#powder headers

[torasplanet]

Hiii sweetheart, can u pls write smut with kanto manji or bonten Sanzu with like him being super vulnerable and hard to be with but at the same time him trying to be a better boyfriend (with fem. reader)?

Also I have a crush on ur works✋😭

❝𝙇𝙀𝙏 𝙏𝙃𝙀 𝙇𝙄𝙂𝙃𝙏 𝙄𝙉.ᐟ❞

H. SANZU + F. READER

𝙨𝙪𝙢𝙢𝙖𝙧𝙮 ; haruchiyo breaks his six months of sobriety and doesn't truly understand how much it meant to you until he sees you in tears and proves to you how he's going to become a better boyfriend.

𝙬𝙖𝙧𝙣𝙞𝙣𝙜𝙨 ; smut, fluff, lowkey angsty, drug addiction, break of sobriety, cocaine, bonten!haru, kinda sappy, haru wants to become better for u :(, worship, unediteddd, mention of other bonten members, cheating(past), haru's literally begging on his knees for you to stay, praise, soft dom!haru, crying, past arguments, p in v, unprotected, actually sad as hell i'm sorry, petnames (baby, pretty, pretty baby, etc...), haru's depression, skin color not mentioned

marls notes 2 u(*´▽｀*) ; thank u smmmm !! i wasn't considering writing for haru cuz im his biggest hater buttt this was just sooo cute and i had the best idea for it !! ignore the header being kanto haru, i just thought that was cuterr

Haruchiyo fucked up, he knew he did. He had fucked up plenty of times before but this time, he really fucked up. Your lack of presence in you and his shared apartment proved it and all his texts being left on delivered only added insult to injury.

He would like to say that he didn’t mean it and it was an accident but he knew it wasn’t. He didn’t have to go in that club room and snort that coke but he did. He saw that white crystallized powder on that expensive ass glass coffee table and went closer, even taking the time to straighten out the line and pull out a hundred dollar bill from his pocket to snort it breaking his 6 months of sobriety. He didn’t think about what would happen if you walked in on him, he didn’t really care in the moment.

Knowing that he couldn’t just lie to your face saying it was an accident and he didn’t mean it. Not after he saw the tears glazing over your (e/c) irises that he’s gazed into too many times with the same wetness covering them with whatever he did being the reason. 

“Haru…?” The sound of your questioning voice made him freeze, he stopped moving and stopped snorting the cocaine. Haruchiyo couldn’t bring himself to turn around and look at you, not when he was on his knees in his expensive ass thousand dollar Versace pants snorting coke when he was supposed to be using the bathroom. That’s what he told you when he left you in the middle of the club with Kokonoi to take a break from dancing with you and it was the truth. 

Until he came across this open door. “Haru, what’re you doing?” You asked standing in the doorframe in that short dress that matched his dress suit with your hands on the side of the doorframe. You had an idea what he was doing but you didn’t want it to be a misunderstanding and get mad at him for nothing, you hoped it was a misunderstanding honestly. Haruchiyo had been sober for six months with your help and he was doing so well. You didn’t want him to throw that all away.

The pink-haired man dropped the rolled-up dollar bill onto the table that was now clean of any cocaine, only small specks were left. He rubbed his nose before turning his head toward you and his heart absolutely broke seeing the way you looked at him, with such a large amount of hope in your eyes that maybe, just maybe, he wasn’t doing what you thought he was. Haruchiyo wished he could stop you from tilting your head to look at the table and see the empty Ziploc bag on the table and the rolled-up dollar.

The male sat there ashamed as you looked back at him with no words leaving your mouth. He turned his body around completely and looked at you and that’s when all the regret sunk in. He felt instant regret when he saw you staring down at him your eyes becoming watery with tears “Baby, please.” Haruchiyo started beginning to stand to his feet as he saw you beginning to sniffle “You said you were sober.” You muttered your voice breaking sadly as he inched closer.

“I was-” “were you just lying to me?” You cut him off as you continued to stare at him as tears ran down your cheeks when he reached his arms out to cup your face and wipe those tears away, you backed away like you were scared and he stood still.

He didn’t attempt to touch you again and just stared at you trying to come up with some answer that wouldn’t make you cry harder but as he thought about it, there was nothing in the world that would stop those tears “I’m sorry.” Haruchiyo pathetically said. 

It was the only thing he could say but it meant nothing to you. He has said those words so many times to you over and over telling you it’d never happen again and it did. Haruchiyo didn’t mean to continue the cycle of hurting you that he created himself but when he saw those pills or white powders, it was like his body moved on its own and when they entered his system…there was nothing he could do to contain himself, he lost all control of himself and what he said to you. 

Most of the time he didn’t even remember what he said and those moments were what hurt him the most. Having to hear you repeat his hurtful words back to him knowing that they were directed toward you was the worst and he hated himself for making you go through that but he always begged that you stay with him and that he would change. He was really trying to change don’t get me wrong but…it was just hard for him.

“Don’t fucking talk to me sanzu.” You said angrily shaking your head before turning around and walking away from the scene with the clack of your Burberry heels that Haruchiyo insisted that you wear because of how beautiful they complimented your skin and your dress. He loved being able to dress you up, too bad he wouldn’t be able to do that after what he had just done to you.

The long-haired man’s eyes widened as he realized your lack of presence and he leaped forward and out of the room seeing you stomping away with your hands balled into fists. “Baby please don’t go!” Haruchiyo yelled out as he ran after you grabbing onto your arm and turning you around to look you in the eye. By now his green eyes were bubbling with tears like yours were and for a second it looked like you were considering it but when Haruchiyo felt something running from his nose, your gaze changed back to anger-filled and upset.

