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skylarsblue · 1 year

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✦Incorrect C.o.D Quotes, AGAIN AGAIN✦

Ghost: Release me, woman. Fem!Y/N: …. *hugs him tighter* :3 Ghost, scared of intimacy: UNHAND ME!- -- (Comedic Death Mention) Someone: I shot you six times hOW ARE YOU ALIVE?! Y/N: Fool! The only one that’s gonna knock me off is ME! Price: *PANICKING*

-- Gaz: What did you do? Soap: ….suckdickonaccident Gaz: What? Soap: Sucked dick on accident! Gaz: HOW THE FUCK DO YOU SU-

-- Gaz: Here. We’ll put your phone on the aux- Y/N: NO DON’T- Speakers on full volume: FUCKFUCKFUCKMEUPANDCUTCUTCU- Price: JESUS BLOODY CHRIST *shuts off radio* Soap: *scratching the inside of his ear* Steamin’ Jesus- Y/N: I tried to warn you! Gaz: Who listens to Slipknot at 0900?! Ghost: *raises hand* Gaz: That’s- okay that’s fair. Soap: I’ve gone deaf. Y/N: You’re a bomb tech, it was gonna happen eventually. Soap: *middle finger* Price: *disappointed sigh* It’s too early for this-

-- (This one’s kinda sad but I couldn't stop thinkin' bout it-) Alejandro: You used to be nice…or did you never used to be? Valeria: … Alejandro: Oh god…maybe you never used to be…

-- Not a quote but if any of you have heard that audio that’s the names of the Princes of Hell overlayed on Funky Town, please imagine Soap & Y/N dancing to the Funky Town portion while Ghost sits there menacingly. Thank you.

-- (Depression joke) Y/N: Ahaaaa I’m soooo unwell. Price: Go to the psyche- Y/N: Ya know what it never was? That serious. It was never that serious- Price: Get your ass back here- Y/N: NEVER!-

-- König: I’ll keep all my emotions right here, and then one day, I’ll die. Horangi: No-

-- (Valeria has no color here, I ran out) Valeria: *eye roll* I am not trying to seduce you. Y/N, bi panicking: …. Valeria, but now smug: Would you like me to seduce you? Y/N: *strained wheeze & squeaky* Already achieved ma’am- Gaz: *listening to a mic implanted on Y/N* God damnit dON’T LET YOUR MOMMY ISSUES RUIN THIS MISSION!

-- (These next two have mental health jokes in’em) Y/N, hyper cleaning the base: AHAHA, yes! I’m finally feeling bett- ah, wait. I’m manic, and I’m hyper cleaning everything, ✨as a diversion✨. Price: P s y c h e . Y/N: Jokes on you, old man. I already have meds for this! …might need to up them though they feel like they’ve stopped working. Price: When did you start to feel they weren’t working? Y/N: Like three months ago. Price: PSYCHE Y/N: ASKING THEM QUESTIONS ABOUT MEDS ARE SCAAAARRYYY Price: YOU KILL MEN ALMOST EVERYDAY Y/N: Fair point. (Take ya meds)

-- Price: I don’t understand you- Y/N: Good! Means you’re probably mentally well. Price: I- Gaz: We really need to like- specify when you’re joking and when you’re serious, you’re gonna give him a heart attack.

-- Gaz: …Hm. Price: You’ve been staring at me for the past six minutes, what is it?Gaz: I think you have a grey hair. Price: Y/N, speeding in: WHICH IS TOTALLY FINE, IT’S BARELY EVEN THERE AND EVEN IF YOU WERE GOING GREY IT’D LOOK FANTASTIC ON YOU. Price: …would it? Y/N: Absolutely! …*thumps Gaz in the back of the head* Gaz: Ow-Uh yeah! Yeah! Actually I don’t even think it’s there, just the lighting. Price: Hm…alright. Y/N: Mhm! *death glare* Gaz: *mouthing* I’msosorry-

-- (Will someone please notice that I write Ghost as "Simon" when he's with Soap and they're being soft? It's intentional-) Soap: I’m not really sure what I’d do if I lost you… Simon: I know what I’d do. Soap: What? Simon: I’d find you.

-- Soap: I got my ankles microwaved. Ghost: X-rayed. Soap: They took my blood away for science! Ghost: Cholesterol tests. Soap: Si had his sinuses…removed? Ghost: Looked at. Soap: Some guy looked at my penis, touched it. That was weird. Ghost, cleaning blood off a knife: That guy wasn’t even a doctor.

-- Medic!Y/N: You think killing is hard? Try healing something. That is hard, that requires patience. Alejandro, watching them bandage his hand: Hm… Medic!Y/N: You can break something in two seconds. *vaguely motions to Ghost, then Price, then at a necklace Alejandro wears that came from Valeria* But it can take forever to fix it. Alejandro: …aye…well said.

-- Gaz: *being annoying and singing a song for the 10,000th time* Price: KYLE! Gaz: I’m watchin’ my tone, dunana. I ain’t talkin’ back, no, why? Cause I’ma get thrown, dunana-

-- Graves: You know, Ghost, real talk bro, you never say nothin’ when you’re around us. Why is that? Ghost: Cause I don’t fucking like you guys.

-- Enemy: I’m gonna send you to God. Y/N: God? I’m insulted you think I’d end up in Heaven. I work hard for my sins, thank you very much. Ghost: We are hostages right now, can you please not-

-- Valeria: And guess who gets to be my little helper.~ Y/N: It’s me, I’m the helper… Valeria: That’s right, you sure are.~ Alejandro: Alright that’s enough! Valeria: What? You don’t believe in positive affirmation?

-- Rudy: Me gustan los perros. Alejandro: Me gustas… Rudy: ….hm. Me gusta un hombre en el ejército. Alejandro: Aye? Rudy: Mhm. Alejandro: *chuckles* Me gusta mi mejor amigo. Rudy: Me gustas.

(This was poorly translated but listen, I tried for the gays)

-- Price: You actually were telling the truth. Valeria: I do that quite a lot, you people are always surprised.

-- Laswell: Don’t pull any of those stunts like you did last time. Fem!Y/N: I made an offering. Laswell: You dropped a dead mouse into that poor man’s lap. Fem!Y/N: Yes! Like a cat. Laswell: You are not a cat! Fem:Y/N: No…tragically, I am a woman.

-- Ghost: Some people are simply…better than others. Graves: You really think you’re that much better than me? Ghost: Oh I think we both know the answer to that.

(Needing to fake a date for a mission) Y/N, on the phone: Laswell, I don’t need help with dating. I’ve been on loads of dates! Y/N: *turns and whispers to Gaz* I’ve literally been on one.

-- Enemy: Think you can answer questions without the usual level of sarcasm? Y/N: If you can ask them without the usual level of stupid. Enemy: Where’s your captain and why hasn’t anyone been able to contact him? Y/N: I dunno, I’ve been here, haven’t seen him in days. Enemy: Is he drinking again? Y/N: What do you mean again? He never had to stop. Enemy: But he did have to slow down, is he drinking like he used to? Y/N: Alright, how bout this? Next time I see him, I’ll give’im the field sobriety test, okay? We’ll do the alphabet, start with F & end with U.

-- Graves: And that’s why I personally, don’t agree with your opinion. Soap: Okay, counter point- Graves: Valid argument? Soap: No. Pipebomb!

-- Gaz: Y/N: Gaz: Y/N: Y/N: I’ma instigate. Gaz, lightly pulling them back: nnnnoooooooooo-

-- Y/N: Eeraaawr >:3 Gaz: What sound is that? Y/N: A dyianosaur Gaz: A what? Y/N: Dianoswaur. Gaz: Make the sound again. Y/N: Uurraawer Gaz: Oh you talkin’ bout them things from ✨Jerressi PerAHck✨ Y/N: AHAH! Ghost: I’m gonna lose it. Soap: Hush yer mouth, it’s cute. Lighten up ya big log.

-- Ghost: I think I’ve finally had enough. Y/N, getting his antidepressants: I think you’re full of shit.

-- Medic!Y/N: C’mon, stick with me, Ghost. Ghost: Might be time to follow my call si-OH FUCKING HELL WHY Medic!Y/N: You listen here you Fuckin’ bastard, I’m gonna love the absolute shit out of you until you never make a joke like that again. And then, if you still do it, I’ll have the team smother, smother, you in affection. And if you STILL don’t get it, THEN I’m gonna whoop your ass. Shut your perfect fucking mouth, you got that, soldier?! Ghost: ….since when did you get scary? Medic!Y/N: Adrenalin keeps people alive and sometimes we run out of epipens, had to substitute somehow.

-- Price: Now, sergent, what would you rather be? A lion or a panda? Soap: Captain, I’m me. Why would I want to be anything else? Price: I’m not sure you realize how psychologically healthy that is.

-- Ghost, pissed off: Sometimes I can’t stand you. Y/N, while walking away: Then kneel! And while you’re down there, occupy your mouth, you’d do better down there, QUIET, anyway!! Ghost: I-…… Soap: Oooooo…. Gaz: I- I-…they have no fear. None. Absolutely no survival instinct, no self preservation. None!

-- (Younger Y/N as in like…mid-late twenties. Also, this one is long. I might honestly make a lil oneshot with this one and I welcome anyone else to do the same) Y/N: John… Price: I know, I know. You love me. You’ve said it a thousand times and it should just stick, I just…can’t help but think about how you’re so… Y/N: *snort* Out of your league? Price: To put it bluntly. Y/N: Well, regardless of where I rank? I still love you. I’m going to love you for a long time, you’re stuck with me, ya sweethearted bastard. Price, fondly: Ah Dear, whatever will I do. Y/N: Yeaaaah. Besides! Even if I wasn’t completely and utterly, disgustingly, in love with you? …you are way too good of a sugar daddy to ditch. Price: Hah! Oh really? Why’s that? Y/N: Are you kidding?! Paid off house, paid off car, successful military captain, great manners, great dick, extremely attractive, good with kids, good cook, sexy voice. I could go on for awhile. Price: Oh now you’re just feedin’ my ego. Y/N: Yes, yes I am. Price: I’ll get cocky. Y/N: You’re sexy when you’re arrogant too, that doesn’t deter me. Price: *sigh* Far out of my league. Y/N: You’re a rank climber, I think you’ll keep up.

-- (NSFW but it's in a ha-ha funny way, based on a conversation I've had. Kink mentions) Soap: Look, I just...I need advice on how to spice it up in the bedroom. Y/N: Do you know how little that narrows it down? Gaz: I feel there are few options. Y/N: No there are a lot of options, it depends on your level of spice. I dunno your boundaries wit'cha man! Soap: I just need something! Y/N: THERE ARE A LOT OF THINGS! Get some handcuffs, grab a vibrator, TRY ANAL, I don't fucking know! Gaz: *chokes on drink* Soap: Okay, listen- Y/N: No, you listen. Rule of thumb with kinks? It's a mountain and there are three kinds of people on it. People who don't wanna climb, people who want to climb but choose not to, and people who stay climbing. You reach a level of kinkiness and you stay there. You can't go back down the mountain. Me, personally? I have chosen to stop climbing because I know I'll get worse. I'm choosing to stay on my part of the mountain. Where you wanna climb is up to you. Soap: Where do I climb then? Y/N: The beginner's trail is fuzzy handcuffs, orgasm control, and mirror sex. Soap: This is the weirdest advice I've ever gotten. Y/N: It's my specialty.

-- (Follow it up with an asexual joke) Graves: Are you fighting the urge to make out with me right now? Y/N: Not really, I'm really into this pizza though. Soap, in the back: Aw they burnt my fuckin' cookies! Assholes. Y/N: Karma. Soap: It is not my fault I ate the last slice of cake, I didn't know it was yours- Y/N: IT WAS LABELED! Soap: I DIDN'T SEE IT!! Graves: *slowly backs away*

-- Y/N, holding up a coffee pot: Anyone want more coffee? Price: No, we've all had ours. Y/N: *takes off the lid* Cool. Gaz: What are y-NO! Y/N: *chugging from the pot* Ghost: ...This is the peak of mental illness. Price: PUT THE DAMN POT DOWN! Soap: This is the scariest thing I've ever seen them do- Y/N: *fighting to finish the coffee as Price tries to get it away from them*

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fierymiasma · 1 year

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❀ And You Look Fetching in Yellow ❀ // Sebastian Sallow x f!MC

Summary: Hogwarts couples exchange scarves to signify their intention with each other. Unfortunately for Sebastian, MC is new to the whole magic thing.

It's been weeks since Sebastian had gifted her his scarf. And yet nothing romantic has happened between them.

How was she supposed to know that she had to give him something in return?

Part 1: You Look Better In Green

♪ Tags: Slight Dark!Sebastian, angst, sadness, manipulation, making out, heartbreak

Word Count: 5k

|| Masterlist || AO3 ||

"Did you see what the new girl was wearing?"

"Obviously, do I look like I live under a troll's bridge? The whole school is talking about it!"

Sebastian preened, sitting a bit straighter in his seat. He had been lounging on a bench with Ominis in the Dark Arts Tower, bored out of his mind. About ten paces away, a gaggle of 3rd year girls were giggling and loudly whispering amongst themselves. The student body of Hogwarts never had anything better to do then to guess who started courting who. Sebastian had never cared much about this (often incorrect) news, having always found it dull.

But it was looking like Hogwarts was just about to get bit more interesting.

"What was she wearing?" one of the shorter girls asked.

"She was wearing a Slytherin scarf!" another whispered conspiratiously as if it was an unspeakable secret.

There were gasps around the group. The new Hufflepuff student? Wearing Slytherin's green and silver scarf? It could only mean one thing.

"Ohhhh, she's seeing from someone from Slytherin." There was much fervent whispering.

"I bet so many hearts are crushed now. Someone finally got to her first."

Sebastian couldn't' help but puff out his chest. Finally, in his time as a 6th year at Hogwarts, the natural order of things were being corrected. No longer did he have to worry seeing his Hufflepuff in ugly red and yellow.

"Who do you reckon gave it to her?" one of the Ravenclaws bounced on the tip of her toes.

"Well, there's not that many Slytherin boys that she associates herself with."

Sebastian grinned. He leaned back against the wall, crossing his hands behind his head. He was constantly next to her side whether that meant on the battlefield or at the library. His devotion to her had most definitely discouraged any potential suitors who thought they were worthy of wasting her time. An effortless arm thrown around her shoulder. His coarse hand tucking a strand of hair behind her ears. His chin resting on her much shorter head. Now that the whole school knew that the most amazing girl in all of Hogwarts history was his, Sebastian's worries could finally-

"I heard from someone in Charms that it's Ominis."

Sebastian stilled. What?

There were squeals of delight.

"Of course! That makes so much sense! They look so cute together!"

Sebastian scowled. No they didn't.

"Awww, I'm so happy for them. I bet he swept her off her feet!"

"It's the eyes isn't it? All the Gaunt kids have those gorgeous eyes."

In Sebastian's personal opinion, blue eyes were incredibly overrated.

"That makes so much sense! They're always in the library studying together."

One of their voices took a cheekily tone. "Studying? Is that what the kids are calling it now a days?"

Yes, Ominis and his Hufflepuff were always studying together, only because Sebastian invited both of his best friends to his study session.

The group of girls all squealed bouncing up and down like a group of Puffskeins. They were loud and annoying enough that Professor Hecat had opened the doors to her classroom. With heavy scolding, the professor shooed them outside, to spread their gossip elsewhere in the castle no doubt.

Sebastian felt as though he took a troll club to the head. That was his green scarf around his Hufflepuff. It was Sebastian's scarf that she was wearing every day. Not Garret's. Not Natty's. Not even Ominis's. It was Sebastian's. Turning to stare at his best friend, he was startled to find that Ominis was still engrossed in his book. The other boy looked completely at ease, as if Sebastian's entire life hadn't been entirely upended.

"What," Sebastian spat through gritted teeth, "in Merlin's name, was that all about?"

·͙⁺˚•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙˚⁺‧͙⁺˚•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙˚⁺‧͙⁺˚•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙˚⁺‧͙

The hero of Hogwarts laid on her back like a starfish on the grounds of the Transfiguration courtyard. Having successfully commandeered a quiet corner of the courtyard with Natty and Poppy, she tried her best to relax between classes. Poppy was playing with Gerald. Natty attempted hastily to finish her astronomy homework before the next toll of the bell. The ancient magic user scowled at the bright blue cloudless sky as if it personally had cursed her.

She was still wearing Sebastian's scarf. The new Hufflepuff hadn't taken it off since Sebastian had kindly (or possessively?) wrapped it around her. His signature bergamot and oak scent was starting to fade.

She had learned quite quickly the ins and outs of courting at Hogwarts thanks to her friends. Coming from the muggle world, it was dizzyingly confusing all the fake rules that witches and wizards put upon themselves. She wasn't sure if it was wizard conservatism or teenage boredom that forced the students of Hogwarts to play these stupid courting games.

Wearing another House's colors was a walking advertisement to the rest of Hogwarts that you were officially being pursued by classmate of another House. The second that a Gryffindor was caught wearing green and silver or a Ravenclaw was caught wearing red the whole school would erupt in commotion and gossip.

In her opinion, the student body of Hogwarts needed to go outside more. Experience some of the real world for once.

After all it was their coy games that put her in this whole mess. She thought, as any rational being would, that after a whole year's worth of 'dates', alone, unsupervised, not under the watch of any adult, that something more would come of her relationship with Sebastian. She had hoped by now she would be wrapped in his strong arms with his green scarf wrapped around the both of them, joining them together.

She had thought wrong. Instead, it was the still the same Sebastian. Teasing tone, seductive one-liners, coy looks when he thought she wasn't watching. He always held her at an arm's length, never getting too close. Despite all of his flirty comments, he never made a verbal hint that they were anything more than friends.

Ugh, this was all so maddening. If she had it her way, she would march right up to Sebastian, grab him by the beautiful luscious curls of his, and kiss him silly until he finally got the message through that thick skull of his.

"Why isn't my brilliant plan working?" She whined as she laid beneath the sky, as if hoping it would give her the answers.

"What plan?" Natty asked, not looking up from her astronomy homework. "Your mind has been up in the clouds all day."

She groaned, throwing her arm over her eyes to block out the sun. "Why hasn't Sebastian made a pass at me yet. For Merlin's sake, we went to Three Broomsticks and Sirona gave us her Valentine's Day Special. We shared it, together. Using one spoon, like a couple."

"Have you considered that Sebastian might think you two are actually exclusive?" Poppy interjected. "I mean, you're wearing his scarf. That has to count for something."

The new student groaned. She started ripping the grass next to her in frustration. "I don't think we're dating. At least, I don't think Sebastian Sallow is the type to not snog his girlfriend silly when she drops obvious hints."

Poppy made a show of gagging at the thought of her friends making out. In retaliation, the other Hufflepuff half-hearted threw some of the plucked grass in Poppy's general direction. The strands lamely flew everywhere but their intended target.

Natty sighed, brushing the grassy debris from her astronomy chart. "Honestly, Europe is so behind. Back at home, things were much simpler. Girls do not have to wait for the man to ask them to be in a relationship! Anyone could do the asking! All of this exchanging of clothes is so silly to me. What if two people from the same House start dating? Then what? This makes no sense to me."

Poppy hummed in agreement. "Dating at Hogwarts does seem like such a headache compared to Uganda, Natty. But," she squeezed Gerald tightly, "you can't deny how cute it is when you see the couples together wearing each other clothing. They're so mismatched and adorable." Poppy paused awkwardly. "Come to think of it, I've never seen Sebastian wearing even a hint of yellow."

The air stilled. Both Poppy and Natty turned to stare at their friend who was still in the process of pulling out all of the blades of grass in her vicinity. It was a long awkward moment before the hero of Hogwarts realized that her two good friends were looking at her, expecting a reaction out of the wallowing girl.

"What?" She asked.

Poppy gave her a pitying look. "You…you did give Sebastian your scarf right?"

The new student blinked owlishly, her hands stilled in their destructive action.

Natty sighed. "A hat? Your tie? Cufflinks? Merlin's beard, even your socks would do. Anything?"

For being a wielder of ancient magic, she sure didn't have a clue as to wizarding culture. "Um, no? Was I supposed to?"

Both girls groaned. Natty shook her head, disappointed in the lack of charisma her friend had. Poppy looked at her pitifully as if she was the runt of a Niffler litter.

"What? We're supposed to trade scarves? Who made up that rule? Is that why Sebastian hasn't made a move on me?"

"YES!" The other girls replied, getting fed up with the drama.

"No one told me about this!"

The three girls bickered back and forth, homework now entirely forgotten. So lost in debate, they missed the Slytherin that was approaching them.

Imelda Reyes, captain of the Slytherin team, stood in front of them, interrupting the trio of girls. "Oh good, the losers are all gathered together." She looked rather bored as if she would rather be on the field than here.

Poppy frowned. Gerald stuck his tongue out at the offending girl. "Imelda, why do you keep calling your only friends at Hogwarts losers?"

Imelda ignored the remark, flipped her hair behind her shoulders. "It keeps the fans in line. Got to remind you lot of your place."

The Slytherin girl turned her sights onto the other Hufflepuff who was still wallowing in the grass in self-pity. "Anyway, I came to collect on my good deed. Some token of appreciation would be nice. Even a thanks would do."

The Hufflepuff sighed. She pinched her nose in frustration at the annoyance that was Imelda Reyes. Rolling over to her side, she faced the Slytherin captain. She propped up her chin on her hand. Nothing that Imelda ever have to share was interesting. "Imelda, what is it now? Why should I be groveling at your feet for this time?"

"You should be thanking me for saving your relationship with Sallow." Imelda nonchalantly stated.

The new girl spluttered, her chin slipping off of her hand and hitting the ground. She made a pained noise, rubbing at the growing bruise. "Excuse me?"

"You heard me." Imelda inspected her glossy green nails. "It's painful to see you two fumbling about like Quidditch little league toddlers. I just gave a gentle nudge in the right direction."

