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hcneymooners · 1 month ago

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⋆ arcane headcanons but they're all vampires.

multi. vampire!f!characters x f!reader. men & minors dni.

synopsis: what it says on the tin, baby doll.

cw: vampire-related violence, mentions of gore (nothing graphic), mentions of blood-drinking (duh), dom/sub, vaginal sex, vaginal fingering, masturbation, cunnilingus, power dynamics, power play, impact play, multiple orgasms, overstimulation, semi-public sex on occasion, unhealthy relationships (in the sense of vampires + their fledglings! no abuse i swear), manipulation, gothic themes, mutual obsession, age difference, older woman/younger woman, morally gray characters.

notes: this includes jinx, caitlyn, ambessa, sevika, + vi. i just watched nosferatu and it’s now one of my absolute favorite movies. i loved it and so now i must invoke the spirit of the vampire into every fictional woman i’m desperately in love with.

this is also fully for @digit4lslut who wanted more evil women. i concur.

The winter is long and arduous and you find yourself hungering for something dark and warm. The world has always seemed to press against you, take from you, eat at you. You’re in bed now, and the spot next to you is plush and warm from your lover’s recent departure. Your neck stings and you press a hand to it, pull it away to find a gleaming sweet mixture of venom and blood. Beyond your hand the door opens and with a few more steps the curtain shielding from around the bed are pulled back.

This is your lover's return. You look at her, smile softly as she crawls over you and hovers with a blood-wet mouth. Her chest rises, body fevered and aching after a hunt. She places a hand on your stomach, pushes down until you gasp and clutch at her. Yes, this is your forever. You cup her face, turn her toward the light.

You see her. You see your history. Who is she? What is your history? What is her name?

jinx.

♱ you both were small when you first met. you had a tendency to sneak out into the gardens, tuck yourself under the thicket of white hydrangeas and stare out into the water. one day, the darkness shifted and she was staring back.

♱ she was all wild hair and wilder eyes, skin pale as moonlight. her hair was crystal, ocean blue. you weren't scared—maybe you should have been. instead, you reached out your hand and she took it, fingers cold against yours.

♱ you let her trace your palm, intertwine your fingers. something began to hum deep and low in your body and her eyes went pink, bright and starlike. she smelled so overwhelmingly of rose and plum, almost sickly sweet. you breathed in deeply, from your stomach up through your chest—like you were swimming.

♱ that was the beginning.

♱ for years, she was your shadow companion. you'd meet in the garden at midnight, sharing secrets and stolen sweets. You’d tuck a cake under the flat of her tongue and she’d hold it, smile close-lipped while it turned to ash. she'd braid flowers into your hair while telling you stories about magic and monsters to distract you while she spit it out.

♱ then one spring, she vanished. you woke to nothing but a puncture wound on the flesh of your palm, the holes almost tender with their dried blood and lack of pain. you didn’t know it then, but she’d spread her saliva, her venom over it to spare you from any pain.

♱ the hydrangeas bloomed without her, and you learned what it meant to mourn someone who left no trace behind. you grew into yourself slowly, carefully, always feeling half-formed without her there.

♱ when you saw her again, you were twenty-three and she was everything you'd dreamed of in the dark. she stood in her cousin's drawing room, all sharp edges and sharper smile. "this is jinx," they said, "she's been abroad." you knew better—the girl from your garden had never left, she'd just become something else entirely. maybe she always had been.

♱ her cousin, viktor, spoke of marriage within weeks. you agreed, but your eyes were always on her. you caught her watching you too, gaze heavy with something that made your blood sing. this was what you'd been waiting for, you realized. this hunger. this need.

♱ you couldn’t be alone with her. you recognized your lack of will, your deference almost immediately and set about avoiding her when you could. you only realized she allowed it, was indulging your fancy, when she cinched your waist with an arm just outside of the dining room and pressed her thumb into your chin until your jaw hinged wide enough for her to see the tissue of your cheek.

♱ “enough of this,” she told you, and then closed your mouth. she leaned forward, flooding your mind with her saccharine perfume as she held your head inbetween her spindly fingers and pressed a kiss to your forehead.

♱ she took to painting you. at first, it was formal portraits, the kind viktor commissioned. but soon the paintings changed—you in the garden, surrounded by hydrangeas, then by roses. you sleeping, hair spilled across silk pillows. you with bitten lips and eyes that held secrets.

♱ you never told anyone how you'd pose for her in the dead of night, how your skin would flush under her gaze.

♱ "you're my best work," she'd whisper, fingers trailing over fresh canvas. "my masterpiece." her studio became your sanctuary, far from viktor's polite affections and careful touches. she never kissed you, but god, how you wanted her to.

♱ the sculptures started after your engagement was announced. you in marble, you in bronze, you eternally preserved in cold, beautiful stone. she worked feverishly, possessed by something you both couldn't name. "i'm making you immortal," she'd say, and her eyes would glow like embers. "isn't that what you want?" it was. it is.

♱ you found her old sketches one night—drawings of you as a child, then a teenager right before her abandonment of you, then a woman, dated through all the years she'd been gone. she'd never stopped watching you, never truly left.

♱ the pages were stained with something dark at the edges. you traced them with your fingers, understanding finally what it meant to be beloved by something inhuman.

♱ "do you ever think about that night in the garden?" she asked once, hands covered in clay as she shaped your likeness. "when we first met?" you nodded, remembering the cold touch of her hand. "i knew then," she said, "that you'd be mine. but you didn’t understand it."

♱ the way your heart raced at those words should have frightened you. instead, you whispered back, "i understand now."

♱ viktor speaks of jinx with a mixture of fear and reverence. "she's not right," he whispers against your neck one night, and you feel nothing but impatience at his touch. "the things she does in that studio..." but he never finishes the thought. the family—the coven, jinx’s voice corrected you—needs her, so they keep her close.

♱ you need her too, but for entirely different reasons.

♱ sometimes she watches viktor touch you—at dinner parties, in the garden, during your dancing lessons. her eyes are molten in those moments, and later you find your face torn to pieces, canvas slashed with violent strokes of red.

♱ anyone else would be terrified, but the desperation with which she wants you makes your body riot with heat. you begin to leave your windows open at night, hoping she'll come to claim what's hers.

♱ "sit still," she commands, and you do. you always do. she's sculpting your hands now, obsessing over every line, every vein. "beautiful," she murmurs, and her fingers trace the paths her chisel will follow. your pulse jumps beneath her touch. she smiles, knowing. you smile back, trembling and wanting.

♱ the studio walls are covered with you now. sleeping, laughing, reading, dancing—moments you don't remember posing for. "my muse," she calls you, but it feels more like worship. every angle of you captured, preserved, devoured by her artistry. you wonder if this is what it feels like to be transformed into myth, and if she would lash out at your desire to be her priestess instead of her god.

♱ you find her one night in the garden, beneath your hydrangeas. she's painting with something dark and wet, and the flowers are turning red beneath her brush. she’s upset, her spin flexing agitatedly. "your wedding is in a month," she says without looking up. "i'm running out of time."

♱ you kneel beside her in the dirt, press your fingers to her cold cheek. "what do you need me to say in order for you to just take me?" you whisper. her eyes flash in the dark.

♱ the paintings change again. now they're fever dreams—you with wings of thorn, you with a crown of bones, you surrounded by writhing shadows. in every one, there's a crimson figure reaching for you. in every one, you're reaching back. they're no longer paintings but prophecies, and you ache for their fulfillment.

♱ "he'll never see you like i do," she tells you, circling your latest statue. “i know,” you answer. "he'll never capture your essence." her hand hovers over the marble's heart. “i—i know.” "he'll never make you eternal." the way she says it sounds like a promise. "i know,” your breathing is erratic now. “i don't want him to," you answer. "i only want you."

♱ the sculpture shatters that night; neither of you mention the blood on her hands.

♱ you start finding dead hydrangeas on your pillow, their petals black with age. beneath them, sketches of you in a wedding dress, the train stained scarlet, the veil made of lace and gray shadow. her signature is always in red. you press the flowers between book pages, collecting them like love notes.

♱ "tell me about the night you disappeared," you ask her once, lying among the ruined canvases of her studio. she traces patterns on your throat instead of answering. "i had to become worthy of you," she finally says. "i had to learn how to keep you forever." you turn your head, bare your neck and spread your legs. she lies against you, begins to drag two finger to your center. "show me," you breathe. “please.”

♱ she eats you like she does everything else: wildly, insatiably, and relentless. you feel out of control, grasping at your thighs as you finish over her.

♱ the night before your wedding, she asks to paint you one last time. viktor warns against it, but you go anyway. her studio smells of copper and roses.

♱ she doesn't use canvas this time. instead, her fingers trace runes on your throat, your wrists, your heart. "art needs sacrifice," she says, and her teeth gleam in the candlelight. "and i've waited so patiently. given you up for long enough." you think of all the years she watched, waited, wanted. your hands find her hair. “stop waiting."

♱ your first night as her creature, you understand why she always painted in red. the world explodes into color you never knew existed—violets deeper than bruises, blues that pulse like veins, reds that sing of life itself. "everything's so beautiful," you whisper. she laughs against your throat. "this is just the beginning, baby."

♱ viktor never makes it to the altar. the coven whispers that he fled, abandoned his bride-to-be. only you and jinx know the truth of his final portrait, painted in shades of crimson and hung in the deepest chamber of her studio. his last gift to art. you understand now—true art should hurt a little.

♱ the garden blooms year-round now, hydrangeas stained perpetually dark with your midnight feedings.

