ‘killing off those worthless monkeys’ as the self-indulgent rambling of a deranged cult leader, but he doesn’t seem to be phoning it in when it comes to you.

He doesn’t talk to you. Communication occurs solely through blunt orders (come, sit, bark, etc.) or sweetened, syrupy baby-talk, cooed as his fingers card through your hair and pet down the length of your spine. You’re expected (something learned purely through trail and error, reward and punishment) to follow him around happily, to sit at his feet and clamber into his lap whenever his eyes find yours and he taps his thigh, that expectant smile already tugging at the corner of his lips. Depending on the day, you’re either coddled and adored like a beloved pet, allowed to walk on two legs rather than four and fed treats out of his open palm, or treated like a stray who’d wandered in off the street and refuses to leave. You do prefer the former to the latter, but it doesn’t really make that much of a difference, not if you’re being honest with yourself. Either way, you always seem to end up on your knees between his legs as he sits above you, a fist curled around your collar as he tells you to lick, puppy, lick.

Speaking of – you’re not allowed to wear clothes. You used to hate it, to steal his shirts and hide in closets, to do anything you could to salvage what little pride you had left, but it’s hard not to get used to something forced onto you so constantly. The only thing Suguru’s ever given you to wear is a simple, black, leather collar – studded with silver spikes and drawn tight enough to bite into your throat when he pulls on it, which he does often. You’re thankful he doesn’t make you wear those cutesy animal ear headbands or, god forbid, a tail, but not as thankful as you should be. As unbearable as it’d be, having him dress you up like a cat or a dog or some wide eyed, sexed-up rabbit would take the edge off. Like this, it’s harder to believe he thinks of you as an animal, as something cute and small and vulnerable that he can love and care for. It’s harder to deny that he knows you’re human – he just doesn’t see why that would ever mean you couldn’t also be his pet.

You think, when you’ve exhausted all other silver linings, that it’s (partially, at least) his excuse to keep you. You know what he does to people who aren’t like him, you’ve seen what he’s like at his worst, and you know that, if you weren’t his pet, you’d just be another non-sorcerer, another nuisance the world would be better off without. If you’re a pet, you can’t be a person, and if you’re not a person, it means he’s not going against his warped ideals when he pulls you close to his chest, when he ghosts his lips over the top of your head, when he fucks you so softly and so gently, you can almost believe he cares whether or not you enjoy it. Pets are supposed to be loved, and so he’s not doing anything wrong by loving you.

You know what would happen to you if you weren’t his pet, too, if he couldn’t make excuses for himself. You’ve seen how wide his smile can be when he comes home with blood on his clothes, how little effort it takes for him to hook his hands under your arms and carry you to his bed, already muttering about how perfect he’s going to make the world for his pretty, precious pet. You’re not allowed to leave his cramped apartment, but he talks about putting you on display for his acolytes as he ruts into you with an almost animalistic brutality, about showing all of those filthy, degenerative insects what a well-trained mutt looks like. You know that you should do more to fight back, that your humanity should be worth more to you than a few half-hearted escape attempts and the occasional pained whine, but you’ve seen see what he can do, heard about the dismembered bodies he leaves to rot in a ditch behind his temple, and—

And, no matter how much you hate him for it, no matter how much you hate yourself for it, it’s true.

When it comes down to it, you’d rather be his pet than be nothing at all.

[archangeldyke-all]

Reader who's been hired as more muscle for the gang? Maybe Sev is a bit jealous and/or is mean to reader, but the reader plays this off by flirting/teasing Sev. And ends up topping her.

Jfdjhggj I need more bottom Sev in my life lmao

bottom sevika is the loml actually

men and minors dni

you cannot, for the fucking life of you, figure out why sevika hates you so much.

you've been working for silco for about six months now, and it's been great. the best job of your life. sure, you're constantly committing crimes and dodging punches, but silco pays well, you get unlimited drinks at the last drop, and you've found a great group of friends in all his other goons.

well, all of the goons except sevika. she despises you, and you've got no fucking idea why. you've been nothing but pleasant and respectful toward her, but lately your patience is starting to wear thin.

"everyone was great at the dropoff today, boss. ran saved us half an hour with some quick thinking and knife skills, and deckard was surprisingly accurate with his math."

"that's what i like to hear. any issues?" silco asks from his desk, where he's puffing on a cigar. your stomach sinks-- you know what's coming.

sevika's silver eyes flick over to you, a small smirk on her lips while she speaks. "the fuckin' rookie forgot to fill the van with gas." she says.

you scowl and scoff. "i did not! that was your fucking assignment-- i was in charge of driving!"

sevika's smirk turns into a grin-- it seems like the only thing she likes more than bothering you is when you fight back. "are you seriously speaking to your superior in that tone right now?" she asks.

"my 'superior'?! as far as i'm aware you're just the bitch at work who makes my life fucking miserable."

all the air gets sucked out of the room, and behind you ran mutters something under their breath. "wrong move, rookie."

sevika's sneering at you, and you get exactly one second of warning before she's grabbed you by the collar of your shirt and is dragging you out of the office, a series of 'oooooh's following behind you.

"oh, great, now she's gonna fuckin' kill me before i can even get paid for today's work." you mutter to yourself as sevika drags you to her office, slamming the door shut behind her. she shoves you against the wall hard, and you grunt. "fuck! what is your fucking problem!?" you shout, shoving at sevika's shoulders. she barely budges.

"you talk too much for your own fuckin' good, y'know." she growls.

you sneer up at her. "and you'd be a lot more attractive if you learned to play nice."

sevika freezes, her anger melting into a shocked expression. you giggle a little-- it looks like you've finally found a way to fight back with sevika-- flirting. "sh-shut up." she mutters eventually. you snort.

"what's wrong, sev, got you tongue tied? that's all it takes, huh? a little compliment and you lose all that bite?" you tease.

sevika doesn't get angry like you expect her to, though. instead, she gulps, and her eyes get wide. you burst into giggles and sevika blinks, her shoulders hunching up. "shut the fuck up." she tries to sound scary, but her voice is too shaky for it to work.

"oh, shit!" you laugh. sevika hunches in on herself even more. "holy shit! you've got a crush on me!" you cackle, pointing an accusing finger at sevika. you watch in fascination as a blush creeps all the way up her neck to the tip of her ears.

"n-no i don't." she tries to deny. you're still reeling from your discovery, giddy and flabbergasted.

"you totally do! holy shit how did i not realize this before!? you're an emotionally constipated shithead, of course you don't know how to flirt! you probably didn't even realize, did you? just wanted to tug my pigtails and get my attention somehow huh?" sevika blinks at you owlishly-- more surprised than you've ever seen her before. you snort. "everything makes sense now." you chuckle to yourself.

"f-fuck off." sevika mutters eventually. you cackle and smack her on the shoulder.

"i've got you all worked out, hah! monday's gonna be a breeze." you laugh to yourself as you make to leave. sevika reaches out and spins you back around before you can open the door fully. you raise an eyebrow at her. "yes?"

sevika looks flustered and confused and slightly scared of you. you giggle a bit as you watch her try and fail to come up with anything to say, before rolling your eyes and giving her a little help.

"figure out a nicer way to flirt with me and you might be surprised, sev. until then, leave me the fuck alone unless you want me telling the gang why you've been picking on me so much." you say, then turn to leave again.

this time you make it halfway out the room before sevika's pulling you back in the room, slamming the door shut and shoving you against the wall again. for one horrible second you worry that you've read the whole situation wrong and you've only managed to enrage sevika even more with the suggestion that she might like you-- especially when sevika's hand wraps around your throat-- but then she freezes and takes a shaky breath. her fingers unwrap from your neck, slowly trailing up to cup your face.

"shut up." sevika whispers at what must be the cockiest, pleasantly surprised smile on your face. you just snort.

"make me." you demand.

sevika swoops forward to kiss you, and you giggle against her lips.

she's like putty in your hands, letting you guide her hands up and down your body, moaning against your lips. when you sink a hand into her hair, she shivers, and you manage to flip the two of you so you're pressing her against the door.

sevika's panting and staring at you with stars in her eyes. you snort at the sight-- endlessly intrigued with her now that you've figured her out. "oh, you're sweet aren't you?" you tease.

sevika tries to glare at you, but it falls flat with her eyes blown so wide they're black and her hands desperately clutching at your hips. "no, i'm not." she denies. you giggle and lean forward to start sucking a hickey against her throat-- the idea of sevika wearing your bite on her throat in front of the gang tomorrow making you dizzy.