You snatched your arm away from him and didn’t say a word as you turned back around and continued back out to the club probably to leave. He had the keys to your car but knowing you, you’d either resort to walking home or calling an Uber so that didn’t matter much.

Haruchiyo’s finger went up to his nose and he looked down seeing red thick liquid smeared against the side of his index finger. You almost stayed. You looked at him like you were considering it but that blood running from his nostril was a reminder of what he had done to himself without even thinking. You needed that reminder because if his nose hadn’t started bleeding then you probably would have stayed when you shouldn’t have.

“Fuck!” He cried out throwing his fist into the nearby wall bruising his knuckles and causing a hole in the red wall. Haruchiyo stomped back into the room that had ruined everything and began to destroy everything.

He ripped the paintings off the wall, ripped the soiled sheets off the bed, shattered the glass table, and put multiple holes into the wall from his kicking and punching all while screaming and cursing gaining the attention of the people walking past.

His hands went to his hair making a mess of his pink locks that you had brushed out in the car before you two came in. Haruchiyo breathed heavily as he looked at the now destroyed room which had taken a toll on him, his knuckles were bruised and bloody, parts of his suit were ripped from glass shards cutting into the expensive fabric and his nose was still running blood dripping it onto the expensive carpet floor and his blazer.

“Woah, what the fuck happened?” Ran’s voice asked from the hallway as he looked into the room. Haruchiyo’s head snapped back at the sound of a new voice and glared at the older man with hatred but it wasn’t directed toward him, the room, or you. It was hate directed at himself for allowing himself to do this without even thinking about what he should do or what you would want him to do.

Haruchiyo’s eyes continued to stare daggers at the multi-colored-haired man as tears continuously ran down his cheeks and wet his lengthy lashes.

“Get the fuck out.”

Since that night he hadn’t talked to you at all. No one has. Well, no one in Bonten has and he was convinced that all your friends he asked were just lying to him.

He hadn’t been to work in the week that you’d been gone, wanting to stay at home in case you came by and Mikey would be on his ass and he was but for once he didn’t give a shit about Mikey or what he said. Haruchiyo only cared about you and wanted to see you again. He had spent all of this time practicing what he would say to you so he wouldn’t piss you the fuck off even more than you were or make you end this relationship. He didn’t want it to end. It wasn’t a ‘not anytime soon’ thing, he never wanted it to end.

Haruchiyo fully intended on making you his wife and he told you this but you said that you would only agree to being his wife when he was clean and that gave him motivation. Just you gave him motivation but everything you said and did for him gave him more. It made him actually believe he could get clean but all that went down the drain with one simple look.

This wouldn’t be the first time he said he was getting clean and wasn’t but it’d be the first time he actually did get clean for a while and just spoiled it. Haruchiyo decided to get clean and stay clean after an argument you and he had when he was high. He said things he didn’t remember and when you told him, he regretted it but nothing he said made it better for you. Right then and there, he decided he didn’t want to put you through that shit ever again and that determination only increased when he remembered more of that argument and how he almost hit you.

His previous mistakes determined him too. He remembered when he cheated on you when he was high off molly and drunk and how devasted you were when you found out and how he let you down after that by getting high again when he told you that he wasn’t going to. Haruchiyo made a promise to himself that he’d get clean for you so you didn’t have to go through this with him again.

He couldn’t give less than a fuck about himself and if he destroyed his body doing this. He only cared about how he was destroying you doing this and that hurt him deeply. More than anything ever had.

Haruchiyo sat there with his head in his hands as some random K-drama played on the gigantic flat screen he had bought wondering what he should do to really prove to you that this was the last time. It was. It really was going to be the last time and he was going to do whatever it took to make sure of that but he didn’t know how to prove it to you.

You wouldn’t believe him straight off the bat after that night and every other night that was just too similar to that one and he knew that. Buying you chocolates and bears wouldn’t work. You’d love it but you wouldn’t believe him with that as he had used that tactic too many times. Haruchiyo feared that this would be the last time and not because he did it but because you left him.

You were the only person that saw the good in him and the only person that could bring out that good. The only person he actually gave a single fuck about and probably the only person to care about him and he couldn’t lose that. Not when you spent so many years with him preaching to him how you believed he could do it and stay clean and were willing to help him even after the cheating, the fighting, the yelling, the heartbreaking names he called you, the everything. 

Gosh, you were a fool. You were the prettiest girl in the world and yet you settled for him and stayed with him even after finding out what a horrible person he was and the shit he did. You stayed after he cheated. You stayed after everything. How dumb were you? You could probably have any guy you wanted, even any Bonten member and you remained in a relationship with him. You were a fucking dumbass for that but he cherished that because you were the only person to stay.

But he doubted you would want to stay after what he did.

Haruchiyo ran his fingers through his hair stressfully as he leaned back onto the couch letting out a sigh but the sound of the front door beginning to unlock made him shoot up to his feet. Was that you? It had to be, no one else had come to this door except for Ran and he didn’t have a key.

When the door slowly peeled open revealing you. Still in the dress from that night, your eyes were puffy and red, and the makeup he had watched you put on was gone and you just looked exhausted. Your exhausted eyes turned to shocked and saddened when they landed on his form.

There was silence for a minute as you stepped in and closed the door behind you, he didn’t know what to say. He didn’t know if he should let you talk first or not or just not say anything at all “...I didn’t know you’d be home. Thought you were at work.” You whispered raspily looking away from Haruchiyo and at the floor as you took your purse off.