♱ "do you remember when you were afraid of me?" she asks one night, centuries after. you're both covered in bed, her mouth slick from where she’s been drinking. "i was never afraid," you correct her, licking the color from her fingers. "i think i just always loved you and found myself incomplete. that’s terrifying at thirteen, seventeen, nineteen, twenty. and it never stops.”

♱ “good” she murmurs, and you know then that if you ever die she will be the thing that kills you.

caitlyn.

♱ she's been watching you grow into yourself for years. quiet, careful, always maintaining that perfect distance. you think she's just being professional—the respected vampire mediator, keeping an eye on the human liaison to her kind.

♱ she knows better, knows what you are. she feels the pull every time you enter a room, like gravity shifting to accommodate your presence.

♱ you begin to speak to her, lay yourself bare. you find that she’s so attentive when she listens, her body twisting to match the shape of yours as she leans her chin on hands and never breaks her gaze.

♱ "you'll find them," she tells you one night, when you're crying in her study about another failed relationship. her hand hovers over your shoulder, not quite touching. "your perfect one is out there."

♱ the lie tastes of rot in her mouth. she knows exactly where your perfect match is—sitting across from you, centuries old and terrified of how young you are.

♱ you bring her wine she can't drink and tell her your secrets. your life spills out of you, a thin timeline that is a speck in how long she’s lived. she collects each one like precious stones, storing them away with all the other pieces of you she's gathered over the years.

♱ "i just want someone to look at me and know," you confess. she grips her desk until the wood creaks, fighting the urge to say: i know. i've always known.

♱ she can’t help herself in some ways. there are some things she can't hide, one of them being her favor. books appear on your desk about subjects you mentioned wanting to learn. your favorite flowers stay blossomed in winter outside your window. a shadow follows you home on dangerous nights. you think she's just being kind. she's being careful—so, so careful.

♱ "do you ever feel it?" you ask her once. "that pull toward someone? like your whole body already knows them?" she looks at you for a long moment, memorizing the way moonlight catches in your dilated eyes. for a moment, she zones out and listens to your body pump and pulse. she hears your sudden arousal, the sticky syrupy run of your cunt as you watch her the swell of her chest.

♱ "yes," she says finally, slightly breathless. "i know exactly what you mean." you smile, relieved to be understood. she turns away, centuries of control cracking.

♱ when you finally find out, it's not gentle. there's a fight, an ancient vampire who gets too close, wounds you and tells you too much.

♱ "ask your protector why she keeps you close," he sneers before caitlyn tears him apart. "ask her why she won't let anyone else have you."

♱ you're magnificent in your rage. "all this time!" you seethe, hurling books at her head. "watching me cry about being alone. letting me think—" she catches a particularly heavy tome before it hits her face.

♱ "i was trying to protect you," she starts. "from what?" you roar. "from me," she whispers.

♱ you settle and she finds it worse than the rage.“caitlyn, you are my mate. out of everyone, you could only ever save me.”

♱ "i've lived centuries," she tries to explain. "i've seen everything this world has to offer. i didn't want to take your chance at a normal life. you will resent me as time passes. that is the truth." you laugh, bitter and broken. "that wasn't your choice to make. and it was the wrong one. resent you? it’s as if you don’t even know me."

♱ she finds you in her study at midnight, surrounded by her journals. centuries of entries about you, dreams at frist—about the pull, about fighting it. then you came into the world and it was real, more terrifying.

♱ "when?" you ask, voice raw. "when did you know?" she kneels beside your chair, finally letting herself touch your hand. "the moment you walked into my office five years ago. it felt like walking into sunlight after an endless night."

♱ "i've memorized all your habits," she confesses one night, when you're still angry but can't stay away. "the way you tap your fingers when you're thinking. how you always have to turn to an even-numbered page in a book before you leave it. the exact sound of your heartbeat when you're about to cry."

♱ you want to hate how well she knows you. instead, you ache.

♱ she starts leaving collections of letters for you, months of longing bound in leather. you read about the first time she saw you smile, how she had to leave the room because the wanting was too much. about all the times she nearly shattered, nearly told you, nearly gave in.

♱ "i wrote novels of you," she whispers when you confront her. "i just couldn't let you read them."

♱ "i want to know," you demand one evening, tired of careful distance. "show me what it feels like."

♱ she presses her hand to your chest, lets you feel the pull that's been tormenting her for years. it's like drowning in fire, like every love poem ever written condensed into a single touch.

♱ "oh," you breathe. "why did you keep this from me?"

♱ you find her old paintings hidden away—you in every season, every light. she's captured moments you didn't even know she witnessed.

♱ "i told myself it wasn't possessive if i never showed anyone," she admits. you trace a picture of yourself sleeping, rendered in oils and longing. you turn to her, face open and wet. "what if i wanted to be possessed?"

♱ the first time she kisses you, it's like coming home. "i'm still angry," you murmur against her lips. “furious even.” her hands shake as they frame your face. "i know. i'll spend decades earning your forgiveness."

♱ you bite her lower lip hard enough to draw blood. "decades? is that all?"

♱ she tries to maintain control even now—always asking permission, always holding back. you learn to break her resolve with casual touches, with bared skin, with whispered confessions. "let go," you tell her, pressing closer. "i want you to trust yourself so implicitly, that you let yourself go. i'm not made of glass."

♱ when she finally does, there are stars exploding behind your eyes and gunfire in your head. you will never forget the feel of her, her cunt swollen and pink and weeping against you.

♱ "i used to stand outside your door at night," she admits, tracing patterns on your bare shoulder. "listening to you breathe, making sure you were safe." you should find it creepy. instead, you think of all the nights you felt protected without knowing why.

♱ "next time," you say, "come inside."

♱ you start finding little gifts—first editions of books you mentioned loving, antique jewelry that matches your eyes, pressed flowers from centuries ago. "i've been collecting things for you," she explains, shy suddenly. "since before the day we met."

♱ you wear her history around your neck, let her sink into your blood.

♱ sometimes you catch her watching you with that old hesitation. you've learned to read it now—the fear that she's taking too much, loving too deeply. "i choose this," you remind her, pressing your wrist to her mouth. "i choose you." she kisses your pulse point like a prayer.

♱ "i thought i was protecting you," she whispers one night, when you're tangled in her sheets and her guilt. "but i was really protecting myself. from how much i could love you. from how much it would destroy me to lose you."

♱ you kiss the confession from her lips. "you will never lose me. but i will ruin you, if you ever try to keep me from you again. in any fashion.”

♱ she shivers, understands that you are saying this as a vow. she rolls you over, climbs on top of you, tries to tear apart your body to find a place to stay.

ambessa.

♱ she never looks at you. not really. you're furniture to her, useful and invisible. you clean lip stains from her wine glasses, replace torn sheets, erase all evidence of her endless parade of lovers. sometimes you find drops of blood on the marble floor and wonder what it would taste like to be wanted by her.

♱ "excellent work as always," she says without turning around. you've just finished clearing away another morning-after scene—scattered clothes, broken crystal, the lingering scent of sex and copper in the air. her praise feels like acid in your chest.

♱ you want her to see you. you want her to devour you. you want, you want, you want.

♱ you keep track of her lovers in your mind, a masochistic catalog. the willowy blonde who screamed her name. the dark-haired man who left claw marks on her sheets. the redhead who stayed for three nights (a record).

♱ none of them last. none of them matter. but they get to taste her, and you're just the ghost who cleans up their remains.

♱ "my perfect attendant," she calls you, when she bothers to speak to you at all. she doesn’t even know your name, yet you know every detail of her life—how she takes her blood (warm, with a drop of rum), which silk sheets she prefers (harvest gold, 800 thread count), the exact temperature she likes her chambers (a cool 65 degrees).

♱ you know everything except what her fangs would feel like against your throat.

♱ it breaks on a tuesday. you find another lover's scarf wound around her bedpost, stained with blood and something else. your hands shake as you untie it. maybe they were kept captive with it. ungrateful. she wouldn’t have to hold you down for anything. you would prostate, beg for her. you would be good.

♱ "leave it," her voice commands from the doorway. you turn, and finally, finally she's looking at you. but all you can see is the fresh bite mark on her neck, already healing.

♱ something about it needles at you, guts you. she usually doesn’t let them bite her back. "no," you whisper. then louder: "no."

♱ she raises an eyebrow, amused at your defiance. "excuse me?" the scarf falls from your trembling fingers.

♱ "i can't—i won't do this anymore. i can't keep cleaning up after them. after you. i can't—" your voice breaks. tears spill down your cheeks. her amusement vanishes.

♱ “my entire life, i’ve been right there. and i know you know. i know you can smell it.” you practically hiss it. “every day, i debase myself in front of you. i can never hate you but i want to get close.”

♱ "you're dismissed," she says quietly. you laugh through your tears. of course. of course she'd throw you away the moment you showed weakness.

♱ you leave without packing your things, without looking back. you don't see her expression as she watches you go, the way her fingers dig into the doorframe hard enough to splinter wood.

♱ another coven takes you in. lesser nobles, but they're kind enough. you don't have to clean up after anyone's trysts. you don't have to smell blood on sheets or wonder about the sounds coming from behind closed doors. you should be happy.

♱ instead, you dream of her every night. hot, detailed, torrid visions that make you wake weak and wet.

♱ a month passes. then two. you learn to breathe again, to exist in spaces that don't smell like her perfume. "you seem sad," your new mistress says. you force a smile. "only tired."

♱ gyou don't tell her that every room feels wrong, that every bed you make feels empty without gold upon it.

♱ she comes for you on a moonless night. you're changing linens (always changing linens, even here) when the temperature drops. "did you think i would let you go so easily?" her voice slides down your spine like ice. you don't turn around. you can't. “i thought you’d have returned by now, would have reconsidered what you gave up.”