The bottom of her stomach was in free-fall. Imelda "helping" was never a good thing, despite what the Slytherin believed. "Imelda, what did you do?"

Imelda grinned. "Oh, you know, just started a rumor that Ominis was the one who gave you the scarf."

She finally sat up. Bits of grass stick to the Hufflepuff's hair. "Why on earth would you do that, Imelda? The whole school is going to think that Ominis is courting me!"

"Indeed."

Natty frowned. "I have to admit. I do not see the game you are trying to play. How does that help our friend?"

Imelda rolled her eyes. It was sometimes frustrating being the only Slytherin of their girl group. They were so slow to stack the odds to get what they wanted. They were so narrow-minded as they achieved their goals, seeing only a couple paths towards victory instead of the millions of possibilities Imelda always saw.

"Boys like Sallow are easy to manipulate. Start a rumor that his best friend is seeing the love of his life, and the boy will make sure to do everything in his power to correct the record." Imelda flicked off a speck of dirt on her otherwise well-polished nails. "He'll come crawling back to you in a week tops."

Poppy oo'ed in approval, clapping excitedly at the new development. Natty shot her a judging look. Poppy dropped her "oo's" to a respectful volume.

The other Hufflepuff gaped in silence, at a loss for words. "Sebastian's one of the smartest people I know. He can pick up even the most difficult spells on the first try." She crossed her arms. "He's too smart to fall for your tricks, Imelda."

Her compatriots were silent. Natty, Poppy, and Imelda ginned and looked at each other deviously. Poppy was the first to bust out in laughter, causing the other two to join in. The offended girl scowled behind her green scarf, annoyed.

The Hufflepuff rolled her eyes. "You all think so low of him. I'm telling you, Sebastian's not the type to care about this sort of petty thing. You'll see."

"Oh, we'll see alright." Imelda sneered. "I bet my best broomstick that your Slytherin will come crawling back to you on his knees. Why I bet he's foaming at the mouth right now."

·͙⁺˚•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙˚⁺‧͙⁺˚•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙˚⁺‧͙⁺˚•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙˚⁺‧͙

Sebastian was practically foaming at the mouth. He wanted to scream and pull his hair out. Back in the sanctuary of his dorm room, he could finally take off the mask of indifference he'd been wearing all day. Ever since he eavesdropped on the rumors surrounding the new student, they have followed him incessantly, mocking him. It seems like all the students, all the professors, even the godforsaken portraits were talking about the 'newest couple in Hogwarts'. How on earth that anyone could see her and Ominis actually together was beyond him.

Speaking of Ominis, Sebastian glanced over at his friend who was sitting comfortably in his own bed, reading a book in braille. Ominis looked serene as if he was above the petty comments of the commoners of Hogwarts.

Suspiciously aloof in Sebastian's opinion.

"How are you not bothered by all of this?" Sebastian asked. He squinted his eyes, trying to see if he could catch Ominis in the act of trickery.

Ominis sighed, marking his place in his book before closing it with an air of finality. He had foolishly hoped that the silly rumors going around Hogwarts wouldn't upset his best friend too much. The students of Hogwarts were constantly talking Sebastian after all. Gossiping about his charm around the female students, about his duels, about him getting detention for the second time that week. Sebastian was never bothered by gossip, seeming revealing in it.

This rumor was different, it would seem.

"I'm not sure what you're on about." Ominis tried.

Sebastian could smell something was up. "Don't you play dumb with me. You know exactly what I'm referring to. The whole school thinks our new friend is seeing you. Now, I believe that the heresy isn't true." Sebastian's voice threatened to crack. "Is there any reason to believe otherwise?"

The accused boy huffed, rolling his eyes. "Merlin, Sebastian, you really live up to the infamous Slytherin jealousy."

"Don't you avoid the subject." Sebastian said.

Ominis frowned, confused. "Why don't you just correct the rumors? Haven't you been courting her the whole time?"

Sebastian scowled, turning away from his friend, hiding the disappointment on his face. He'd thought that everything was going so well. Her secretive smiles and stolen glances whenever she thought Sebastian wasn't looking her way. The way she stared openly and unapologetically mid-duel as his muscles strained under the force of his spells.

"No, we're just friends, Ominis." Sebastian responded stiffly. "That's all there is too it."

Sebastian had thought that she returned his affections, especially when she accepted his scarf, a calling card of his intentions to woo her. He thought things were going even better when she invited him to an date to Three Broomsticks, reminiscing about their first of many troll attacks. Sebastian thought the date had gone perfectly when he walked her like a gentleman to her dorm.

It wasn't until she bid him a cordial, kind but only friendly, goodbye that he had realized how wrong he was. She had not returned to give Sebastian her own yellow and black scarf, a token of her acceptance towards the courting. And Sebastian had stood in front of the wine casket that hid the Hufflepuff common room, scarfless, lamenting in what an absolute fool he had been.

Ominis's frown deepened. "Enough of this nonsense, Sebastian. She's interested in you. I mean, half of the female population is. I can hear the way you two talk to each other."

Sebastian chuckled darkly. "If that were true, I'd be wearing a yellow scarf."

It had stung. The blatant, but very gentle rejection that she had given him. Sebastian wasn't raised to be a troll to woman, and Anne had taught him to be better than his peers, so he allowed himself a few days to wallow before swallowing his pride. It was privilege enough that she would be friends with him after all that had happened in their 5th year.

He was an idiot for thinking that someone as amazing as her would want to be with someone who's done so much bad as him.

Ominis shook his head. "I'm sorry, Sebastian, but I am convinced that something is afoot between the two of you. As both your friend and her friend, I can say without a shadow of doubt that the feelings are mutual. I think the time for games is finished. You must confess your feelings towards her."

Sebastian scoffed at the ridiculous notion. It's like Ominis wasn't even listening to him. Sebastian had literally just finished explaining how not interested she was in him.

"Gyffindors don't have a monopoly on courage, Sebastian." Ominis chided. "We Slytherins are brave enough to get what we want. We always have been."

Sebastian narrowed his eyes. He could feel the venom on his tongue. "Oh? How's courting my sister working for you?"

Sebastian wasn't sure what reaction he was expecting from Ominis. What Sebastian was for sure not expecting was for a blush to creep its way up Ominis's neck. His best friend sat ramrod straight, as still as a statute. Ominis was incapable of schooling his expression and looked like a child who was caught in a lie.

Sebastian's mouth dropped at Ominis's shift in demeanor. While he had some suspicions over the nature of Ominis's outings beyond Hogwarts grounds, it was a different matter entirely to have confirmation that Ominis was attempting to woo his twin sister.

The two boys were quiet, frozen in place. The air in the dorms was stifling and awkward.

Ominis cleared his dry throat, very comfortable with pretending that he was also selectively deaf. "Well, anyways, it is my humble opinion that our friend is head over heels for you. All you need to do is ask."

Sebastian threw up his arms. He was going to get nowhere with this infuriating boy. Giving up, he collapsed, face first, on his bed, defeated.

·͙⁺˚•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙˚⁺‧͙⁺˚•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙˚⁺‧͙⁺˚•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙˚⁺‧͙

The Hufflepuff sighed, chewing on the end of her quill. Sitting on one of the dusty decrepit armchairs of the Undercroft, she relished in these moments of silence. No one, student, professor, or villager, was asking anything of her. Instead, she could simply be alone with her thoughts.

Unfortunately, her thoughts often revolved around Sebastian.

She rested her head against her fist and blew a raspberry in frustration. The parchment before her was riddled with crossed out phrases and giant bleeding blotches of ink where her quill had paused. She had spent the whole afternoon trying to come up with…something to say to Sebastian. Four hours of work only to come up with nothing. Ugh. Why did words have to be so hard?

Maybe everyone was right. It would be much easier just to throw him a Hufflepuff jumper and call it a day.

Before she could finalize her thoughts, the iron gates of the Undercroft swung open. She hastily stuffed the quill and parchment into a random pocket in her bags. She couldn't help but fix her hair, just in case it was Sebastian.

In walked the very man who had been on her mind all day. And Sebastian Sallow looked rather miffed. Hands already clenched in frustrations, he walked up to her. His eyes trailed up and down her form.

"What are you wearing?" he asked without preamble.

There was a sense of deja vu at the question. "My school uniform? Because…I go here? I'm a Hogwarts student?"

Sebastian frowned. "Where's your scarf?"

She huffed. Really? Out of millions of important things they had to talk about: Sebastian's behavior, Anne, their maybe date, their questionable relationship status. Her scarf was the thing he chose to fixate on? "It's warm outside, Sebastian. Why on earth would I be wearing a scarf in the spring?"

He scowled, now pacing unable to contain his anxiety. So she decided not to wear his scarf anymore. What did this mean? This only proved Sebastian's theory that she did reject his affections. Ominis's words of encouragement last night only worsened Sebastian's current mood. Ominis had no idea what he was talking about. Maybe after all this time, she finally learned the symbolism behind the gifted scarf and was appalled at Sebastian's rather forward claim on her. Maybe the rumors were to be believed, and she was interested in Ominis. Maybe her and Ominis "studying at the library together" actually had no studying whatsoever. Maybe-

His thoughts got interrupted when something rather soft smacked him square in the face. Whatever the scratchy material was had hit in right in his open eyes. His eyes watered, stinging at the insult.

"What in Merlin's beard?" He ripped the offending fabric off his face.

In his hands was a warm, yellow and black striped Hufflepuff scarf. The one that she had worn throughout the fall. The one that always managed to hide her teasing smiles and blushes. It smelled of their shared apple tarts and a bit singed at the edges as if one of her Confringo spells exploded a bit too close for comfort.

It smelled like her.

He looked up to catch her gaze. She was leaning with all her weight on one foot with her arms crossed, slightly annoyed at the silly affair.

Sebastian recovered quickly. He couldn't stop the grin from his face. He felt like he was back to his old self, just like how he was when the two of them first met. "Well, well, I was waiting for you to pay me back eventually. Nice to know that Hufflepuffs have some manners."

She huffed, tired of these games and double-speak. "You know, if you don't want it, you can always give it back."

"Now hold on," Sebastian cut her off, already wrapping it possessively around his neck in intricate woven pattern so tight so she couldn't even separate it from him if he tried. "I never said I didn't appreciate the gift."

She rolled her eyes. Walking up to him, she picked at the scarf on instinct, fluffing it in a more comfortable manner for him. "This is frankly so dumb."

He hummed in delight at his Hufflepuff fussing over him. With her so close to him now, he felt like a purring Kneazle. "Well, as dumb as you think it is, I think I look rather fetching in yellow. Don't you think so, sweetheart?"

She choked on her spit, hands frozen on her scarf. She missed the safety of the green and silver scarf that allowed her to hide her expressions from the world around her. With a scarlet face, she muttered. "Sebastian Sallow, you know I find you attractive."

Sebastian smirked, preening under her words.

Whatever speech she had drafted now forgotten in favor of venting her frustrations out onto him. "You should also know that you drive me absolutely bonkers. I just can't believe we had to go through this whole song and dance. Merlin, I've been drunk on the Amortentia that is you, Sebastian Sallow, for a whole two years now." Her hands tighten the grip that she had on hers (now Sebastian's?) yellow scarf. "I've been in love with you ever since you first took me to Hogsmeade. Merlin's beard, Sebastian, I've taken you as my companion to every poacher duel I can think of. We explore the most dangerous dungeons together. We fight off foul Acromantulas together. And it takes a silly yellow scarf for you to finally realize my feelings for you?"

She finally looked up at him, her fierce eyes finding his. What she wasn't expecting was a rare moment of vulnerability on Sebastian's face. The confident charming boy before her looked uncertain all of a sudden.

His rough hands reached up to gently meet hers, holding her in place. "Why would someone as good as you want someone who's done so much evil like me?"

And therein laid the truth of Sebastian's fears. If the savior of Hogwarts was too good for people as dull and drab as Garreth or Prewett, then in what world would she want to be with someone who had so much blood on his hands as Sebastian? No, she deserved the best. And it certainly wasn't someone like him.

She was flabbergasted. She was so used to the Sebastian Sallow she first met. The boy whose Slytherin ambitions urged him to greedily take what was rightfully his. Where was the young brash and carefree optimistic boy whose boldness and forwardness had charmed her?

She gently removed her hands from his. His expression was caged off from her. Gently, she reached up to caress his face, angling his chin slightly downwards so he could look at her in the eye. He turned to her, like a wilting flower dying for the sun. The walls around him melted as his knitted brow soften to look at her.

"Sebastian, you are rash and reckless. You are possessive and incredibly jealous, even though you have no reason to be." The other boy looked away, trying to pull away from her. She held his chin in place forcing him to look at her. He looked gorgeous in yellow.

"You're also the most devoted person I know, devoted to Ominis, to Anne, to me. You fight so fiercely to protect what is yours both on the battlefield and off of it. Everything you have done, both the good and the awful, has been because of your love. Everything that you are, your recklessness, your kindness, has been because of your love, your devotion to those that you care for. How could I not fall in love with you?"

The bright joyous colors brought a sunny aura to his usual darkened expressions. The Hufflepuff scarf around his neck made him look lighter, more open to the possibilities around him. The hues of yellow reflected the golden flecks that were hidden in his brown eyes.

He scoffed, trying not to think too hard at her words, not willing to break into a million pieces in front of her. "You are so brilliant, sweetheart, you could have anyone you wanted in the world. I'm just a boy from some hamlet who couldn't even save his sister."

Her shoulders softened. Oh, Sebastian. "That's not true. I am here with you, Sebastian. I am choosing to be here with you. I will always choose to be here with you, in this moment."

He could see her eyes dip down to look at his lips. And with that, it was like the weak dam to his flood of emotions was broken. He surged forward catching her lips in his. His hands flew up to cup both sides of her face, marveling at the beauty he was holding. She responded in turn, throwing her hands around his neck. She met the storm that was Sebastian with equal ferocity. Her lips pressed forward, almost bruising him with the passionate intention behind it.

He could feel the curl of her smile against his. Her long eyelashes fluttered against his cheeks as if they were kissing the freckles that they found there. She smelled of their shared apple tarts, and her lips were warm against his. In her arms, he felt safe, like the world was created just for the two of them.

Lungs dying, he could barely stand ripping himself away from her. He rested his forehead against hers, not wanting to let go of this moment even for a second. His thumb was still caressing her cupped face, marveling at the miracle that was the savior of Hogwarts.

"You should know, you are never getting your scarf back." Sebastian quipped.

She let out a breath of laughter. Sebastian eagerly chased it with another quick kiss. Later, much, much later, after he was finished kissing his darling silly, he'll walk out the Undercroft with a yellow scarf around his neck holding hands with his Hufflepuff wearing that green scarf of hers.

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ceruleancattail · 2 months

Text

Tattoo artist Leona

Leona x reader

(This fic was written based on online information about tattoos and the tattooing process. I am no means an authority on this subject. I apologise for any inconsistencies and incorrect information🙇‍♂️)

You could feel the heat of Leona’s palm, oozing from his gloves. A warm, intense heat that seemed intent on slipping deep into your skin. It was a gentle, balmy feeling. Reminiscent of lying on a grassy plain, allowing the golden rays of the setting sun to wash over you. Encasing you in a soft ember halo of warmth.

It would have been relaxing, if not for the dull throbbing of the needle against your body. It stung, much like a scalded wound.

Not the most painful feeling, but not the most unpleasant either.

It was hard to concentrate on the pain, not when you could feel Leona’s breath waft against your bare skin. To hear him hem and haw, the very tips of his caramel locks of hair brush against you. He tossed it all up in a messy ponytail, but the stray ends all seem to come back to you somehow.

Gentle, cloying touches. Almost flirtatious, actually. Casting a sneaky glance towards your tattooist, you shoot him a sly wink:

“Enjoying the view, Kingscholar?”

Raising an eyebrow, Leona’s expression remains disappointingly neutral. He holds that face long enough for you to pout, before chuckling softly.

“Sure, Herbivore. Sure.”

Leona sighs, a tinge of exasperation concealed within. A gloved hand rests on the back of your head, coaxing your face back in front firmly.

“Now hush, unless you want to be stuck here all day.”

You chirp enthusiastically:

“Wouldn’t mind if you’re the one keeping me company!”

“Can it.”

You laugh at his sharp reply. With only the barest wisp of a smile on those lips, Leona resumes his work. Palm flat against your skin, guiding the needle across your body. It skates across your skin with practised ease, stabbing ink into your body. Sketching out an outline, filling it in. Inking line after line, filling your body with his own handiwork.

There was something oddly personal, about that. Marking a person with his own hand, his own designs. Making your skin a canvas of his own, displaying Leona’s tattoos for the world to see. Maybe it’s because it was you. Coming into his store with that smile of yours, sharing your ideas with him.

The ideation of tattoo designs goes both ways, Y’know. The client’s idea and purpose, and the artist’s execution of said idea and purpose. Leona could spend hours seated across you, listening to you ramble about an experience you wanted to remember, a story you wanted your skin to tell. No matter what you wanted to be tattooed with, the ideas you put out do show a lot of your personality. As Leona listens, he’s taking notes on an tablet. Sketching out possible designs alongside hastily scribbled notes.

And of course, he’s sketching you, as well. Your bright eyes when you share with him your latest idea, your gestures… maybe even a rather soft looking piece of you smiling, lined with gentle, nimble strokes. Leona would never show you those willingly, unfortunately. Perhaps you’ll catch a glimpse or two when he spins the tablet around for you to preview some of his ideas.

There was something intimate about sharing conversations with you. Something romantic, even. But Leona would rather die than to admit that to you.

You’re an odd one, herbivore.

As the needles skated across your skin, you winced. The sharp point dug into a rather sensitive patch of skin, stinging your skin like a thousand wasps. Gasping in pain, you grit your teeth, grinding back certain very colourful swears. Only to have Leona pause whatever he was doing to run a palm down your back. Stroking you with a gentleness you would have never expected him to have. Leona’s hand pressed against the curve of your spine, rubbing small, reassuring circles into your skin.

He mumbled softly, a raspy sound. However as rough as it was, you could feel it slip into your ears smoothly. Almost as if it was fine wine.

“You’re ok. You’re ok, herbivore.

Breathe.”

You could feel his body warmth against your skin, bleeding into your very soul. Hell, Leona was close enough for you to feel his pulse, heartbeat beating alongside your very own. A steady tempo, calming like a childhood lullaby.

His hand stayed pressed to your back under your breathing slowed. Until the tension melted… well partially from your shoulders. Yet his touch lingered, oddly enough. Leona’s palm stayed on your back long after your heartbeat slowed back to a calmer pace.

Until your pulse beat in time with his.

Two hearts, as one.

#twisted wonderland #twst #disney twisted wonderland #twisted wonderland x reader #twst x reader #Leona kingscholar #Leona kingscholar x reader #Leona x reader #Leona #lucky potion 🔷#lads when I said a Drabble #I fucking lies #oops #the words got me too hard #on my knees rip #information in tattoos and stuff in this fic was taken from the internet #🙇‍♂️I am so not an authority on this subject so I apologise for any misinformation

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faeriekit · 5 months

Note

Touch deprived

Kind touches stop after Damian is two.

He does not know this, because at the time, he is two.

The next time someone touches him without the intent of harming him, it is Richard, and it is a surprise. Damian can't help lashing out; he can't help how his heartbeat races, how his breath quickens, how he can't let go of the dagger he drew out of his boot, how he has to leave. Immediately.

The next few touches are equally as kind, if less of surprise.

Damian hates them. He flees from them equally.

He cringes when his father reaches out to touch his shoulder; he dodges Richard's loving tackle-hugs. Cain is impossible to dodge, and he hates her hair-ruffles in equal measure. Todd occasionally invades his personal space and Damian flees before contact can be made. Brown will attempt "fraternal punching", which is just regular hits aimed at his shoulders and arms, and Damian refuses to let those land out of pride in his skill.

Drake, however, does...nothing. Until he invades Damian's room one afternoon.

(Damian does not get off his bed; if Drake is to attack him, Damian could easily subdue him from his reclined posture.)

"What," Damian snaps. He owes Drake no etiquette.

Drake rolls his eyes; the teenager holds up a gray mass as large as a common pillow, arms straining under the weight. "Got you something, your highness. Here."

Damian ignores the incorrect address. "I do not want it."

"You haven't tried it."

And then something heavy falls on top of him. Damian's eyes widen; he scrambles away, prepared to free himself from...

...A blanket.

Damian stares down at it. The blanket sits on his bed, threatening in its mere presence.

"Try it," is all Drake says, eyeing Damian as if the boy is prepared to attack him outright. (He is.) "It's good for anxiety and stuff."

"I do not have anxiety." Damian would never fail deeply enough to have his mental state affected thusly.

"Sure, kid."

Damian is not a kid. But Drake leaves before Damian can correct him on his misinformed opinion, and then Damian is alone with a...blanket.

And. Damian does tests on the fabric, of course. It comes back clean of touch-based toxins, air-diffused toxins, and anything that isn't cotton fiber and cheap plastic pellets. It's only a blanket.

Only...it's a heavy blanket.

...Out of curiosity, Damian uses it one evening. He looks forward to rubbing its ineffectiveness in Drake's face in the morning, but...

...Damian takes the blanket downstairs for movie night the next week. When Richard doesn't reach out to touch him, Damian dares to lay on Richard's shoulder. The blanket presses down against him the way a hug probably ought to.

He is comfortable through the entire event.

#Also-Autistic Tim: ah. Autism. I know what this is #Dick: I think it's trauma actually?#Cass (from across the room): both #Tim: yeah. He gets it from Bruce #Bruce (not listening): hm?#everyone: Nothing!!#thanks for asking!!#dc #batfam #ask games #faer fic

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aoioozora · 4 months

Note

THIS IS SO AMAZING OMG (talking about the Simon fanfic btw) YOU JUST EARNED A FOLLOWER ❤️❤️ we'd really appreciate it if you did a part 2? 🥹 Take care

Simon.