"you are." you say. "bet you're fuckin' soaked for me, too, aren't you?"

sevika whimpers. you have to kiss her again to keep from laughing at her. she's pathetic. it's so fucking hot.

sevika grabs your hand and tries to shove it down her pants. you laugh, pulling away from her and grabbing her chin-- forcing her to look at you. "sevika, take a breath, babe." you request. she moans at the petname, and you laugh. "fuck, you're cute."

"fuck off!" sevika growls. you snort.

"i need you to use your words before i can take care of you, honey."

sevika shivers, her voice shaky as she speaks. "fuck... please fuck me."

you raise an eyebrow at her, and sevika actually stomps her foot. you laugh. "and why should i?" you ask.

sevika sputters, then cringes. you watch her mentally debate whether or not she's horny enough to communicate-- and you're surprised when she takes a deep breath, rolls her eyes, and then speaks. "b-because... because i've got a stupid fuckin' crush on you, okay!?" she shouts.

you grin and lean forward, kissing her cheek. "okay." you say simply, shoving your hand down the front of her pants and boxers. sevika whimpers, leaning forward to bury her face against your shoulder as you gasp. "oh, baby-- you're soaked." you coo.

she bites your shoulder. "would you just-- shut the fuck --ah!" she gasps at you sink two fingers inside her. "f-f-f-fuck!" she whines. you laugh.

"you better shut up or everyone's gonna know what's goin' on in here." you tease. sevika whimpers, and leans back-- shoving a fist in her mouth. you snort and lean forward, nudging her hand out of the way with your face. "move that. i got a better way to shut you up."

sevika's hand wraps around you, clawing at your back as you start to kiss her. it's uncoordinated and sloppy-- both of you too focused on her cunt to care much about your lips-- and it's the hottest kiss of your life. especially because sevika keeps whimpering into your mouth.

you manage to muffle most of her moans and groans, but when she cums, sevika leans back and shouts. "oh, oh, oh fuck!"

you giggle against her throat-- there's no explaining that away-- but you think sevika might've done it on purpose. you have a sneaking suspicion that sevika's going to be a possessive lover if the way she's clinging to you as she catches her breath is any clue. you don't mind.

"you're a fucking mess." you tease. sevika grunts and pinches your ass.

"shut up."

"that's rich coming from you. think the walls shook with how loud you were squealing."

"shut up!" sevika growls. you laugh.

"you don't scare me, baby. 'specially not when your cunt's still squeezing my fingers." you say, wiggling said fingers just a bit. sevika growls and bites your shoulder again, and you giggle. "are you gonna go back to bein' a bitch to me now or have we moved past that?" you ask.

sevika huffs and picks her head up, peeking up at you with puppy eyes. "i'm... sorry." she mutters. you smirk, raising an eyebrow at her, and sevika groans and straightens up. "i am!" she whines. "i just-- y'know." she says, waving her hand at you. you giggle.

"i do know." you say, nodding. "you're a mess."

sevika huffs. "yeah, basically."

"it's okay, sev. you're a hot mess." you tease. she snorts.

"i can't believe i like you." she groans. you just laugh. sevika huffs and you pull your hand out of her pants and straighten her out a bit. you make to leave and sevika squeaks. "wait!" you pause in the doorway, and sevika gulps, cringes, and groans. "fuck. fuck! fuck, i don't... just-- what're you doing tonight?" she asks.

something inside you flutters and you shrug. "you tell me."

sevika smiles a bit, her eyes darting away from you as she reaches up to rub the back of her neck. "...i won a shitload of money in cards last night... i could take us up to the promenade?" she asks. you grin.

"pullin' out all the stops, huh?" you ask. she shrugs.

"'s an apology."

"i like it. you've got yourself a date, sev."

sevika grins.

taglist!

@fyeahnix @lavendersgirl @half-of-a-gay @thesevi0lentdelights @sexysapphicshopowner

@shimtarofstupidity @chuucanchuucan @badbye666 @femme-historian @lia-winther

@sevikaspillowprincess @emiliabby @sevikasbeloved @hellorai

@glass-apothecary @macaroni676 @artinvain @k3n-dyll @sevsdollette

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@iamastar @sevikitty @mascdom @nhaaauyen

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[vera-deville]

A Swan's Secret, a Dragon's Heart

03/06/2025 - 04/07/2025

Pairing: Malleus Draconia x Reader Word Count: 4,671 Warnings: None Gender: AFAB Tags: @rose-the-witch1, @viviennevermillion Notes: If you would like to be added to the taglist, please comment down below! Masterlist

The night was calm, the air thick with the quiet hum of nature. Malleus took his usual path through the woods surrounding the dorms, his presence casting long shadows in the silver moonlight. It was rare for him to encounter another soul at this hour - most students were deep in slumber, and those who weren't would rather avoid crossing paths with the "fearsome" fae prince. He didn't mind. Solitude had long been his companion, and these late - night walks had become a routine he found comfort in.

But tonight, something was different.

The rustling of leaves and the distant hoot of an owl were not the only sounds filling the night. A gentle ripple spread across the surface of the nearby lake, drawing Malleus' sharp gaze. His curiosity piqued, he stepped closer, his chartreuse eyes scanning the water's edge. Then, under the glow of the moon, he saw it - a swan, its dark feathers blending into the night, its sleek form drifting effortlessly across the still waters.

Malleus tilted his head, intrigued. It was unusual to see such a creature here, especially one so strikingly unique. The black swan moved toward him slightly, though it kept a cautious distance, its dark eyes meeting his own with quiet intelligence.

"Curious," Malleus murmured, lowering himself to sit on the soft grass by the shore. "I don't believe I've seen you before."

"The swan merely blinked, tilting its head as if considering his words. Malleus chuckled softly, finding the response oddly endearing. It reminded him of speaking to Sebek - though, unlike Sebek, the swan didn't immediately launch into a long-winded lecture about his responsibilities.

Perhaps the swan was closer in similarity to Silver rather than Sebek.

"Are you perhaps a lonely wandered as well?" he mused, watching as the bird preened its feathers before settling comfortably near the water's edge.

A silence fell between them, but it wasn't unpleasant. Malleus was used to conversations being one sided. After all, there were very few who dared to engage with him without trepidation. Yet, as he sat beneath the moonlit sky with the swan, he felt something different. The bird did not shy away from him, nor did it show any signs of fear. It simply existed beside him, listening.

Encouraged by this unexpected company, Malleus began to speak. He talked about the night, the things he had observed during his walk, and even a bit about his day - though there wasn't much of interest to share. He found himself mentioning Lilia's latest antics.

Malleus exhaled a quiet chuckle, eyes momentarily drifting toward the sky. "Just this morning, Lilia decided it would be amusing to replace the milk in our dorm's kitchen with a fae-made alternative." Shaking his head, he continued, "He claimed it was 'nutritionally superior' to the human version and that we should be more 'adventurous' with our palates."

He glanced at the swan, who almost seemed to have a grimace on its face, but tilted its head in curiosity, as if urging him to continue.

"Naturally, he neglected to mention that this so called 'improvement' was derived from a plant that induces an unfortunate side effect in humans." Holding the swan's stare, Malleus said in all seriousness, "Levitation." The memory rolled in his mind as he continued, "Silver was the first victim, attempting to pour himself a cup of tea, only to find himself slowly drifting toward the ceiling. Sebek, of course, immediately accused him of being negligent in his training, completely ignoring the fact that his own feet left the ground the moment he took a sip of his tea."

The swan let out a soft noise - something akin to a snort and a huff. Amused, Malleus took it as encouragement to continue.

"By the time I arrived, the kitchen was in chaos. Silver was attempting to push himself along the beams to reach the door, Sebek was howling about 'unacceptable combat readiness,' and Lilia, the old bat, was watching from the counter, laughing so hard he nearly fell off. I asked him if he had any intentions of undoing his little prank, and he simply waved a hand back and said, 'They'll come down eventually. I'm sure it'll wear off by lunch!'"

Malleus sighed, but there was no real exasperation in his tone. There was something playful about it, tinged with nostalgia, despite the event occurring not too long ago. "I suppose I should be grateful he hadn't replaced the entire dorm's supply. Still, I do wonder what compels him to wreak such havoc."

The swan fluffed its feathers, as if in agreement that Lilia was an agent of mischief incarnate. Malleus hummed in amusement. "I take it that you would not accept a drink from him either?"

The swan dipped its head, and Malleus let out another quiet chuckle.

"Wise choice."

He went on to talk about Sebek's attempt to impress him, which really only lead to him tripping over himself and the exasperating (yet strangely amusing) interactions he had with his fellow peers.

The swan remained attentive, its gaze fixed on him, as if absorbing every word.

Malleus leaned back slightly, a rare, content smile tugging at his lips. "I must admit, you are quite the listener," he remarked, watching as the swan ruffled its feathers, seemingly pleased with the praise.