♱ "look at me," she commands. you've never been able to deny her anything. she's exactly as beautiful as you remember, but her eyes are different. starved. "my perfect attendant," she purrs. "do you know how many lovers i've taken since you left?" you flinch. she smiles. "none."

♱ "come home," she says, like it's that simple. you gather your pride around you like armor. “why should i?” her eyes flash. "because you're mine." you laugh, bitter and bright. "i am—i’m not a medarda. i was never yours. i was your furniture, remember? you didn’t even call me by name."

♱ for the first time in centuries, ambessa medarda looks uncertain.

♱ she starts leaving gifts—not just jewelry and silk, but tokens of attention. oysters, shelled and presented to make your consumption easier. books you'd mentioned wanting to read, when you thought she wasn't listening. a bottle of the perfume you wear, worth more than your yearly salary. you send them all back. she needs to learn that you can't be bought.

♱ "tell me how to fix this," she demands one night, appearing in your chambers. you're still in your evening dress from serving at the coven's gathering, throat on display and adorned with delicate chains. her eyes fix on your nervous swallow.

♱ "you can't just command everything better," you say softly. "not this time."

♱ she follows you to another gathering, watching from shadows as you serve blood-wine to lesser vampires. you're dressed in black silk, your neck a graceful line adorned with gold. the whole room's attention shifts when you move—too many hungry eyes, too many sharp smiles. you pretend not to notice. the attention means nothing; it isn’t hers.

♱ you hear her growl when one of them gets too close, asking if you'd like to "serve privately." before she can move, you handle it yourself: a polite smile, a steel-edged refusal. you've learned to navigate these waters. you don't need her protection.

♱ (but oh, how your heart races when you feel her rage across the room. you’re almost sick with it.)

♱ "they want to devour you," she seethes later, cornering you in an empty hallway. "i can smell their desire. their need." you meet her gaze steadily. "now you know how it feels."

♱ understanding dawns in her eyes, followed by something darker. "is this what you felt? watching me with them?" you turn away. her hand catches your wrist. "answer me."

♱ "yes," you whisper. "every night. every morning. watching you choose everyone but me. wanting—" your voice breaks. her grip tightens. "wanting what?" you pull away. "everything. anything. just one taste of being yours."

♱ she moves differently after that.

♱ no more commands, no more assumptions. she courts you properly, like you're something precious. leaves letters detailing all the things she noticed but never said. how graceful your hands are when you pour wine. how your hair settles against your back when you sleep. how she missed your scent in her chambers.

♱ "i may have taken you for granted," she admits one evening. you're both in her study, you perched carefully out of reach. "i thought you would always be there. my perfect girl." her laugh is self-deprecating. "i didn't realize i was losing my only match."

♱ another gathering. another dress. this time when the vampires stare, she's at your side. "she’s spoken for," she says evenly. you raise an eyebrow. "am i?" her hand finds your waist, possessive but questioning. "if you wish to be."

♱ "make me believe it," you challenge. she watches you, then sinks low. she’s kneeling before you and the sight makes you dizzy—ambessa medarda, on her knees. the room goes silent.

♱ "i have loved you," she says, loud enough for all to hear, "in all the wrong ways. let me love you properly." you touch her chin, tilt her face up. "prove it."

♱ she relearns you slowly, deliberately. no more invisible servant—now she watches openly as you move through her chambers. "tell me if you want me to stop," she says, but you don't. you want her to see everything she missed before.

♱ "you've redecorated," she notes one night, when you finally return to her rooms. you've replaced the golden silk with deep purple, changed the artwork, rearranged the furniture. made it yours. "i'm not here to clean up after you anymore," you remind her. she traces a finger along your jaw. "no. you aren’t."

♱ the first time she feeds from you, it's like death— you are breaking apart all at once; you are coming together and it is sweet.

♱ "you taste like nectar," she breathes against your throat. you thread fingers through her hair, holding her close. "you taste like mine," you answer. she shudders against you.

♱ the next time she kneels for you is in the drawing room, her head beneath your skirts and your legs on her shoulders. she laps at you, pulls orgasm after orgasm from you until you kick at her back. even then she continues, with fingers instead of tongue. the pain, the pleasure—it’s endless.

♱ old habits die hard—sometimes she still tries to command rather than ask. but now when she slips, you arch an eyebrow and wait. "please," she'll correct herself, the word foreign and stilted on her tongue. you reward her with kisses that always spiral out of control.

♱ you keep one of her old lover's scarves, tucked away in a drawer. sometimes when she's being particularly imperious, you take it out, let her see it. "i could leave again," you remind her. she pulls you into her lap, buries her face in your neck. "you won’t. it won’t be as easy. you know this." you gasp as her teeth sink in.

♱ "do you miss it?" she asks once. "taking care of me?" you run your fingers along her spine. "i still take care of you. i just do it as your equal now."

♱ she presses you into silk sheets, whispers "show me" against your skin. you do.

♱ you catch her watching you dress for bed, something vulnerable in her eyes. "what is it?" you ask. "i suppose i keep waiting," she admits, "for you to decide that you would like something different." you straddle her lap, cradle her face in your hands. "i decided that i deserve exactly what i chose."

♱ the other covens still whisper—about how the great ambessa medarda let a servant become her consort, about how she kneels for you in private (did it in public, even). they don't understand that she's never been stronger than when she's yielding to you.

♱ besides, it is you who often submits. she drives you insane with how much you need her. you just force her to work for it.

♱ "sweet girl," she calls you now, never attendant. occasionally, she speaks your name, usually in the midst of pleasure. you're arranging flowers in her study (old habits), and she's watching you like you're something holy.

♱ you meet her eyes in the mirror. "yes, mistress?"

♱ her eyes darken. she rolls up her sleeves, comes over.

sevika.

♱ she comes to collect on a sunday. you're serving tea to your mother when the door creaks open—no knock, no warning. just sevika, silco's enforcer, filling the doorway like an omen.

♱ "time to pay up," she drawls, flashes teeth. your mother starts to cry. you pour another cup of tea.

♱ "would you like some?" you ask, steady-handed despite your racing heart. she blinks, caught off-guard by your composure. "what?" you gesture to the cup. "it's jasmine. very soothing."

♱ her laugh is sharp as broken glass. "you think tea will save you from your family's debts?" "no," you say simply. "but it might buy me an hour to pack."

♱ she studies you over the rim of the teacup she doesn't remember accepting. you pretend not to notice how she watches your throat when you swallow hard. "one hour," she agrees. you hide a smile in your cup.

♱ one hour becomes one day. becomes one week. becomes one month. you're clever with your delays—always just reasonable enough, always with something to offer. "you're playing a dangerous game, priya," she warns you.

♱ your fingers brush hers as you hand her another cup of tea. "i know."

♱ she begins to linger after delivering silco's threats and your family home becomes a strange fairytale in this winter—ice flowers blooming on windows, shadows moving like living things, sevika's footsteps echoing on wooden floors. you serve tea in your grandmother's bone china cups, and sometimes there are teeth marks on the rims that weren't there before.

♱ you always meet in your mother's parlor, all faded elegance and desperate pride. snow falls outside like ash, and the samovar steams in the corner, waiting. when sevika enters, the dark worn world follows her—frost crawling up the windows, ice crystallizing in your lungs. you never stood a chance at escape. so you just shift the goal.

♱ you learn that her mechanical arm aches in the cold, the phantom of the real one haunting her. that she has a secret fondness for your mother's butter cookies.

♱ "you're stalling," she tells you over and over. "yes," you agree. "is it working?"

♱ your mother catches on first. "oh, clever girl," she whispers, watching sevika watch you over dinner. "but be careful. a jaguar is still a jaguar even if it hides its teeth." you think of the way sevika's hands shook when you touched her last, how she pulls back if you flinch even slightly at her approach. "mmm. the jaguar is still a cat."

♱ your first kiss tastes like smoke and metal. she's furious about something—another clever excuse, another day bought—and you silence her with your mouth. she pulls back, eyes wide.

♱ "you can't seduce your way out of this," she tells you, her voice almost dead. you trace her bottom lip with your thumb. "i’m not trying to. my desire for you is a separate thing."

♱ she brings you gifts that feel like warnings: a silver hairpin sharp enough to kill, a red cloak lined with raven feathers, a ring set with stones that look like frozen blood. "are you trying to save me or damn me?" you ask, letting her fasten the clasp at your throat. she kisses your pulse point. "both. neither. everything."

♱ you find out she's older than your great-grandmother's grandmother. "does it bother you?" she asks roughly. you're curled in her lap, mapping the scars on her human hand. "does what bother me? that you're ancient?" she pinches your side. you kiss her neck. "you're just well-preserved."

♱ eventually, your meddling works. after one too many unsuccessful collections, silco summons you both.

♱ "fascinating," he muses, taking in sevika's protective stance, your carefully blank expression. "you've found quite an interesting solution to your family's situation." you meet his knowing gaze. you let your heart marr your face with its emotion. "oh, how sweet,” he murmurs. “marry my enforcer, erase the debt. is this what you want?"

♱ “i want to live,” you answer, with your jutting out. you feel sevika turn and look at you, feel the realiztion come that she’s been a (delightful) means to an end.

♱ "you’ve been using me," she accuses later, pressing you against your bedroom wall. "from the first day.” you wrap your arms around her neck. pull at her hair until her head falls back."yes." she shudders. "why?" you kiss her mechanical knuckles. "because i see you and you see me. really see me. you know i am wicked and you still drink my tea.”