“I didn’t want to go. I…I wanted to see you when you came back.” The male said softly as he watched you look him up and down taking in his lazy attire and messy hair that had tangles and stray hairs sticking in every other direction “Did you want to see me?” Haruchiyo continued scratching the palm of his hand nervously afraid of your reply. He was afraid you’d yell at him for even thinking you’d want to see him ever again. That you’d pack your shit and leave without a word and never come back.

You didn’t stare at him hatefully, or sadly, you stared at him tiredly looking like you were just going to sigh in response “Not really.” Those words upset him but he couldn’t take that out on you because he knows that was only because of what he did wrong after he promised you that he wouldn’t.

Staring at you made Haruchiyo regret everything he did even more, you weren’t actively crying but your red eyes were a reminder that you were and probably had been crying before you came here maybe even every day after that night “I really am sorry (y/n). I am.” Haruchiyo apologized not knowing what else to say. There was no point in small talk or asking you more questions when all it’d end up in was him apologizing over and over again.

When he walked closer to you, you didn’t step back this time and just stood still which was a good sign “Then why would you? You promised me.” You asked your voice breaking as if you were going to start crying again and Haruchiyo didn’t want that. That was the thing he didn’t want the most. 

He stood there watching as tears welled over your eyes once more completely silent almost as if he was ignoring you “Tell me! You owe me that haruchiyo!” You shouted startling him and smacking him out of his thoughts. He tried his hardest to come up with something that was the truth and something that wouldn’t make you upset but he reached a dead end. There was nothing he could say to you that’d make you happy and wasn’t a lie.

“I don’t know. I…just saw it and I couldn’t hold back. It wasn’t an accident. I did it on purpose and I’m sorry.” Haruchiyo didn’t even know he could apologize like that or at all until he met you. You gave him reasons to want to apologize when one was needed. You were the first light in the darkness of his life and he didn’t want you to disappear, he didn’t want your light to go out.

So he apologized after everything he did to you and that made him regret when he did something new to hurt you and have to give a whole new apology which was eventually going to lose its meaning from how he was using them and going back on them. Not very a good idea if he was trying to keep your light burning.

He saw your light flickering on and off through your teary eyes and it scared him “Please. Just don’t leave. I need you.” Haruchiyo begged growing closer to you grabbing both of your hands and holding them as he looked at you with pure sorrow in his eyes and need, need for you.

“You lied to me. Again.” You said trying to resist the urge to start sobbing uncontrollably as you continued to stare into the green pools that belonged to your liar of a boyfriend. You knew how hard it was for Haruchiyo to stay clean and you were there for him every step of the way, even when he relapsed, even when he cheated, even when he lied over and over.

You stayed because you loved him and wanted to see him get better. The only thing that was keeping you going with him was your love for him and the idea that when he got better eventually, it’d be different. Your relationship would get better as he did and you believed that. But of course, you had to know that with these beliefs and hopes, your relationship would falter and get worse every time that pill slid down his throat or that white powder shot up his nostril. You just didn’t know it’d happen so often.

“I know baby, I know but it’s the last time I swear. Please you gotta believe me.” Haruchiyo pleaded as he dropped to his knees in front of you now looking up at you through his messy strands of pink blocking his eyes as his hold on your hands grew tighter, he didn’t want to let you go and he was sure you wanted him to.

Globs of hot tears began pouring out of his eyes and down his face and red cheeks with his gaze still on you. These weren’t alligator tears, they were real. The tears only started to become real when you came along “I fucking need you. I know I fucked up and I’m sorry but please don’t leave. I’ll do better I swear. I’ll go to fucking rehab if you want me to, anything you want just…please. I’m trying.” Haruchiyo pleaded loudly his words speeding up as if he were saying it all in one breath and it appeared he was.

He was basically hyperventilating as tears dropped on the floor and your heels. You didn’t want to give him another chance, any person with a brain wouldn’t and would just dump him but looking at him crying, begging for you to take him back just broke your heart and you’d break his even more if you didn’t give him another chance. You wanted to believe that Haruchiyo would get better even if there was a chance he’d ruin you and himself in the process.

Your hand came to his cheeks wiping the tears off his face as he sniffled, snot running down his nose like the scarlet red liquid that was doing the same days ago “Haru, I won’t leave.” You said and his eyes brightened at the statement, his arms instantly wrapped around your legs and he hugged you closer as more sobs left his throat but your hand came to his forehead and pushed his head away so you could look him in the eye again “But this needs to be the last time. Or I will leave. You hear me?” You finished pushing his hair back so you could see his full face as he looked up at you with wide and watery eyes and his pink and chapped lips parted slightly.

He was looking up at you like you were an angel. Like you were his savior and you were. You knew this too. Everyone in Bonten had told you how soft the man had gotten for you, how he was a fucking druggie before you came along and convinced him to at least try to get clean, and how since you were in his life, he seemed happier and not crazy happy when he killed someone or did something horrible. Like pleasantly happy. Always in a good mood when he came in.

Ugh and don’t even get me started on how they’d fake vomit and gag whenever you came around to the Bonten hideout or went out clubbing with them. Haruchiyo kissing all over you, following you like you were a goddess, and to him, you really were. They had never seen Haruchiyo like that, especially considering he hated smothering people but he ended up being smothering to you and he always talked about you and how awesome you were. How you made him breakfast whenever you woke up before him, laying out his suit for him, brushing his hair for him, letting him dress you up, letting him pick the colors of your makeup. Just everything you did brightened his life and he made sure everyone knew that and everyone that knew told you every single thing that he said.