Part 2

Part 1 - Part 3 - Part 4 - Part 5 - Part 6 - Part 7 - Part 8 - Part 9

Character: Simon Riley / Ghost

Content: Biker! Ghost x Fem! Reader, strangers to lovers, fluff, civilian au

Note: I was never planning on making this a series but here we go, I guess I'm invested too now >:) thank you for requesting and following! While this series is fluff only, I have a small warning for this part: there's swearing, crude jokes. And possibly incorrect usage of Scottish and English slang. Enjoy :) Photo credit: mus

“It's pishin’ it doon out here.”

Simon looked at his friend and sighed, “English, MacTavish.”

MacTavish groaned. “It's raining fuckin’ hard.”

“Then say so.”

“I did!”

Simon and his friend, John MacTavish or ‘Johnny’, as he was affectionately called, found themselves standing under the shade of a book café, helmets in hands, watching Simon's bike get drenched in the heavy rain. Neither of them expected a downpour, and were caught without raincoats. And so the two had no choice but to wait it out.

“It was yer bloody brilliant idea to go on a road trip when I warned ye that it was gonna rain today,” Johnny griped, crossing his arms as he shook the rain water off his helmet.

Simon didn't say a word. He copied Johnny in getting the water off his helmet, except that he wiped it off with his hand. As he hung his head down to do so, his messy blond hair fell over his eyes, and he shook his head to get it out of the way. He wiped his hands on a handkerchief to dry them, and then pulled his mask down below his nose to inhale a fresh gulp of the cold, wet air. When he had inhaled enough, he pulled the mask back on, and his eyes wandered to his motorcycle, which was surrounded by a foggy haze in the rain.

His mind wandered to that night he saved a young lady off the dangerous streets. He remembered how he saw her from afar, and without a second thought, sped up to her assailants, half-intent on actually flattening them into crepes. He remembered how his engine pounded as adrenaline charged his blood, as he twisted the accelerator to full throttle, sending the vehicle flying.

A pretty lady he thought she was. He didn't know why he called her his girlfriend; his brain decided that being a boyfriend was the second most powerful thing a man could be, the first being a husband. No other men would mess with another man's woman, that was for sure, unless he had a death wish. She acted well too, convincingly even.

He pulled out his phone and turned it around. Nestled beneath the clear casing was a small, clear candy wrapper, the same one that the pretty lady gave him that day. He didn't know why he felt the need to keep it, but did anyway. He definitely wanted something to remind him of her.

He had been in anguish ever since he dropped her off and rode away; he had completely forgotten to ask for her name. But who does that? They were strangers. What are the odds that two strangers would meet again?

“I'm heading inside,” Johnny announced, “I want a coffee.”

“Get me some tea.”

“Fuckin’ Brit.”

Simon was about to correct Johnny by telling him that Scotland, where he was from, was also part of the British isles, but he bit back, not wanting to risk hearing a rant in exclusively colorful, and totally family friendly Scottish words and phrases.

“Fine, I'll do it myself.” Simon rolled his eyes and followed Johnny inside the book cafe.

The two men sat at a table and while Johnny peered into the menu, Simon sank back into the comfortable chair and looked at the yellow bulbs hanging overhead, casting a soft, golden glow on the smooth wooden tables, the floors, and the cutlery. The smell of coffee, cakes, and books filled the air, along with the soft ruffle of pages, clinks of tableware and cups and saucers, and the distinct murmurs of his friend across him as he figured out what coffee he wanted to have.

A waiter came by to take their orders, and the two were soon left to their own, sitting in unusual silence as they stared out the glass windows at the relentlessly pouring rain. While Johnny hummed a tune to himself, Simon, tired of looking at the downpour, decided to amuse himself with people watching.

He saw people working at their laptops, some reading and drinking, others chatting in soft murmurs, and staff doing their job.

His eyes fell on one particular lady who was seated at a table across the cafe, back facing him, busily working on her laptop. He felt his heart stop for a moment. Her silhouette was familiar, particularly her hair; it looked just like her. His heart pounded beneath his ribs.

He didn't realise how long he looked until Johnny's voice piped, “Wit ye lookin’ at?” which interrupted the momentary buzz of his thoughts.

Simon turned to his friend, who was looking at him with mingled curiosity and confusion. “Nothing.” he replied, shaking his head and hanging it down slightly to look away, but his eyes immediately darted to the lady, as if she was a strong magnet.

Johnny wasn't quite convinced, and he followed Simon's line of vision. “A lass,” he observed, smirking.

Simon glared at his friend, but it only made him chuckle. The two watched as she stood up for a moment and turned around, intent on walking to the shelves to grab a book. That's when Simon saw her face, and again, his heart seized.

“It's her.”

His breath lodged tight in his lungs and his body visibly stiffened. And the most unfortunate reaction of them all: his partially exposed cheeks had turned pink. His eyes were glued to her, and he was unaware that Johnny was still keenly observing him.

“Ye ken her?” asked Johnny, his smirk widening.

“You remember I saved a girl the other day?” He asked back.

“That's her?” Johnny whipped his head back again to take another gander at the lady.

She was furiously flipping through the pages of a hardbound book, as if desperately in search of something. Simon rested his elbow on the armrest of the chair and leaned his cheek on his fist; he watched with interest as she hunched over the book like a medieval scholar, and wondered what her occupation was. She went back to her seat, hunched over again, and the two men looked back at each other.

“Go talk to her,” Johnny challenged.

“No.”

“Keep bein’ a fuckin’ pussy and ye won't get to fuck that pussy, ye ken?”

Simon snorted at that, but then immediately and quietly hissed “Wheesht!” at Johnny to make him shut up, glancing back at the pretty lady. “Don't be disrespectful,” he added.

Johnny chuckled, ever amused at the fact that his Scottish vernacular was infecting the Englishman. He leaned forward, resting a hand on his knee, continuing to smirk, “Since when did ye care about respect, huh?”

Simon inhaled sharply, since he was getting increasingly impatient with Johnny and at the fact that he was running out of arguments. It was also a bit hard to argue in a place where you're supposed to be quiet.

“Just go already. I cannae see ye looking so stupid like this. The worst she can say is ‘fuck off’.” Johnny shrugged.

Simon shot his friend and unimpressed look, making Johnny snort. “That is the worst thing she can say, you wanker,” he said, now mechanically rising from his chair.

“Fuck off and get her number, ye gobshite, or else you'll just be wanking to her and not talking.” Johnny shook his head with a smirk and gave his friend a slap on the back as he passed him. Simon returned the gesture with a slap to the back of Johnny's head, particularly in annoyance at the latter part of his sentence.

While Johnny whined quietly from how hard a slap he had been dealt with, Simon's attention was drawn when he heard her voice again, sounding a little agitated. His head whipped towards her table, and yet again, she was being hit on by some guy, and clearly looked like she was uncomfortably fighting back his unwanted advances.

Simon glared at the man as he began his march. “If only she had a boyfriend by her side, a guard dog…” he thought to himself as he speedily, yet calmly stepped over to her table.

He went around some tables and emerged behind the man, towering over him. Before Simon was noticed by her, his hand came down heavily on the man's shoulder, making him flinch. Leaning down, he whispered as the man turned to face him, “What business do you have with my girlfriend?”

The man was met with Simon's glaring eyes that meant serious business. He froze up immediately.

“Babe, he was trying to hit on me even though I told him I wasn't interested,” the lady's voice resounded, and a quick glance at her told Simon that her eyes glimmered with recognition.

The “babe” made his knees weak for a moment, but he shook off the feeling and continued to glare at the man. No more words were needed. He immediately stood up from his seat and strode away, apologising without sincerity. When he was finally earshot, she sighed.

“You alright, love?” asked Simon with gentleness unusual to him, glancing around again to make sure the man was nowhere in sight.

“Yeah, I'm fine,” she sighed, also looking in the direction the man left. She looked back at him and smiled brightly, “But what a coincidence. We meet again, Simon.”

“And I'm mighty chuffed about it.” he thought to himself as he nodded in response. “Funny coincidence, really. My friend and I were just about to leave on a small road trip and the rain,” he shook his head and clicked his tongue as he looked at the windows, “it rained on our parade, I guess.”

The unintentional pun made her giggle. Simon normally had a grip on his emotions, but that damned giggle threw off his train of thought. But regaining himself, he continued, “So we took shelter here, and I saw you. Thought I'd come talk and then I heard that guy trying to make a pass at you.”

She motioned to the chair for him to sit down, which he instantly did; he cursed himself for seeming so eager.

“You heard?” she asked with emphasis.

“Yeah?” he nodded, slightly confused as to why she zeroed in on that word in particular. “I was looking elsewhere, and then I heard you.”

She then glanced at her laptop for a moment and then pulled the screen down slightly so he wouldn't see what was on. As she did, she said, “I see. I'm lucky you came just then because I was having a hard time driving him away.”

“I could tell,” he answered slowly. He then decided to change the subject. “You come here often?”

“Yeah, every day. This place is calm and quiet and the atmosphere helps me work.”

“What's your job?”

“I'm an author.”

“An author?” he blinked in surprise. He didn't expect that. “What do you write about?”

“Fantasy and adventure… With a hint of romance.” She grabbed her tote that was on the table and pulled out a book from it, which she showed him. “This is my first published book.”

“No kidding?” He took the book in my hand. It was titled ‘Firefly Trails’, embossed in gold. The cover was matte, showing a dark forest trail dotted with glossy fireflies and their greenish yellow light. Below the title was her name, and he read it in his mind slowly, his eyes spending more time taking it in more than anything else on the cover.

“New York Times Bestseller.” he recited, smirking as he eyed the epithet on the top of the cover, “Don't they slap this on every book?”

“They do, but this actually did pretty well in New York.”

“So you're famous then?”

“Kind of?”

“Tell me your Instagram handle, I'll need to see for myself.” Simon pulled out his phone and looked at her, waiting for her to tell him.

She did. He immediately typed it out on the search bar and while he did, he rested his elbow on the table, holding his arm upright. His neck was craned upward slightly, and the lady couldn't help but stare at the way his Adam's apple moved as he gulped, and the way the sternocleidomastoid muscle tightened and popped from under his fair skin as he moved his neck.

Her analytical, authorly eyes scanned him keenly, soaking in all she could make of his facial features; at his icy blond hair, short and styled in an undercut; his long eyelashes, his shapely eyebrows, his slightly pink cheeks under the black mask, the way his brown eyes reflected against the blue light of the phone screen; it was all a sight to behold. He was saying something, but her mind was so lost in trying to mentally string words together to describe the view in front of her in the most superfluous manner possible, in hopes that this information would be used in her future works.

“Hey, you really are famous. You got quite a tonne of followers.” Simon, who was highly aware of her shameless staring, somehow managed to interrupt her flow of thought.

She was successfully brought back to Earth from her daydream, and she nodded, now embarrassed to have been caught red-handed. He thankfully made no comment on it, not wanting to make things awkward.

She answered, “I suppose so. But they're not as many as bigger authors. I'm not complaining, though. I'm really happy to have a lot of people liking my work.”

“You're too modest,” he said, and she could see his cheeks rise to his eyes just a wee bit behind his mask, indicative of a smile. He now showed her her Instagram page on his phone. “There, I followed you,” he said, pointing at the grey ‘Following’ button.

“Are you sure? You don't look like the type of person who reads or is interested in author updates.” A slightly teasing smirk tugged the corner of her lips.

Simon chuckled and shook his head slightly, making his short hair swish a little; she took notice of it. “I'm a voracious reader,” he bragged, lying through his teeth, even using a fancy word to make it more convincing.

She smiled, clearly not quite convinced, but decided to humor him anyway. “If you are, then that book is a gift for you.” She glanced at the copy resting on his lap.

“No kidding?” he blinked as he took the book in his hand to gaze at it. “Well, since you're so famous, I think I should get your autograph.” he said, and she could see one of his cheeks raised; an unmistakable smirk.

“Oh, come on, you're making me blush,” she giggled, but took the book anyway.

"My intentions exactly," he thought as he watched her grab a pen and start writing on the first page.

His phone buzzed a message in the meantime, and he took the device to have a look. It was Johnny. He glanced at the other end of the cafe at his friend, and found him staring, finishing the last sips of his coffee.

Johnny MacTavvy: oi yer tea's getting cauld

Johnny MacTavvy: Rain's stopped too. Let's go

Simon now looked out the glass windows and the rain had indeed stopped, and a bit of sunlight was peeking through the cloudy skies. He sighed, not wanting to go just yet, but knowing Johnny wouldn't let him tarry any longer, he quickly typed a reply, which Johnny saw immediately.

Fuckin’ Brit: ok

By the time Simon kept his phone in his pocket, the lady finished her autograph and handed the book to him. “Enjoy.” She smiled.

Simon murmured a “Thanks” as he received the book, and then rose from his seat.

“Leaving already?” she asked, looking a little disappointed.

“Yeah, my friend's annoying me to finish my tea so we can be on our way. The rain's stopped now, so…”

“Okay,” she nodded slightly, glancing out the windows to confirm for herself. Looking back at him, she smiled again, “Take care then.”

“You too,” he inhaled. “Make sure you don't get hit on again,” he said, attempting to be casual and funny, but he felt like his attempt turned out to be so stupid.

She shook her head, scoffing and smiling. “I'll be fine.”

He was relieved that the attempt landed safely despite the turbulence, and he sighed. “Right then, I'll see you inna bit, love.”

“See you, Simon.”

He nodded once at her and then strode back to Johnny, feeling his knees get weaker by the second. He managed to reach his table and practically fell down in his seat.

“Well?” asked Johnny with a smirk as he leaned forward and eyed the book in Simon's hand. “She gave ye a gift, I see.”

“She's an author. Her first book.” Simon answered, handing him the book so he could see it.

“For real?” Johnny took the book and flipped through the pages. The autograph on the first page caught his attention and he read it. His eyes widened slightly and he closed the book, returning it to his friend, who was drowning the lukewarm tea. “He completely forgot, didnae he, this bastard.” Johnny muttered under his breath, smirking.

“What was that?” asked Simon, setting down the teacup.

“Nothing. Let's go.”

The two paid for their drinks and as they stepped out the door, Simon glanced back at her, and saw that she was also looking at him over her shoulder. This time, he felt a bit fluttery in his stomach. She waved at him with another of those pretty smiles and he waved back, already feeling his knees go weak again.

The two turned away and exited the book cafe. While Johnny wiped the rainwater off the motorcycle, Simon took a moment to see what she had written as an autograph.

“Dear Simon, thank you for saving me twice. I hope you enjoy the book,” was written, and along with that was her name and signature.

Below that was written in unmistakably bold and clear letters, “Call me,” along with her number.

Simon felt like he had been struck by lightning. His face turned alarmingly red and hot to the point that he scrambled to pull his hood over to hide himself. “Fuck me…” he mumbled his exclamation as he processed this very clear green light from her. It was unbelievable.

In the meantime, the lady herself couldn't believe this whole thing just happened. He happened to be there, came up to her, saved her, and swooped her off her feet the second time. It was an amazing coincidence, a once in a lifetime incident, something straight out of a novel. And being an author, she couldn't let this go. She just had to shoot her shot by slapping her phone number in the autograph and now hope that he would call her.

But if there was one thing that sold her completely, it was the fact that he heard that she was in trouble, and came to her rescue.

Feeling a flutter in her chest, she looked back at her laptop screen. A Google search result was displayed in bold:

“The name Simon means ‘to hear’.”

End of Part 2.

Part 3

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fayeriess · 4 months

Text

⋆｡‧₊°♱༺ WHEN ANGER

TURNS TO HONEY ༻♱༉‧₊˚.

daemon targaryen x fem!reader

summary: tensions rise between house targaryen and house royce after the death of your sister, lady rhea. the night of princess rhaenyra's wedding feast, accusations come to light, a finger pointing to the brother of the king — who just so happens to be your lover.

warnings: 18+, smut, unprotected sex, p in v, loose enemies to lovers trope, scratching kink (??), graphic descriptions of violence, mentions of loss of virtue, daemon being daemon, the usual hotd shenanigans

a/n: yet another installment of 'birth of violence' that has me fanning myself silly. bear with me if there are any mistakes or if you find anything to be incorrect, as i am still slowly easing my way into the fandom. enjoy friends <3

“I am making an accusation.”

The moment those words were spat out of your cousin's lips with the utmost venom he could muster, you had suddenly wished you were hidden behind the thick walls Runestone provided; mourning the loss of your older sister.

Gerold Royce should have bit down harshly on his tongue the second his heart burst in flames with overwhelming heat — hatred for the man before him, eyes narrowed with murderous intentions he so desperately wished to act on.

This occasion was anything but the correct time to address such serious matters, especially under the scrutinous eyes of the King, his heir, and his Hand who had watched with such caution that you had opted to distract yourself by digging your fingernails in the wax-coated skin of an apple you had plucked from the vast array of foods.

The rhythm of your breathing had grown uneven, breasts squeezing uncomfortable against the upper trim of your dress, pillowed lips pressed in a thin line.

Daemon Targaryen leaned back in the finely carved wood that made up his seat, nodding in faux understanding at your cousin's bold choice of words. Craning his head slightly to scan his violet eyes across his elder brother and Lord Lyonel Strong, his lips jutted before parting to speak.

“In King’s Landing, men are made to answer for their slanders. Even old bronze cunts like you.”

There it was. The infamous insult that sharpened the blade — stabbing it into the already agonized heart of your relative, as well as your own through the sonorous music pouring in the canals of your ears.

You had known this so-called slander to be true; knowing his profound hatred for the Lady of the Vale had finally been acted upon in the treachery of her brutal murder. It was an unfortunate occurrence you had trampled upon.

Her skull was bashed to bits, remnants of brain matter scattered about in thick clots of crimson that had decorated the grass and watered the dirt. You had touched with the pads of your fingers, still slightly warm to the touch. Deep within the pits of your stomach, weaved in your intestines, you had known the silver-haired man before you were to take the blame for her untimely demise.

However, you were in no position to come to such a decision, and nor would you ever be. Therefore, Daemon Targaryen would walk away with every limb intact, and you would continue to suppress your fury, forever scarred by the loss.

It was only then that you had sharply stood from your seat, apple long forgotten as it dropped onto the table with a quiet thud, momentarily attracting the curious gazes of those across from you, the others none-the-wiser as they continued to prance about.

Piercing, violet eyes caught yours for a fraction of a millisecond and if you weren’t as aware as you were now, it was something you were sure to miss.

Destastation never consumed you so… barbarically.

Gerold stepped forward, chubby fists clenched and shaking with contained wrath.

Daemon took it as no threat, offering an amused smile as if to mock his feeble attempt at intimidation and defense of his house, his name, and his cousin.

“The truth is, I’m glad you’ve come. I wish to speak to you about my inheritance.”

“What inheritance?”

“Lady Rhea and I had no heirs. As her husband whatever she was due now passes to me.”

His words to you became a jumbled nonsensical mess.

Surely he had too much wine to drink before he had strutted through the thick doors of the feast hall, all mighty and proud of his feats and dirty achievements.

Before you could stop your actions, you strutted up the four short steps, forcing position next to Gerold whose jaw had grown taut with anger, teeth grinding against each other, practically shaking in place.

“It seems you’ve forgotten that Lady Rhea has a sister,” Your sharp words cut through the pause of uncomfortable silence that had settled despite music still echoing in the expanse of space, dimly lit, cozy yet unnerving at the same time. “and truth that no heirs have been brought forth, I have a right to claim. As long as I continue to breathe, you will take nothing.”

The finality of your statement seemed to have temporarily embedded itself in some part of Daemon that wasn’t as rot-ridden as he was, as he had nodded curtly at you, taking longer than necessary.

His lingering stares had never failed to send a chill down your spine, numbing you at the very core of your existence whenever you’d catch his gaze. He had preferred your presence over your sisters, despite the little time you two had spent together. Though he quickly figured that since you and the eldest bronze bitch had come from the same cunt, you were bound to have the same irritating little quirks — he just found you more tolerable, more sheltered than Rhea.

After all, the eve he had flown on the back of Caraxes back to King’s Landing, he had filled you — had given you something to remember him by. It showed when hues of purples and blues decorated the expanse of your stomach, under your ribcage, everywhere he could reach until you could no longer take everything he had to offer.

Daemon loved to ruin pretty things. And even though he had stated that the sheep were much prettier than any of the women in the Vale, he had not thought of you.

Roughly circling your arm around Gerold’s bicep, you tugged him away, and back to your designated seats, pulling him down to sit with as much strength as you could.

“Do not ever make such accusations in front of other lords and ladies of the realm.” You seethe, feeling him stiffen under your near-suffocating grasp, lips pressed together tightly before he nods.

“Good. Now eat, you’ve been neglecting your needs.”

And without a word, Gerold obeys.

⊹˚₊‧───────────────‧₊˚⊹

There’s moonlight casting shadows over the gargantuan towers of the Red Keep, basking certain spaces with a luster so gentle, it almost felt as if you were on your homeland, feeling the grass between your bare toes, inhaling as much fresh air as your lungs could home.

You could not do that here.

You could not taint your body with such putrid, toxic air as what loomed over in King’s Landing in thick clouds, dusting over the already sinful streets, waiting to discreetly make its way down your throat until it attacked every single cell in your body. Refuge from the disastrous occurrence of tonight's feast was not to be found here.

That was something you had quickly come to realize when you had picked at your fingernails draped over the ornate decoration of one of the many balcony railings that riddled the large fortress, mind wandering to other things that developed a small bubble of guilt.

You wouldn’t feed the monster. No. You couldn’t feed it the small handful of ill-at-ease altercations you’ve had with your brother bound by marriage, and the way he looked at you only intensified it to the point where you were sure it was to burst open, spilling your intestines and long-kept secrets.

“There you are. You know, you’re very hard to find.”

Clutching at the fabric of your dress, you rubbed it between your thumb and pointer fingers, spine straightening with such haste that it cracked slightly, back still turned to him.