♱ she fucks you hard, fast. your stomach is bruised from where she holds you, your legs nicked by her claws as she grabs you when you try to scramble away. she’s mean, understandably confused and maybe even feeling betrayed. you let her rut her frustration onto your cunt, gasp softly as she laps her slick from between your folds.

♱ “i should drain you,” she murmurs into your sweat-slick neck. you pull away, grasp her jaw. “i often thought that you should eat me. dreamed of it. sometimes,” you confess, “i even came. i had to squirrel away the sheets before my mother could find them.” she shakes, slips a finger inside of you. “liar,” she accuses. “if that makes it easier,” you respond.

♱ "my mother believes i did this to save us" you tell her one night, snow gathering on the windowsills like secrets. "she thinks i'm sacrificing myself." sevika's hand whirs as she pulls you closer. "aren't you?" you smile against her throat. "i only reward myself in this life. it’s not a sacrifice if you really want it."

♱ your wedding preparations become a dance of power and submission. you choose a lavish black dress with silver threading for the rehersal, drape yourself in diamonds cold as death. "you look like you're already one of us," sevika murmurs, and you can't tell if she's pleased or terrified. "isn't that what you really want?" you ask. her silence tastes pleasant.

♱ the night before your wedding, you find her in the garden, snow melting around her feet. "having second thoughts?" you ask, wrapping your arms around her waist. she rocks into you. "wondering when exactly i lost control of this," she admits. you press closer, sharing warmth she doesn't need. "bold of you to assume you ever had it."

♱ your wedding is a power play, a business transaction, a love story written in blood and tea leaves. you wear red and gold, traditional colors for a vampire's bride. sevika looks at you like she's drowning. "still think i'm just a clever little girl?" you whisper during your first dance. she kisses you hard enough to break your jaw. "you're the most dangerous woman i've ever met."

♱ you move into her quarters in silco's mansion—all dark wood and darker secrets. at night, you hear screams from the lower levels, but you never flinch. instead, you pour tea rigidly in cups rimmed with gold, light candles that smell of grape and amber, create a home in the heart of a monster's lair.

♱ "you should be more afraid of me," she tells you one night, after you've watched her tear someone apart. you're helping her clean blood from her joints, gentle and thorough. "what’s the point? i’m in this now. anway, you should be afraid of me," you counter, pressing a kiss to her gore-stained knuckles. her laugh catches in her throat.

♱ silco watches you at dinner parties, amused by how you've tamed his beast. but he doesn't see how you feed her morsels from your fingers, how your soft touches leave her trembling, how your love is its own kind of violence. how you aren’t afraid to lash her with it, refuse her affection to keep her in line. you know she needs this, that she’s rarely had it before.

♱ "you've made her weak," he accuses. you smile, all teeth. "i've made her mine."

♱ you develop rituals together, sacred as prayer and sharp as knives. every night, you clean her mechanical arm—each gear, each plate, each deadly piece. your hands never shake, even when they're stained with someone else's blood. "my good girl," she murmurs, and you pretend not to notice how her voice trembles.

♱ the tea ceremony becomes something close to holy between you. your grandmother's samovar, polished until it shines like a mirror, brewing tea dark as sin. you pour with steady hands while she tells you about the night's violence.

♱ sometimes you taste copper in the cup and realize she's kissed the rim, leaving traces of her work behind. you drink it anyway.

♱ you draw her baths after hunts, water turning pink with vicera that isn't hers. she lets you wash her hair, lets you trace the scars on her back, lets you piece her together again. "i could kill you just like this," she says when you massage her scalp. you kiss her shoulder. "i’d drag you down."

♱ on cold nights, you brush and braid her hair, weaving in strips of leather and small, sharp blades. your touches are gentle but your intentions aren't, and she knows it. "am i pretty enough yet?" she teases. you rest your chin on her shoulder, dig down. "you’re easily the most beautiful thing i’ve ever seen." her pupils dilate and her legs part, so you reach a hand around her waist to drag between them.

♱ the other vampires think it's sweet, how you wait up for her. they don't see how you position yourself by windows, arranging your reflection to watch all the doors. how your devotion has teeth.

♱ you keep her schedule in a leather-bound book, writing in codes you invented as a child. meetings marked in red ink, kills in black, feeding times in gold. "my good little wife," she coos, but you catch her studying the patterns you create, trying to decode your secrets.

♱ sometimes she brings you presents from her hunts—jewelry still warm from its previous owners, books with bloodstained pages. you accept them with genuine delight, arrange them carefully in your shared space. "magpie," she calls you fondly. "collecting pretty things." you don't tell her that she was your first collection. your most prized.

♱ your bedroom becomes a museum of decadent violence—diamond necklaces with broken clasps, antique daggers hung like artwork, silk sheets that have seen both birth and death. you keep her arm's spare parts in a velvet-lined box beside your perfumes.

♱ "do you ever regret it?" she asks one night, watching you stitch up a wound on her human arm. your needle is silver, your thread is silk, your hands are sure. "falling in love with someone—someone like me?"

♱ you tie off the suture with precise fingers. "you simply have claws and i’ve always believed love was meant to scar." she kisses you, surging forward to suck you up.

bonus: vi.

♱ you first notice her at the local underground fighting rings, all raw power and feral grins. you can smell what she is - werewolf, obviously - but she's so young and unrefined in her movements that you assume she must be newly turned. still, something about her draws your centuries-old heart.

♱ you only dare to attend the fights under the guise of accompanying your brother, a known patron of these brutal entertainments. each night you tell yourself you'll stop coming, stop watching her. each night you fail, drawn to the way she dominates the ring with savage grace. you wonder if she could make you fall like that.

♱ she catches you watching one night, corners you in the shadowy hallway with a grin that's all teeth. "see something you like, vamp?" she asks, and you flush.

♱ you turn, run away, your chest clenching tightly as you remember her in the privacy of your rooms. your fingers work deep inside you and you let out a small wail as you think of her tattooed hands inside you instead.

♱ she keeps showing up at your usual haunts, those golden eyes following you with an intensity that makes your dead heart flutter. when she finally approaches you again, her flirting is clumsier but endearing, and you find yourself charmed by this baby wolf despite yourself.

♱ “it’s good to meet you under proper circumstances, vi,” you say and her eyes shine at her name.

♱ your "guidance" begins with teaching her to hunt properly, but she always seems to know exactly where to find her prey. you chalk it up to natural instinct until you notice how the other wolves defer to her in passing. still, the way she looks at you with those eager eyes makes you forget your suspicions.

♱ quiet moments become your undoing - the way she brings you still-warm blood in crystal glasses, how she curls around you on cold mornings like you're pack. you find yourself sharing centuries of secrets, and she listens with an ancient patience that should have been your first clue.

♱ the first time she takes you to her territory, deep in the woods where the trees whisper ancient songs, you feel the power thrumming through the earth. she presses you against the bark and holds you as you’re ravaged by the first feel of the werewolf bond. you let her. her hands leave bruises that heal too quickly.

♱ you convince yourself it's only in your head, her unwavering attention, just the mental thrill of forbidden fruit. but then she starts leaving little gifts where only you'll find them - a baby blue ribbon for your throat or hair, a wolf's tooth on a golden chain. each token makes your dead heart ache with something you dare not name.

♱ but the world cannot allow you peace. the tension between covens and packs grows thicker than old blood. you see it in the way your kind bare their fangs at passing wolves, in how the wolves' eyes gleam with barely contained violence in return.

♱ still, you meet her in secret, pretending the world isn't fracturing around you.

♱ when the council announces the marriage alliances, you volunteer quickly - anything to make living easier for her. she is young, has so much ahead of her. you arrive at court in your finest blacks, ready to do your duty. then you see her standing among the pack leaders, power radiating from her like the sun.

♱ it's when, in the middle of this supernatural court, that someone addresses her as "heir apparent" and your world tilts on its axis. the realization hits like a stake to the heart.

♱ vi, heir to the most powerful pack in the territory, had been letting you believe she was some untrained pup. the way you’ve been treating her is deeply disgraceful. you can feel her eyes burning into you as you swear your agreement to whatever contract, make your excuses, and flee under the pretense of preparing for the following diplomatic talks.

♱ your pride wounded, you avoid her for days that stretch into weeks. but she's persistent - leaving gifts at your door, handwritten notes that smell of earth and pine. your resolve weakens with each gesture, even as you try to stay angry

♱ she finds you anyway, because of course she does. she corners you in your own haven, and there's nothing puppy-like about her now. her power fills the room like smoke, making your knees weak. "enough games," she orders, and when she kisses you this time, there's no pretense of submission.

♱ "i know i withheld, but i only wanted to keep this.” you say nothing, raise a hand to sound the servants bell. she grasps your fingers, holds your hand. “i know you’re upset, but did you really think i'd let them marry you off to some other wolf?" she’s walking you forward, backing you against the library shelves.

♱ "i've been working for months to position myself as the logical choice for this alliance." her laugh is dark and rich against your throat. “even brought up the damn idea myself.”

♱ “i wasn’t listening,” you finally say. “i only answered to leave faster. to be less humiliated.” she softens at that.

♱ "that wasn’t ever the intention, my love.” you look away. “but did you really think i was some newborn pup?" she whispers against your throat, teeth grazing your skin. "i've been alpha-in-training since before you noticed your first gray hair, little bat."

♱ "all those nights at the fights," she continues, "watching you try to hide your interest from your brother, from everyone. knowing you thought you were being so careful with the naïve little wolf." her hands grip your hips possessively. "when really, i was just waiting for the perfect moment to claim what's mine.”

♱ the way she manhandles you onto your own bed leaves no doubt about who's really in charge.