You remembered all the things Kokonoi and Rindou would tell you about Haruchiyo talking about you with scowls on their faces. ‘She’s my future wife’ ‘She’s fucking amazing’ ‘The best girl ever’ ‘Sexy ass girl’ ‘My baby’ All those things he said constantly when talking about you and that made you believe he was really going to change and that it was just hard. You were giving him one last try. One last try to better himself or you’d leave. If he can’t do it with your help, he’d probably never be able to do it.

“Yes, baby I do. I promise you this is the last time, I swear.” Haruchiyo said nodding rapidly as he wiped his nose with the back of his hand. He saw the hesitation in your eyes and his brows arched down, your silence was killing him just as much as your eyes were.

The pink-haired man stood to his feet face to face with you again and looked you in your eyes “I can prove it to you. I’ll check into rehab right now, I’ll quit bonten. I’ll call Mikey right now!” He stammered loudly, the mention of giving up Bonten made your eyes widen. 

Haruchiyo could be killed if he left Bonten because of how much information he knew and he was willing to risk that just to prove to you that he’d really get clean this time. Your hands came to the sides of his face and you pressed your lips against his as tears ran down your face “Don’t do that. Just stay here with me.” You muttered breaking the kiss and staring him into his green eyes which were full of more love than sadness now and you were sure that yours were the same now.

Haruchiyo nodded more slowly now his hands coming to your waist “I can do that.” He said impatiently before leaning forward and kissing you again for rougher and sloppier than the first one was. He was deprived of your love incredibly and he couldn’t blame anyone but himself but now that he had it back, he wasn’t letting it go.

His arms wrapped around your waist holding you tightly close to his body as he continued to kiss you “M’ gonna make you feel so good pretty. Like you deserve.” Haruchiyo muttered in between kisses quite literally devouring you and not letting you get a single breath in. His hands didn’t go to your ass like they usually did when you two had heavy make-outs but they rubbed up and down your back comfortingly.

It wasn’t lust he was feeling, it was love, and touching you was the way he loved you. It didn’t have to be sexually touching, just the little things. His hand on your back, his lips pressing against you not leaving a single part of your face untouched, his finger trailing down your spine, his legs tangled in yours when you two lay in bed together, holding you close to his body. All of that was how he showed his love for you and not his lust and by the way he was just rubbing your back and not groping you, you knew this was love.

Haruchiyo’s hands lowered down to the back of your thighs before lifting you. Your legs instinctively wrapped around his torso after so many times of him lifting you up either because you didn’t want to walk or he didn’t want you to walk. Haruchiyo could be sweet when he wanted to and that was all the time. Well, the times he was sober.

“I’m sorry for making you cry, my pretty baby,” Haruchiyo whispered into your skin as he placed gentle kisses on your cheek, jawline, and neck while carrying you down the narrow hallway that led to your shared bedroom “It’s fine, it’s okay.” You said through rushed breaths as you held the back of his head while he continued littering kisses all over the sensitive flesh of your neck.

Haruchiyo let out a soft whine “S’ not though. I shouldn’t have did that to you.” The pink-haired man said softly as he walked through the open door of your bedroom and walked over to the king-sized bed that you both shared. The bed he hadn’t slept in since he got home from the club because he didn’t want to sleep in it without you filling in the coldness of your side and cuddling up to him.

He gently placed you on the sheets, the shocking coldness of the bed surprising you and making you flinch a bit. The feeling of the silk sheets moving against your skin with every movement you made and dip in the bed made you let out a sigh of pleasure “I missed this. I missed you.” You muttered opening your eyes again to peer at the man that was hovering over you seemingly waiting for you to open your eyes.

“You got no idea how much I missed you. Was sleeping on the couch staying up waiting for you.” The green-eyed man whispered with a whine escaping his throat and you smiled up at him as you kicked off your heels onto the floor and your feet were dangling off the edge of the bed “Show me how much you missed me haru.” You said bringing your hand up to touch his face and you saw tears start bubbling in his eyes once more at the small gesture of affection.

You’d really forgiven him. He wouldn’t have cared if you didn’t want to have sex but the fact that you did showed you believed him and weren’t still mad. You hadn’t given up on him.

It shouldn’t have been that surprising, after all, lights only stop emitting light when you turn it off or use it too much causing it to burn out but Haruchiyo was almost convinced you were getting ready to burn out.

As he worked on getting his pants off, you slid your legs up opening them widely, and sliding your panties off tossing them somewhere in the room. Haruchiyo turned back to you observing your form and letting his eyes trail down to between your legs as your dress bunched up at your hips.

He was the worst person ever. He had a girl willing to go through all of this for him, she was so pretty too, and yet she forgave him when she really shouldn’t have. Haruchiyo swore on everything he cared about which was only her that he’d get better. He’d be a better person and a better boyfriend so he could make up for all the time you had to suffer dealing with him and truly deserve you.

“Why do you love me? I hurt you so much.” Haruchiyo asked blinking back the tears as he placed his hands on your knees while he sat back on his knees. You were taken aback by his question and just stared up at him as you continued to lie back on the silk sheets but you sat up leaning on your elbows to look him in his wet eyes.

“Because I see you.” Haruchiyo’s lips parted slightly in surprise from your answer but he remained silent waiting for you to continue your explanation “I see past these…” You muttered reaching up and running your fingers over the scars that decorated the sides of his mouth “And I see Haruchiyo, not Sanzu…I know you can do better and I wanna give you the chance to.” The tears haruchiyo blinked back reappeared and quickly found their way to the tips of his long lashes and his cheeks.