Perhaps, he though, these nightly promenades would no longer be quite so lonely.

• —– ٠ ✤ ٠ —– •*̣̥☆·͙̥‧❄•̥̩̥͙‧·‧̩̥‧̩̥·‧•̥̩̥͙‧·‧̩̥˟͙☃˟͙‧̩̥·‧•̥̩̥͙‧·‧̩̥•̥̩̥͙‧·‧̩̥❄‧·͙̥̣☆*̣̥• —– ٠ ✤ ٠ —– •

The potions room was abuzz with the unmistakable chaos that could only be attributed to Ace, Deuce, and Grim. You hadn't even been part of the initial disaster - whatever that was - but somehow, you had still gotten roped in. Now, you were standing in the middle of the mess, arms crossed, watching your so called friends scramble to fix their mistake before anyone with actual authority arrived.

"I swear it wasn't my fault this time!" Ace insisted, gripping the edge of a toppled-over table as he tried to set it back up. "Deuce was the one who knocked over the cauldron!"

"You pushed me!" Deuce snapped, wrestling with a very uncooperative broom that seemed to have developed a mind of its own.

"It was Grim's idea anyway!"

"Hey!" Grim puffed up indignantly, his tail bristling. "It would've worked if you two weren't so clumsy!"

You sighed, rubbing your temples. The three of them had managed to overturn and entire potion experiment (one that they shouldn't have even been dealing with in the first place) and whatever strange mixture they had concocted had resulted in several objects - including the unfortunate broom - gaining some form of consciousness. Said broom had decided that Deuce was its mortal enemy and was currently engaged in an aggressive battle with him.

And, of course, this was the exact moment Malleus chose to pass by.

You felt the weight of his gaze before you even turned your head. He stood just outside the room, watching the scene unfold with quiet amusement, his lips quirked in the barest hint of a smirk.

"Enjoying the show?" you asked dryly, stepping away as Ace tripped over a rolling potion bottle.

Malleus' verdant eyes gleamed with barely restrained laughter. "Immensely," he admitted. "It's rather fascinating how chaos follows you so naturally."

You huffed, shooting him a mock glare. "I'll have you know I was an innocent bystander in all this."

"Mm. Is that so?" His tone was laced with mirth, though he made no move to intervene - until his sharp gaze flickered toward the hallway entrance, where the telltale click of polished heels echoed closer.

Professor Crewel.

Before you could even think of scrambling for an excuse, a gentle pulse of magic swept through the air. The overturned table righted itself. The stray potion bottles disappeared. The rebellious broom stilled, falling lifelessly to the ground as though it had never moved at all.

Ace and Deuce looked around in stunned silence, while Grim gawked, his tail fluffed up in shock.

Malleus said nothing. He merely glanced at you, his smirk deepening, before stepping back into the shadows - just as Crewel rounded the corner.

You quickly straightened, schooling your face into something innocent as the professor eyed the room suspiciously. But there was no evidence of any wrongdoing. No stray potions, no possessed cleaning utensils, nothing.

With a short huff, he narrowed his eyes and strode past without a word.

The moment he was out of sight, you turned to look at the fae who had solved your dilemma, only to find him gone.

Later that evening, you found yourself watching Malleus as he departed from the cafeteria, his tall frame illuminated by the glow emanating from the chandeliers. He walked with effortless grace, his cloak billowing slightly behind him, the sharp contrast of his dark silhouette against the silver night making him appear almost otherworldly.

There was something hauntingly beautiful about him - the way his horns curved elegantly, the way his emerald eyes glowed faintly in the dim light. He was like a figure from an old legend, something untouchable, yet inexplicably magnetic.

Your heart clenched slightly.

He really was something else.

• —– ٠ ✤ ٠ —– •*̣̥☆·͙̥‧❄•̥̩̥͙‧·‧̩̥‧̩̥·‧•̥̩̥͙‧·‧̩̥˟͙☃˟͙‧̩̥·‧•̥̩̥͙‧·‧̩̥•̥̩̥͙‧·‧̩̥❄‧·͙̥̣☆*̣̥• —– ٠ ✤ ٠ —– •

The courtyard buzzed with the usual midday energy - students chatting in clusters, the occasional burst of laughter ringing through the air, and the gentle rustling of leaves as a soft breeze rolled through. You were making your way toward a shaded bench when a familiar presence seemed to materialize beside you.

"You are difficult to find," Malleus mused, his voice rich with amusement.

You blinked up at him, unimpressed. "You say that like you don't just pop up wherever I go."

Malleus only chuckled at that (tugging a smile at your own lips), clearly unbothered by the accusation. "I sought you out for your wisdom."

"Oh?" You raised an eyebrow. "That's a first."

He ignored your teasing and sighed, his expression contemplative. "Earlier today, a student approached me and greeted me in a rather informal manner - no titles, no hesitation, simply...'Hey, what's up?'" His lips pressed together in mild disapproval, as if repeating the phrase left a sour taste in his mouth. "Sebek was, of course, furious. He reprimanded the boy immediately, but it left me wondering...was it truly an insult?"

You did your utmost best to not burst out in laughter.

Sebek losing his mind over something like that? Shockingly in character.

Instead, you hummed in thought. "Well...not really. I mean, in human culture, casual greetings are normal. Most of the time, they don't mean any disrespect."

Malleus considered this, his sharp gaze flickering with curiosity. "So I should not be offended?"

"No reason to be."

"Hmm. Then is it expected of me to respond in kind?" He paused, then, with the utmost seriousness, asked, "What is up?"

That time, you did actually laugh. Who wouldn't? His delivery was so painfully formal, as if he were reciting an ancient incantation instead of casual slang. "No, no, that's way too stiff! You've gotta make it sound natural."

Malleus tilted his head. "Natural?"

You cleared your throat and gestured for him to follow along. "Alright, say it like this: 'Not much, what's up with you?'"

Malleus nodded, taking a moment to process the phrase before repeating it carefully, though still sounding oddly regal. "Not much. What is up with you?"

You snorted.

"Eh, close enough."

Malleus seemed satisfied with his newfound knowledge, but something about the way his eyes gleamed told you he wasn't quite done. "Then I shall attempt this with the next person I see."

The realization hit you like a freight train. "Wait, wait, wait—"

But it was too late. The next time you glanced across the courtyard, Ace nearly keeled over in shock when Malleus Draconia - the Prince of Briar Valley, the future king of the fae - walked up to him and, with all the gravitas of a royal decree, asked, "Not much. What is up with you?"

You weren't there to see it, but you knew Ace was going to hound you for an explanation. And honestly? It was going to be worth it.

• —– ٠ ✤ ٠ —– •*̣̥☆·͙̥‧❄•̥̩̥͙‧·‧̩̥‧̩̥·‧•̥̩̥͙‧·‧̩̥˟͙☃˟͙‧̩̥·‧•̥̩̥͙‧·‧̩̥•̥̩̥͙‧·‧̩̥❄‧·͙̥̣☆*̣̥• —– ٠ ✤ ٠ —– •

The library was quiet, save for the soft rustling of pages and the occasional scribble of a pen against paper. It was late in the afternoon, and most students had already cleared out, leaving only a handful of studious individuals still pouring over their work. You yourself had started off as one of them - fully intent on finishing your your assignments - but somewhere along the line, between reading through dull textbooks and the warmth of the library's dim lighting, your eyelids had grown heavy.

And somewhere along the line, you had completely dozed off.

Malleus found you like that, slumped over a thick tome, your head resting against your folded arms atop the wooden desk. His footsteps were soundless as he approached, his gaze soft as he took in the sight.

How curious. He had been looking for you, intending to engage in his usual musings, only to find you in this vulnerable state. A faint smile tugged at his lips. He had been told before that sleep was an utmost necessity for humans on the daily, but he rarely had a chance to observe it. Not like this, anyways. Not so unguarded, so peaceful.

Careful not to wake you, he stepped closer, tilting his head as he observed the slow and steady rise and fall of your shoulders. The way your lashes cast delicate shadows against your cheeks. The slight parting of your lips, as if caught mid-dream.

Something in his chest tightened.

A soft sigh escaped him as he reached forward, his gloved hand barely ghosting over your figure before he made a quiet decision. With the gentlest flick of his fingers, the air around you shifted - iridescent magic swirled subtly, and within seconds, the stiff wooden chair you had been sitting in transformed into something far more comfortable, its back arching into a cushioned support. The book under your arm slid away on its own, neatly stacking itself at the edge of the desk, leaving you undisturbed.

He hesitated, then, almost as an afterthought, conjured a thin, weightless blanket, letting it drape over your shoulders.