That voice had haunted you in your dreams once, maybe twice if you could recall correctly despite your enthusiasm to find a way to rid them from the tissue of your brain. It had chosen to gather in the outer fluid of your skull instead, sloshing around the forefront from to time whenever Rhea had mentioned her cunt of a husband. They had not consummated their marriage, as he had no interest in sticking his cock in the likes of your sister, an eagle with wings far too big for her body.

That was something he despised about her, amongst many other things. Yet, he couldn’t find it in his dull, black heart to take any of it out on you, a vision among many; a person in his dreams he wishes he could call a stranger.

You had robbed him of something, and although Daemon wasn’t quite sure of what exactly it was, he’d figure it out in time. As he always did, no matter how rash.

“Should I be honored to be in your presence after you’ve sought me out, then?”

A brush of wind passes, seeping through the thin material of your clothing, through your skin, and wrapping itself around your bones.

“I think I should be … lady of the Vale.”

Turning your head in his direction, you narrow your eyes into slits as he makes his way toward you, hands clasped together firmly behind his back, hair slightly disheveled.

There’s a lump in your throat that you swallow with difficulty, heaving out a large, dramatic sigh, keeping your eyes locked on the side of his face, the slope of his nose. His brows were furrowed, the lines of age even more visible on the face you’ve only had the pleasure of touching once when he had thrust into you.

The mere thought of it calls upon the guilt again. So, you resist.

“I am in no mood for jesting, I only wish for a moment of peace. That is all I ask.” As tired as you had sounded, you had felt even more defeated knowing that no matter how much tea you’d ingest when you reached your temporary chambers, it would not be enough to keep your rumination at bay.

There’s a whistle somewhere nearby, a momentary distraction from how close he’s standing to you, shoulder to shoulder, body heat practically radiating like the fires you’d set deep within thick branches and high grass.

“You have a sly little tongue on you, don’t you?”

“Only when one claims what is to be mine.”

“Hm,” He hums, turning his head slightly to stare you directly in the eyes. “So eager to replace that dear sister of yours. Tell me, how did she so tragically pass again?

Daemon was trying to get under your skin. It was a skill he was best suited at, especially in a time of vulnerability such as this, with no one else around to diffuse the fire sparking between the both of you as your chest expanded so wide, that your lungs burned,

Grinding your teeth together, you could taste nothing but wine on your tongue as you pressed it against the roof of your mouth.

“A snapped neck and a crushed skull.” He tutts, “Such a shame.”

“Do not speak of my sister in ill manners when she has no way to defend her honor.” You spat, hand shaking at your sides, nails digging into your clammy palms – leaving crescent indents in their wake.

“Is that not why she has a sister to take her place when it suits her, to fuck her husband without remorse.” The smirk that appears at the corner of his lips has your chin wobbling in anger, a hand outstretched to clasp at the lining of his blood-red sleeve; the same blood-red that painted your sister's head when it laid cracked open on blades of grass.

“Laying with you was an insult to my virtue.”

Slowly, as if you were to strike him at any moment, Daemon raised a hand, gently pressing it against the pillowed flesh of your bottom lip, wet with saliva and ready for him to devour all over again; the taste of citrus coating his taste-buds.

“I rather enjoyed our time together.” He admits with amusement as if the agony written on your face was purely a source of entertainment.

With unshed tears burning behind your irises, you blink, wrinkling your nose in mild disgust at the man in front of you. “Fuck you.”

And with that, he presses his lips against yours, teeth clashing against teeth as the heat of his mouth overpowers your will to resist. You’re putty in his arms and he knows it by the way his free hand grips your hipbone, gripping as if you keep you in place.

It’s messy, yet delectable all the same as his tongue mingles with yours, hot and needy as they dance, heads growing hazy from lack of breathing. A quiet moan escapes you when Daemon tugs your bottom lip between his teeth as if he were starving, pulling you as close to his chest as he can manage.

You’d burn for this, surely; for fitting in the arms of your sister's husband as if you’d belong there — for feeling some sort of desire — lust all for the man who had taken her from you. It had become all too real to you when he had brought you into his chambers and unclothed you slowly as if you were a sight to behold, drinking you in like the most expensive wine he’d ever sought out in all of the Seven Kingdoms.

It had all become too real when his hands had greedily palmed at your breasts, taking a nipple in his mouth with such enthusiasm, that you were positive this was an entirely different man from the one you had come to know. His cheeks were hollow as he sucked, nipped, and swirled his tongue around your hard bud, an arch in your back only encouraging his movements.

The organ in your chest was beating erratically, practically pounding on your ribs, hoping to crack them one by one and leave you a shell of yourself before you were to return home.

Just for tonight.

You’d feel his touch one last time before you’d beg for forgiveness for the rest of your life.

When Daemon removes his mouth from your chest, he finds himself sucking the skin at the base of your neck, paying attention to a particular spot you had reacted to, bruising all he could to claim you just like he told you he would the first, and only night he bedded you.

The sensation of the bare skin of your legs wrapped around his waist sends him into a frenzy as he inhales sharply, slapping his hands at the meat of your thighs before trailing one between your legs to palm at his hard cock, dripping with pre-cum and ready to bury you to the hilt.

“One last time.” You whisper, letting it mix in the heavy air, watching the way his brows furrow before the only emotion in his dark eyes dissipates.

He wastes no time, gathering your arousal on his tip before he’s sheathing himself into you, groaning lowly in the crook of your neck as your walls shape around him. Your insides are on fire with the way he’s stretching you, left hand gripping at the sheets near your head.

“I’ll never grow tired of this.” He says it as if he’d have you for the rest of his life, a soft lilt to words that you’d find praising if they weren’t coming from him, a Targaryen — a dragon conqueror.

Biting down on the soft flesh of your lower lip, you stared at his features, clouded with a certain haze of carnal desire. The feeling of your heart beating quickly against the bones of your ribcage subsided when a flow of arousal made itself known at the burning intimacy of the action, causing you to clench around his cock buried within you, your nails dancing down the nape of his neck to the expanse of his back.

A groan left his throat when that not-so-innocent sound he relished reached his ears, and it was hard not to pound you into the satin sheets right then and there. Instead, he pressed his bare chest against yours, skin hot and flushed, his wet lips ghosting over the shell of your ear.

As the muscles in his back flexed, the light sting of where your sharp nails had once been clawing desperately reminded him just how much he loved the feeling of your nails breaking the skin there the first time. The sadistic action secretly becomes one of his favorites as you do it now. It was physical proof that he could please you in a way no one else could touch you in all the right places, and watch your pretty eyes roll into the back of your head.

Every single reaction you had to even the slightest touch — was all because of him. He’d want his touch to be all you’d ever know.

“So good, sweetling,” He drawled lowly. A quiet but adequate praise before he removed one of his hands from your side, producing a sharp hiss from you as his palm slapped against the outside of the fat of your left thigh once more.

You whined, the pulse between your legs aching with arousal, your slick pooling at the base of his cock when he’d fully unsheathe himself only to ram, back into you again. “Such a tight little cunt, huh?”

Wrapping your legs around his unclothed torso as much as you could manage, you crossed your ankles, pushing him in until he touched a spot so deep within you that you choked on your breath, the air seemingly knocked out of your lungs by his harsh movements as he continued to stretch you.

With closed eyes, you let your eyebrows furrow in concentration at the euphoric feeling he brought to you, a relentless pace that sent your toes to curl involuntarily.

The air was hot and the sheen of sweet blooming between the both of you did little to quell the intense heat. Skin slapping against skin and your lewd moans echoing off the thin walls and right back into your ears was all that could be heard aside from his panting.

It was only when his hand had slipped near your neck to cup your jaw, that you had let out a sob so pathetic that he had chuckled right into your skin, tears distorting your once clear vision of him as he continued to pump himself in and out of out.

“Look at you.” He cooed, “So pretty with those tears in your eyes.”

Your fingers had flexed uncomfortably near the top of his spine, nails scratching against the expanse, and moving toward his scalp, twirling wisps of loose silver hair around your finger as the frame squeaked beneath your bodies.

His guttural groan vibrated throughout your chest, rattling your body. The burning sting that seeped through the minor, raw wounds encouraged him to hold your hips down, ramming so deep into you, that you had started to writhe beneath him.

Daemon could tell you were close.

How could you not be with the way he was abusing your cunt; rocking you through your orgasm.

The slow, deep breaths he took to steady his breathing helped you focus on calming your own as he rubbed the pad of his thumb against your cheekbone, thrusting one, two, three more times before emptying himself in you, painting your walls with his seed, filling you to the brim before swiftly pulling out of you.

Your gaze never left his fit, naked figure as he ran a hand through his hair, shuffling toward the end of the bed, back hunched and toward you as the silence and realization of what you had done ate at you.

Never again. That was a promise you intended to keep.

Never again.

#daemon targaryen x reader #daemon targaryen x female reader #daemon targaryen smut #daemon targaryen x you #daemon targaryen angst #hotd x reader #hotd imagine #house of the dragon #hotd fanfic #hotd #daemon targaryen

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strawburry01 · 1 month

Text

We're Going to Be Friends

Summary: How Y/N and Aaron first start talking during their time in college (Aaron shouldn't be let into a lab)(also yeah, listen to the song when you read if you want)

Word Count: 2k

Authors Note: I don't think anyone really noticed but I'm sorry this took a second longer than normal to get out. I just had a really weirdly abrupt and messy break up (?) and when I usually write I've just been sleeping but we are doing better now that that's been resolved but like- guys what the fuck? Anyway, this was nice to write to kinda get out of my head. Cheers xoxo

It was your first day in the forensics chemistry lab after waiting two years to even be let into the lab space. You held your bound lab notebook to your chest as you walked in alongside the rest of the class and took your places at the lab benches, silently picking your lab partners. You were with a wiry girl with big blonde curly hair and thick-rimmed glasses. Hey at least she looked smart- it meant you wouldn’t have to carry the two of you to an A grade. As the class waited for the professor to come in you couldn’t help but overhear the laughter from across the classroom. Your head looked up to the source of the noise only to see the grinning Aaron Hotchner looking at his lab partner. Aaron and you had been in many of the same classes but had never really interacted beyond the polite head nod when bumping into each other. Sure there was nothing wrong with him, in fact, there was a lot that was right with him. He was handsome, in a bit of a nerdy Clark Kent sort of way, always looking like he rolled out of bed effortlessly and threw him glasses on before running to class. He was also fairly nice when it came to the general population. The Criminal Justice pathway in uni was highly competitive so it often meant everyone was insanely cutthroat, but he was always offering hints and help to others you’d notice. He was smart, very smart, but was very humble about it, in a way that only someone watching him could really realize how much he knew, and unfortunately, you did. Not even purposefully, but your eyes always had a way of falling onto the back of his head in class. Perhaps it was because he was the most attractive man in the cohort, or perhaps it was because you were just so intrigued at his charm.

The lab started and you were drawn from your thoughts as you tied your hair back and slipped on the snug safety goggles, glad that they even made everyone, even him, look a little bit dorkier. You and your lab partner (who you found out went by Jen), started setting up the titration and you pulled out your lab notebook to start writing the results down. The two of you small-talked about classes and movies as she slowly let the base solution drip into the acid, waiting for it to eventually turn pink. After running through a round you two switched positions and you leaned over as you tried to line up the new beaker under the buret.

Swiftly there was a new figure besides you. At first you assumed it was the professor, about to harass you about some incorrect technique or form, but you were surprised to see it was Aaron. He grinned as he looked down at you, and you suddenly felt very self conscious about leaning over so far in front of the buret. You quickly snapped up, standing straight, focusing on the buret with a reddening face.

“You’re Y/N right?” he asked. How he knew your name was beyond you, you’d never really talked to him before beyond a few yes or no’s.

“Yeah,” you answered, trying to maintain a calm demeanor, still intently focusing on the meniscus in the buret.

“Do you know where the sodium hydroxide is? I need some more,” he asked.

“Um, it’s just over there, you should just have to pipette it into your beaker,” you said, pointing to the dark brown container kept under the chemistry hood. His mouth formed an ‘o’ as he slowly nodded looking over.

“I see, thank you!” he said in a chipper demeanor as he walked over.

“What the hell was that about?” Jen asked, jumping onto anything other than the mundane topics. Your face reddened again as you didn’t even know what the hell that was about.

“What do you mean?” you asked, turning to face her, but before she could elaborate Aaron was back.

“Hey Y/N have you used one of those automatic pipettes before?” he asked sheepishly, holding a still empty beaker. You finally turned to face him and looked up. God he really was tall, or were you just short…nevermind that all.

“Have you not?” you asked, a bit shocked he’d gotten this far without having been subjected to one in high school or the general labs. He grinned again shrugged,

“Think you can help a poor guy out?”. You felt your stomach do a bit of a flip as you mumbled some sort of an agreement under your breath. He handed you the beaker once you were at the sodium hydroxide and you tried to explain the process and how to use the pipette. He made sure to make a dramatic show of nodding before you handed him back his beaker. You handed him back the beaker and stared at him a second before rolling your eyes,

“You know how to do this you little-” you started going off at him before he grinned mischievously,

“You do it so good though!” he exclaimed and nudged your arm which did shut you up, “You always just seem like you know what you’re doing,” he added.

“I don’t know about- ah- thanks,” you mumbled as you looked around the room, trying to avoid eye contact, not knowing where any of this was coming from. Has he really been paying attention to you this whole time? He thought you were smart? He thought you knew what you were doing? Was he complimenting you? He laughed and walked back to his lab bench as you went back to yours and apologized to Jen.

“You still don’t know what that’s all about?” she laughed under her breath as she pointed her pencil at you. Going back to the buret you shook your head.

“Honest to god I didn’t even think he knew my name,” you said, with a small smile, “he just wanted me to do his damn work for him though,”.

Another hour later once the lab was about halfway done your feet started hurting from standing for so long. You regretted not wearing better ones, but how were you supposed to know… As you were stretching your back and trying to get comfortable you made eye contact with Aaron from across the lab. The goofball had a thing of sodium hydroxide right next to him on his side of the lab this whole time. He never needed to come to your side. Instead of looking away he smiled and waved. You snorted to yourself and bit your bottom lip as you quickly waved back before looking back to your experiment.

After the tortuous three hour lab was finally done you let down your hair and threw your lab goggles into your backpack, catching yourself in a mirror on the way out and realizing just how bad the marks left behind on your face were.

“Raccoon eyes!” Jen laughed as she appeared by you in the mirror, finding herself in a similar situation.

“How the hell are we supposed to be taken seriously on campus like this?” you laughed as you tried to see if pulling on your skin helped at all, but much to your chagrin it did nothing.

“I mean they’ll just be jealous we get to do labs instead of just lecture all day,” Jen hummed as she waved goodbye. You smiled and waved back as you threw your backpack over your shoulder and moved to follow.

“Y/N!” Aaron yelled from behind you, getting you to look over your shoulder, “Look we’re twins,” he laughed as he pointed to his face, also having deep marks from the goggles around his glasses on his forehead and cheeks. You couldn’t help but laugh not only at his comment but also how absurd it was that he was now treating you like a close friend.

“I think we all learned our lesson today with the goggles,” you said as you started walking out, with him falling into step beside you.

“You heard the professor: goggles on, risk gone,” he recited, doing an excellent impression of your professor which garnered another laugh from you. “Hey, so I’ve been meaning to ask you this for a while, but um, do you want to study together? You’ve always been getting the top grades in our classes and you don’t seem like a total nerd…” he said, trailing off as he tried to think of a way to finish the sentence.

“A total nerd?” you asked, faking shock at his accusation.

“See- you can take a joke,” he defended himself and holding his hands up, holding the door open for you with his hip, “I’m trying to get into the FBI, y’know, and I know I heard you are too, so I was thinking of proposing a sort of pact?” he continued to explain, glancing down to see your reaction. You met his eyes before quickly darting back down. It’s true, you did want to be a part of the FBI, as stupid a dream it sounded some days. At the beginning of the year one of your classes had you all go around and discuss what you wanted to do in the long-run, mostly just so then the professor could guilt you into remembering you saying that when students were struggling.

“I’ll bite,” you say simply with a nod, “you’re really stand out in the psychology classes,” you added.

“And you’re a genius at the science stuff!” he said, turning to walk backwards in front of you, keeping his pace right ahead of yours as he talked facing you, “you’re seeing the vision!”. You couldn’t help but laugh again as you looked at him getting giddy.

“Okay okay, don’t trip,” you said as you pulled his wrist so he was back in step with you, both of you smiling like idiots at this point, knowing that this would be the start of a special friendship.

A/N yeah I'll stand by Aaron being a total college himbo (/endearing) and I'll probably write whatever big event causes him to get serious near the end of his time in college and turn into the daddy hotch we know and love.

#aaron hotch fanfiction #aaron hotchner #aaron hotch hotchner #hotch x reader #aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotch x reader #hotch #college au

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pinksturniolo · 26 days

Text

Amor e Outras Drogas (AU)

A blurb about Chris Sturniolo x Fem Reader from Robbers (AU)

Summary: You and your boyfriend Chris are bored one night and take an edible together. One thing leads to another and well... you know.

Content warnings: smut, high sex, oral, sub!chris, blindfolding, teasing, ice kink (??) not sure how to word that one lol

is this before or after the events of robbers, did they get out alive? who knows 🤷🏻‍♀️

disclaimer!!: i am not fluent in portuguese, so pls lmk if anything is incorrect. <3 chris is full portuguese in robbers.

i wanted to put art deco by lana but it wouldn’t let me add it 🙄

“Baby…”

“Yeah?”

“What exactly was in those edibles?”

Chris smirks, looking at your nearly closed eyes.

“It’s the same ones we took last time Ma.”

“But it feels… different.”

A good kind of different. You watch the ceiling fan as it spins in counterclockwise circles, your head leaned against the mattress from your seated position of the bedroom carpet floor. Chris lays on top of it, his head near yours, long hair tickling the side of your face. You feel like you’re sitting on a cloud and your body is tingling, vibrations of the room coursing through you. Everything feels ultra-sensitive and your breathing is calm, your mind relaxed.

“You okay though?” He asks and you turn towards him, nodding your head. “Yeah… just really high.”

He chuckles, stroking the top of your head. “Come lay up here with me.”

You follow his instructions, climbing on top of the bed where he is and laying next to him. He pulls you close, wrapping an arm around your shoulder while your head rests on chest. You lay together for a minute, listening to each other’s heart beats.

Your hand lazily strokes his upper body, running from his chest down to his stomach, your fingers brushing the band of his boxers that peek out from his sweatpants.

It’s not exactly your intention to turn him on, although the fibers of your being radiate sexual energy, something he picks up on extremely easily.

Especially when you two are in this particular state.

Out of the corner of your eye, you see a tent in his pants and once you notice it, you smile cheekily, your hand automatically palming his hardness.

He groans and looks down at you touching him, his hand tightening on your shoulder.

“That must be a new record, Chris.” You say, referring to the fact that it took him all of 30 seconds to get hard from your touch on his body.

He closes his eyes, his hand moving to the back of your neck now, fingertips massaging into the roots of your hair.

“Você sabe o que você faz comigo.” He murmurs, giving you butterflies. You know what you do to me.

You loved when he spoke in his first language, it made your heart squeeze in your chest and your panties flood with arousal.

You continue to rub him through his sweatpants, your teeth digging into your bottom lip from the feeling of him growing harder and harder in your hand. You dip your hand into his pants, now touching him over his boxers.

He groans again, this time grabbing your wrist and stopping your movements. You start to whine when he moves on top of you, his head hovering over the lower half of your body, pulling your pajama short down your legs.

“Not wearing any panties, pretty girl?” He says, his eyes taking in the sight of your bareness that he’s revealed. He licks his lips, looking into your glossy eyes before pressing a kiss to your navel.

“Chris…” You protest. You wanted him in your mouth badly, to help with his problem.

“Shhh, I wanna take care of my girl first.” He responds, his hands rubbing your thighs and spreading them open softly. He doesn’t tease you too much, ready to please you simply because he wants to.

He places more soft kisses to your wetness, kitten licking through your folds. You moan out, your hands on his head and tugging the strands of his hair.

He keeps one hand wrapped around your thigh, holding you open for him, and his other hand reaches up to squeeze your breast and flick his thumb across your nipple.

This has you leaking into his mouth, your breathing shallow as he caresses your walls with his tongue, pushing it as deep into you as it can go, his nose bumping your clit.

The feeling of pleasure is heightened, the sounds of him eating you out echoing through the room as you feel yourself close already.

“You’re so beautiful amor… always so wet for me.” He rasps, his tongue now circling your clit as he pushes two fingers inside you with ease.

“Fuck, baby…” You moan and you throw your head against the mattress, clenching around his fingers. He moans with you as you drip down his hands the longer he thrusts in and out of you.

He attaches his lips around your clit again, sucking. He knows you’re close by the way you’re pulling on his hair and moaning his name. “Cum for me, mama. Eu preciso disso, por favor.” I need it, please.

Within seconds, you’re cumming around his fingers, your legs shaking around his head. He helps you ride it out, smothering your thighs with warm kisses.

Once you’ve settled down, he removes your shirt along with his and takes his sweatpants off, climbing on top of you again so he can bury himself inside you the way he’s been craving to since you started touching him earlier.

But you stop him, pressing a hand to his chest and flipping him around so now he’s laid on his back and you straddle him. You shake your head, making a sound of disapproval. “You’re gonna let me take the lead this time, baby. Understand?” And he hesitates for a split second before nodding his head in agreement, placing his hands on your hips.

“Use your words, Chris.” You say, unsatisfied with just a nod. You want him to know you’re in control right now.

“Yes, amor. I understand.”

Chris was usually dominant in the bedroom as well as in the relationship, which you absolutely loved. But there were times when he would let you take over, and you enjoyed it more than anything. It was so hot.

“Good boy.” You smirk and a devilish idea sneaks its way into your mind as you look at the yellow bandana on his head.