Haruchiyo sniffled as he peered down at you “You’re the only person to believe that. Not even I do.” He said below his breath as his head lowered down to your collarbone his pink locks spilling all over your shoulder and chest. You reached your hand up and placed it on the back of his head comfortingly “I’ll make you. I know you can do it.” You said pressing a kiss to the side of his head comfortingly which made a sob escape from his throat as he was fully crying now.

Haruchiyo had cared for many people in his life, he cared for Mikey, and a split moment in his childhood, he cared for his sister and his brother but he stopped when he realized they didn’t care about him. His care for Mikey had never stopped but he wasn’t dumb. He knew Mikey didn’t care about him like he did. The only person in the world to care about him just as much as he cared about them, maybe even more, was you.

“I’ll do it for you. I’d do anything for you.” Haruchiyo muttered through his wails as he aimed himself up at you not even having to look, a small gasp escaped your lips as he pushed inside of you and you gripped some of his hair as he bottomed out letting out a groan as he did so.

Haruchiyo wasn’t lying. He’d do anything for you. He’d kill a thousand people for you and if you didn’t want him to do that, he wouldn’t. 

“I love you.” He said as he lifted his head allowing you to see his red eyes and matching red and wet face. He squeezed his eyes shut as he threw his head back starting to thrust in and out of your warm and wet cunt but his head didn’t rest there for long because you grabbed his jaw and sloppily kissed him as you dropped back down to the sheets.

As much as you hated Haruchiyo for relapsing after promising he’d do better, you still missed him. All the days and nights you spent at your friend’s house needing time to compose yourself, you missed him and wondered what he was doing hoping your runaway didn’t make him spiral deeper into his relapse and so, you came home earlier than you were planning to and earlier than your friend said. 

Your legs were basically shaking when walking up to the door in fear of what could be lying behind it; It wasn’t because you were scared that when you got home he’d yell at you because of his high, you were scared that he’d hurt himself.

It was stupid…you were more worried about him than yourself after he lied to you and broke your trust in him even after all his mistakes. But you can’t hate yourself for worrying about him because no one else was going to. The other Bonten members would simply watch as Haruchiyo killed as many people as he wanted and snorted every drug in the fucking world, all they’d tell him is to clean up his needles when he’s done if he did spiral or they’d try and call you to pick him up so the only person who cared was you so you couldn’t stop caring. Even if you wanted to.

“I love you too haru.” You said through the heated kiss your arms wrapping around Haruchiyo’s neck as he continued to thrust in and out his speed growing faster and faster with every second. He parted his lips from yours leaving you to crave more of him “I’m glad you do.” He muttered as he leaned back on his knees grabbing the back of your knees as his thrusts got rougher and sloppier with the new angle.

Tears were still streaming out of his bright green eyes which were now squeezed shut from how you were squeezing his cock “Uhn…” You moaned lightly throwing your head back against the sheets and closing your eyes letting the darkness consume you and going off only from the pleasure in your lower stomach and the sounds of your boyfriend whining in enjoyment from above you.

Haruchiyo hated this. He hated how sensitive you made him and how vulnerable he allowed himself to be around you because you accepted him with warm arms and it made it all the harder to love you knowing how horrible he’s treated you. “Ugh! Needed you so bad…” The long-haired man muttered as his fingers dug into the flesh of the back of your knees while he arched his back while hitting that spongy spot over and over not missing a beat.

Your stomach began to feel full like a balloon was in your tummy just aching, pleading to pop but it wasn’t. Just not yet.

Your fingers pulled at the back of his hair using the length of it to your advantage, his neck snapped back making his Adam’s apple pop out moving as he continued to moan probably making his vocal cords sore from how loud he was probably allowing all of your neighbors to hear him. You can’t count on both of your hands how many times you two have gotten a knock on your door complaining about the noises.

Haruchiyo tapped the side of your thigh rapidly signaling you to wrap your legs around his waist which you did as soon as he began tapping your leg “You so pretty, wanna see more.” He muttered his hands going to the end of the dress you had completely forgotten that you were wearing, it was more like a shirt now because it was bunched up at your hips exposing your entire lower half.

He slowly slid it up revealing your bare abdomen before pulling it off of you completely leaving you bare in front of you, he didn’t say anything and just stared at you his eyes windering from your eyes, your lips, your tits, your tummy and last but not least your soaking cunt that was continuously sucking him in squeezing the life out of him “You’re the most beautiful girl I’ve ever seen.” Your face got hot at his words and you got embarrassed bringing your hands up to your face and covering it so he didn’t so the flusteredness in your eyes.

It was stupid, he was quite literally hitting your cervix right now but you didn’t want him to see how embarrassed you were at his compliments “Don’t do that. I hate that.” Haruchiyo said softly with a bit of a mean tone, he grabbed your hands, and yanked them away from your face allowing you to see the frown he had on his lips, his forehead crinkled and his brows creased while he looked down at you.

“I hate when you do that, I love to look at you.” He said intertwining his fingers with yours and pining your hands beside your head, you didn’t respond as a very rough hit to your cervix sent you screaming and arching your back into the air “Haru!” You moaned shamelessly digging your nails into the back of Haruchiyo’s hands. Your moans were like music to his ears especially because he was the reason you were making those pretty noises.

The fair-skinned man leaned down with his hips slowing their once fast pace, he started to litter kisses all over your jaw and your neck biting down lightly making small teeth marks in your skin.