"Sleep well," he murmured, though he knew you wouldn't hear him.

Then, with one last lingering glance, he stepped away, fading into the library's shadows as silently as he had come.

When you woke up later, stretching and rubbing the sleep from your eyes, you would have no memory of his presence - only the faintest warmth of something that hadn't been there before.

• —– ٠ ✤ ٠ —– •*̣̥☆·͙̥‧❄•̥̩̥͙‧·‧̩̥‧̩̥·‧•̥̩̥͙‧·‧̩̥˟͙☃˟͙‧̩̥·‧•̥̩̥͙‧·‧̩̥•̥̩̥͙‧·‧̩̥❄‧·͙̥̣☆*̣̥• —– ٠ ✤ ٠ —– •

It was a peaceful afternoon in the courtyard, the breeze gentle as it rustled through the trees. You sat comfortably on the stone bench, enjoying the rare moment of quiet in your otherwise chaotic schedule. Malleus stood nearby, his usual composed presence casting a familiar shadow over the sunlit space.

You had been mid-conversation when a sudden movement caught your eye. From behind a bush, a small, scrappy-looking cat emerged, its fur a mix of orange and white, patches of dirt clinging to its coat.

Your eyes lit up instantly. "Oh~ Look at you!"

Without hesitation, you crouched down, extending a hand toward the feline. It sniffed the air cautiously, its tail flicking as it debated whether or not to approach.

Malleus, however, did not share your enthusiasm. His gaze was sharp, wary, as he regarded the creature with clear suspicion. "You should be careful," he warned. "Felines have never taken kindly to me."

You glanced up at him, amused. "What, are you cursed or something?"

Malleus folded his arms. "It's not a curse. Simply an observation."

You turned back to the cat, who was now rubbing against your fingers, purring softly. "Nonsense! Look at this little guy~ He's harmless! You just need to approach them gently."

Malleus remained unconvinced, but after a moment's hesitation, he lowered himself into a crouch beside you. The cat immediately tensed, its ears flattening.

"Try putting your hand out," you encouraged. "Let it come to you."

He did as you suggested, slowly extending a gloved hand.

The cat took one look at him - then immediately hissed, arched its back, and bolted in the opposite direction, disappearing into the bushes as if its life depended on it.

Silence.

Malleus blinked, then simply nodded. "As I said."

You clamped a hand over your mouth, trying (and failing) to suppress your laughter. The contrast between his calm acceptance and the cat's sheer terror was simply too much.

Malleus merely exhaled through his nose, standing back up. "It would seem our companionship is fated to be a one-sided affair."

You finally managed to catch your breath, shaking your head fondly. "I don't get it. You make friends with all sorts of creatures, so how come cats hate you?"

He gave you a thoughtful look, as if genuinely considering the question. "Perhaps they sense something imperceptible to others."

"Or maybe," you teased, nudging him lightly, "you're just too intimidating."

He gave a hum of amusement, watching as you cast one last hopeful glance toward the bushes where the cat had vanished.

"I do not require the approval of a house pet," he added, and yet, there was the faintest glimmer of something unreadable in his gaze.

You grinned. "Sure, sure. Whatever you say."

Malleus merely shook his head, letting you have your fun. Even if the cat had rejected him, at least you never did.

• —– ٠ ✤ ٠ —– •*̣̥☆·͙̥‧❄•̥̩̥͙‧·‧̩̥‧̩̥·‧•̥̩̥͙‧·‧̩̥˟͙☃˟͙‧̩̥·‧•̥̩̥͙‧·‧̩̥•̥̩̥͙‧·‧̩̥❄‧·͙̥̣☆*̣̥• —– ٠ ✤ ٠ —– •

The moonlight shimmered over the still waters of the lake, casting a soft glow over the lone swan that drifted effortlessly across its surface. You titled your head at the sound of approaching footsteps, already knowing who they belonged to. Sure enough, Malleus Draconia emerged from the shadows of the trees, his usual air of quiet regality softened by the fond smile tugging at his lips.

"Ah, there you are," he mused, stepping closer to the water's edge. "I was beginning to wonder if you'd abandoned me tonight."

You let out a small, amused huff - well, as much as a swan could manage - as he took his usual seat on the grassy bank. It had become routine by now. Each night, under the cover of darkness, you would shed your human form and take to the lake, reveling in the freedom that came with your transformation. And each night, Malleus would find his way to your precious lake, unaware that the very creature he so enjoyed spending time with was the same person who shared fleeting glances with him in the halls of Night Raven College.

He talked as he always did, voice rich and baritone, a steady presence against the tranquil sounds of the night. Tonight, as usual, it seemed he had gargoyles on his mind.

"There is an especially intricate one near the botanical gardens. I suspect it is older than the others, given the craftsmanship..." He trailed off, gazing at you thoughtfully. "I do wonder if you even understand half of what I say, my little companion."

You fluffed your feathers, a quiet protest. If only he knew just how much you were truly listening.

"Speaking of peculiar things," Malleus continued, absently tracing shapes in the grass. "There is...someone. A human." His voice took a fond, contemplative tone. "They are different. Unafraid of me. I find myself drawn to them."

Your head snapped up, watching as he sighed, a rare wistfulness in his expression.

"It is frustrating, in a way. To be so ancient and yet still feel something as foolish as nervousness around them." He chuckled, low and warm. "I doubt they even realize how much space they occupy in my thoughts."

You stilled, staring at him as his words sank.

Malleus liked someone?

• —– ٠ ✤ ٠ —– •*̣̥☆·͙̥‧❄•̥̩̥͙‧·‧̩̥‧̩̥·‧•̥̩̥͙‧·‧̩̥˟͙☃˟͙‧̩̥·‧•̥̩̥͙‧·‧̩̥•̥̩̥͙‧·‧̩̥❄‧·͙̥̣☆*̣̥• —– ٠ ✤ ٠ —– •

It was another quiet evening by the lake, the soft chirping of crickets filling the still air. You sat on a stone bench, fingers tracing absent-minded patterns on the surface of your water bottle, watching the ripples in the moonlit water. Malleus stood not too far away, his usual imposing presence softened by the tranquil night.

You glanced up at him, noting the unusual tension in his posture. "What's on your mind, Malleus?"

He hesitated before turning to you, his expression unreadable. "There is a matter I have been thinking about," he said quietly, as if unsure of how to phrase it.

Your brow furrowed slightly. "What's that?"

He stared at the moon for a moment, his violet eyes distant, almost wistful. "Hypothetically speaking... if one were to be interested in a human, what would be the best way to convey such affection?"

You blinked, slightly taken aback by the question. "Well, I suppose it depends, honestly. Some people like gifts, others like spending time together." You shrugged, trying to keep it casual. "You just gotta find out what works for the person."

Malleus nodded, absorbing the information. "Gifts, yes what a wonderful idea. But what if they do not appreciate such things? What about the time spent together?"

"Yeah," you mumbled softly, "Time together matters a lot. Sometimes, it's just about being there. Some people like to talk, others are okay with silence. Just enjoying each other's company."

You felt an odd sense of discomfort settle in your chest as his eyes narrowed, a seriousness creeping into his expression. "And what if one were to sit with them, in silence, beneath the moon? Would that suffice as an expression of affection?"

Your heart jolted, giving way to your freezing. That sentence sounded so familiar - so specific. The words rang a bell in your head somewhere, but you couldn't lay your finger on it. You quickly masked the feeling, but it still lingered. What was so familiar about it?

You stared at Malleus, trying to keep your voice steady. "That sounds...oddly specific." You felt the sharp tug in your chest - had he really meant all those talks he'd had with you as a swan about affection in some abstract sense? You had gotten so attached, wishing, hoping, that maybe, just maybe, he felt something for you.

Malleus was still staring at you, eyes unwavering, and you could sense a soft tension hanging between you two. "I believe it would be meaningful," he said quietly, almost as though speaking to himself. "A quiet, intimate moment shared beneath the stars, no words needed, only the connection."

Your pulse quickened, and that gnawing sadness started to creep in again. He was still speaking like it wasn't about you. And yet the signals were so mixed that you doubted yourself. Would the damn dragon just spit it out already?

You crossed your arms, a soft frown forming. "You're...talking about someone, aren't you?"

For a brief second, you saw something flicker in his eyes - a hesitation, an uncertainty. But before you could fully process it, he quickly masked it, his usual calm demeanor returning. "I...apologize," he said, a slight bow of his head, "I did not mean to make you uncomfortable with such personal matters."

You watched him carefully, and as he turned to walk away, that distasteful lingering sadness transformed into a quiet suspicion. It didn't make sense, but you took a deep breath and stood up, and tried to shake the feeling off. Perhaps you'd misread the situation.