♱ "my sweet girl," she groans as she marks your throat, your chest, your thighs. "watching you try to show me how to track when i could smell your desire from miles away. how to fight when i've led warriors. but gods, the way you touched me like i was new to this world…"

♱ she bullies her fingers into you, milks you until you cry. after, her mouth finds your cunt and she eats of you—slurping so loudly that you cover your face with embarrassment. she only grins, laps at you harder. you white out as she orders you to cum again.

♱ and so the war that threatened to tear your worlds apart becomes the very thing that lets you keep her. your nights are filled with new lessons now - how her pack honors the old ways, how the moon-song flows through her bloodline. in public, you play the part of diplomatic necessity. in private, she follows your body like law until your weeping and can barely stay up.

♱ she returns from hunts, blood-drunk and fierce but still gentle as she pulls you close. you think that perhaps being prey wasn’t the worst thing. this was your way of finally belonging to something wild and true.

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sourcherryandsprinkles · 8 months ago

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Hi! My request is Aemond x reader based on the first episode of season 2. When Blood and Cheese enter Aemond’s room, they find his wife there instead. She resists them, fighting for her life and is able to harm one of them. Aemond arrives and strikes one with his sword, while the other is after executed by Vhagar. Once he sees her on the ground, he runs to check on her and she crumbles into his arms. Aemond is shocked at first, not used to physical touch. This ignites a feeling of great protectness towards reader he didn’t know he had and decides to gift her a knife in case she ever need to defend herself. Hope you enjoyed it ❤️

I could have gone very gore and violent with this one (I'm a horror movie girl), but decided against it as it can be triggering for some

Warnings: violence, blood & cheese, protective!Aemond

my taglists are here + you can send requests here at any time

—

The castle had turned quiet as night fell outside. You undid the braids from your hair, placing each pins on your vanity, before disrobing and replacing your dress with a light nightgown. Aemond had promised he would be joining you shortly, having business to finish with Ser Criston in the drawing chamber.

You reached behind your neck to unclasp your necklace, but it seemed to have gotten caught in your hair. A sigh left your lips. You tried again, but were unsuccessful.

Just then, the door of your chambers opened — Aemond was there.

You stepped out of the bathing chamber, seeking your husband’s help. ‘’Could you help me with my necklace? It seems to be caught in my hair—’’

Air caught in your throat when you saw a man you had never seen before stuffing his pockets with gold pieces he found on a table. Before you could ask who he was — or scream —, another grabbed you from the back and pressed a blade against your neck. You froze in his hold.

‘’Cheese,’’ the man behind you said, pressing the blade harder and cutting your skin.

Cheese, who was stealing, glanced at his friend, confused. ‘’Who the fuck is she?’’

‘’She is the one-eyed prince’s lady, Cheese.’’ He laughed maliciously, pressing the blade against your neck whilst pulling at your hair to expose your neck. ‘’If you scream, I’ll slice your neck.’’

Terror shot through you.

‘’A son for a son, he said,’’ reminded the other one. ‘’Does she look like a fucking son to you?’’

‘’I-I have a necklace. It’s of great value,’’ you offered, your voice trembling.

Your aggressor’s grip tightened, his breath hot and foul against your ear. ‘’You think we’re here for trinkets, woman?’’ he sneered. ‘’We’re here for blood.’’

‘’Where is the one-eyed prince?’’ Cheese asked, ripping your necklace from your neck anyway.

Who were these men, and why did they want your husband?

‘’He…he is not here,’’ you stammered, trying to think of a way to get yourself out of Blood’s grip.

You knew there was a dagger hidden in the bedside table. Aemond kept it there in case he needed to defend himself in the middle of the night and couldn’t get to his sword. But there was no way of grabbing it without the two men seeing through your plan.

‘’Would you like more jewelry? Or gold pieces?’’

The chances of your plan working were very slim, but if you didn’t do anything, your survival was almost impossible. You were not valuable to them. You were just the wife.

Blood didn’t seem interested in money, but Cheese's eyes gleamed with greed. Maybe he would take your offerings, and you could fetch the dagger.

Cheese stepped closer, considering your offer. ‘’Jewelry? Gold?’’ He grinned, glancing at Blood.

‘’Yes. I can get them for you…if your friend releases me.’’

Blood grunted and reluctantly released you.

You moved towards the bedside table, feeling wetness drip down your neck. Luckily, the cut was not deep. You opened the drawer, feeling the two men’s eyes on you, ready to pounce if you tried to escape. First, you pulled out a few pieces of gold, and made sure Cheese could see them. Then, you reached for the dagger, your fingers closing tightly around the hilt.

You thought your plan had worked, but Blood saw the blade and lunged at you, pinning you against the wall.

‘’Uh uh,’’ he said, madness in his eyes as he raised his other hand to press his blade against your neck again. ‘’What were you trying to do?’’

You said nothing. Blood’s hand on your sternum was making it difficult to breathe.

Now that you made him mad, your life was hanging by a thread. So you kept eye contact and blindly drove Aemond’s dagger into his side. Blood gasped, eyes wide with shock, before letting go of you and collapsing to the floor.

‘’Ahh! Fucking cunt!’’

You got away from him, but Cheese charged in turn.

Before he could get to you, the door opened and Aemond entered the room. He instantly noticed the presence of two strangers and his terrified wife, rage flaring within him. Who were these men? How did they get in? What were their intentions? Those questions and more ran through his mind, but he couldn’t even begin to find the answers right now.

Aemond’s jaw clenched in anger as he reached for his sword. It was a silent, swift and deadly movement that echoed through the room.

Having heard the door, Cheese turned, his eyes widening in surprise when seeing the prince, but it was too late. Aemond’s sword struck with precision, piercing through Cheese’s chest in one swift motion. The thief gasped, blood bubbling at his lips as he collapsed to the floor, lifeless.

Aemond didn’t bother to look at Cheese for even a second. He knew he was dead. He stepped over the body of the thief and came closer to you. The thought that these men — these thieves — had broken into your chambers and touched you. Rage was pumping through his veins, but he needed to make sure you were alright.

He marched over to you, his eye fixated on your neck where the cut was. When his arm touched you, the dagger you were holding clattered on the floor as you crumbled into Aemond’s arms. He caught you, his body becoming stiff from the physical contact.

Your hands clutched at Aemond, refusing to let go of him, shaken and traumatized from the attack. ‘’They were here for you,’’ you mumbled against this chest as tears of relief fell from your eyes.

Aemond furrowed his eyebrows in confusion. For him?

From the corner of his eye, he saw Blood’s body move on the floor and his grip on you tightened slightly. ‘’Let’s get out of here. I must alert the guards and my brother.’’

For weeks, you refused to be left alone in your chambers, scared more rat catchers would break in. To ensure your protection, Aemond had a guard standing outside the door at all times. He never wanted you to be hurt because of him again.

For extra protection, Aemond sat you down gently and presented you with a velvet-lined box. ‘’I had this made for you by our best blacksmith,’’ he said, opening the box to reveal a dagger with dragon scales intricately wrapped around the handle and a sapphire stone set in the hilt.

It looked expensive and exquisitely crafted.

Your fingers traced the scales gently. “It’s beautiful, Aemond. You…you had this made for me?”

‘’Yes,’’ he confirmed, watching you as you examined the dagger. ‘’I wanted you to have something to defend yourself with, should anything like that ever happen again.’’

Flashes of that horrific night coursed your mind. Cheese had died on the scene, his lung pierced by Aemond’s sword. Blood was imprisoned and burned by Vhagar two days after he was found in the tunnels of the Keep.

Aemond moved your hair behind your shoulder, revealing the scarring cuts from Blood’s knife. Guilt filled his stomach. He was your husband, he was supposed to protect you. It was his duty. ‘’I should have been there to protect you.’’

‘’You can’t always be there to protect me. I should have locked the door—’’

‘’None of this was your fault,’’ Aemond said firmly. ‘’I refuse to let you think that. Whoever paid these fucking rats is at fault. Not you.’’

—

House of the dragon taglist: @khaleesihavilliard @domoron @ididliquorice @lover-of-helios @lover-of-helios @shine101 @tanyaherondale@mikariell95 @serrendiipty @lantsovheiress @gilliananderfuckme @shine101 @tetgod @clayzayden@memeorydotcom @tnu-ree @futuregws @blackravena @winxschester @mysteriouslydelightfulchaos @xxlaynaxx @secretsthathauntus @pilarxxxaguayo @emmavan39 @stargaryenx @erylilly @bbblackmamba @rainedrop97 @dreamer087 @gothicgay14 @ashlatano7567 @superkittywonderland @justaproudslytherpuff @evesolstice @buckysmainhxe @padfootsvixen @scarletmeii @evesolstice @dkathl @kaywsworld @tetgod @padfootsvixen @domoron @weird-addiction @angeliod @xjennyx2 @adaydreamaway08 @mymultiveres @secretsthathauntus @puffycreamcakes @thirsty4nonlivingmen @naty-1001 @katiepie67 @moshpot24x @hc-geralt-23 @lovelynerdytraveler @saturn-sas @zgzgh @sssjuico10 @tabloidteen @timetoten @deekaag @wondxrgurl @aerangi @strmborns @astridyoo15 @daemonslittlebitch @queenbeestuffs @severewobblerlightdragon @agentstarkid @msliz @vane1999-blog @fairyfolkloresposts @todaywasafairytale07 @otomaniac @zgzgzh @thebeardedmoon @golden-library @kikyrizuki @hnslchw @camy85 @winxschester @armstrongscommentsection @withfireandbl00d @randomstory56 @JudgmentDays-Girl @darylandbethfanforever9 @darylandbethfanforever9 @aegonswife @dakotapaigelove @jays-bullshit

All and more taglist: @kenqki@hawkegfs@gillybear17@black-rose-29@fudge13@cece05@laylasbunbunny@gemofthenight@beautyb1ade@mellabella101 @vxnity713 @bisexualgirlsblog@queenofslytherin889 @thatbxtchesblog @softb-tterfly @ethanlandrycanbreakmyheart @xyzstar @graceberman3 @mikeyspinkcup @jackierose902109 @daisydark @laurasdrey @mischieftom @fanatic4niall @peterholland04 @idkwhattonamethisblogs @lexasaurs634 @notasadgirlipromise @zoeynicolas @thejuleshypothesis @multi-fandom-bi-bitch @lexasaurs634 @notasadgirlipromise @thejuleshypothesis @katherinejess @rafesgirlstuff @lafleshlumpeater @iamluminosity @Anouknani-2305 @books0fever @papichulo120627 @qardasngan @ghostlyvoidydragon @M0rgans1nterlud3 @dahlia-blossom21

#house of the dragon #aemond targaryen #aemond targaryen x reader #aemond x reader #hotd aemond #aemond targaryen imagine #house of the dragon imagine

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gguk-n · 8 months ago

Text

The Exception (Max Verstappen x Reader)

Summary- 4 times Max let y/n get away with whatever she wanted and 1 time he didn't.