You yank it down so that it covers his eyes, turning it into a makeshift blind fold.

“Baby- “he starts, his hands tightening on your waist.

“Its okay, you trust me, right?” You ask, rubbing his shoulders soothingly.

“Yes, mama.” His lips part, his breathing picking up as your run your hands down his chest.

“Be right back. Don’t move.” You say and run off to get what you need.

You return shortly, an ice cube in your hand from the freezer.

As you sit back on him, you make sure the bandana is still secure around his eyes before you place the cube on his chest and drag it very slowly down his abs.

He hisses as soon as he feels the sharp coldness, his abdomen flexing and jaw falling open.

“Fuck, what is that?” He pants, his fingertips digging into your skin harshly.

He’s hard as a rock in his boxers, your naked body still straddling him. You grind on him subtly, the view of his lips parted in pleasure and the veins in his arms popping out getting you wet again.

You don’t answer his question, trailing the ice cube further down, stopping right above his boxers. It’s already melting from his hot skin, leaving droplets of water that roll down his hips.

You move it upwards again, this time circling it over one of his nipples lightly and then across his neck. He groans and bucks his hips up into you, the cube now gone and you lean down to lap up the water that’s pooled there, sucking and biting your marks onto his neck.

“Please, amor. Não me provoque…” He moans, his hips bucking uncontrollably. Don’t tease me.

You sit up and wrap a hand around his throat lightly. “I think you should shut your mouth until I ask you to speak.” You demand.

You roll your hips down onto him and he shuts his mouth like you asked, gritting his teeth.

You smile smugly to yourself and pull his boxers down, freeing his hard length. A pool of saliva drips from your mouth as you spit on the tip, letting it fall down to the base. He pants and bites his lip in anticipation before you finally sink yourself down onto him, the familiar stretch making you both moan out.

“God, Chris.. always feel so fucking good.” You say, your hands on his chest for support as you start to bounce on him. He’s gripping your hips with so much force, you’re sure there will be bruises in the morning. Whimpers escape his throat, his head against the pillows.

You know he’s just dying to say what he wants, to praise you for how good it feels. But you don’t give him permission to talk just yet, enjoying the feeling of riding him. This angle is making you see stars, the high from the edible still strong.

Your orgasm is near again, sweat starting to build on your forehead. Chris is a mess beneath you, panting and moaning, and then suddenly his thumb grazes your clit, rubbing circles on you.

“Please, Y/N. Please, let me see you. Eu quero ver seus lindos olhos. Quero observar você quando você vier.” Chris breaks his silence.

I want to see your pretty eyes. I want to watch you when you come.

His voice is so desperate and needy that you give in, ripping the bandana off his face. You make eye contact with his icy blue eyes, sending sparks through you.

He doesn’t look away once as you cum around his cock, his hands gripping your ass as you ride out your high and he finishes soon after, releasing deep inside you.

You collapse on his chest, your head tucked into his neck as he strokes your hair, pressing a breathless kiss to your forehead.

“So good, amor. I love you so much.” He whispers. “Let’s go clean up in the shower.”

a/n: this isn’t the one shot i’m working on, just a blurb i had in my head since i wrote robbers and just had to put out 🩷 they have my heart 🥹

taglist <3: (if you want to be added/taken off, reply to this post or comment on my masterlist. and if you weren't mentioned, it wouldnt let me tag u :/)

@sturniolopepsi @tillies33ssss @whicked-hazlatwhore @riasturns @christhopersturniolo @junnniiieee07 @sturnsjtop @seahorsie11 @inveigledvex @honestlyjb @mattslolita @certifiednatelover @glassesmattsbae @eryismum @sturncakez @sturnioloco @wh0resstuff @ribread03 @sturniololoco @75sturn

#sturniolo triplets #chris sturniolo #christopher sturniolo #sturniolo fanfic #sturniolo smut #sturniolo x reader #chris sturniolo oneshot #chris sturniolo fanfic #chris sturniolo smut #chris sturniolo blurb #chris sturniolo x reader

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ms--lobotomy · 2 months

Text

I have a billion drafts and even more requests but I just downed an edible and I'm going to write a breeding fic before it kicks in. God Emperor help me. (Or a Chaos god, I'm not picky.)

Summary: If you are to build your family with The Lion, you are to build it soon.

Word Count: 1289

Content Warnings: SMUT (I take my holidays very seriously, happy Mating Press March), heavy breeding kink (you're welcome), female reader, implied hormone smelling stuff, I know belly bulge is anatomically incorrect but it's hot so I'm writing it, also probably praise kink too

Image Credit: @squishyowl

He'd had a little study built for you in his room, right next to his. Yours was used far more. On the rare occasions he sat down to do "work," he'd made it clear it was only because you were there. You'd preferred to work while in his lap when you could, but now he had a meeting to attend to. And who were you to steal him away from his legion?

You typed a little bit more, taking a sip of your drink. Just water this time. You normally liked your fruity drinks, alcoholic or otherwise, but today was not the day to do that. You paused, tapping the side of your desk. No more words were coming to you. You sighed, putting your head in your hands before pulling your head back.

You heard frantic footsteps before too long. You immediately turned back in your chair, grabbing the back of it with your dominant hand. There was only one person those footsteps could belong to.

"Lion?"

The door swung open as if he were trying to break the ornate wood. He was inhumanly large and imposing without his armor, but with it he was even more befitting of the title of demigod. A grumpy expression graced his features... no, this wasn't exactly grumpy. You couldn't put a finger on it. He was gazing at you intently, and you locked eyes for a slight second before he rushed at you.

You barely had time to get out of your chair before he scooped you up, holding you close to him. Before you could ask what was going on, he practically tossed you on the bed.

"Disrobe. Now."

"Ex... excuse me?" you asked as he practically tore off his pauldrons and threw them to the floor. They rolled away and made a clinking noise against the wall.

"If we are to start a family," he said, "we are to make haste."

A soft "oh" escaped your lips, and you immediately started to unbutton your shirt. You looked over at your husband, who was tearing off his body glove. He was well endowed, but you hadn't the time to look. You instead looked down at your shirt and unbuttoned it even faster, pulling it off of you before Lion grabbed your hips and slid you further into the bed.

You yelped as his hands immediately moved to your wrists. He held you down to the bed as it bucked slightly under him. He pressed a kiss to your lips, careful not to bite too hard on your bottom lip. You let a little noise escape you as he moved your wrists above your head. After a few moments, he moved away to trail kisses down your neck. They weren't enough to draw blood, but you could tell quite a few of them were going to leave a mark.

"Lion--" you moaned, running your hands through the part of his hair not tied back. You gripped him tight to you, but not tight enough to hold him down for very long.

He said nothing, running his teeth along your nipple. He was holding your wrists together with one hand, and slipping the other under your pants to rub you with one of his fingers. He looked down at you with that same grim determination on his face before he went to your other nipple, leaving his mark before he slid himself down you.

He pulled your pants and undergarments down. You winced, anticipating the same tearing of garments as what befell his body glove, but he pulled them down much more gently, casting them aside before going to work on your underwear. His head was between your legs faster than you could account for, and the entrance of his tongue drew a sharp gasp from you.

He said nothing, but ran his tongue all along you. You wrapped your legs around his head, crying out. His hands were slightly above your hips, at the small of your waist, holding you to the bed. They threatened to bruise, but Lion was showing enough self-restraint to make sure that was not going to be the case. After a while he relented, pulling his head away from between your legs.

"Are you ready to mother my sons?" he asked, cupping your face with his hand. His thumb trailed down your cheek.

"Yes, sir," you said, as you felt something press up against your entrance. He took your ankles in his hands and folded you back, threatening to break you in half.

He pushed himself in, stretching you out on him. You let out a sharp cry, and he pushed his fingers in your mouth, muffling you. He went in deeper, as you moaned against his fingers and your eyes went shut.

"I am going to fill you up," he grunted.

You opened your eyes, your eyebrows knit. He rarely, if at all, talked while you were sleeping together.

"This will be the first of many children you will bear me."

You tried to formulate a response, but all that came out was a loud moan against his fingers. He pulled his fingers out. He was in all the way to the hilt now. There was a slight bulge in your abdomen. He throbbed inside of you.

"I could not have asked for a better mother to my children," he said.

If you weren't putty underneath him before, you had absolutely melted by now. Your hands brushed his torso. You looked at him, and he looked back at you as he started to pull out. "Thank you," you managed to choke out.

He thrust his way back into you, prompting a little squeal from you. Even now you knew he was holding back as his expression softened and he ran a thumb along the side of your face again. He blocked out the light of the room, casting a shadow over you befitting of a demigod. He sped up, eliciting squeals of delight from you before you soon came onto him.

He kept you squealing like this practically all night. Lion was gifted legendary endurance, and you had been chosen to witness it firsthand. He'd occasionally muttered sweet nothings to you about the family you were to build. After a while, his face became strained and his movements became frantic. You were limp on the bed, face scrunched up in pleasure and doing your damnedest to pull your lover down close to you.

"Soon," he said. Even as his little wife, you couldn't normally read him, but there was a look of adoration in his eyes that he rarely let slip. He stopped one last time, letting himself throb inside you once more as he pumped you full. You let out a little cry, turning your head to the side before Lion turned it back.

"Look at you," he said, before softly saying your name. Even now, it sent shivers down your spine. "You're a mother now."

You panted as he came down close to you, wrapping his arms around you as he kept himself in there a little longer. After a few moments he pulled himself out, sticky fluid leaking from you.

"Let me clean you off," he grunted, getting off of you. For a few moments you lay there, the cool air hitting you again, before he returned. He held you there gently as he wiped the excess off of you.

"There we go."

He lay himself on the bed and rolled you over, situating you on his bare chest. He pressed you close to him, running his large hand along your back. You exhaled and leaned into him as he ran his other hand through your hair.

"Well done, Mother of Angels."

#warhammer 40k x reader #primarch x reader #lion el'jonson x reader #reader insert #lion el'jonson #warhammer x reader #ok im not going to lie the edible did hit while i was writing but like i needed another debuff tbh #i would be too powerful had i not taken it #mating press march

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fangirltothefullest · 4 months

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Can I ask a question? I like your sanders sides a lot and you give them a lot of personality in their designs! How do you make them like that? Or I guess I mean, what inspires you to make them the way that you do? I want to draw the sides but I'm not sure how to start other than their canon designs!

Oh my goodness I LOVE this question! For me, it's all about the feelings you get when you see them and the vibes I want to express. The Sides embody, to me, more than an aesthetic it should also encompass personality, role, and intention. In other words, I match their aesthetics to their function and the intent of what I feel like Thomas originally intended for them for their first short videos before they were actual sides.

Let us pick Roman, because even though people say he's not, he tends to be everyone's favourite to reblog fro me because he's pretty.

So I started by drawing him exactly as he was and to me he felt flat- in the show he's exactly as he should be but I am an artist and to me he feels more than what he looks like- it's dreamy, it's romantic, it's like he's giving childhood favouritre Disney Prince vibes, you know?

Inspiration 1: Prince Phillip

Hands down the biggest inspiration comes from him because he IS my favourite disney prince. Just looks a the hair swoop and the eyelashes- perfect. So I went ok my favourite Disney Prince is Phillip, let's start here. Before the CGI movies, there was such a romantic feeling about classic Disney princess movies and I've always loved the romantic feeling of Sleeping Beauty. The backgrounds are stunning, the way she's animated makes my bi ass give heart eyes and I loved that he was the only prince at the time who had a personality (until Beast but that's a whole other can of worms because he started out as an asshole/grumpy). I feel like modern Disney movies miss a lot of the romantic dreamy feeling of the older 2d movies because there was such care into the painted backgrounds being LESS realistic and more a fabulous idea of what a background should be and AHA! MORE INSPIRATION~! Let's make Roman a fabulous romantic idea of what a prince should be!

Inspiration 2: Faerietale Knights in Shining Armour

Our ideas of medieval knights are nothing like actual knights which are more reminiscent of hired military and enforcers. Our ideas of faerietale knights in shining armour are brave knights who would go off to kill a dragon to show their devotion to the one they love. Sword fighting heroes- is that not Roman if not an idealized romantic "royal knight wants to win the heart of the love with courageous deeds, acts of chivalry, selfless devotion" etc. Prince Phillip is a good model of this. Defeats a dragon and true love's kiss saves the day. A perfect romantic dream isn't it? Realistic? No of course not, but Roman isn't realistic he's creativity and romance which absolutely ignores practicality for the dream.

So we have this culmination of dreamy romantic disney prince and faerietale influence.

Now it's about aesthetics- Roman is reds and golds and whites, all royal colours typically associated with bravery, lineage, and strength and purity etc.

Inspiration 3: Media referencing

So let's find some movie or media equivalence I can reference. They came mostly in the forms of Narnia and Once Upon a Time.

So some aesthetic inspirations for belts and textures, missing the epaulets.... so to military garb!

Inspiration 4: Russian royals

Let's face it no one does embellishments like this any more <3

Inspiration 5: Lions

Roman's colours being red gold and white give me lion inspiration too so I looked up royal lion iconography as well (which ended up with a lot of lion king in the search because this was before AI but like.... it's not incorrect and the wavy flowy mane acted like hair. If Hamlet with lions is inspiring then use it, right? that have some AMAZING lion king-style artists on deviantart to get inspired by, it's a whole thing, mad respect) But ANYWAYS it gave me some cool stuff to be inspired by too.

Inspiration 6: Classic Golden Age Hollysood Leading Ladies (Note that this isn't femme fatales, because for Janus I used femme fatales as inspiration)

I knew that I just HAD to give Roman that Marilyn Monroe beauty mark, yes he paints it on every day yes it's in the same spot every day yes it's necessary.

Ultimately this culminated in a checklist of things that I wanted for him:

He must give the feeling of Prince Phillip in disney prince style

I wanted him to have flowey hair that makes him look softer and romantic and can be pulled up into a ponytail if necessary.

Must have a beauty mark and eyelashes that go on for ages reminiscent of old hollywood ladies, and let's throw in nail polish too.

I wanted him to have an outfit that would be his original but embellished to hell that can be like Narnia or OUaT in terms of texture and added stuff. It needed more gold, 100% needed epaulets (the shoulder things with the dangly rstuff), and it needed a belt where a sword could be attached. Danglies not always necessary, but look really good when done and is reminiscent of old fashioned military garb and Russian royalty.

He needed to look like he's used to wearing this outfit every single day and going out of his way to do so.

Ended up with this:

So yeah that's how I got to his design!

#sanders sides #tashiarts #how i get inspiration

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hopelesslys-world · 9 months

Text

50 SHADES OF FUCKED UP | CH. 6

TRIGGER WARNINGS!: TOXIC RELATIONSHIP, reader is kind of a bimbo, heavily detailed smut, basically porn, loss of virginity, harsh language, anger issues, stalking, obsession, jealousy, controlling behaviour, DOM-SUB themes, BDSM Expand considered to be portrayed with incorrect/poor etiquette, emotional abuse, physical abuse, sexual abuse/assault, statutory rape.

Tell me if I missed anything...( As you can see most of the warnings will appear in future chapters. )

I apologize for any grammar mistakes...

Y/M/N: Your Middle Name

Y/N/N: Your Nickname

Y/L/N: Your Last Name

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*𝙔𝙊𝙐𝙍 𝙋𝙊𝙑*

┅┅

𝐁𝐄𝐋𝐋𝐀 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐄𝐋𝐋𝐈𝐎𝐓 𝐀𝐑𝐄 𝐒𝐈𝐓𝐓𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐀𝐓 𝐎𝐔𝐑 dining table. The fourteen-thousand-dollar books have disappeared. Thank God... I have plans for them. She has the most un-Bella ridiculous grin on her face, and she looks mussed up in a sexy kind of way.

Christian follows me into the living area, and in spite of her I’ve-been-having-a-good-time-all-night grin, Bella eyes him suspiciously.

“Hi Y/N/N.” She leaps up to hug me, then holds me at arm’s length so she can examine me. She frowns and turns to Christian.

“Good morning, Christian,” she says, and her tone is a little hostile.

“Miss Clark,” he says in his stiff formal way.

“Christian, her name is Bella,” Elliot grumbles.

“Bella.” Christian gives her a polite nod and glares at Elliot who grins and rises to hug me too.

“Hi, Y/N,” he smiles, his blue eyes twinkling, and I like him immediately. He’s obviously nothing like Christian, but then they’re adopted brothers.

“Hi, Elliot,” I smile at him, and I’m aware that I’m biting my lip.

“Elliot, we’d better go.” Christian says mildly.

“Sure.” He turns to Bella and pulls her into his arms and gives her a long lingering kiss.

Jeez… get a room. I stare at my feet, embarrassed. I glance up at Christian, and he’s watching me intently. I narrow my eyes at him. Why can’t you kiss me like that? Elliot continues to kiss Bella, sweeping her off her feet and dipping her in a dramatic hold so that her hair touches the ground as he kisses her hard.

“Laters, baby,” he grins.

Bella just melts. I’ve never seen her melt before – the words comely and compliant come to mind. Compliant Bella, boy, Elliot must be good. Christian rolls his eyes and stares down at me, his expression unreadable, although maybe he’s mildly amused. He tucks a stray strand of my hair that has worked its way free from my ear. His eyes soften, and he runs his thumb across my lower lip. My blood sears in my veins. And all too quickly, his touch is gone.

“Laters, baby,” he murmurs, and I have to laugh because it’s so unlike him. But even though I know he’s being irreverent, the endearment tugs at something deep inside me.

“I’ll pick you up at eight.” He turns to leave, opening the front door and stepping out on to the porch. Elliot follows him to the car but turns and blows Bella another kiss, and I feel an unwelcome pang of jealousy.

“So, did you?” she asks as we watch them climb into the car and drive off, the burning curiosity evident in her voice.

“No,” I replied, hoping that will halt the questions. We head back into the apartment. “You obviously did, though.” I smirked. Bella always manages to ensnare men. She is irresistible, beautiful, sexy, funny, forward… all the things that I’m not, and I don't mind to honest, it balances our friendship perfectly. Her answering grin is infectious.

“And I’m seeing him again this evening.” She claps her hands and jumps up and down like a small child. She cannot contain her excitement and happiness. I feel happy for her. A happy Bella… this is going to be interesting.

“Christian is taking me to Seattle this evening.”

“Seattle?”

“Yes.”

“Maybe you will then?”

“Oh, I don't know...” i fidgeted with my fingers nervously.

“You like him?”

“Yes.”

“Like him enough to… ?”

“Mmmaybe...” I dragged on the word still unsure about this whole sex thing.

She raises her eyebrows.

“Wow. Y/N Y/L/N, finally falling for a man, and it’s Christian Grey – hot, sexy billionaire.”

“Oh yeah – it’s all about the money.” I smirk, and we both fall into a fit of giggles.

“Is that a new blouse?” she asks, and I let her have all the unexciting details about my night.

“Has he kissed you yet?” she asks as she makes coffee.

I blush. “Once.”

“Once!” she scoffs.

I nod, rather shame faced. “He’s very reserved.”

She frowns. “That’s odd.”

“I don’t think odd covers it really,” I murmur.

“We need to make sure you’re simply irresistible for this evening,” she says with dtermination.

Oh no… this sounds like it will be time consuming, “I have to be at work in an hour.”

“I can work with that timeframe. Come on.” Bella grabs my hand and takes me into her bedroom.

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The day drags at Clayton’s even though we’re busy. We’ve hit the summer season, so I have to spend two hours restocking the shelves once the shop is closed. It’s mindless work, and it gives me too much time to think. I’ve not really had a chance all day.

Under Bella’s tireless and frankly intrusive instruction, my legs and underarms are waxed to perfection, beauty masks, face and body creams, it reminded me off girl night sleepovers I had as a teenager with the small friend group I had.

I have to convince Bella that this is what I want to do. For some strange reason, she doesn’t trust him, maybe because he’s so stiff and formal. She says she can’t put her finger on it, but I have promised to text her when I arrive in Seattle. I haven’t told her about the helicopter, she’d freak.

I also have the José issue. He’s left three messages and seven missed calls on my cell. He’s also called home twice. Bella has been very vague as to where I am. He’ll know she’s covering for me. She doesn’t do vague. But I have decided to let him stew. I’m still too angry with him.

Christian mentioned some kind of written paperwork, and I don’t know if he was joking or if I’m going to have to sign something. It’s so frustrating trying to guess. And on top of all the angst, I can barely contain my excitement or my nerves. Tonight’s the night!

After all this time, am I ready for this? Probably...I guess... I still don’t understand what Christian Gray sees in me… mousey Y/N Y/L/N - it makes no sense.

He is punctual, of course, and waiting for me when I leave Clayton’s. He climbs out of the back of the Audi to open the door and smiles warmly at me. “Good evening, Miss Y/L/N,” he says.

“Mr. Grey.” I nod politely to him as I climb into the backseat of the car. Taylor is sitting in the driver’s seat.

“Hello, Taylor,” I say.

“Good evening, Miss Y/L/N,” his voice is polite and professional. Christian climbs in the other side and clasps my hand, giving it a gentle squeeze that I feel all the way though my body.

“How was work?” he asks.

“Fine, too slow though,” I reply, and my voice is husky.

I need to get a grip of myself.

“Yes, it’s been a slow day for me too.” His tone is serious.

“What did you do?” I manage.

“I went hiking with Elliot.” His thumb strokes my knuckles, back and forth, and my heart skips a beat. How does he do this to me?

The drive to the heliport is short and, before I know it, we arrive. I wonder where the fabled helicopter might be. We’re in a built-up area of the city and even I know helicopters need space to take off and land. Taylor parks, climbs out, and opens my car door. Christian is beside me in an instant and takes my hand again.

“Ready?” he asks. I nod and want to say for anything, but I can’t articulate the words as I’m too nervous, too excited.

“Taylor.” He nods curtly at his driver, and we head into the building, straight to a set of elevators. The memory of our kiss this morning comes back to haunt me.