The thought nagged at you as you watched Malleus slink into the distance, sun setting alongside him. He was so close, and yet you couldn't shake the feeling that something was off.

• —– ٠ ✤ ٠ —– •*̣̥☆·͙̥‧❄•̥̩̥͙‧·‧̩̥‧̩̥·‧•̥̩̥͙‧·‧̩̥˟͙☃˟͙‧̩̥·‧•̥̩̥͙‧·‧̩̥•̥̩̥͙‧·‧̩̥❄‧·͙̥̣☆*̣̥• —– ٠ ✤ ٠ —– •

The night air was still, save for the gentle rustle of leaves overhead and the rhythmic lapping of the lake against the shore. Malleus sat in his usual spot beneath the sprawling willow tree, his silhouette framed by the soft glow of moonlight. The black swan floated near the edge, watching him—silent, waiting.

He exhaled deeply, long and tired. “She didn’t show up today,” he murmured, eyes distant. “Not that she ever promised to. But I had hoped.”

The swan tilted her head.

“I asked her for advice,” he said, voice soft and distant. “About someone I hold in high regard. Someone I admire, perhaps too deeply for my own good.” He paused. “She didn’t realize it was her I meant. Or perhaps she did and that’s why she looked so disappointed. Or suspicious. I wonder if I was too vague.”

The swan blinked, feathers bristling ever so slightly, a restless motion.

“I’m not very good at this,” he confessed, shoulders hunched. "I’ve never been very good at matters of the heart,” he continued, resting an arm across his knee. “It’s not that I don’t feel—on the contrary, I feel too much. But expressing it, giving it form… that’s the struggle. I thought if I simply lingered, if I shared enough silence with her, she'd understand. Even now, I’m here talking to a creature that cannot respond, hoping for some sort of clarity."

And that was the last straw.

A sudden shimmer of magic rippled across the lake.

A rush of wind and shimmer erupted over the lake. Malleus sat up sharply, his eyes widening as the black swan glowed, feathers swirling like fireflies as the shape began to shift—limbs stretching, wings curling in, body unfurling in a graceful, magical unraveling. Before Malleus could even process what was happening, there you were: dripping lake water, arms crossed, your expression equal parts flustered and furious.

Malleus blinked, lips parted in pure disbelief. “You-"

“Me!” you snapped, stomping a bit closer. “Yes, me. The swan you’ve been confiding in every night for weeks. The one you’ve been telling all your secrets to. The one who’s been listening patiently while you ramble about your ‘crush’ and ask me for romantic advice—about myself, might I add!”

Malleus stood slowly, still dumbstruck. “You’re the swan. The swan is…you.”

“Yes!” You threw your arms up, exasperated. “And do you have any idea how confusing it's been? You’ve been giving me these mixed signals—moonlit silences and soft smiles one moment, and the next you're confessing to a bird about someone else?! Just—just say it. Say who it is. Right now. I’m done playing games.”

Malleus’s expression softened, something painfully tender flickering in his eyes.

“I told you about my feelings,” he said quietly. “To both of you.”

“But you never said who it was!” you cried. “And I sat there, every night, thinking you liked someone else. That I wasn’t even close to being the person you wanted. Do you have any idea what that feels like?”

The wind rustled the trees.

"Yes,” Malleus said, almost in a whisper. “I do.”

You stared at him, breath catching.

“I’ve lived decades in silence,” he continued, taking a cautious step forward. “Watched others form connections with ease while I stood on the outside. You…you saw me. Ever side of me. The prince, the student, and the fool under the moon.”

He was close enough now to reach out. His fingers twitched at his side.

“I didn’t mean to mislead you,” he said. “I just didn’t know how to say it. I still don’t. But if you’ll allow me…”

His eyes met yours—glowing, unguarded.

“…I’m in love with you.”

You blinked at him.

“I knew it,” you muttered, then jabbed a finger into his chest. “You owe me so many answers, Malleus Draconia.”

He laughed, quiet and breathless. “Yes. As do you.”

You looked at him for a long moment, cheeks flushed, heart pounding so loudly you were sure he could hear it.

“Can I kiss you now?” he asked, voice like rich velvet.

“Only if you promise to stop giving mixed signals,” you grumbled.

He leaned in. “No more confusion.”

And under the weeping willow, beside the moonlit lake where truth had finally surfaced, the fae prince kissed the girl he’d loved all along.

The swan, the listener, the one who stayed.

You.

“Also,” he added after a pause, a sheepish tilt to his mouth, “you make a rather elegant swan.”

You groaned, burying your face in your hands. “You’re lucky you’re pretty.”

Malleus chuckled and gently took your hands. “And you’re lucky I love you.”

Author's Note: I have had this idea sitting in my drafts for literal years. I came up with this back when I first got into this fandom, and it feels GREAT that I finally finished writing it! Huge shoutout to my friend who went through my list of fanfic ideas (that I've come up with but never got around to writing) and decided on this one! I hope you enjoy!

Masterlist

[acakefilledwithrainbowsandsmiles]

starflight's crush on sunny was purely in a "i admire you for the dragon you are and i hope you admire me in the same way" and NOT romantic because please, they were practically siblings...

the only way i can comfortably look at starflight's crush is putting it in a "he didn't understand what romantic feelings were as he was cooped up in the cave" please don't ship them. they are siblings.

[robin374]

𝕺𝖓𝖑𝖞 𝖆 𝖋𝖔𝖔𝖑 𝖜𝖔𝖚𝖑𝖉 𝖉𝖗𝖔𝖕 𝖆 𝖌𝖎𝖗𝖑 𝖑𝖎𝖐𝖊 𝖞𝖔𝖚

ℭ𝔥𝔞𝔯𝔞𝔠𝔱𝔢𝔯; Alastor x reader, romatic

𝔑𝔬𝔱𝔢𝔰: I think we all agree that Alastor would say this phrase. Maybe I got too carried away, sorry if it's too long. Unedited

Carmilla waited for all the overlords to arrive and take their respective seats. Her silver eyes serenely observed the situation, while she prepared her probable monologue in her mind. A war would be one of the worst options to choose. They had already lost many souls since the last extermination, and losing even more would serve no purpose, except to amuse the angels. All the powerful demons sat down and Carmilla waited a few seconds for the various conversations between them to end, seeing that she got nothing waiting she coughed to get the attention of her companions. "I have gathered you here today to discuss this year's brutal extermination..." She began to explain, her eyes full of determination with a subtle light of hatred, which was directed towards the cruel exterminators up there. 

Suddenly, the door opened with a loud bang and two shadows appeared; one taller than the other. The little fashionista Velvette, a member of the Vees, appeared first with a superior smile on her face. With her back stretched and chin held high, she pulled the metal chain around her hand, causing the other shadow to walk involuntarily. However, the big difference between the two demons was that one of them was walking with her head down, as if she had been defeated and humiliated in front of all Hell, as if she was going to be sacrificed. Carmilla scowled at Velvette which diverted the attention of the other overlords and they looked towards the fashionista. Y/N didn't look up, she had already felt too ridiculed on the way there to feel even more so under the gaze of the other overlords. Especially under his gaze, under that smile that conveyed no feelings at all. 

"Speaking of the exterminators..." Velvette's distinctive accent echoed through the room, no overlord daring to speak. Anyone could cut the tension in that room with a butter knife. Y/N didn't even flinch at the confident sound of the voice, she was now as vulnerable as a puppy just abandoned on a highway. A few thumps accompanied the fashionista's small laugh, thumps that sounded too soft to be a blow from a fist but too hard to be a single piece of flesh. A golden drop landed on Y/N's slipper, she swallowed dryly, feeling closer and closer to the permanent presence of eternal death. Ironic, isn't it? A dead girl being afraid to die. She didn't hear the next sentences of the argument between the two overlords, she was too focused on the pain of the silver chains around her wrists behind her back. Never in eternity had she thought that being in hell she would burn, let's just say those holy chains silenced those thoughts for her. 

Velvette needed only a single tug on the chain to smash Y/N's face into the long table in the living room. Her hand pressed her face against the hard material, it looked like she wanted to put her face through the table. Y/N's gaze jumped from overlord to overlord, she knew full well that none of them would help her. "She was the one who killed that flying rat." Velvette began. "If those...Things can die, we're in a whole different situation." She paused for a moment, "we could start a war..." She turned to look at Y/N, her gaze as callous as her actions. "Not without killing this bitch first, it wouldn't suit us well for a girl as normal as you to get all the fame, what would my fans say?" His voice became a bit sharper, clearly seeking more attention than he already had.