His swollen lips continued their work marking up your neck and coloring it purple “I love you, baby, I love you so fucking much!” You moaned out quickly as you breathed heavily feeling that balloon grow more and more with the teasing thrusts he had, going slow and slower and then breaking his rhythm with a rough hit to your cervix slamming his hips into yours. It kept growing, bigger and bigger as if you were bloated until it popped.

You yelped as you let go cumming all over his dick digging your head back into the sheets, you were sure the sheets were dampening with your juices “I’m almost there baby, I promise. I’m almost there.” Haruchiyo muttered desperately as his thrusts continued going faster as if you cumming brought him closer to his edge.

“Uhn! Ugh!” Haruchiyo moaned out into the skin of your next as if he was the #1 watched pornstar in the world, his hips continuously snapping into yours as you continued to breathe heavily still trying to come down from your orgasm but that was pretty hard when you were still receiving pleasure but you were going to let him ride out his orgasm.

You moaned with closed eyes at the feeling of thick and warm ropes spurting into your womb that you were oh so used to, you felt so full with him inside as he came but his face remained in your neck. You felt his heavy breaths on your neck as his back raised and fell with the pattern of his breathing “I promise you I’ll get better.” He said lowly but because of his face being buried in your neck, you heard it clear as day.

“Haru-” “No.” He lifted his face from your skin and rose once more looking down at you with a softened expression “Listen to me. I promise you that I will get better and treat you like you deserve.” Haruchiyo continued his brows furrowing in determination, he wasn’t crying this time when he said it, he didn’t look sad, he looked determined. He was going to do it and he was going to make sure you absolutely knew that.

He gave a quick peck to your lips before looking you in the eye again “And then I’ll marry you.” Haruchiyo said sweetly making a smile appear on your lips. He’d said things like this all the time but you knew he meant it this time. 

You could see it in his eyes and in the way he talked to you that he meant what he said and he was going to get better. That was a promise you were looking forward to being fulfilled.

©torasplanet .ᐟ reblogs and likes are very appreciated! pls do not repost!!

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[imyourbratzdoll]

𝒇𝒂𝒊𝒓𝒚𝒕𝒂𝒍𝒆

week 4 - day 16 - kinktober - monsterfucking, public sex and sex pollen - were-bear ari levinson x fairy reader

warning - monsterfucking, public sex and sex pollen

kinktober masterlist

18+ only please, the gifs and headers aren’t mine.

Warnings and Reminders - Please do not plagiarise, copy, repost/republish, adapt, or translate any of my work on any social media platforms, apps, or third-party sites. The only platforms I post my work on are: Tumblr and Wattpad. I do not own any character of any franchise (Marvel etc.) All my works are fiction and may be dark or triggering content: READ ALL WARNINGS BEFORE PROCEEDING.

The tiny fairy flutters over to where she hears grunts and groans. Knowing about other creatures in the woods, she is mindful and careful of what she may come across. Once she comes into view of an open field with flowers no creature should ever go near, she notices a man. He’s at least seven feet in height, his chest is covered in hair, and the sight of his face is scrunched up. His beard was unkempt, and his long hair blew in the breeze.

The fairy is unsure, trying to call out to the man. But his grunts and groans were too loud for him to hear. She looked down at the flowers, brows furrowed, knowing that no creature was to go into this field but not wanting this poor man to continue to suffer. She huffs before flying over to where he stands. As she gets close, she gasps. His giant veiny hand is wrapped around his monstrous cock, an angry tip and throbbing veins, and his head snaps up at the sound. Golden eyes connect with the small figure, and growls leave his canine mouth before his clawed hand reaches up and grabs her.

Y/n struggles, her tiny hands trying to push herself out of the beast's hand. Ari brings her close to him, smelling her as the hand around his cock has now grabbed a flower, tearing it from the ground and crushing it between his grasp. Bringing it close as the powder from the petals entered Y/n’s senses, causing her eyes to darken with lust and slick to gather between her thighs. Whines of desperation leave her as she tries to hump one of his fingers, needing to be filled by the beast.

Ari lays her body against his palm, his giant finger coming close to where her tiny white dress lifts and exposing the fairy’s forbidden fruit. His finger is practically the size of the fairy’s body. Ari’s golden eyes zone in on her bare cunt, sniffing the air and smelling the sweet nectar that gathers within her glistening folds before he begins to rub her, his finger managing to touch every part of her. Tiny whimpers exit Y/n as the beast continues to stroke her before a sharp gasp leaves her lips when Ari begins to push his finger into the small hole.

He growls as he’s met with resistance, “tiny fairy needs to relax. Ari only wants to help.” He can feel her slowly fall deep into her subconscious as her body relaxes and she welcomes him to her. Y/n’s magic flows through her, opening her up and allowing big things to enter her tiny form. Ari lets out a growl as his finger slips in easy, and his cock throbs as the fairy arches her back. His finger hits all of the right places inside her as he curls and thrusts them. “Good fairy, make bear happy.” Her cunt flutters around his finger before he adds another, creating more pleasure inside her.

Ari stretches Y/n out. Moans and giggles fill the air as she is high on the sex pollen in these flowers. You can’t blame the beast for his sexual desires, as he was out in the field and exposed. Ari continues to thrust and curl his fingers before taking them out and placing them in his mouth. His eyes widen before he lets out a pleasured growl, bringing the woman up and sitting her on top of his face, his tongue lapping up all of her sweet nectar. The smooth but wet muscle slithers inside her small hole. He groans as her tiny hand's grips whatever hair she can reach as his tongue fucks her.