I just have so much love for maxie and I wanna show it so it came out as this. Hope you like it!! I hope maxie is only loved tbh

Max was very young when he had moved to a Netherland. If someone asked him when it was, he'd probably never be able to tell. But he could tell you about the annoying neighbours he had growing up. Yes, he did spend most of his time karting and didn't have the time at home or in school like normal kids his age would but the fleeting moments spent at that house in Netherland left behind fond memories that he can look back and only because of a certain little girl with chubby cheeks and two identical braids on either side of her head who had made quite a place in his life. Jos wasn't very happy with Max wasting his time entertaining those kids but he couldn't do much when the children's father was a tall bulky man who could take Jos out in one punch, insisted on letting the kids play together. The tall man had 3 kids Max noticed when he had dinner at their place for the first time; the oldest being the girl who we mentioned before followed by 2 younger brothers who seemed to love karting. They asked Max so many questions about it that they got scolded by their mother for ruining dinner for everyone but Max thought was cute because the youngest couldn't even pronounce karting but had a lot to say. Every time he would spend time with his neighbours, it would always be with the 2 young boys who wanted to learn how to kart better and become like Max like the younger one put it. Even now it makes Max laugh reminiscing about those days. They never really made it professionally though.

2008

Max and the 2 boys were playing around when their older sister asked if they would like to join her for a session of afternoon tea with Mr Whale and Miss Teapot. The brothers made a face of disgust and ran away from her, dejected she turned around when Max agreed. Her face lit up like a Christmas tree. She quickly dragged him into her room and had him sit next to Mr Longneck, the giraffe. An hour later Max was found in Y/N's room with two pigtails if you could call them that on the top of his head, a tiara and the prettiest necklace Y/N owned. Looking at himself in the mirror he couldn't help but laugh. Y/N on the contrary looked pleased with her handy work. She thanked him for being a good and compliant customer and to come back again if he ever wanted to look pretty. It wasn't easy to get Max to do what you wanted except he couldn't say no to her puppy eyes. She even gave him a drawing of him in his kart saying that it would bring him good luck since she couldn't be there and placed her favourite bracelet on his hand.

If Y/N was to ask him about the bracelet, Max would say he lost it as soon as she gave it to him, but deep down in the watch drawer of Max's Monaco apartment sat a brightly neon pink bracelet with Y/N’s initials.

2014

Y/N had started highschool and remained the annoying self Max had come to love. Her over the top demeanor and affection to screaming at the top of her lungs whenever she spotted Max never failed to make him smile. Having joined Formula one this year, meant Max was way to busy to be home but Y/N seemed to never forget to text him regularly. She would ask him to get autographs of other drivers or souvenirs from different countries. It was a regular race weekend when Y/N texted Max asking him to explain how the engine in a go kart worked. In a split second Max was on call with her asking "why do you need that?" to which she replied "I'm doing a project on that. I even made a small scale replica of your kart Look here!!!" She exclaimed. "I just need to shrink you and place you inside it" Y/N laughed. Max told her not to worry and that he would text her the details in a hour or so. Actually it took a couple hours and Y/N was starting to get agitated and called him back. Max replied with a almost done and smiled at her. He had literally written her entire report for her and sent it to review. Y/N almost screamed when she saw the assignment. She thanked Maxie for doing this for her and that she owed him her life. Max was just happy to be of help, he told himself more than he told her because who stays up till 5 in the morning on a race weekend doing someone else’s project.

He kept the small scale replica of his Kart on the mantle above the fireplace if anyone wanted to know what happened to the kart.

2018

Y/N was freshly 18, so getting drunk was the only thing on her agenda. On a night out, she was so drunk that no one could get her to move because she wanted her Maxie and would only leave with Maxie, she enunciated. Her friend was able to open up Y/N phone and thankfully find a Maxie in her favourite contacts. She called the number to be met with a groggy but worried voice. "Hi! This is Y/N's friend Kate speaking. Am I speaking with a....maxie?" she said tentatively. Max let out a sigh while rubbing his eyes, "Yes, this is Max speaking." "Can you come pick Y/N up?" She asked hesitantly followed by, "She won't leave with anyone but you apparently." Max was already out of bed and near the door when he said "I'll be there in 10, where are you guys at?" She sent him the location and waited for 'maxie'. Nothing could've prepared them for this. They had thought Maxie was a friend, a boyfriend maybe even a neighbour; they did not think Maxie was Max Verstappen, F1 driver for Redbull racing. He apologised for the inconvenience and crouched down to Y/N level who seemed to have realised that he was here. She cupped his cheeks and giggled while turning his head to the crowd of people standing, "Look, this is my Maxie." Hearing Y/N say my maxie made his heart beat faster then it should've, he admits but that girl had a tight hold on his heart and he couldn't really do much about it. She stood up and wrapped her arms around Max asking him to carry her since her legs felt like mush. Max gladly carried her back to his car, as he fastened her seat belt she asked him to take her back to his place since her parents would probably disown her if she come in drunk for the 6th time this week. Max looked shocked and asked her to stop drinking so much since it wasn't good for her. All Y/N could mumble was that the alcohol made the pain in her heart bearable. This broke Max's heart. Who would dare hurt his precious little angel, if he met that guy he was so dead, Max thought. Little did he know that guy was the one driving her back home.

Y/N was a nuisance when drunk, she reminded him of the little girl he had befriended when he moved here. She wouldn't listen to anything he asked her to do that night until he agreed to let her do make up on him which he would gladly agree to, real or not.

2022

Y/N had recently graduated and was looking for a place to stay. It was one of those nights after a fruitless apartment hunt Y/N facetimed Max. He looked very comfortable in his sim racing chair in his luxurious apartment in Monaco having moved recently. "Maxie" the younger girl sighed. "Meisje, what's the problem?" came a concerned voice. "I can't seem to find a decent apartment, I've been at it for months now." she said. Max offered to help her find the right place and Y/N started listing out all the things she wanted in her apartment which was sounding a lot like Max current apartment which was true, that was Y/N's dream apartment currently; after seeing it a couple months ago when she had visited him as a housewarming surprise and even held a party for him. "You can move to Monaco, the house you're looking for is here" Max said. After a long pause Y/N replied with a chuckle, "I don't make formula 1 money. I'm too broke to afford a house here. In Monaco, I'd have to sell my organs to afford a place there." As if it was the most obvious thing, Max offered her to stay at his place and look for a job here.

The allure of Monaco was too much and Y/N was able to thankfully find a job there so that she wouldn't be completely dependent on Max which he wouldn't have minded. Max never let her pay rent, he'd always tell her to cook good food and that was rent sorted.

2023

It was the night of the Abu Dhabi grand prix. Max had just won his third WDC so him and his friends decided to go out to celebrate, Y/N included. The night carried on as usual, Max not touching much of the alcohol since Y/N decided to down drinks like a thirsty person. She was now in the middle of the dance floor making herself familiar with Lando's crotch, much to Max's dismay. He made his way to her and led her away from Lando while she shouted at him to let her go. They were now stood in the quieter part of the club but you could still hear the music blasting. Y/N looked visibly annoyed at being taken away from the dance floor. "You are drunk, you'll regret it tomorrow." Max said. "That's for sober me to deal with. Drunk me just wants to forget about everything and having an eventful night with a guy would do just the trick." she said. Max winced at the words and held her arms so that she could steady herself. "I don't wanna feel like this," was this the alcohol giving her the confidence, "the guy I've been in love with for ages can't seem to see me as a woman. I've been trying for years now. If I walked out naked, I'm sure he wouldn't even be phased." she sounded dejected. "Any guy would want you, Meisje." Max whispered. "But not the one I do" she stepped closer, enough that their breaths mingled. The woman in front of him was driving Max mad, had she not been drunk he would've shown her how much any man would want her. She wrapped her arms around his neck and looked into his eyes before saying, "He's so dumb, can't even see the woman in front of him." The statement felt oddly targeted. "You know, he's a 3 time world drivers champion and he doesn't even get that I love him so much." she said while looking into his eyes. "You're in love with me?" Max exclaimed. "I have been since the day you let me make pigtails on your hair but thanks for realising now." she replied sarcastically. "You're drunk, you don't know what your saying" Max replied. "Well, sober me would never tell you this but I love you Max Verstappen. So much that you make my heart beat faster and my chest swell when you look at me. I think about marrying you and having a family with you, but you think I'm joking." she declared. Max couldn't help but smiled, "Tell me all of this in the morning when you're sober so that I can tell you that I love you too schat and then I can finally kiss you." "You can kiss me now" Y/N made a kissy face and eagerly leaned in. Max shook his head and carried her back to the hotel room.