Y/N looked away, her eyes fell on a spot between the ceiling and the window of the room, she didn't want to see how the overlords looked at her as if she was a mere bug, which they had no intention of keeping alive. She noticed her vision blurring, she knew these would be her last moments, as Velvette kept her word whenever it would do her good. "Who's for killing her and dropping her body in the nearest trash? Right where she deserves." The room was filled with murmurs and different conversations, some agreed with the fashionista, while others did not. Y/N had stopped listening long ago, she had accepted her permanent death since Velvette found her near the angel's body. She hadn't done it, she was just being more noisy than she normally was, not everyone gets the chance to see a dead exterminator, no? It was just bad luck, she wasn't the culprit, "It wasn't me..." She whispered in an attempt to get someone to listen to her, but these were overlords we're talking about, they wouldn't hesitate to kill someone. That's how ambitious they could be to have more power in their hands.

The sound of radio static came on, which was getting closer and closer. The pressure on Y/N's head disappeared in less than a second, and for a moment she thought she had finally been killed and her thoughts were slowly leaving her head as she completely lost consciousness. However, one hand helped her up, and even with her hands still tied she met those red eyes she loved to stare into so often in the hotel. With the other hand, Alastor pushed Velvette away from her, "I'll take care of it." 

The last thing to go. That demon Y/N thought she loved was going to betray her as soon as she left the building. She felt his hand brush against her back as he silently guided her through the halls of the building until he was outside. Once there he began to walk towards a particular direction. Y/N stopped in her tracks, confused. Maybe what she was about to say would be a big mistake, maybe she shouldn't say anything to stay alive, though curiosity killed the cat, right?

"You're not going to kill me? Kill me and then drop me in the middle of the street?" She watched as the Radio Demon's back tensed, and so did his ears. As much as she didn't see his face, she knew that smile twisted into an irritated one. He turned around slowly, and that annoyed smile softened the moment their eyes connected. He laughed softly and moved closer to the girl, his free hand coming to her cheek. "Only a fool would drop a girl like you." He smiled. That sentence made Y/N ironically feel like she was in heaven, a strange warmth rose to her cheeks. She heard the laughter of the overlord who was now offering his arm to walk beside him, "Alastor, my hands are chained." Y/N began, "I can't hold your arm."

[siggiedraws]

What’s your thoughts on idw silver, I personally think he is ok but I feel like the idw comic didn’t really do very well with his character.

I can't say I like him... at all.

American Sonic media already has a history of needless and quite frankly terrible changes, whether made out of ignorance, xenophobia towards Sonic Team/SoJ, some vague, made-up sense of marketability, or all three. So, I'm already wary of media like that. They always change fundamental aspects of Sonic's appeal and are supremely unenjoyable to me as a result.

To stay on track here - why do I dislike IDW Silver? The main reason is that I think he's portrayed as way too polite and nice to people. He has no backbone. It's as if he was just based off of popular fanon or Archie comics, rather than the source material. I don't blame anyone for thinking Silver is some timid, polite sweetheart if fanon and IDW/Archie is all they have consumed, but I'm doing my best to dispel that notion for the sake of conquering misinformation. As a casual fan, it is understandable to have misconceptions, but I'm going to be much more harsh to official media.

I need to hammer home the fact that Silver is rude and often talks down to people. Sonic '06, Silver's debut game, showcases this very well. In an '06 cutscene, he talks down to Sonic after attacking him when his guard was down. The casual stride over to a wheezing, incapacitated Sonic kills me. The disrespect is fucking crazy.

In the level Flame Core, he acts haughty and superior about his abilities, even letting out a light chuckle at how pathetic the enemies are. And, a detail that is easy to miss, he doesn't even apologize for trying to kill Sonic.

That's not even mentioning the Rivals games being a wonderful source of Rude Silver™, where there are too many snide remarks to count.

IDW Silver is a telltale case of Silver's nuance being stripped so that he only represents one trait of his- that trait being "naivety." Silver's naivety is mentioned twice by Blaze in Sonic '06 because this is relevant to the story. Naivety is Silver's fatal flaw that leads to him being easily manipulated by Mephiles. However, his naivety isn't due to some innocent, childlike outlook on the world. Silver takes everyone at face value and always assumes people are telling the truth to him due to a lack of social skills. This is why, when Silver mentions something outlandish or unbelievable to people, he is confused why they don't believe him. This is shown in both Rivals 2 and the Sonic x Silver wallpaper cover story.

IDW seems to completely miss this nuance and conflates "naivety" with childlikeness and innocence. When you realize this, decisions put towards Silver's characterization in IDW makes a lot of sense - his hyperactive excitement and adulation over Whisper is a good example, but how he doesn't talk back to Sonic calling him "flatware" in Issue 8 particularly bothers me.

Realistically, Sonic would immediately get thrown into a wall if he said this to Silver.

Portrayals like IDW Silver are just so utterly confusing. How in the world does Silver get misconstrued this way, into something entirely opposite of what he is, in both fanon and official media? To be completely honest, it makes me frustrated. I want things to change and I feel like I have to speak up. I ended up writing an essay about Why Silver is Rude. I'm sorry anon.

[simp-ly-writes]

Reborn From Ashes

─────── · · Dreams of Dragons (pt.3)

PAIRING: Daemon Targaryen x Fem!Targaryen!Reader

SUMMARY: Realities collide when an unknown man calls you his princess and chaos ensues. A great storm has taken over Dragonstone as an equal one starts to brew in your mind. Will you listen to this man that speaks of destiny? Or will you try and fight it?

TAGS: alternate universe, canon divergence, no use of y/n, second person perspective, female pronouns used, coarse language, protective!Daemon, angst, blood and gore, hurt/comfort, soulmates, time travel, targ-cest, engine-translated high valyrian, not beta read. MASTERLIST | TAGLIST REQUEST | WORDCOUNT: 3,468 | PRIOR | NEXT A/N: Happy after work chapter! Sorry for the heavy lore dumping in advance heh...

─────── · ·

WHAT HAS MY LIFE BECOME?, was all you could think when waking up on your cot in Dragonstone. A great fog had taken over the island, your head fuzzy as you stumbled forwards out of your tent- your knees slipping into the mud as you cursed underneath a breath.

A hand extends to you, yet another glimpse of sparkling silver has you squinting thinking it to be the sun as you grab their hand to stand. But you soon come to realize it is the chain they wear that glimmers so brightly and you can do little to conceal your gasp at the three headed-dragon crest as they smile down at your reaction.

"It has been some time since I last saw a silver sister," the bald man notes, head tilting towards the fortress where many teams were already at work underneath canopies and tarps within the courtyard, you nod and follow behind his steps in order to take in more of his appearance.

The wind was bitter cold, your cheeks hurting from being pelting of rain and your outer shell of a raincoat was already soaked through, it was as if the sea was down from the skies as much as its waves roared up the cliff face- and the man in front of you practically skipped through the onslaught- as if in his own element.

Feeling your gaze, he looks back and bows his head, "having troubles, silver-haired?" You take his words as an insult, "I can assure you the hair has nothing to do with my age," you fire back watching as his eyes sparkle with humour that he soon stifles before he holds open a heavy oak door, allowing you to walk in first before it slams behind you both, the wind also trying to find peace indoors from the rain.

The entrance hall is empty of people yet the space is filled with the echoes of every sound you make from the vaulted ceilings. Large and imposing trusses hold dark metal chandeliers forgotten to time as artificial lamps brighten up the space. Everything appeared too bright and sterile under the cold lighting, you missed the warmth of open flames and candles alike warming your skin... among other things, you shake your head of the nonsense and turn back to the bald man to find him already looking at you whilst leaning against a carved stone pillar that depicts dragons and native fauna.

"Have we met before?" you question, walking closer whilst trying not to shiver as the cold water had made its way down to your bones. "Have we?" he echoes back, standing up straight- his stance appearing confident yet his eyes are cast to the floor and on your muddied boots.

"Why speak in riddles when we can speak in plain truth?" you counter before shaking your head, why do I even bother?, "who is your superior? Look at me and tell me," you demand, feeling around your pockets for your phone to call whatever manager misplaced their rogue trainee.

"I am meant to be here just as much as you are," he ignores your demands, looking over your shoulder and up the grand stone staircase, "and that means more than you think."

"More than I think? Well, I spent my life studying my ancestors in order to be here and you dare ask- no, tell me my position? I belong here," you cross your arms, partially to warm yourself, the other to guard your heart that feels attacked.

"You are right, you do belong here, I never said otherwise-" you shake your head, turning around to walk upstairs, hand moving to the radio on your hip to page your team. You listen as the man follows behind you, eyes curiously looking over your frame before you stop feeling as they slam into your back before apologizing, "my princess, you must forgive me." And you swear that by sheer force alone your radio crackles- threatening to snap in your hand, "I'm sorry?"