Ari laps up all the juices that flow out of her as she cums, before bringing her down to his throbbing member. “Nearly done, little fairy.” He prods her hole with the thick tip of his cock, before slowly pushing in. His cock stretches her body as it appears in her stomach. Ari throws his head back and groans, never experiencing something so tight. “Fairy so small, fairy mine now.” He growls out before gripping her tiny body and fucking her onto his cock, feeling her small walls squeeze the life out of his monstrous cock. “Little fairy squeezing bear so good, never want to stop feeling this.” Ari picks up his pace, fucking her harder and faster against him. Y/n’s eyes roll to the back of her head as her tongue hangs out of her mouth.

The fairies were told about the other creatures, but none had ever experienced the feel of a werebear before. One of the reasons was the sheer size difference between the species, but Y/n knows she will never be able to return to anything so small after experiencing Ari.

Her mind has gone entirely dumb. The sensation of being fucked out was probably the best thing that anyone has had the pleasure of experiencing. Her tiny hands try to grip Ari’s large ones, feeling his member split her apart as he continues to pound her against him. She feels as though he’s entered her mind. Fucking her from the inside out, her limbs hang loosely, body tingling when she feels her end approaching, feeling it in her toes, through her spine and at the tip of her head.

Y/n lets out a small scream, her throat sore from all the pleasing sounds she’s been letting out. Her fairy cunt gripping Ari’s member as she reaches pure bliss, spasming around the throbbing base. Her juices squirt out and cover her tiny body and the base of Ari’s cock, causing him to fuck it back into her as he chases his release.

Ari can feel his cock swell, his knot beginning to grow and lock inside the tiny fairy. No longer able to thrust anymore, he lets go of the built-up release and streams of cum fill Y/n up, stream after stream goes through her body and comes out of any hole it can. She tastes the saltiness of his cum as it flows out of her mouth. Her eyes begin to close as Ari starts to soften, and they wait for his knot to die down. The effects of the sex pollen begin to wear off. He slowly slips out of her and carries the sleeping fairy to his den, cradling her sore body carefully.

Once they’ve reached his home, her eyes begin to flutter open, and she looks around, confused, before Ari’s form comes into view. “It’s okay, little fairy. Bear not going to hurt you. How are you feeling? I’m so sorry. Do you want some water or food?” Her soft giggles fill the room as the giant man worries. His head tilts to the side as he looks at her, confused.

“I’m okay. Thank you for taking care of me. Are you okay?” His bright blue eyes stare at her as he crouches down, giving her a small smile whilst nodding. Ari’s hand comes closer and uses his fingers to stroke her hair, careful not to hurt her with his massive size. His other hand places it on his chest and points to himself.

“Ari, bear.” Before he points to you, “you, little fairy. Mine.” Ari beams as you nod your head, nuzzling against his giant hand. 

thank you for reading!

feedback and reblogs are greatly appreciated.

#imyourbratzdollwork #chris evans #chris evans fanfiction #chris evans x reader #chris evans x female reader #imyourbratzdollkinktober #kinktober 2022 #kinktober #chris evans angst #chris evans blurb #chris evans characters #chris evans drabble #chris evans fan fiction #chris evans fandom #chris evans fanfic #chris evans fic #chris evans fluff #chris evans imagine #chris evans imagines #chris evans one shot #chris evans oneshot #chris evans x reader fluff #chris evans x y/n #chris evans x you #chrisevans #christopher robert evans #ari levinson #ari levinson fanfiction #ari levinson fic #ari levinson fluff

[irafuwas]

Electric Dreams Summary: Malleus’s 1000th birthday is coming up, and the Queen decides it’s as good a time as any to abdicate the throne. Plans for the coronation soon get underway, and when Malleus sits down to write a list of people he’d like to invite to the ceremony, he realizes that almost all of them are already dead. Content Warnings: Major character death Pairings: None Length: 16k (Header artwork from here)

You can either read it after the cut or on AO3!

I.

They bury Silver next to his father in the plot behind their dilapidated little cottage, just as he’d wanted. It’s a warm, sunny day, and the meadow around their home had lately exploded in yellow buttercups and golden cowslips and cool, hushed bluebells, as if the earth had flung its arms wide open in rejoice of the lone casket being lowered into its shadowy embrace. After they smooth over the last clump of dirt and the final eulogy has been read, the tiny procession splits up - some going to loiter in the garden, others heading inside the cottage to dab their damp faces and seek refuge from the heat.

Although Malleus and Sebek never did get to discuss the details of the funeral before Silver passed, they both feel confident in their choice of a modest ceremony – he never was one for frills and fanfare, after all. But even with the small crowd gathered, the cottage is livelier than it’d been in a long while. There’s a spread of traditional Briar Valley fare laid out on the tables – steaming dumplings heavy with ground veal and spices, piles and piles of roast pork and sausages, and fresh apple strudel topped with a blanket of powdered sugar - and Malleus and Sebek can hear the clink of tableware mixing with the murmurs of low voices all around them. But neither of them speak as they quietly sip on their tea.

After a while, Malleus gets up to refill his glass, and he realizes on his way to the kitchen that it’s Deuce Spade who’s been chatting with Kalim al-Asim outside in the garden for the past half hour. He glances at them through the kitchen window as he reaches for the kettle.

They’ve both aged considerably since the last time he saw them. The edges of Kalim’s eyes crinkle severely every time he smiles at something the other man says, but his laugh still rings out as loud and as true as ever. Deuce’s dark eyes crinkle in return, and his hair has frosted over to a dull white that rivals even Kalim’s near-translucent locks. He reaches out to pat a trembling hand on Kalim’s back once his laughter breaks down into a rattling cough.