I have thought of nothing else all day. Daydreaming at the register at Clayton’s. Twice Mr. Clayton had to shout my name to bring me back to Earth. To say I’ve been distracted would be the understatement of the year. Christian glances down at me, a slight smile on his lips.

Ha! He’s thinking about it too.

“It’s only three floors,” he says dryly, his gray eyes dancing with amusement. He’s telepathic surely. It’s spooky.

I try to keep my face impassive as we enter the elevator. The doors close, and it’s there, the weird electrical attraction crackling between us, enslaving me. He tightens his grip on my hand, and five seconds later the doors open on to the roof of the building. And there it is, a white helicopter with the name Grey Enterprises Holdings Inc. written in blue with the company logo on the side. Surely this is misuse of Company property.

He leads me to a small office where an old timer sits behind the desk.

“Here’s your flight plan, Mr. Grey. All external checks are done. It’s ready and waiting sir. You’re free to go.”

“Thank you, Joe.” Christian smiles warmly at him.

Oh. Someone deserving of the polite treatment from Christian, perhaps he’s not an employee. I stare at the old guy in awe.

“Let’s go,” Christian says, and we make our way toward the helicopter. When we’re up close, it’s much bigger than I thought. I expected it to be a roadster version for two, but it has at least seven seats. Christian opens the door and directs me to one of the seats at the very front.

“Sit – don’t touch anything,” he orders as he clambers in behind me.

He shuts the door with a slam. I’m glad that the area is floodlit, otherwise I’d find it difficult to see inside the small cockpit. I sit down in my allotted seat, and he crouches beside me to strap me into the harness. It’s a four-point harness with all the straps connecting to one central buckle. He tightens both of the upper straps, so I can hardly move.

He’s so close and intent on what he’s doing. If I could only lean forward, my nose would be in his hair. He smells, clean, fresh, heavenly, but I’m fastened securely into my seat and effectively immobile. He glances up and smiles, like he’s enjoying his usual private joke, his gray eyes heated. He’s so tantalizingly close. I hold my breath as he pulls at one of the upper straps.

“You’re secure, no escaping,” he whispers, his eyes are scorching. Reaching up, he caresses my cheek, running his long fingers down to my chin which he grasps between his thumb and forefinger. He leans forward and plants a brief, chaste kiss on my lips, leaving me reeling, my insides clenching at the thrilling, unexpected touch of his lips.

“I like this harness,” he whispers.

What?

He sits down beside me and buckles himself into his seat, then begins a protracted procedure of checking gauges and flipping switches and buttons from the mind-boggling array of dials and lights and switches in front of me. Little lights wink and flash from various dials, and the whole of the instrument panel lights up.

“Put your cans on,” he says, pointing to a set of headphones in front of me. I pop them on, and the rotor blades start. They are deafening. He puts his headphones on and continues flipping various switches.

“I’m just going through all the pre-flight checks.” Christian’s disembodied voice is in my ears through the headphones. I turn and grin at him.

“Do you know what you are doing?” I ask. He turns and smiles at me.

“I’ve been a fully qualified pilot for four years, Y/L, you’re safe with me.” He gives me a wolfish grin. “Well, while we’re flying,” he adds and winks at me.

Winking… Christian!

“Are you ready?”

I nod wide eyed.

“Okay, tower. PDX this is Charlie Tango Golf – Golf Echo Hotel, cleared for take-off. Please confirm, over.”

“Charlie Tango - you are clear. PDX to call, proceed to one four thousand, heading zero one zero, over. ”

“Roger tower, Charlie Tango set, over and out. Here we go,” he adds to me, and the helicopter rises slowly and smoothly into the air.

Portland disappears in front us as we head into US airspace, though my stomach remains firmly in Oregon.

Whoa! All the bright lights shrink until they are twinkling sweetly below us. It’s like looking out from inside a fish bowl. Once we’re higher, there really is nothing to see. It’s pitch black, not even the moon to shed any light on our journey. How can he see where we’re going?

“Eerie isn’t it?” Christian’s voice is in my ears.

“How do you know you’re going the right way?”

“Here.” He points his long index finger at one of the gauges, and it shows an electronic compass. “This is an EC135 Eurocopter. One of the safest in its class. It’s equipped for night flight.” He glances and grins at me.

“There’s a helipad on top of the building I live in. That’s where we’re heading.”

Of course there’s a helipad where he lives. I am so out of my league here. His face is softly illuminated by the lights on the instrument panel. He’s concentrating hard, and he’s continually glancing at the various dials in front of him. I drink in his features frombeneath my lashes. He has a beautiful profile. Straight nose, square jawed. He hasn’t shaved, and his stubble makes the prospect doubly tempting.

“When you fly at night, you fly blind. You have to trust the instrumentation,” he said.

“How long will the flight be?” I asked.

“Less than an hour, the wind is in our favor.”

Hmm, less than an hour to Seattle… that’s not bad going, no wonder we’re flying. I have less than an hour before the big reveal. All the muscles clench deep in my belly.

I have a serious case of butterflies. They are flourishing in my stomach. “You okay, Y/N?” He interrupts my thoughts.

“Yep.” My answer is short, clipped, squeezed out through my nerves.

I think he smiles, but it’s difficult to tell in the darkness. Christian flicks yet another switch.

“PDX this is Charlie Tango now at one four thousand, over.” He exchanges information with air traffic control. It all sounds very professional to me. I think we’re moving from Portland’s air space to Seattle International Airport’s.

“Understood Sea-Tac, standing by over and out.”

“Look, over there.” He points to a small pin-point of light in the far distance. “That’s Seattle.”

“Do you always impress women this way? Come and fly in my helicopter?” I ask, genuinely interested.

“I’ve never bought a girl up here, Y/N. It’s another first for me.” His voice is quiet, serious.

That was an unexpected answer. Another first? Oh the sleeping thing, perhaps?

“Are you impressed?”

“I’m awed, Christian.”

He smiles. “Awed?” And for a brief moment, he’s his age again.

I nod.

“You’re just so… competent.”

“Why, thank you, Miss Y/L/N,” he says politely. I think he’s pleased, but I’m not sure.

We ride into the dark night in silence for a while. The bright spot that is Seattle is slowly getting bigger.

“Sea-Tac tower to Charlie Tango. Flight plan to Escala in place. Please proceed. And standby. Over.”

“This is Charlie Tango, understood Sea-Tac. Standing by, over and out.”

“You obviously enjoy this,” I murmur.

“What?” He glances at me. He looks quizzical in the half-light of the instruments.

“Flying,” I reply.

“It requires control and concentration… how could I not love it? Though, my favorite is soaring.”

“Soaring?”

“Yes. Gliding to the layperson. Gliders and helicopters – I fly them both.”

“Oh.” Expensive hobbies. I remember him telling me during the interview. I like reading and occasionally going to the movies. I am out of my depth here.

“Charlie Tango come in please, over.” The disembodied voice of air traffic control interrupts my reverie. Christian answers, sounding in control and confident.

Seattle is getting closer. We are on the very outskirts now.

Wow! It looks absolutely stunning. Seattle at night, from the sky…

“Looks good, doesn’t it?” Christian murmurs.

I nod enthusiastically. It looks otherworldly – unreal – and I feel like I’m on a giant film set, José’s favorite film maybe, ‘Bladerunner.’ The memory of José’s attempted kiss haunts me. However, guilt isn't what I'm feeling, like I usually do when something happens between me and a close person, like arguments ect.

God, I'm such a people pleaser...

“We’ll be there in a few minutes,” Christian mutters, and suddenly my blood is pounding in my ears as my heartbeat accelerates and adrenaline spikes through my system. He starts talking to air traffic control again, but I am no longer listening.

We are now flying amongst the buildings, and up ahead I can see a tall skyscraper with a helipad on top. The word Escala is painted in white on top of the building. It’s getting nearer and nearer, bigger and bigger… like my anxiety...

The helicopter slows and hovers, and Christian sets it down on the helipad on top of the building. My heart is in my mouth. I can’t decide if it’s from nervous anticipation, relief or that we’ve arrived alive. He switches the ignition off and the rotor blades slow and quiet until all I hear is the sound of my own erratic breathing.

Christian takes his headphones off, and reaches across and pulls mine off too.

“We’re here,” he says softly.

His look is so intense, half in shadow and half in the bright white light from the landing lights. Dark knight and white knight, it’s a fitting metaphor for Christian. He looks strained. His jaw is clenched and his eyes are tight. He unfastens his seatbelt and reaches over to unbuckle mine. His face is inches from mine.

“You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do. You know that don’t you?” His tone is so earnest, desperate even, his gray eyes impassioned. He takes me by surprise.

“I’d never do anything I didn’t want to do, Christian.” And as I say the words, I don’t quite feel their conviction because at this moment in time – I’d probably do anything for this man seated beside me. But this does the trick. He’s mollified.

He eyes me warily for a moment and somehow, even though he’s so tall, he manages to ease his way gracefully to the door of the helicopter and open it. He jumps out, waiting for me to follow, and takes my hand as I clamber down on to the helipad. It’s very windyon top of the building, and I’m nervous about the fact that I’m standing at least thirty stories high in an unenclosed space. Christian wraps his arm around my waist, pulling me tightly against him.

“Come,” he shouts above the noise of the wind. He drags me over to an elevator shaft and, after tapping a number into a keypad, the doors open. It’s warm inside and all mirrored glass. I can see Christian to infinity everywhere I look, and the wonderful thing is, he’s holding me to infinity too. Christian taps another code into the keypad, then the doors close and the elevator descends.

Moments later, we’re in an all-white foyer. In the middle is a round, dark wood table, and on it is an unbelievably huge bunch of white flowers. On the walls there are paintings, everywhere. He opens two double doors, and the white theme continues through the wide corridor and directly opposite where a palatial room opens up. It’s the main living area, double height. Huge is too small a word for it. The far wall is glass and leads on to a balcony that overlooks Seattle.

To the right is an imposing ‘U’ shaped sofa that could sit ten adults comfortably. It faces a state-of-the-art stainless steel – or maybe platinum for all I know - modern fireplace.

The fire is lit and flaming gently. On the left beside us, by the entryway, is the kitchen area. All white with dark wood worktops and a large breakfast bar which seats six.

Near the kitchen area, in front of the glass wall, is a dining table surrounded by chairs. And tucked in the corner is a full size, shiny black grand piano. Of course he probably plays the piano too. There is art of all shapes and sizes on all the walls. In fact, this apartment looks more like a gallery than a place to live.

“Can I take your coat?” Christian asks. I shake my head. I’m still cold from the wind on the helipad.

“Would you like a drink?” he asks. I blink at him. After last night! Is he trying to be funny? For one second, I think about asking for a margarita – but I don’t have the nerve.

“I’m going to have a glass of white wine, would you like to join me?”

“Yes, please,” I murmur. I am standing in this enormous room feeling out of place. I walk over to the glass wall, and I realize that the lower half of the wall opens concertina-style on to the balcony. Seattle is lit up and lively in the background. I walk back to the kitchen area – it takes a few seconds, it’s so far from the glass wall – and Christian is opening a bottle of wine. He’s removed his jacket.

“Pouilly Fumé okay with you?”

“I know nothing about wine, Christian. I’m sure it will be fine.” My voice is soft and hesitant. My heart is thumping. This is seriously rich. Seriously over-the top Bill Gates style wealthy. What am I doing here? You know very well what you’re doing here?

“Here.” He hands me a glass of wine. Even the glasses are rich… heavy, contemporary, crystal. I take a sip, and the wine is light, crisp, and delicious.

“You’re very quiet, and you’re not even blushing. In fact – I think this is the palest I’ve ever seen you, Y/N,” he murmurs. “Are you hungry?”

I shake my head.

“It’s a very big place you have here.”

“Big?”

“Big.” I say.

“It’s big,” he agrees, and his eyes glow with amusement. I take another sip of wine.

“Do you play?” I point my chin at the piano.

“Yes.”

“Well?”

“Mhm”

“Of course you do. Is there anything you can’t do well?”

“Yes… a few things.” He takes a sip of his wine. He doesn’t take his eyes off me. I feel them following me as I turn and glance around this vast room. Room is the wrong word.

It’s not a room – it’s a mission statement.

“Do you want to sit?”

I nod, and he takes my hand and leads me to the large off-white couch. As I sit, I’m

struck by the fact that I feel like Tess Durbeyfield looking at the new house that belongs to the notorious Alec D’Urberville. The thought makes me smile.

“What’s so amusing?” He sits down beside me, turning to face me. He rests his head on his right hand, his elbow propped on the back of the couch.

“Why did you give me Tess of the D’Urbervilles specifically?” I ask. Christian stares at me for a moment. I think he’s surprised by my question.

“Well, you said you liked Thomas Hardy.”

“Is that the only reason?” Even I can hear the disappointment in my voice. His mouth presses into a hard line.

“It seemed appropriate. I could hold you to some impossibly high ideal like Angel Clare or debase you completely like Alec D’Urberville,” he murmurs, and his gray eyes flash dark and dangerous.

“If there are only two choices, I’ll take the debasement.” I whisper, gazing at him. He gasps.

“Y/N, stop biting your lip, please. It’s very distracting. You don’t know what you’re saying.”

He frowns. “Would you excuse me a moment?” He disappears through a wide doorway on the far side of the room. He’s gone for a couple of minutes and returns with a document.

“This is a non-disclosure agreement.” He shrugs and has the grace to look a little embarrassed. “My lawyer insists on it.” He hands it to me. I’m completely bemused. “If you’re going for option two, debasement, you’ll need to sign this.”

“And if I don’t want to sign anything?”

“Then it’s Angel Clare high ideals, well, for most of the book anyway.”

“What does this agreement mean?”

“It means you cannot disclose anything about us. Anything, to anyone.”

I stare at him in disbelief. Holy shit. It’s bad, really bad, and now I’m very curious to know.

“Okay. I’ll sign.”

He hands me a pen. “Aren’t you even going to read it?”

“No.”

He frowns again.

“Y/N, you should always read anything you sign,” he admonishes me.

“Christian, what you fail to understand is that I wouldn’t talk about us to anyone, anyway. Even Bella. So it’s immaterial whether I sign an agreement or not. If it means so much to you, or your lawyer… whom you obviously talk to, then fine. I’ll sign.”

He gazes down at me, and he nods gravely.

“Fair point well made, Miss Y/N.”

I lavishly sign on the dotted line of both copies and hand one back to him. Folding the other, I place it my purse and take a large swig of my wine. I’m sounding so much braver than I’m actually feeling.

“Does this mean you’re going to make love to me tonight, Christian?”

Fuck. Did I just say that? His mouth drops open slightly, but he recovers quickly.

“No, Y/N it doesn’t. Firstly, I don’t make love. I fuck… hard. Secondly, there’s a lot more paperwork to do, and thirdly, you don’t yet know what you’re in for. You could still run for the hills. Come, I want to show you my playroom.”

My mouth drops open. Fuck hard! Holy shit, that sounds so… hot. But why are we looking at a playroom? I am mystified.

“You want to play on your Xbox?” I ask. He laughs, loudly.

“No, Y/N, no Xbox, no Playstation. Come.” He stands, holding out his hand. I let him lead me back out to the corridor. On the right of the double doors, where we came in, another door leads to a staircase. We go up to the second floor and turn right. Producing a key from his pocket, he unlocks yet another door and takes a deep breath.

“You can leave anytime. The helicopter is on stand-by to take you whenever you want to go, you can stay the night and go home in the morning. It’s fine whatever you decide.”

“Just open the door, Christian.”

He opens the door and stands back to let me in. I gaze at him once more. I so want to know what’s in here. Taking a deep breath I walk in.

And it feels like I’ve time-traveled back to the sixteenth century and the Spanish Inquisition.

What the fuck.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

[ series masterlist ]

TAGLIST: ( THANK YOU ❤️ (if you want to be added comment in the chapters or send a message:) ) @sophsss867 , @mrapineapplecatfr

DON'T BE AFRAID TO SPAM WITH LIKES AND COMMENTS. I WOULD ALSO APPRECIATE IT IF YOU COULD REBLOG THIS POST <3

#50 shades of gray #christian grey #christian grey fanfic #christian grey smut #christian grey x reader #christian grey x yn #christian grey x you #jamie dornan #smut

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pettypiastri · 1 year

Text

alone together

quinn hughes x fem reader

requested: "Would you mind doing a Quinn x Female Reader? Kinda sad but happy at the end? It’s one of Quinn’s days off before a long road trip, and he’s been in and out of the reader’s at-home office all day asking if they can watch a movie or spend some time together. And she continuously says no and at one point she sees how upset he is. So later she slips out to the living room with a few blankets and sweeps him away to the couch just to dote on him and apologize for wasting their day? If not it’s totally fine! Just felt in a sappy mood :)"

wc: 1k

warnings: self deprecation, angst, two sad people who don't know how sad the other is

a/n: OKAY SORRY it got kinda angsty but i promise it ends fluffy to make up for it!! just a short lil quinn blurby. the incorrect spanish is intentional :)

Your shoulders jump toward your ears when the third knock in the past two hours sounds at your office door. The work in front of you is a pile that doesn’t seem to dwindle no matter how long you spend in front of it. Every time you refresh your email, more grievances come to light. And yet Quinn can’t seem to leave you alone.

A part of you feels ruffled by his blooming persistence. This semi long distance relationship you find yourself in would almost be less painful if he hadn’t stopped in for a day at home; he’s been away for a few days and is leaving again for another week and a half tomorrow. It feels a bit like a cruel joke, giving you a taste of the quality time you crave and then finding your partner whisked away again, the Vancouver snow he trekked in on his shoes still melted in a puddle by the door. It’s not that you want to make him suffer, you just can’t find the heart sometimes to intentionally hurt yourself more by being in his loving presence. Especially when all he wants to do is cuddle and hold you. Childishly, you do want him to know you can’t always accommodate your work schedule to his wishes since his work schedule can never do the same for you.

You’re hurt and you’re frustrated by a situation neither of you would choose if given the opportunity and annoyed by your meticulous work still to complete. Yet since you know, not even that deep down, that none of this is his fault, you suck back in the sigh beginning to escape your lips.

“Quinny babe I really can’t right now. I told you this project would take a few hours.”

“How about just an episode or two of The Office? They’re only 20 minutes each…” Just 20 minutes with you is all he’s asking for. The reminder that this is longer than you’ve spent with him in the past four days hurts you all over again, now feeling like the villain in a situation you really had no responsibility in creating. Your short reply is more so to protect yourself from being too vulnerable than it is tailored toward reassuring Quinn.

“I can’t Quinn.”

And he knows that. He does. But a small part of him hoped he’d receive even a tiny ‘sorry’ and maybe a few words of affirmation from you, just to know that he’s not hurting alone. That this is as tough on you as it is on him. With his attempted affections left hanging for the third time and now just feeling like a burden, he slumps back to the couch and buries himself in a blanket fort he built himself.

Quinn’s silence followed by his receding footsteps is the soundtrack to your heartbreak. Resuming the clicking of your mouse makes the perfect accompaniment.

—

It’s nearly nine by the time you emerge sheepishly from your work cave. After trying to work through eyes blurry with tears one time too many you decided you missed Quinn too much for this to go on any longer.

The house is dark, modeling the moonless night outside, save for the living room. A few paces allows you to see Quinn’s mousey brown hair peeking out from under a pile of blankets. SportsCenter plays the Devils game softly. Your heart clenches at the irony that this is how Quinn finds you most nights when he gets home. Tentative footsteps move your body magnetically toward him.

Lowering to be eye level with his sleeping form, you run your fingers through Quinn’s soft hair. He stirs after a few passes.

“Can I join you?” He grunts and readjusts his head before opening his eyes.

His stormy eyes regard you with their usual fondness. It’s the look that first clued you in to Quinn’s feelings. When you realized, you couldn’t unsee it. And Quinn’s never once stopped looking at you that way.

“What’s the password?”

Traitorous tears prick at the corners of your eyes as you huff a soft laugh. He’s not mad at you.

“Quinn is the best boyfriend in the world?” You try, voice an accordingly affectionate hum.

Quinn thinks. “It’s a three part-er.” He settles on.

“I’m sorry for working so long?” You try. Quinn nods and gestures for you to continue. Two for three. Your fingers haven’t stilled in his hair once but now they slip to caress his slightly stubbly cheek.

“I’m the worst girlfriend in the world?” Quinn quickly shakes his head ‘no.’ Selfishly you tried that just to seek his reassurance; it works a little bit. “Ummm Quinn Hughes is the best Hughes??” Quinn laughs, your favorite sound in the world bouncing off the walls of the quiet Vancouver condo, making your house a home.

“Yes but no.”

A smile disguises the fact you find yourself genuinely a bit stumped. “What am I forgetting then?”

He gives you the same eye roll you’re accustomed to seeing during his media and rolls from his side to his back dramatically. Your hand slips from his face. Silence persists until,

“OH!” Giggling gently you move to bully your way under the tangle of blankets.

“Umm excuse me missy you haven’t finished the password.” Quinn protests but his hands are already grabbing at your waist to hold you against him. Once you settle enough against his chest you meet his eyes and say with full conviction,

“I love you Quinny.”

Your words tickle a smile out of him, a blush darkening his cheeks, still not used to hearing those words from you after all these years.

“I love you too baby. Welcome to Casa a la Quinn. But I get to pick the movie.”

#quinn hughes #quinn hughes x reader #quinn hughes imagine #nhl imagine #hockey imagine #vancouver canucks #vancouver canucks hockey #canucks hockey #canucks #my writing

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hocuspocusbabyy · 1 month

Text

Two platforms:

“You meet a mysterious woman on the train.”

February 1981

I have a small problem...which I suspect this gathering might find interesting. You are one for the romantics are you not?

Last Thursday I was returning from a book auction in Hay-on-Wye, when a delay on the Manchester-Edinburgh line, Forced me to make a rapid adjustment to my itinerary, leaving me just three minutes to change platform and train at Crewe.