And you receive no response, turning on your step to stare down as he does his best to kneel before you on the uneven steps, "It was never my thought nor intention to offend you, my princess. I ask of your good heart to forgive my transgressions."

You begin to look around panicked, phone, radio, watch, lights... I cannot be back in the past.... can I? You slowly lower yourself to sit on the steps, any rage you once felt had succumbed to the overwhelming fear you felt, am I losing my mind? And so you whisper softly enough for only you both to hear, "but I am not a princess?"

The silence that follows is heavy, you watch as they stiffen, hands gripping the stone steps as do your hands as if competing who would be first to draw blood in their anxieties. "May I speak freely, your highness?" Their tone equally soft as you nod, unsure of your own voice.

"I am an Elder of the Dragonkeepers. I have devoted myself to the old gods and to my kings and their dragons alike. I have been tasked by those above us in a test of my devotion to guide you back on your path..." the man takes a long pause, hesitantly meeting their eyes with yours, "...if you will allow me to?"

And without a second thought you answer, "I think you have the wrong person." You stand, taking two steps at a time, moving past the second level and up to the third and then the fourth.

The man follows like a shadow, "You have dreams, do you not?" You trip, hissing as you slam your face into the uncut stone edge of the stair. A gasp begins to form at your temple, blood seeps down your cheek like a tear.

You hiss at the pain, standing you wobble, gripping the bannister for strength before continuing upwards the seemingly never-ending staircase as tears begin to form in your eyes. "You have read the tapestry, have you not?"

You grab the bannister this time, pulling yourself up as you stagger up the remaining steps and walk through an arched door frame and into a dark hall seemingly yet to be explored. Cobwebs act as barriers that you step through and walk over, you swear to hear the scurrying of rats near your feet yet nothing will keep you from getting away from this dragonkeeper.

"The Rogue Prince has threatened his brother, your father for-"

"He is not my father!" you whip around and yell, "I am not a princess, I am a scholar, I am no one's niece, guide, nor bride!" Your hands curl up into fists, you swear to look manic, dressed in blood and split skin, soaking wet down to the bone.

The Dragonkeeper stands still at the end of the hall, his back basked in sunlight, "please, let me help you understand-"

"You don't understand! I was never meant for this... this insanity! You are only a figment of my imagination, this whole thing is just some large prank, right?" You reach for your radio to speak yet find it dead in your hand, dropping it to the floor, kicking it away in your frustration.

The Dragonkeeper takes slow steps forwards, joining you in the darkness as you fall to your knees, shivering. They offer the cloak off their back, wrapping it around your shoulders as you clench the cloth tightly, knuckles turning white. "The eldest princess was beloved by not only her parents but by the people. It was a great travesty thought to be punishment of the gods when she died unexpectedly in her early years."

You look towards the floorboards, counting every nail you see as the Dragonkeeper takes a seat in front of you, their palms sat in their lap, a silent ask for you to take them as they close their eyes, recounting the tale as is they were reliving through it in their thoughts. "Her body was never found in time for the burial. Some said that she was fed to the dragons for her weak blood, others that witches kidnapped her... but it was us, the Dragonkeepers, that took the child and presented her to the old gods on behalf of King Viserys."

You too, close your eyes, hesitantly reaching forwards for their palms, warm and weathered skin greet you with a soft squeeze of reassurance. "The King knew of a prophecy that had been passed down generations of Targaryens, knew that his daughter he found asleep more than out playing with the rest of the children, who spoke of events way before her time who could see the future in many instances, had to be part of this prophecy, and so he begged and pleaded for your safety and for many years it was unknown if our pleas were heard..."

─────── · ·

Soon the blackness of your eyelids became painted with a vivid scene. Encompassed by black stone walls that formed a colosseum was a fiery red dragon, Caraxes! you yell in a voice unlike your own. You look down to see your long black garbs on fire, you hastily pat the flames out with your hand as your other grips a quarterstaff.

The Dragon cries, its neck swings side to side, trying to be rid itself of its chains. "lykiri Caraxes! lykiri! (calm! calm!)," you shout, trying to walk towards the dragon only to find a wing coming down like a wall that sends you crashing back against the black stone.

You watch as many other Dragonkeepers come forwards, shouting commands, other throwing food, treats and toys towards the creature yet nothing seems to calm down the beast as it roars that soon fall to whimpers as a figure emerges in dark armour that blends into the walls.

Their helmet is held underneath their arm as they confidently stride towards the enraged dragon without second thought, their hand outstretched as it touches the scaled muzzle, closing their eyes with a heavy sigh as smoke exhales from the dragon's nostrils. It is then you notice their face to be covered in blood and that their red hair was unnatural, silver stained by blood.

"Nyke rȳbagon aōha ōdres keskydoso ñuhoso ziry feels kempa isse ñuha prūmia, nyke miss zirȳla tolī, (I hear your pain the same way it feels heavy in my heart, I miss her too)," the man you now know to the Prince Daemon speaks to his dragon, consoling it. The rest of the Dragonkeepers bow their head yet you hide behind a pillar to hear the rest of the conversation.

"Kessa māzigon arlī naejot nyke, naejot īlva, kesi mazverdagon sure hen ziry iā se vys kessa addemmagon syt taking ñuha soul hen nyke (She will come back to me, to us, we will make sure of it or the world shall pay for taking my soul from me)." The Dragon roars in agreement before outstretching a leg allowing for the prince to climb up into their saddle and the pair fly away as you remerge into the pit.

─────── · ·

You gasp, retracting your hands as the Dragonkeeper keeps their eyes closed, smiling softly, "the prince has always cared deeply for the princess... and is but an instance of the madness that ensued after your untimely passing. Yet little did everyone know, even yourself, you were being raised and protected for your mission-"

"But how do I keep crossing between worlds?" you question, cutting the man off as your heart aches in seeing your uncle's pain, "If I am safe here in this time, why do I leave?"

"Allow me to finish the tale, princess." You bite your cheek, closing your eyes and grabbing their hands once more. Memories of your childhood bedroom walls coated in sigils and ripped maps, of your parents, the Dragonkeepers that raised you sitting by your bedside, silver dragons dangling from their necks. Your thought-to-be father appears to be speaking the words of the man before you, their eyes are filled with unshed tears.

"Have you ever questioned how they knew so much about your family's history that has been forgotten to time? Have you not worried over their lack of care for your condition as if it is something normal?" A smaller you sits in their bed, gripping their bed sheets tightly. You cry softly upon realizing my life was nothing but a lie.

"The magic that keeps you here has been dwindling and will continue to do so, the only thing that keeps you here now is your fear," the Dragonkeeper whispers, dimming the lamp beside your bed.

"But what of my life, the people I have met? What about my career and aspirations, everything I have worked so hard towards?" you reach out for their hand to stop their movements, "I do not want to lose it all to be a mere princess."

"You are not only a princess, you are a protector of realities, your highness. Everything you have learned will be worth twice its weight in gold back where you are meant to be, you must allow yourself to let go-" his voice echoes in your mind.

"But I can't!" you stand up and shout as the room becomes darker as you stand alone in the shadows.

"You can, you will. You cannot stomach the world's end due to your own stubbornness. The world you reside in now is not possible if you do not go back... so I ask you to do what you do best, and think," the Dragonkeeper's voice fades, you feel their hands slide out from under yours yet you are unable to open your eyes.

Spinning around, you cannot see your hands or feet in the blackness that surrounds you- nor can you scream or shout- your voice drowned out by a constant hum. Soon fire ignites around you in a circle, the roar of a dragon has you shuttering and hunched forwards by the power of its breath.

Figures emerge standing around the flaming circle, you see the ghost of Prince Daemon's hands shake, his eyes a mixture of grief and pain before turning around and storming away. You then see the Princess, Rhaenyra step forwards, she throws a picture of a grey dragon, the first you ever saw into the circle before she too is dragged away into the darkness.

You meet King Viserys eyes as he nods at you, head held high to support the weight of the crown yet silent tears stream down his weathered cheeks. You hold his stare, watching as he slowly extends his hand through the flames, "be reborn through the dragon's flames," he chants. You look over his shoulder to see the Dragonkeeper standing behind him, he nods his head, silently asking for you to take his hand.

The fire feels warm yet you do feel a burn, you smell as your clothes burn away. The uneven rocks you step upon with bare feet are jagged, threatening to push into your skin yet you persevere. You reach your hand out to grasp the outstretched one of the king and your eyes are met by white light that blinds you and the cold touch of a breeze.

─────── · ·

You find yourself to be in a vast forest of pine trees frozen to time, standing tall in an effort to thaw by reaching the sun. Another breeze casts a light layer of snow over your body, you shiver as the cold bites at your skin, finding its way into your wounds that ache.