Y/N indeed remembered everything and the first thing she did even though she wreaked of alcohol was finally kiss those soft pink lips.

this is just brain rot at this point. hope you liked it

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lamiadrowned · 2 months ago

Text

*:･ﾟ✧ where everything is good act I

jinx x fem!reader | sfw

it’s finally here! this is only part one ;) for some background, ekko is the reader’s brother, it’s up to you whether that’s biological or not. i’m going to tag everyone who commented on the post i made about this. comment if you want to be added or removed from the tag list for the following chapters!

@darialikesgirls @t-wylia @kaorusssgf @brocoliisscared @bostkon @starkonaa @b3autyist3rror @njm63522 @mooooonnnzz @iluvcartmansfarts @ihatethis222 @cuti3pi5 @goby10 @ladysplained @vivispace @kissyslut @katethejinxwife @nanajustnana-a

you woke with a deafening ringing in your ears and a steadily growing ache behind your eyes.

did you ever even fall asleep? you can’t remember that, but oddly enough, the last thing you’re able to recall is the feeling of being stretched and across time itself.

that’s right. it’s all coming back to you now.

this headache began when you and ekko discovered that the firelight tree was being, for lack of a better word, altered by something. you quickly brought your findings to heimerdinger– a few leaves, discolored to a shade that resembled an oil spill, something that nature could not create on its own. the exiled professor then snuck you and your brother through a maze of vents into some lab, where you were promptly caught by his former pupil, jayce. not exactly a first impression to be proud of, but the four of you found the root cause somewhat quickly; a wild rune. something that jayce had described to you as best he could– something natural, and equally unpredictable.

so unpredictable, a simple touch of the brunette’s hand sent the four of you into a state of psychedelic frequencies and colors taking kaleidoscopic forms, colors you didn’t even know existed.

from the looks of it, you’re now in a perfectly normal bed in a perfectly normal room. is reality finally yours again?

as of right now, reality is the least of your concern; you aren’t sure whose room this is. you rub the sleep from your eyes and slowly sit up, still feeling dizzied and somewhat sore, as if you’d just gotten off a rollercoaster. without wasting a second, you do your best to focus your sight and examine your surroundings, which mostly include the paintings and drawings that line the walls. this delivers a sobering shock to your system.

a vast majority of them are jinx.

a much different version of her, you notice. her blue hair is much shorter, those signature braids nowhere to be found. she has a big smile on her face in each one of them. from what you can see, she looks… happy. clean, and pure. nothing like the jinx you know, but everything like the powder you grew up with. quite frankly, it scares the daylights out of you.

“what the fuck?” you whisper aloud.

then, you feel a movement. one that isn’t caused by you. you whip your head around to see that, shockingly, somebody had been laying in this bed right next to you. they seem to be sleeping, head and body totally covered by a plush comforter that’s clearly handmade. your eyebrows furrow, trying to make sense of the situation before scaring yourself even further.

it’s most likely ekko. perhaps you’d both fainted after your encounter with the wild rune, and heimerdinger was kind enough to find somewhere comfortable for you to sleep.

but if so, what’s the big idea with the paintings? is it to mock you, to give you a glimpse of a perfect reality that’s just out of reach? feeling a rapid stream of anger replace the blood in your veins, you reach down to grab the comforter and rip it away from your brother to disrupt his slumber.

that anger turns to confusion in an instant.

it isn’t your brother.

it’s… well, you have no idea who that is.

it isn’t jinx. she looks like jinx, she even smells like jinx, but it isn’t her. it can’t be.

she looks all too peaceful, her head rested on the pillow with her big eyes shut, sleeping undisturbed in a state of pure tranquility. you lean forward to examine this woman more closely, to look for any defining characteristics that jinx has– all of which, you find in five seconds flat. the few freckles that line her nose, the small birthmark on her left shoulder, the slight gap between her two front teeth. the only thing she’s missing is her unnaturally long blue hair. it’s still blue, of course, but it’s cut to the length of her chin and there isn’t a braid in sight. you shake your head in disbelief. it’s the girl from the paintings.

just then, her eyes flutter open.

her silvery blue orbs are yet another reminder of how mutated this reality seems to be. they aren’t bright pink, implying that the familiar body lying next to you is not locked and loaded with shimmer and a constant drug-induced rage. the last time you saw her natural eye color was before she left you.

the girl’s eyes land on you and a small smile appears on her slightly chapped lips. “morning,” she mumbles. you would recognize that voice from anywhere.

there are only two feelings that fight for control over your next course of action– elation, and panic.

on one hand, everything you’ve ever wanted is right here with you. the love of your life without the pain that consumed her, a version of her that didn’t feel the need to abandon you for your own safety.

on the other hand, you’ve woken up in an illusive reality that you simply don’t belong in.

“no. no, this isn’t right,” you whisper, slightly moving back to create some distance between you and this girl. had ekko woken up in this world as well? what about jayce and heimerdinger? it would make more sense that this is all a really weird, really lucid dream, but you need to think realistically. nothing in your life has ever made much sense.

“hm?” she hums in confusion, blinking the sleep from her tired eyes.

there’s no way for you to explain your conundrum to her, so you don’t even attempt to. you just rush out of bed and head towards the door. “i need to… take a walk.”

“alright,” she rolls over, “i’m goin’ back to sleep, then.”

within the next few minutes, you find yourself walking into the only familiar place you can find– the last drop. the place you and ekko practically grew up, even though it’s nothing like you remember it.

everything is bright and clean, an eerily perfect adaptation of the place that was once so conventional to the standards of zaun. you don’t get much time to look around, though, as you feel an hand wrap around your wrist and pull you through the backdoor into an alleyway. you’re relieved to see that the culprit is your brother– also a version of him you’d never seen, but you could tell he was just as distressed as you. heimerdinger is there, too. he seems… well, he seems calm, which has always been his natural state.

“this is bad.” you place your hands on your head. “this is really fucking bad. how did we even–”

“there’s no need for the all the panic, i can assure you. i had a feeling you two would join me eventually.” heimerdinger says, but his attempt at soothing you only angers you more.

“eventually? how long have you been here?” you point an accusatory finger at him.

ekko takes a seat on the ground, propping himself up against the wall with a few deep breaths. he looks sick to his stomach. in any other circumstance, you’d rush to his aid, but you have much more pressing issues at hand. the professor nods in acknowledgment of your question. “one thousand, one hundred and twenty-eight days, six hours, and… twenty minutes.” he answers. “now, i’ll tell you what i told ekko here– we have been… how exactly did i put it?”

“scattered across time.” your brother mumbles while rubbing his eyes. “something about being dislodged from our proverbial reality.”

“that’s right!” heimerdinger snaps his fingers. “think of it as a parallel dimension; a showcase of what could have occurred, and what could have not occurred. a reality objectively opposed to the one that the three of us belong in.”

“and it’s because of the wild rune?” you wonder. heimerdinger nods affirmatively. “so, where’s jayce? if he’s here, too, he would be in piltover, right? we have to go find him.”

ekko and the professor share a knowing glance, before ekko looks up at you with a shrug. “apparently, the anomaly reacted differently to him. there’s a good chance he ended up somewhere else.”

“somewhere else, like a different reality? how many fucking realities can there be?!” you throw your hands up in frustration.

“the sheer amount of realities is beyond any of our comprehensions.” heimerdinger assures you, never one to be phased by the temper you get when you’re stressed. “i’d advise you not to rack your brain in attempt to understand it. in all my years, i have not yet come close to–”

“i woke up next to jinx.” you cut him off.

“what?” they both say, voices lapping over each other. ekko is the first to question you. “what do you mean?” he stands up and places his hands on his hips.

“i mean, i woke up in a bed, and jinx was asleep next to me, except it wasn’t really jinx. she was too… she was– fuck, i don’t know!” you huff.

“powder.” he says.

you tilt your head. he knows that name is forbidden around you. “what did you just say?”

“it wouldn’t be jinx. in this place, she’s gotta be powder.” he tells you. “listen, vander is alive here. silco? he’s alive. even… even benzo.” your eyes widen at this. “if they’re all still here in this reality, jinx would’ve never had any reason to become jinx like she did in ours.” he explains, watching the distant expression on your face morph into a scowl.

this flood of information hits you in the heart like a freight train. alive? how could any of these people be alive? you shake your head dismissively. “cut it the fuck out, ekko.”

“you’re not listening!” he raises his voice. “i know it’s a lot to take in, but you need to get it through your head that i’m in the exact same boat as you.”

though his outburst is unexpected, it’s certainly called for. you were so caught up in your own twisted feelings, you likely haven’t picked up much of the information you’ve been given these past few minutes. “okay. i’m sorry.” you sigh in surrender.

ekko takes a deep, grounding breath. only you could get him this riled up, but he knows better than to be upset with you. he’s still processing it all, too. “it’s fine. i get it, alright? this is just as confusing for me.”