Making a dash up from third to sixth just as the rails man stepped out to wave his little flag, I slide between the doors and into the nearest seat. A table over looking the back exit, the cabin was relatively empty minus the woman I had subsequently imposed upon. Usually I’d have preferred to sit alone, though I was wary that my moving now might offended the young woman. I say young—- but rather it was in the sense of beauty, she was striking. Red hair, and a perfectly sloped nose which was unfortunately buried within a book and obstructing my view.

Shaking my head I lent forward to remove my coat, brushing off the dirt of the city before flatting it across my lap, and reaching into my case for a book of my own.  “Ticket from Crewe! Tickets from Crewe!” The conductor called out making their wary way down the bumping train. I looked up with a polite smile and flashed my ticked, knowing what was about to come.

“You're on the wrong train, madam.” He stated no remorse or curiosity as to why I was in fact on the the incorrect train. “This is for Glasgow.” He continued he a scratch of his beard, plucking the ticket from my hand to observe it closer. “The Edinburgh train... It's delayed. You should have waited on platform 3.”

This caught the attention of the other woman it seemed, who’s eyes flickered up briefly, her forefinger docking her page as if not to look nosey but rather intently gazing up the page, she had surly read over a multitude of times already.

“Yes I am well aware.” I sighed shifting in my seat as if to appear taller in comparison to the condescending man looking down at me. “However I found, if i got your train as far as Edinburgh I ought to be in time to catch the Edinburgh-Glasgow.” My explanation obviously startling the man as his mouth opened and closed in a similar way to a fish. “The price of this ticket is also £12.40, so I think you’ll find you’ve gained a pound from my change in journey- buy yourself a nice pasty on me.” I stated snatching the ticket back and moving to place it back within my jacket.

The woman across rising the spine of her book as if it would hide her audible laughter at the altercation.

“Ah yes. That should work.” The conductor coughed before moving on up the train “Enjoy your journey.”

Sighing heavily I lent my head back against the seat, closing my eyes briefly to contemplate the day. A slight cough disturbing my peace once again, cracking open my eye slightly to see the woman across now looking directly at me.

“I could have done with you this morning, in Cardiff.” She smirked her red painted fingernails scratching delicately at the cover of ‘The City of Beautiful Nonsense.”

“Straight forward enough, surely?” I teased, shifting forward to view the woman properly. Her jawline was impeccable the kind you could take a protractor to and suddenly become mathematically obsessed with. The golden ratio gone wild. Michelangelo’s work in action. She was truly a dreamscape, light green eyes, high cheek bones and lips you… I could easily…

“The Shrewsbury train was cancelled.” She stated cutting off my trail of thought, a mischievous glint in her eye.

“Well in that case you could have…”

“A friend gave me a lift.” She dead panned smirking again at the frown that now rested upon my face. If she wanted to play games, then so would I.

“I see, and was it a pleasant journey?” I asked reaching to unbutton my shirt at the wrist and roll up my sleeves.

“Oh heavens no.” She laughed again, the kind of laugh that you’d chase for hours, doing everything in one’s power to hear it again. It was deep and airy similar to how I’d imagine angels would. “Natasha—- my friend, well she has a motorcycle and let’s just say my hair barely survived the journey.” She joked reaching back to flatten her hair self consciously.

“Your hair looks great.” I complimented with a grin as the exotic woman merely blushed.

“Well thank you.” She smiled gently, a slight accent peaking through— Russian maybe? Or Hungarian? Definitely European I’m sure.

The other woman bit her lips, a hand reaching out to shake mine.

“Wanda.” She introduced

“Y/N” I replied, throughly blindsided by the smooth warmth of her hand in mine. “So E. Temple Thurston? Great choice” I commented sucking my teeth lightly as we both draw back from our introduction. My hand falling to rest beneath the table as to avoid the temptation of reaching out for her again.

“Mm?” Wanda asked her brow cocked and blinking as though my presence suddenly startled her. The woman’s gaze lingering upon the exposed skin from my button up. “Oh yes” Wanda laughed platting both her palms over the book in question, “a personal favourite have you read him?”

“Oh I’ve read plenty” I grinned, her shaky reaction at being caught all the more endearing than creepy. ““Here you have a man, a woman, and a candle destined for the altar of St Joseph, all flung together in an empty church by the playful hand of circumstance and out of so strange a medley comes a fairy story …” I quoted, be it smugly though you couldn’t doubt it was impressive and when would there be a better than to show off such a niche skill than on a random train, to the woman of your dreams. Who you met by pure chance and circumstance and will probably never see again. So what if I show boat.

“Ah” she tutted scrunching her nose slightly, “so you have read it.” Her hand now working its way across the cover drawing unimportant patterns that I couldn’t help but wish were upon my skin instead.

“A few times” I laughed, my gaze fixed upon the talented hands that worked. Her pale skin contrasting perfectly with the light maroon of her shirt.

“And what did you gather from it?”

“An impoverished writer gives his last penny to a girl in a church so she can buy a candle.”

“It’s a love story.” Wanda whispered her gaze flicking up to meet mine.

“It’s fiction” I countered, causing the woman to frown slightly, one in which I’d fear if it weren’t for the grin that followed.

“So you’re saying, you wouldn’t give your last penny to buy your soul mate a simple candle?”

“You think they were soul mates?”

The redhead bit her lip, my question obviously igniting something within her, “how could they not be?”

“They barely knew one another, and he risked all he had. If you ask me it seems pretty reckless”

“Sometimes it pays to be reckless” she smiled quirking her brow at my gently, “they continue to cross paths. Sometimes by chance – or maybe fate – how could you ignore that?”

“I don’t ignore it, I just simply think it was down to chance and geography rather than fate— London really isn’t that big. Even want for that matter John creates situations for them to meet by seeking Jill out.”

“Yes, but there was never any guarantee Jill would show.”

“Of course she would- she wanted to see him too”

“Because of fate” Wanda grinned as if to have won.

“Because of attraction” I countered, causing the other woman to pout slightly. “You really believe that people end up together though mere chance?”

“Well we met, didn’t we?”

“My train was delayed”

“And I got a lift”

I laughed at that, how could I not? This woman was truly magnetic, intoxicatingly beautiful, with an attitude and brain to match.

“Okay, you win people may meet by chance— frequently; but that doesn’t equate to love that’s something that grows with time.”

“Oh so she’s a pessimist” Wanda laughed, bitting her lip, before releasing it with a pop.

“I’d like to think I’m realistic”

“Oh no” she argued, pointed a perfectly sharper nail towards me. “You Y/N are just as bad as me- I know it.”

“And how did you figure that?”

“The way your eyes light up when I said it.”

“My eyes?”

“Mm” the redhead hummed leaning forward slightly, “they have little specks in them that contrast with the brown… your little true tellers”

I was taken aback by that I’ll admit, shuffling to straighten my shoulders and regain my composure. The mix of Wanda being so close that I could see the light brush of lipstick she had chosen, mixed with the intimate conversation rattling my demeanour.

Clearing my throat I made a move to take control of the conversation, “did you know his 1914 novel ‘Driven’ was written about Scotland? Primary around about here.” I said point out the window towards the passing landscapes. Fields upon fields of sheep and flowers.

“Maybe we should get off, take a look around.” Wanda suggested, a flirtatious undertone present.

“We could have lunch on the waterfront.” I continued - anything to see her smile.

“Maybe mess around, buy a house and grow old together” Wanda joked, my eyes surly widening based on her reaction. “Sorry. I've gone too far. Promise I'll behave better from now on.” She pouted.

I had to laugh, truly this woman was something else entirely.

Wanda cleared her throat, “I've never been to the Highlands before, so suddenly... um... well finding myself single again, so to speak, I... I thought I'd like to see them. So I'm going to go up as far as Edinburgh by train and then I'm catching the coach to Inverness and coming down the other side. What do you think?” She asked curiously, resting her chin upon her hand, her elbow resting upon the table.

“The West Coast is extraordinarily beautiful. You might well fall in love with it.”

“And if I were to fall in love, what then?” She asked watching me intently as a pulled out a map and laid it out in front of her.

“Well instead of a coach to Inverness, you might consider the line back to Aberdeen and changing for Oban. From there you can get any number of boat trips: Iona, Staffa.” I punctuated each place with a tap of my finger on the map, Wanda’s falling to trace a similar train-line. “It's very romantic.”

“And are you romantic?” Wanda asked, her finger catching mine in something similar to a pinky swear. The two index fingers entangled firmly, suspended slightly as the conductor made his way back down the train to ruin the moment.

“now approaching Edinburgh” he bellowed out barely sparing use a second glance.

“So it is.” I sighed looking out the window to see the train pulling into our station, Wanda’s hand reluctantly leaving mine as we both stood to gather our things and depart.

“It was very nice to meet you.” Wanda stated her hands now occupied with a leather satchel.

“You were an unexpected bonus.” I grinned politely, hoping terribly it would hide my disappointment with our parting.

“Well. Thank you again.” Wanda nodded, before stepping off the train and making her way towards the bus station.

I stood and watched her walk away, unable to shake the feeling that something was inherently wrong with my life now without her in it. What a ridiculous notion to attribute to a woman I had just met, and yet the feeling lingered. Wanda’s figure fleeting into a sea of people and off the platform.  And so you see, I am forced to the unlikely conclusion, that I've fallen in love.

And so as my train to Glasgow pulled into platform 4, I ran. I ran across the platform narrowly missing a dozen sets of luggage and tired commuters. Down the steps of the station and intro on coming traffic, a plethora of car horns and shouting calling out behind me as I raced down to the bus station. Her bus was in two minutes, surly I’d missed it?”

I arrived at the empty bus station, merely seconds after the couch to Inverness’ departure. The back of the bus with an add for stark industries newest toaster, mocking me. I panted, more out of disappointment than exhaustion, slumping down to grip my knees, before a hand against my shoulder suddenly awoke me.

“Well hello there” Wanda grinned, her touch all the more warming and welcome as the knowledge that she hadn’t gotten on the couch registered.

“Good afternoon.” I sighed happily, standing straight to speak to her.

“This is a surprise.” Wanda joked, pointing up at the bus in the distance, “I missed my coach”

“I missed my train” I explained falsely, the grin on my face matching that of the shorter woman’s, I hadn’t realised I was taller until just now.

“What a coincidence.”

“What a surprise”

“It's not entirely coincidence.” I breathed looking down at the redhead. She had made the coach in plenty of time, something had obviously stalled her. Or intrigued her enough to change her mind.

“It's not entirely a surprise.” Wanda joked, her hand reaching up to brush a fallen piece of hair from my face. Before she lay to rest on the back of my neck, soothing the tense muscle there.

“Could I make you dinner?”

#fanfiction #wanda maximoff #wandavision #wanda maximoff fanfic #wanda maximoff fluff #wanda maximoff x you #wanda maximoff imagine #wanda maximoff fanfiction #wanda maximoff x reader

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throwaway-yandere · 11 months

Text

Misaligned Strings (Jing Yuan/Reader)

A/n: The reader is AMAB at the beginning (nothing angstier than gender norms–) and gn in the time skip. If there are incorrect translations, please comment!!!! I’d be very happy to change it :DD and im very happy with how my drawing turned out ngl-

For the sake of flashbacks: ████████ = prince reader's previous name, ████ = jing yuan's previous name

Synopsis: He held his feelings back once for you were his prince and he was but a knight. But for Jing Yuan, he doesn't care if you're a human prince or a foxian, you are always worth the wait. Even when it literally took a lifetime. He's not so different from Snowmoon, you know?

CW: none. slight angst and fluff so don’t worry. Prolly the cutest and lowkey proudest work I’ve done in a while. I was actively whispering "me when" while writing lmao. This one's for you, 😋 anon.

遠在天邊，近在眼前，千里姻緣一線牽.

From the Most Distant Horizon at the Ends of Where the Heavens Stretch, to Right in Front of One's Eyes, the Single Thread Crosses Unfathomable Distances to Draw in those that are Tethered to it.

In silent whispers and inaudible footsteps, a taizi and his ménkè would stroll about in the crack of dawn. The Crown Prince of the old dynasty seldom ever initiated conversations, but his servant didn't venture to strike up an exchange. Since the prince wasn’t one to like entertaining large sums and enjoyed the comfort of nature, he has a habit of dragging his favorite retainer alongside him when trekking woodlands. The white-haired servant was perfectly content with this as he listened to the sound of the streams of the nearby water bank and the morning birds’ humming.

But most of all, the retainer couldn’t think of spending his mornings better than to be by Prince ████████’s side. Deep down, he knew his calloused hands did not deserve to touch such an expensive fabric. The decorative embellishments embroidered in such as gold-laced threads, jades, and ████████’s birthstones mustn't be soiled by a commoner like him. He thinks his hands, which frequently danced with blood, are cleaner than the stains that mud had left on his prince's long robes.

And yet, the retainer feared he loved his prince too much to stop.

“My Lord…” the white-haired man mutters gently, daring to tug the noble’s robes. The (h/c) haired man peered in his direction.

Atop the prince's head was a mianguan that further accentuates their difference in social status. Despite it being a rare ceremonial headdress only to be worn on sacrificial events, the prince had one custom made by a famous jeweler for his daily use. His fashionable headdress chimed for a brief moment as he turned, but he did not stare him in the eye.

Still, the prince smiled so sweetly.

“Yes, baozi?”

The retainer’s breath hitched.

He knew he shouldn’t harbor such emotions– he knew it shouldn’t make him happy that the prince would call him his treasure. However, there was not a trace of deceit in Prince ████████’s voice.

“Be careful,” the retainer heaved, staring at the ground. “There’s a fallen trunk nearby, you would’ve tripped.”

“O-Oh?”

The prince’s smile faltered before he regained it in a concerningly quick but regal fashion.

“My apologies, it was not my intention to make you worry,” he laughed, but there was no joy to be conveyed. “I’m afraid I will have to depend on you once more.”

The prince's laugh, once filled with warmth and adoration whenever they met, now sounded distant. It was veiled sorrow, yet not to the point where the prince would be willing to sever whatever thread bound their fates together. During their quiet moments, ████ would catch glimpses of that sorrow lingering in the prince's demeanor.

It was as if a shadow loomed over their secret rendezvous. The retainer wondered if his suspicions were true— if the prince's noble lineage would soon bind him to political arrangements. A duty that will tear them both apart.

But he didn’t wish to entertain those thoughts.

The retainer nodded while speaking. “Anything for you, My lord.”

The prince turned back to the lying trunk.

Everyone in Asia knew of Prince ████████’s impaired eyes.

The Emperor’s heir lacked vision in a battle he somberly forbids any to reminisce about. It was the very same battle his beloved retainer first fought in since he was a new hire at the time. This led to several concubines shoving their children to the feet of the emperor, but satisfyingly, none could beat the prince in any aspect. Their attempts to weaken both the prince and the empress’s political hold were grounds for concern. Ultimately, that resulted in nothing.

That does not make the prince any less bitter about it, but he never held ████ accountable. His presence was the royal’s only comfort, even if he never saw his face at least once. The prince never trusted his parents with any of his inner turmoil.

Although, the retainer wished he saw his prince’s eyes at least once. His Highness had always wrapped a red cloth around his eyes like half a mask. This is why, in the humble servant’s prayers, he wished for his master to be more secure with his body

“Prince ████████…” The white-haired retainer starts again, this time, his voice was laced with mischief. “Have I ever told you that you are the most gorgeous man in the land?”

“W-Where is this coming from?” The prince laughed heartily. Prince ████████ knew that his retainer wanted to cheer him up, but he’d rather hear him say it.

“Nothing,” the retainer smiled. “I just wanted you to hear it. You’re incredibly handsome.”

“Stop!” The prince chuckled, hiding his face with his silk clothes. “You are embarrassing, ████.”

The white-haired man chuckled.

“Only for you, my baobei.”

It was silent for a moment. Suddenly, the prince exhaled. The retainer quietly noted that it was not the same sound he’d hear whenever they would peacefully stroll in the woods as they usually do. This one sounded stifled as if he wanted to trap it in his throat.

He may not be able to see, but he still looked away.

“████, I have something I need to discuss with you.”

“What is it?”

Silence again.

Despite being warned that there might be a trunk in his way, the prince took small steps forward. As though he hoped to trip– as though he hoped someone would catch him.

Yet, the words spoken next were delivered unlike a damsel in distress but a man in solitude.

“I am to be wed around the coming months.” He stuttered. “I-I’m afraid I can no longer remain both blind and deaf to my mother and the Emperor’s nagging.”

Time stood still.

The solace of nature faded into insignificance, leaving only the sound of cracks inside ████’s head. In that silence, unspoken words passed between them. Only the sound of their restricted breathing remained. It was a poignant acknowledgment– an unspoken promise of love that fate had cruelly denied them. Swallowing his pain, the retainer fought to maintain a facade of unwavering loyalty. His grip tightened around the hilt of his sword.

The dynasty would burn before their union would ever be accepted.

The retainer stood tall, a pillar of fortitude even as his heart fractured with each beat. As always, Prince ████████ was the image of his unattainable desires. He will always play his role as the prince's retainer, his heart bleeding in silence, forever locked away.

In the depths of his being, ████’s cherished stolen glances and clandestine touches— precious moments of tenderness concealed beneath the weight of their stations— will remain hidden but never forgotten. He will carry their shared memories as he vowed to “only” protect Prince █████████ on the surface.

The prince continued. Tears welled up in his eyes, but as his father has stated, a man cannot cry. Much less the next emperor.

“████—”

“It is alright,” the retainer spoke, voice already jaded. “We both knew that this is how it ends.”

“Would it be selfish of me to ask you a favor?”

The retainer took a deep breath.

“Do not make this harder, Your Highness.”

It pained his heart to hear the prince gulp in anguish. No use of “my”, just an unpossessed “your”. Even the retainer could not forgive himself for calling him by his title so distantly and without so much as using any honorifics that he is his prince.

He was his prince.

But the prince was not deterred.

“Can you promise me that you’ll find me again?”

He cupped his retainer’s hand with his eyes closed peacefully. The retainer paused before also placing his other hand above his prince’s. Prince ████████ quietly sobbed. “Please…”

“Promise me– promise that you’ll find me in the next life.”

The retainer nodded weakly.

“I promise.”

“Soon, I shall take the Imperial Princess Consort as my Empress, but–”

The prince tilted his retainer’s head down and gently kissed him. The white-haired man felt his knees giving in as the prince then kissed his upper left cheek, just below his eye. That had always been his favorite spot to pepper. Even in the end, his highness will always cherish planting feather-like kisses as though it would soothe his troubles. The prince’s smile never left his face yet unbeknownst to him, a couple of his tears had already fallen.

“Why don’t we talk about a life we could’ve had, even for just a small fraction of this ephemeral life?”

The conversation that followed was regrettably sweet. Throughout their exchange, they remained seated on the fallen tree as the prince gingerly ran his fingers through his retainer’s white hair. They both ingrained every detail of this memory in their head for they knew this would be their last intimate moment.

Their conversations lasted as if the outside world never existed. They talked about the places they could’ve been, a kingdom they should’ve had until they reached the topic of their true desires:

A domestic life.

A life where they could say ‘Baobei, I’m home’.

“What about a little lion?”

“Your ideas for a housepet are very peculiar,” the retainer humored him, but his voice echoed how cautious the thought made him. “Had I been in your position, I would’ve been tempted to care for timid endangered animals instead.”

“Well, you sounded disinterested when I brought up carps. So, what about little lions?”

“Are you referring to shih tzus?” The royal has an affinity for trying new things so the white-haired man already knew he’d never refer to a simple dog.

“Perhaps,” the prince laughed. “But not quite.”

“You don’t mean to imply you want a genuine cub now…?”

“What if I do?”

“You have a dangerous habit of giving your retainers more reasons to worry,” his lover muttered.

He pretended not to hear it, “what would you name it?”

“Hmm…how about…”

“Snowmoon.”

Caelus looked up at the General who was focusing on the bustling streets of the Exalting Sanctum.

After the events that unfolded in the Xianzhou Luofu, he and Jing Yuan had grown closer. To him, the general was a good role model and a nice change of pace after being dragged along by Clara’s adventures in the robot settlement and Serval and Natasha’s heartbreaking familial tales. Caelus was appreciative that the general messaged him to ask if he wished to accompany him to buy meat for Mimi. The trailblazer simply wished for something he can sign as a “day off” in Pom-Pom's log book without incurring any physical damages. For now, he doesn’t want to think about how Blade is running loose.

Now that he’s hanging out with Jing Yuan though, it seems as though he miscalculated everything. He didn't expect emotional expenses instead.

“That’s your old lion’s name?”

The trailblazer pretended not to know. It was a rather heavy story and he didn’t want to seem like a person who relied on gossip. Besides, Qingzu wasn’t a reliable storyteller.

As they talked, they walked past both merchants and pedestrians. There must be an event or an ongoing flea market since the ratio between sellers and consumers was staggeringly unequal. There’s a nosier place they haven’t traversed yet; there must be a sale going on. Although Caelus had more than enough money to his name (thanks to his latest deal with Sampo Koski), he did not tempt himself with a glance at any merchandise. His eyes were on the attractive “dozing general” instead.

“Yes, he was a loyal one…” Jing Yuan smiled softly. “I had a special connection to Snowmoon.”

“I heard it waited for 300 years.”

“Ah, so you are aware of what this story is about already.”

Caelus laughed awkwardly.

“Yes. Yes, Snowmoon did wait for me,” Jing Yuan said. “And I will forever understand that undying loyalty. That’s when I knew I’d truly reconnected with the lion.”

“In its final moments, all I thought to myself was how much the little cub and I were so much alike,” he recalled with a sad smile on his face.

“For him to wait for so long to see a loved one return– and to lay in his arms. I wonder what that would be like for me.”

Caelus blinked.

“You’re waiting for someone?” Caelus tilted his head. “I see you doing more sleeping than waiting. But who’s the lucky person?”