Your dress is in shambles- holding on by a mere thread. You reach down, ripping a part of your skirt and wrap it around your waist in an effort to keep the garb up before following the sun in hopes of finding your way out.

Passing by a frozen over creek you kneel down and do your best to analyze your face and wipe the blood that nears your eye. I look like death, is all you can think to yourself, and you feel close to it too if you did not find better clothes or shelter soon. The frozen water cracks, the ground shakes below your knees, you dogs barking and howling in the distance followed by a dozen horses galloping- and you chase after the sound.

Tree branches blur in the background, your feet ache, torn up by the uneven ground below you yet you know you would not survive once the warmth of the sun had vanished, not with the injuries that still sting upon your hands and face. You run as fast as you can before tripping over a fallen branch, scraping your knees on your way to the forest floor.

You shout in pain, trying but failing to pick yourself up and suddenly a stag rushes past you, eyes wide in panic as it belts out in pain. You see an arrowhead sticking out of its neck, a hunt, you raise your head, eyes beginning to freeze over as the high sun reflects off of the snow, blinding you from seeing further.

"HELP!" you shout, "PLEASE!" you beg as the howls become louder. "Please," you whisper, shaking as another gust of snow drapes over your fallen form. You reach out your hand in desperation, waving it in the air, your voice lost as the winds sing and your heart stops at the sound of a low growl.

The snow had suddenly formed yellow eyes that peer deeply into your own. You shake your head, reaching out with your palm, "I mean you no harm," you beg the animal yet know that it has no chance of understanding you, so curl into yourself in an effort to appear smaller.

You startle in your actions feeling as a wet nose touches your cheek, your eyes peek open to see the large muzzle of a wolf staring down at you. Its eyes appear human-almost as they widen, looking over your features carefully before howling loudly. You wince, tucking into yourself again yet the animal stops you part way as it lays beside you, head resting beside your own.

You all but whimper as the warmth of their fur helps to ease your blue fingertips and you await the footsteps that crunch in the snow. Metal clammers, leather boots squeak as they approach your form. The wolf stands tall to attention, you watch as a hand pats the space between the large wolf's ears. You cannot hear the praise or command over the singing of the wind yet the wolf darts off, disappearing into the snow.

A young man now kneels beside you, their long brown hair flowing in their face. His gloved hand picks up your head, his other tries to shake the snow off your hair. You watch as they still- realizing it is not the snow that makes your hair brilliant silver but your natural tone. "A Targaryen?'" a deep voice questions to themselves, "how did you end up here?"

You silently watch as they unsnap the heavy cloak from their shoulders and place it over yours. "Thank you," you breathe out. Their hand swipes away the blood from your cheek, eyebrows furrowing, "were you taken?" You nod knowing it to be the easiest answer.

He bares his teeth, "by who?" The man helps you upright yet you fail to stand on your own, body weak from the cold as you rest upon their broad chest, "I am sorry-" you try yet fail to move away.

The man holds you upright with ease, their grey eyes flooded with concern to match their frown. "Why apologize when it was against your will... unless you wanted to be kidnapped?"

You shake your head rapidly and notice the metal wolf sigil on their armour, a Stark. "I-I do not remember, it was at night and I just managed to escape," you explain, "you must believe me," you grip their leathers tightly with your plea.

"As a lord, it would be treason for me to speak otherwise, and as a man, I would be stupid," Cregan Stark jokes yet his tone lacks humour. You twitch in his hold as he picks you up in his arms, setting you on the saddle of his horse.

You open your mouth to protest before watching as he sits behind you, reaching forwards to grab the reins, "Rest" he commands. You tip your head in confusion before realizing the words were directed at you. "Rest," he says again in a softer tone, "I will ensure no more harm comes your way, consider it a promise from my house to yours." 

And with his words you allow your head to rest against his chest, listening to his heart as sleep finds you.

─────── · ·

PRIOR | NEXT

A/N: warming up with the Starks huh? 🤭 wonder what your family might think of that...

─ · · DREAMS OF DRAGONS TAGLIST: @blkmystery @inlovewiththefictionalcharacters @themoonlitquill

[cece693]

Hihi, may I request a Hannibal x Reader where the Reader has NPD and doesn't form a connection with anyone till he meets Hannibal? A bit self-indulgent, but I reckon Hannibal would be fascinated by the prospect of being 'special' to a narcissist.

My Mirror

pairing: hannibal lecter x male reader tags: no background info used when writing this, sorry in advance, vain male reader, hannibal indulges him, talk about superiority

You’ve never been one for emotional attachments—an understatement, truly. Where others might feel devotion or longing, you observe a mild, clinical detachment. People, with their petty wants and whining needs, amuse you for a time but rarely hold your attention for long. You’ve grown comfortable in the self-contained world of your own superiority.

In clinical terms, you’ve been labeled with narcissistic personality disorder—NPD. The label doesn’t disturb you. In your eyes, the world is simply out of sync with you; it fails to meet the high standards you’ve set. You don’t consider this a “disorder,” exactly. Yet you recognize that it isolates you. No one has ever managed to breach the lofty gates of your interest…until meeting him.

The first time you hear of Dr. Hannibal Lecter, you’re skeptical. Your colleagues and acquaintances speak of him in hushed, reverent tones: a brilliant psychiatrist, a culinary savant, a polymath of refined tastes. You grow used to overhearing their effusive praise, and it only piques a faint curiosity at best. Everyone extols him so highly—could he possibly live up to the hype?

Yet, from the moment Hannibal Lecter opens the door to his lavish Baltimore townhouse, you sense a shift. The warmth of candlelight glints off polished silver in the foyer. The faint aroma of roasting meat teases your senses. But none of these details hold your attention half as much as the man himself. Dark, composed eyes meet yours—eyes that see you in a way no one else has before. You feel an uncanny ripple of fascination, and it snags you before you can slip away behind your usual polite mask of distance.

Throughout the evening, you watch Hannibal with an intensity you typically reserve only for yourself. He tends to his guests with an elegant flourish, every word precisely chosen, every subtle gesture purposeful. It’s all done with a perfection that borders on artistry.

At dinner, you test him—sliding in a barbed remark about the “vapidness” of certain guests, just to see how he’ll react.

Hannibal raises his glass and murmurs, “You see them as uninteresting, do you?” There’s something in his voice, a mild fascination, that instantly pricks your pride in a pleasurable way.

“Don’t you?”

He offers a small, knowing smile. “Their concerns may be pedestrian,” he allows. “Yet, occasionally, there is merit in observing what they fail to perceive.” His gaze flickers to you, lingering. “And how do you find me?”

It’s a straightforward question, one most people would dodge, but you don’t. “Relevant,” you reply smoothly. “Rarely do I meet someone who isn’t painfully predictable.”

You expect a mild scoff, or perhaps a faint show of offense. Instead, Hannibal’s eyes gleam with a genuine spark of intrigue. “How refreshing,” he says, a gentle timbre in his voice that resonates.

As word of your growing closeness spreads among your acquaintances, it ignites a ripple of scandalized curiosity. After all, you’re you: proud, self-assured, never known to settle on anything or anyone that doesn't meet your standards. Many interpret your relationship to be built on purely superficial aspects—perhaps you're just dazzled by Hannibal's wealth (as if you don't have money of your own) or you seek to climb the social ladder (as if you would desire to spend your priceless time entertaining the mindless sheep for longer than necessary.)

They see your vanity, your precise grooming, your tendency to remark on the trivialities of others’ failures. They judge you for it. But what they can’t see is how Hannibal perceives you differently. He recognizes that your so-called “superficiality” is both shield and sword: you offer praise only where it’s truly earned, and you expect nothing less in return. He praises your refined tastes, marvels at your knowledge of art and culture. Far from dismissing your grandeur, he encourages it. In moments stolen away from prying eyes, Hannibal’s soft voice murmurs the subtlest compliments:

“You wear that suit as though it were designed exclusively for you. Magnificent.”

“Your insights on Baroque architecture are enthralling. Not many people appreciate ornamentation like we do.”

No one has ever spoken to you this way, not without an undercurrent of envy or mockery. Yet Hannibal’s praises feel earnest, almost reverential. His acceptance of your worldview—that you are remarkable—bolsters an unfamiliar warmth within you. You, in turn, find his own superiority mesmerizing. This is what it’s like, you think, to be understood.

If others see only the two of you exchanging indulgent remarks about fine wines, then let them. If they think it’s just a coupling of vanity and pretension, so be it. What truly matters is the inexpressible energy that crackles in the space between you—a reflection of two minds that appreciate the rare delight in one another.