“if i may,” heimerdinger takes a step toward the two of you, “i don’t mean to infringe on the ever-common rivalry between siblings, but ekko is right. benzo is here, y/n. vander, too. wouldn’t you like to see them?”

part of you almost wants to say no, but your mouth subconsciously moves quicker than your brain. “where are they?”

ekko leads you inside, muttering a quiet reminder to ‘keep it together’, though he knows he can’t fault you for the tears that collect in the brims of your eyes when they land on benzo– who just so happens to be sitting at the bar, chatting with vander. they both look so much different than you remember, but somehow the exact same. you immediately rush towards him, the only father figure you’ve ever known, and throw your arms around his broad shoulders.

he grunts in surprise, and you bury your face in his chest in attempt to hide your expression. “woah, seems like my crew of two’s come down with a case of the cuddlies today!” his boisterous voice fills your ears and it sends yet another wave of emotion through you. it’s been so long since you’d heard his voice, and not to mention, you’d almost had a nervous breakdown a few months ago when you realized you couldn’t exactly remember many of the traits that defined him– what he smelled like, the color of his eyes, how magical his presence was, always there to brighten up your day as a child.

regardless, you remind yourself to play it cool. it’s obvious that no one who belongs in this reality has any idea that you don’t. “what’s with the two of you today? buttering me up to ask a favor i’ll say no to?” he jokes.

“sorry, benzo,” you mumble, blinking the tears from your eyes before pulling away. “just had a bad dream last night.”

“you’re kidding! so did this fellow,” he pats ekko’s shoulder, then turns to vander. “sibling telepathy. it’s a thing, i’m telling ya.”

“hey, it’s not like you’re not getting any complaints from this big teddy bear.” vander chimes in, roughly patting benzo’s shoulder. “oh, y/n– any chance you’ve seen powder today? she told me she was spending the night with you.”

you clench your jaw. powder, that’s right. that would be her name here. “yeah. yeah, she did. i let her sleep in.” you confirm.

“ah, alright.” he nods with a chuckle. “i don’t mean to be nosy, but you know how i get.”

it’s refreshing to know that vander, despite all of the jarring differences in this timeline, is the same as he ever was. overprotective, and unwilling to admit it.

“now, it’s none of my business, but i’m holding out hope that the two of you got enough sleep. you too, ekko. we’re gonna need all the help we can get setting up tonight, right, vander?” benzo points at you, then ekko.

“uh, setting up for what, exactly?” ekko asks. the two of you share a confused glance.

benzo stares at him like he’s grown two heads. “oh, you know, just the party you two steel-handlers have been raving about the entire week! you kids find brand new ways to confuse me every day, i swear it.”

heimerdinger, clearly sensing your inability to play this off, decides to step in. “ah, yes. the ‘innovator’s competition’. i’m sure it will be a fantastic display of the capabilities of these young minds!” he beams.

“right.” you nod in false remembrance, willing ekko to do the same. “the innovator’s competition. i’m all ready. are you?” you look at your brother with a raised eyebrow.

he stalls for a moment, but continues to pick up the topic seamlessly. your conversational skills have never been half as good as his. “ready as i’ll ever be.” he barely musters a smile.

“there’s my girl!” vander suddenly cuts through the discussion, motioning toward the front door. you turn around to see the girl in question; powder.

her striking blue hair is up in two buns on her head, topped off with choppy bangs and a streak of pink. that reminds you– is violet here? you can imagine her with a matching blue streak of hair. “good morning, old man. and good morning to you, too.” powder wraps an arm around your shoulder, leaning in close to your ear. “so… you left me in a rush this morning to come kick it with the elders?” she teases, causing benzo and vander to jokingly grumble in disapproval. her other arm raises to wrap around your back, and she steps directly in front of you. she looks smitten.

ekko notices how tense you’ve become with her arrival, and he looks to heimerdinger, as if searching for permission to act– but the professor shakes his head. “you must not infringe on such a necessary process. you will both need to adjust one way or another, no matter how difficult the learning curve may be.” he whispers.

you take a quick glance to see that vander and benzo have become involved in their own conversation, then hesitantly look back at powder. “s-sorry,” you shake your head, “it was feeling stuffy in there, y’know?”

“could’ve opened a window.” she shrugs.

you scan her face, noting all the visible differences between this girl and the one you lost in your own reality. her cheeks are fuller. her skin is still pale, but not as ghastly, and there are much for freckles on her nose. she’s clearly getting more sunlight here. “you’re feeling clingy, huh?”

she takes your observation as nothing more than a tease, a quiet laugh erupting from her throat. “i mean, can you blame me? i like being with you. you know that.”

“yeah?” you wonder.

“yeah, smartass. speaking of which,” she finally takes a step back, “i was gonna go see vi. you wanna tag along?”

you blink. did violet move out? you have so many questions and you’re becoming anxious by the simple fact that you can’t ask them; the people here would likely think you’d gotten amnesia somehow. “yeah, i’ll come.” you tell her, then turn around to face ekko. “we’re gonna… go see vi. catch you later?”

he nods in recognition that he’d heard you, but he’s far too busy looking at benzo. watching him talk and laugh and sip his drink. you don’t miss the way heimerdinger’s eyebrows slightly raise, mouth opening as if he has something to tell you, but chooses to keep it to himself. you scrunch your nose at him. he just shakes his head. as helpful as he’s been in the time since you’ve met him, he also has his own special way of stressing you out– this time around, he’s clearly withholding information.

powder takes your hand in her own and leads you to her ‘room’, a place you’ve only been to a few times since she joined silco in your own reality. as expected, it’s totally different from the one you know, but you’re starting to get used to expecting the unexpected, so it isn’t much of a shock. it’s brighter, decorated with warmer colors that make it feel more like a living space rather than a dark, neon dungeon. does she share the space with violet? are they still as close as they once were?

“sorry it’s kind of a mess,” she motions with her head to a workbench which is piled with nuts, bolts, handheld tools, and crumpled blueprints. still an inventor, of course. you couldn’t see that changing in any reality. “i had so many ideas for the competition tonight, i can’t even remember what half of them were.”

you huff out a laugh. “it’s impressive, messy or not. where’s vi?”

she smiles, though she almost seems confused. “uh… in same place she always is, bonehead.”

you continue to follow behind her until you reach a curtained hideout, where you see multiple paintings of violet in which she can’t be more than fourteen years old. you stand and watch powder take a seat in front of the shrine, lighting a few sticks of incense with a quiet sigh.

it takes you longer than you’d rather admit to piece it all together.

she’s dead. how can she be dead?

feeling sick to your stomach, you hesitantly take a seat next to powder, who’s admiring the paintings before her. “i think a lot about what she would be like if she got to grow up.” she says.

you look over at her, feeling an immense type of sadness that you didn’t know a human could feel. you know the answer to that question. the least you could do is try to phrase it in a hypothetical way. “she would be so… strong. and brave. i don’t think her hair would change much, either.” you shrug. “i could see her getting a few piercings.”

“really?” powder raises an eyebrow. “what kind of piercings?”

“uh, you know… maybe her nose. some on her ears.” you shrug.

she nods, closing her eyes to visualize it in her head, then she laughs. “maybe. but she’d get into too many fights and probably get ‘em ripped out.”

you cringe and scrunch your nose at the thought. “yeah, probably.”

“i know vander misses her a lot. whenever he talks about her, he gets all emotional. it’s… weirdly heartwarming.” she says. “so, i try not to bring her up too often. but sometimes, he’ll come here with me to see her. every year on her birthday, too. like clockwork.”

“that’s sweet.” you reply. “he’s a family man to his core. always has been.”

powder nods in agreement with you. “he is.”

the two of you sit in comfortable silence for a bit, which gives you some time to look around. she’s even got a handmade doll of violet propped up on the table– eerily similar to the dolls she kept of mylo and claggor.

“what are you wearing to the party tonight?” she suddenly asks you.

you blink. “oh, um… i have no idea. i’m sure i’ll find something.” you answer, hoping this version of you has a somewhat good wardrobe, though you’re trying not to get your hopes up since you’re still in the sweatpants and tank top you woke up in. “what about you?”

“hm… i want to surprise you.” she grins.

you tilt your head. “is that code for ‘i also have no idea’?”

powder chuckles, gently hitting your arm with the back of her hand. “no! maybe! ugh, i don’t know. i want to make an entrance. show everyone i can clean up nice, y’know?“

“i get it.” you shrug. “no matter what you wear, i’m sure you’ll look good.”

“just good?” she questions in a tone that borders on flirtatious, causing you to clench your jaw a bit. it’s painfully familiar.

“great,” you correct yourself as smoothly as you can manage. “better than great.”

with an approving hum, she takes your hand into her own, maintaining an overwhelmingly intimate eye contact when she brings your hand to her mouth and presses a kiss to the back of it. “that’s better.”

every muscle in your body tenses up at the display of affection. it’s certainly an odd situation, one that heimerdinger couldn’t have possibly briefed you for– how to act natural when you’re getting everything you’ve ever wanted in a timeline that you don’t belong in. you know that you and ekko’s top priority needs to be finding a way back to where you came from. you know you can’t stay here.

that doesn’t stop you from getting a bit choked up in the midst of considering it.

powder seems to notice the way your bottom lip wobbles, the way you can hardly even look at her. she slowly pulls away from you. “woah, what’s with all the gloom? was it something i said?” she asks, sounding genuinely worried.

you shake your head. “no! no, of course not, i just…” you trail off, then suddenly stand up. “i’m sorry. i have to go talk to ekko.”

powder furrows her eyebrows in confusion, but ultimately decides not to question you. “m’kay. see you tonight?”

“y-yeah,” you say with a slight shudder in your voice, turning your back to walk away so that she doesn’t spot the tears running down your cheeks. “see you tonight.”

#arcane #arcane x reader #jinx #arcane jinx #jinx x reader #arcane ekko #ekko #arcane heimerdinger #heimerdinger

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