“I’m afraid you would not understand,” Jing Yuan said. “It’s rather difficult to explain. My mother and father did not comprehend it– then again, they didn’t understand my decision to be a soldier either.”

“Is this person the reason why you’re a general now?”

He stopped and raised an eyebrow.

“Spot on. How did you figure?”

Caelus shrugged, uncommitted. “Just a guess.”

The general chuckled.

“I’ve been waiting for him since I was reborn.”

Jing Yuan looked at their surroundings again as they resumed their walk. His hands were both behind his back as they took in the atmosphere. For him, the experience was not unlike his strolls with Yanqing– and for Caelus, he had compared him with Mr. Yang.

“There is a Foxian custom wherein very young children would figuratively carve their future career path by choosing between the objects their parents had laid down. Unsurprisingly, I grabbed a toy sword in hopes I can find him.”

The general rambled as though Caelus would understand the context. The trailblazer can only nod along, reminded of how old people do whatever Jing Yuan was doing at present.

“Alas, maybe he didn’t reincarnate as I had hoped,” Jing Yuan breathed in shakily. “I’ve traveled far and still, nothing. I’m afraid at this point they won’t be able to recognize me. While my voice was similar to how it was in my previous life, it had deepened with age. And I won't have any luck with my appearance either.”

Caelus frowned for him.

Jing Yuan was optimistic when Jingliu had taken him in as an apprentice– he thought it was an opportunity to find him again. There were numerous thoughts that maybe he will thread a similar path to his first life. In the realm of Xianzhou Luofu, where long and short-life species coexisted, he thought he glimpsed his baobei several times. With each encounter, his heart would skip a beat, hope blossoming like a new leaf, only to be shattered in the next breath. Jing Yuan had grown weary, not unlike Snowmoon. He's now somber and wiser.

If only he had not died so early. If only he didn't save the Imperial Consort when the palace burned. Would he have lived enough to stand at the prince’s side if he didn't put his duty as a soldier first?

Then again, none of that matters now. Today, he is Jing Yuan, the “Dozing” (and sometimes “Glutton”) General and not ████, the Crown Prince’s retainer. He should not burden himself with the regrets of a failed servant. But the thought of dying without ever seeing ████████'s face again... Jing Yuan hopes it will not happen again in this life. The General would continue searching for he had faith that one day, his prince would find his way. It may not be a popular tale in this realm and era, but he still believes that the red string binds their souls across the ages.

At the mention of reincarnation, Caelus’ ears perked up.

“Reincarnate…?”

“To live again in another form.”

“I know what it means. I wasn’t born yesterday.”

“Based on what Mr. Yang had told me, I’m inclined to believe that your situation is nearly synonymous with that phrase.” Jing Yuan teased.

“Come to think of it,” Jing Yuan looked at his phone. “It is ██/██ today, is it not?”

“Huh? Yeah. Do you have other plans, General?”

Caelus tried to keep up the pace with Jing Yuan. They were nearing the especially crowded and noisy area they saw before and he was worried he wouldn’t hear his response.

“No, none of the sort. On the contrary, I often take a day off on this particular date,” Jing Yuan answered nonchalantly. “Truth is, it’s ████████’s birthday–”

“HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO YOUUUUUU, HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO YOUUUUU!!!”

The crowd roared and the two halted. As it turns out, there was no sale in the area, but a celebration. The both of them stopped specifically at certain familiar voices in the crowd. Caelus was certain that he heard both Qingque and Tingyun,

but Jing Yuan’s intuition spoke for something else.

“Hey, isn’t that Miss Tingyun– woah, why are you running?!”

He left Caelus and immediately dashed to the noise. A couple of restaurant staff glanced over in confusion as the man pushed the door farther open. Some servers had made way upon recognizing the general and others who weren't quick on the uptake tried to stop him from meddling with the event. But when the staff had caught on that he was a man they cannot dismiss, a questionable scene had begun unfolding before anyone could control it.

The song died as soon as everyone saw the general standing near the middle of the tables and seated chairs. There were familiar faces just as Caelus had mentioned— Qingque and Sushang's presence can be felt. He stared, shocked at who sat beside Tingyun.

The Foxian amicassador then guardedly placed a hand on top of the person's shoulders, looking at Jing Yuan as though he was an animal ready to strike. He didn't know what her look meant, but everyone else in the room concurred that it didn't appear as though he was there to make small talk.

"Can we help you, General?"

"... My Lord?"

Jing Yuan whispered weakly.

"Prince ████████... Is that truly you...?" He laughed, sounding nearly defeated. “I have not reached geriatric psychosis so soon, have I?”

The man had both his knees down on the ground, looking up at the birthday celebrant.

You.

Prince ████████– rather— (Y/n) (L/n), a Foxian now aged 250, sat amidst the room wearing robes embroidered with relatively inexpensive jades and gems gifted by friends and family. You were at a loss for what to do and looked to colleagues for advice before gazing back at the strange white-haired person kneeling on the ground.

Before he had made himself known, you appeared slightly uncomfortable. He wagered it had something to do with the crowd. The others must’ve thrown this as a surprise makeover and party, but as much as you wished to understand and be more in touch with your friendships, you likely found this situation rather difficult. And Jing Yuan was not helping.

You’d have to forgive him later. He just can’t help himself.

Your vulpine ears stood up straighter, alert as he reluctantly reached for your hand. If you could postpone this birthday “party” and finish all these tiring exchanges later, you probably would. You were taken aback at how fast his movements were– you swore that in one second he stood by the door and in the next he knelt near your chair.

You still look so wonderful…

“Y-Your Majesty…”

He grabbed your hands.

“████████…” Jing Yuan gasped for a strip of breath. “You have no idea how long I have waited. I-I have waited for you for s-so SO long– I had nearly thrown all hope I had of finding you several times but I knew we’ll find one another again…”

He looked up, hope in his eyes.

“It’s me, My Lord. I have fulfilled my promise.”

The general’s heart raced as he finally laid eyes on his reincarnated lover, sitting before him in all your ethereal beauty. His eyes lingered on your face, speechless at the softness that remained despite the passage of time. Your features held a timeless allure, radiant– and will forever enrapture his poor old heart.

His gaze respectfully traced the lines of your figure, adorned with jades that only accentuated your presence. The vibrant gems seemed to mirror the regalness of your past self– as if the jades themselves will always choose to highlight your inherent grace.

But it was in your eyes that General Jing Yuan found himself lost. The eyes that he never got to see a lifetime before. That calming sense of expression in your (e/c) eyes held a depth that stirred his soul. They sparkled with a familiar light, revealing the person he had loved throughout the centuries. In your stare, he had grasped the solace he had been waiting for– the emotion Snowmoon had felt in his 300-year-long return– the "reconnection" that eased the most troubled of spirits.

Amidst the confusion that surrounded you both, Jing Yuan remained on bended knees, cherishing the sight, grateful for the opportunity to witness your enchanting presence once more.

He finally saw your eyes.

And you finally saw him.

With a heart brimming with emotions, Jing Yuan whispered:

"You are as stunning as ever, My Lord. Even in this new timeline, your beauty is unmatched– the most gorgeous person in the universe." His voice carried the weight of longing.

You jolted. There was something in your expression that made his hopes bubble up more. Was it a glint of remembrance? Did you retain your memories since birth as he did? He was uncertain but his grip on you tightened.

“I missed you so much,” he said almost inaudibly. “It’s overwhelming.”

No one spoke as the general looked at you without any intention to be the first to break eye contact. Everyone invited was too stunned to move or resume the song. Most notably, Qingque was preparing to sneak out in fear of more work while Sushang took out her notebook, scribbling notes on how to "paralyze" onlookers in what she dubbed as "The General Jing Yuan style". Only Tingyun was animated in the sense that she was willing to hand the intruder a phony smile and mouth the words "What are you doing here?" behind your back.

But there's always a true oddball waiting to bounce amongst a sea of people. And in this case, it was the "not born yesterday" trailblazer, Caelus.

Unpredictable as he is, he joined in on the “farce.” He puffed his chest and strode large steps to reach where Tingyun, you, and Jingyuan were. Caelus fixed his sleeves and coughed loudly, which brought nearly everyone's attention to him except for the lovestruck General.

And then, he brazenly declared:

“AND I AM DAN HENG,” he mimicked his crewmate’s voice. “ALSO KNOWN AS COLD DRAGON YOUNG.”

Pause.

People started snorting, no longer stiff. Qingque quietly muttered with a hand slowly letting go of the doorknob that it must’ve been just a “bit” to liven up the party. Eventually, that became everyone's final interpretation.

That… effectively switched the mood.

“W-What?” That flicker in your eyes was gone in an instant.

You shook your head.

“Seriously? What’s going on?! Stop! You’re all being silly!!!”

For a moment, you contemplated throwing a spoon in Caelus’ direction but decided against it. Caelus is a friend of yours and you will not put a strain on that relationship on your birthday. But this guy? Who?

You tore your hands away from Jing Yuan, which effectively broke his heart.

“And WHO are you anyways?!”

Tingyun laughed, hard. Both you and Jing Yuan didn't notice her, so she brought attention to herself. The amicassador, whom you nearly forgot was with you from all the ruckus, tapped your shoulder with a shrewd grin.

“Love, I have a guess as to why he introduced himself like that, but for now, that’s General Jing Yuan.”

“Okay, Mister Jing Yuan–” you started, barely threatening despite your hesitant intentions to make him uneased. “Let’s talk outside– wait.”

Your head snapped back at Tingyun.

“Babygirl, did you just say General Jing Yuan?” You gawked.

“Like, THE Dozing General, Jing Yuan?” You turned your back on him, discreetly whispering and pointing. “The one you sold overpriced photocards of?”

Tingyun hid her mouth behind her fan.

Sure, you’re not a big fan of draining your social battery so much that you’ll remember everyone’s faces, but how come you only remembered who he was based on how Tingyun exploited his looks?

“Pff– Yes, that’s him. That's the one, love. Welcome to (Y/n)’s birthday party, General!”

Caelus stood beside Jing Yuan, shaking his head. “No. That is not General Jing Yuan! That is–... Err– I didn’t get his new name. What did you say your name was, General?”

“No, no way,” Sushang cut in, slightly pushing the trailblazer. “You’re not Dan Heng! And that’s definitely General Jing Yuan, one of the seven Arbiter-Generals!!!”

Sushang then bowed to the general, spouting apologies and greetings in one incoherent jumble. Since it was Sushang who said it, you were 100% convinced this man is an important figure… and you also 100% got yourself a headache.

"Haaaaah…?!"

You brought your attention back to Jing Yuan, who diligently awaited any of your instructions like a pup. You squinted as you tried to make out what a general could possibly want with you on your birthday of all days. Then, you recalled what he called you.

That's... Not your current name.

"Weird..." You muttered.

You took a deep breath, terrified of your next course of action but deemed it necessary for the festivities to resume. The chair squeaked as you stood from your seat, staring nervously at the general. You seriously don’t want to talk to a stranger one-on-one.

"L-Let's talk outside."

Jing Yuan perked up.

"Of course, My Lord."

"Why are you calling me–" Whispers started making rounds as soon as Jing Yuan spoke those words. You shouted, panicking. "I'M NOT HIS LORD OR ANYTHING IMPORTANT, I PROMISE!!!"

That didn't seem to clear any suspicions but at least you made an attempt. You grabbed Jing Yuan's hand and led him outside, failing to see him smile like a dog as he thought about how you were both holding hands.

Outside, it was silent.

The party went on without its birthday celebrant and "heckler." Notably, Tingyun's playing host, and her voice can be heard from your location. Jing Yuan crossed his arms while you leaned on the wall. Both of you were waiting for the other to initiate the conversation. Although you can start the conversation, it’s not something you prefer to do. Eventually, the general couldn't stand the silence any longer.

"████████–"

"Sir–"

You both awkwardly paused. Honestly, you weren't planning on saying anything, you spoke by mere instinct.

Jing Yuan shook his head.

"You go first, My Lord."

"... W-Why are you calling me that?"

For a moment, his lips curled into a frown but he was not quick enough to hide it from you. He smiled politely and bowed with a hand on his chest.

"Because you are my prince–" Jing Yuan added with a mutter. "At least, you were mine for just a small fraction of that ephemeral life."

You swore you heard those words from somewhere.

Did you say them before?

"... Which one?"

He stood up straighter. His posture was enough to indicate that he is indeed a general. "Which what? Would you kindly elucidate me more?"

"Which one of my retainers were you?"

Jing Yuan's face brightened.

"You can recall–!"

"Not much, to be honest," you laughed, strained. "And I'm sorry if that question was rude. Tingyun– well, we both knew her as my Empress– told me that our physical attributes are very similar to the ones we have in our previous lives, but I was blind before. And your voice is unfamiliar."

Tingyun's… the Imperial Court Princess?

The same woman he sacrificed his life to save?

“... I see… So that’s why you called her ‘babygirl’...” Jing Yuan spoke bitterly.

Who is he kidding? Of course, you've moved on.

And he's here. Foolishly awaiting no one. A lion had more luck than him in both lives.

You continued.

"So… forgive me for my lack of– whatever words I used to have back then. I'm just not royal as I used to be. I-I like being casual.” you chuckled nervously. “But w-who are you? A-Are you ██?”

“... I have never heard that name before.”

“W-Welp, I guess you’re not my childhood babysitter huh?” You joked, mildly disappointed. “Poor ██, I hope you’re not dead yet in this world.”

Jing Yuan’s face crumpled in confusion.

“Why would you assume that I’m ██?”

“Same hair, and you reincarnated waaayyy before me and Tingyun s-so I was just trying to figure out who died before we did.”

“████.” Jing Yuan closed his eyes, pained. “████ died before you did.”

Why haven't you mentioned his old name?

“Yes, ████…” Your eyes softened and your next words sounded broken. “Of course, that’s… unfortunately… true…but if you knew him, I guess that just means you’re someone I knew in my late twenties.”

You smiled. “████… I still hope he’s out there. I miss him a lot.”

That smile.

That was the smile he had not seen in his last days. From the last secret meeting they shared, the prince’s smile and laughter seemed rather distant, devoid of life. This time, it was the polar opposite. He felt the same affection the prince once gave to his beloved retainer.

With eyes looking back at the party, your tone has shifted from tender to authoritative, truly deserving of the title once bestowed upon you.

“Jing Yuan, I do not know who you were in my first life, but I will say this–

“Back then, I couldn’t reveal this, but I will tell everyone I will reunite with now. There’s no one else I loved romantically more than ████.” You glared at him. “He has always been there for me– and he will forever be someone dear to me.”

You were no longer nervous. You did not care that he was a stranger– you didn’t care about the prejudice that might follow. You were going to speak your truth. No matter what.

“I don’t give a damn if you’re an Arbiter-General. If you cannot respect that love, then do not call me your prince. That’s all.”

…

You were expecting another rant about honor like what another reincarnated nobleman whose name you never bothered to remember had done or a “who cares” and an “I knew since the beginning” like your royal jade specialist, ███ or Qingque, had said.

But his response baffled you more.

“Thank you.”

Seeing Jing Yuan smile proudly with tears forming in his eyes was the last thing you expected.

“A-And I still love you too.”

…

“Baozi…?” Your eyes widened.

“Baobei…” Jing Yuan reached for your hand again. “As I announced proudly earlier, I fulfilled my promise.

I found you again. In another life.”

You wish you could say you had a brilliant time after that revelation. You wish you could say you went back to Tingyun and giddily told her everything. You wish you could say you returned home with a smile on your face.

But no. You were too mentally and socially spent as a result of the unanticipated events. It brought back vivid memories of how, in a previous life, you would retreat to your room after banquets to avoid further conversations. Realistically, the only course of action that could have been taken after that was for you to ask him for his contact information and request some time to gather your thoughts because despite how wonderful it was to see the person you loved most after 250 years and more, the mechanical hands continue to haunt you.

Jing Yuan has existed and will continue to exist for a very long time. The same cannot be said for you.

But despite delaying all interactions, his invitations never ceased. On the first day, he tried to invite you to the Divine Seat of Foresight using Qingque– but she forgot about that task and only told you about it in the middle of a game. On the second day, he wrote you a letter stating that you were always welcome to visit him and that you have full access to all rooms (his trust for you concerned Yukong.) And yesterday, Tingyun implied that Mimi wanted to see you, joking about how it’s about time you adopt a lion.

And today, he is at your door, holding a bouquet.

You can't delay this anymore.

“I-I’m sorry, baozi, but I don’t think we should talk.”

“How so?” Jing Yuan raised an eyebrow, not irritated but genuinely confused. “We’re finally together– you and I— unless…”

He looked down. In an instant, you knew he was thinking about Tingyun– rather– your past Empress. Who you never had feelings for and never consummated the marriage with. And she’d say the same about you.

“Oh, no, no, no, no,” you shook your head. “We’re not together. Nope. No way.”

“Are you certain?”

“Obviously, duh!” You said. Curiously enough, you sounded very annoyed at that. “If it’s because of that babygirl thing– dude, I swear, that was a joke cause everyone thinks we’re in love so we’re just playing along as a joke like we used to when we were quote-unquote ‘married’ and– man, why am I explaining this? Welp, I’ll try to shut up now.”

You put your head in your hands, which would’ve normally made Jing Yuan laugh, but he was more concerned than anything.

“Then why are you being deterred?”

“It’s just,” you sighed, giving up. “I’m a Foxian.”

“And so?”

“My life… is relatively brief compared to yours.”

You held his hands, slowly tracing his palms.

“I’ve heard of snippets of your life on the streets. I heard you got statues of your deceased lion when it died.”

You looked up, smiling sadly. It reminded him so much of the expression you’d wear when the ministers have shared intel regarding casualties. He never enjoyed gazing at that look.

“Other than the fact I kinda don’t want a statue of me inside the Divine Seat of Foresight,” you joked. “I don’t want to make you feel the same pain or worse.”

“I’m 250 years old. If I’m lucky and if I take care of myself better, add 150 more and that will be the end of it.” You explained. “Just that... You're a human that can live for millennia, and I can only live till 400."

You took a sharp breath. At the time, he could only hear you and your movements, the sounds of your neighborhood were non-existent.

"Wouldn't being with me just make you sad in the end? My life is just like Snowmoon. I don't want to know that being with me will just make your heart break." You laughed cheaply.

"Wouldn't that make me selfish?"

Jing Yuan did not speak. Instead, he grabbed you by the waist and encircled his strong arms around you. In an instant, you felt the urge to cry. You had never been attached to a person quite like him and to know that he feels the same feels painful somehow. Aware of your weakness, you know that emotions can be sometimes hard to understand for you, but that doesn't make you unemotional.

"No. No, you're not. And you never will be for wanting to love again," he spoke, sounding breathy yet low. "It would be more selfish if you to deny this happiness for the both of us."

"Did you fully comprehend how long I've waited for us to reunite? Do you understand how every action I've taken that led us to this point was so that I could see you again? Speak to you again? Touch you again?" Jing Yuan shook his head slowly.

"No. Letting me go on living without you is not only selfish, it is cruel. There is no competition, being with you, even if our time together is but another brief moment like our last rendezvous in the forest, is much more preferable than never seeing you again."

In those excruciating three days of reluctance, those were the words you were hoping to hear from him. And he delivered more.

Your worries were for nothing. You were trying to be “mature”, steeling your resolve for when he’ll “inevitably face the music” and “live to be happy” without pursuing you in this life.

You can’t hold it back any longer. Tears of happiness trickled down your cheeks, and you buried your face in his chest, holding him as tightly as he held you. In that quiet moment of reconnection, your love was reciprocated, and the fear that had held you back was gone, replaced by a profound sense of contentment and belonging.

“Y-You know…”

You had a wet-faced yet wide grin as you slithered a hand on the back of his head, untying his red ribbon. You were kind of proud of yourself for nicknaming him Baozi. With that white hair, he does look like a steamed bun.

Slowly, you cupped his cheek and tilted his face slightly downwards.

“I’ve heard from my fellow Foxians that moles are where your lover from a past life enjoyed kissing you,” you traced his left cheek with your thumb. “What do you think?”

Jing Yuan blushed.

It was unspoken, but it made him happy nonetheless.

You’re letting him love you.

There is no greater joy to be had in his life than to be yours again.

“W-Well, I’d say we proved that myth to be true–” he cleared his throat. “Given how obsessed you were with kissing the spot below my eyelid.”

“So true,” you hummed. “You’re very pretty, Jing Yuan. I wish I could’ve seen how beautiful you are before.”

He was meant to joke about how he would always guide your face to his lips so that you wouldn’t “miss”, but Jing Yuan couldn’t help but melt at your words.

“You’re too wonderful, baobei.”

“I know.”

Jing Yuan chuckled heartily.

“I see your sense of humor is intact.”

You scoffed and quickly stuck your tongue out in a playful quip.

"My humor didn't remain– it evolved– and you got a character arc too didn't you? You went from not liking lions to owning TWO. T-W-O. Way before I got a hand on one as well. Don’t think I forgot about that bet, Mr. ████. You seriously owe me 200 wu zhus."

"I've certainly grown mundane–" Upon realizing what you fully said, he paused and laughed. "–Haha! Sharp as ever. Unfortunately, my lord, finding the old currency would be a tall task. How about 40,000 strales?"

“Hmm… Not a very convincing equivalent exchange.” You shrugged. “You know what? I may not be the brightest math person since I’ve been skipping it for music lessons, but with a bet taking this long, surely we have to consider the interest rate, right? How about adding a wedding ring? ”

His heart skipped a beat.

Jing Yuan pulled you closer.

"... Always with a follow-up argument, but I shall go along with this. After all, I’ve always fantasized about saying…"

The general smiled as he buried his face in the crook of your neck, locking your hands together with his. Jing Yuan, ████— whatever his name is— felt safe and warm in your presence as he kissed your neck.

Finally, a domestic life. A life where they can both say:

“Baobei, I’m home.”

有情人终成眷属

The Lovers are Finally Together; All Shall Be Well.

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