Malleus turns away, frowning. He goes to rejoin Sebek in the living room, raising an eyebrow at the untouched plate of sausage still resting on his lap.

“Are you not hungry?”

Sebek doesn’t look up as he shakes his head. He sets the plate down on the table and rubs his arms as though he’s cold. It’s a nervous habit that has disturbed him since he was a child, and he scowls once he realizes he’s doing it again.

Sebek had lost his father a few decades prior. He remembers the funeral as though it were yesterday; it felt like he’d just finished washing all the dirt from his hands a few moments ago, and then he blinked, and it was already time to pick up his shovel again.

There are nights where he finds the black maw of the sky is somehow darker and infinitely vaster than usual. Its magnitude, its perfect darkness - blacker than obsidian, blacker than the purest coal, blacker than the gentle luster of a raven’s feathers – immobilize him. Only then, as he lies in bed, transfixed by the endless night, as whispered prayers begin to spill from his lips - at times haltingly slow, at times rushing faster than a waterfall - only then does he admit that he misses his father. The man’s death had ripped a hole in his heart that still hadn’t healed, and Silver’s passing had knocked him down right when he was finally ready to try and get back up again.

He never could comprehend how his mother had remained so stalwart and strong all this time, nor how she’s still retaining her composure at the funeral right now. He’s been watching as she flutters from one guest to another, thanking them for coming, and checking if they need their glasses or plates refilled. It’s striking how young she looks in comparison to his former schoolmates, and he wonders if everyone else felt just as shocked when they saw him and Malleus mingling with the guests earlier.

It takes a few moments for Sebek to put his thoughts together, and then he says, quietly, “I just… I just don’t understand why humans are put on this world for such a short time? What good does it do them - do anyone - to lead such short lives…?”

Malleus doesn’t know what to say, or if he should even say anything at all. He tries to think back on all the times Lilia had soothed his fears as a child, tries to cobble together an appropriate answer based on the bits and pieces of hazy memories that flit through the caverns of his mind. But he knows that nothing he comes up with would help.

Finally, Malleus replies, “Yes, that’s… That’s something I’ve long pondered, as well.”

Sebek balls his fists in his lap. “Damn humans!” he chokes out, his voice barely a whisper. “Damn them all!!”

Malleus places a hand on Sebek’s shoulder and gives it a gentle squeeze. If he cannot imitate Lilia’s soothing loquacity, then at least he can do this much for the boy, he decides.

The minutes turn into hours, and the small crowd begins to disperse as the sun dips low into the sky. The air is still warm when Malleus at last steps outside the cottage and begins to head home.

Sebek ends up staying behind the longest. Malleus can hear his sobs echoing through the forest all the way back to the castle.

The day he received news of Silver’s passing, a part of Malleus - a small part he never wished to think about or speak of - was surprised that he ended up living as long as he did. Malleus had always feared, in private, that the boy’s broken heart would claim him much sooner, and he never could decide if he felt saddened or relieved that Silver had waited so long before setting off to go join his father.

In the weeks leading up to the funeral, he’d often think of Silver. Sometimes, the Silver he remembered was just a tiny infant napping in his arms, and other times, he was a bright-eyed boy waving around a crude wooden sword in the air. Occasionally, he’d think back to their years at Night Raven College, and he could still clearly picture Silver’s entrance ceremony in his mind. Lilia was positively electrified that day - he trembled with excitement as he stood next to Malleus in the darkness of the mirror hall. The two of them exchanged proud smirks when the mirror announced the boy’s sorting into Diasomnia.

Malleus never liked to think of Silver in his final years.

As the decades passed, his once lustrous hair eventually faded to a lifeless gray, and wrinkles and worry lines tugged down at what used to be supple skin. And yet – even as he approached the twilight of his life, there was still that same glint in his auroral eyes, still that same air of nobility about him that hadn’t dulled in the slightest. And still that same stubborn streak he’d inherited from his father.

Even a weeklong shouting match with Sebek wasn’t enough to get the aging man to step down from the Imperial Guard. They’d both made great strides in their careers, and Silver was fiercely proud of his hard-earned title – the first ever human to attain the rank of Colonel in Briar Valley’s armed forces. But the aging man was struggling to keep up, some days failing to draw his heavy longsword without it crashing to the ground. And Sebek was quick to notice.

“You utter moron!” Sebek had snarled at him one evening. “You’re going to work yourself to death at this rate!”

Silver sighed. “You think I don’t know that? This is what I… This is what my father would’ve wanted, so…”

Any mention of Lilia always brought the conversation to a quiet end. And then night would fall, and then the night would turn into day, and their argument would begin anew together with the rising of the sun.

Malleus finally stepped in when he found out that Silver had cracked a rib while sparring with some of the new recruits during morning training. He signed the knight’s honorable discharge papers later that afternoon.

After Silver stepped down from the Guard, he and Malleus would often walk together through the young prince’s rose garden. They’d go early in the morning, before the sun had climbed too far overhead and her amber rays were only just starting to bleed into the hazy blue of the cloudless sky.

It was something they used to do from time to time when Silver was little. The rose seeds Malleus’s grandmother gifted him every year on his birthday were rarely ever the same - one year, he’d get a mix of floribunda and polyantha seeds; another, damask and tea – and he would hold the baby up to the rose bushes and point out all the different types of flowers. He’d tell him about how old garden roses differed from the modern varieties, and when and where to do your pruning and why it was so important. And the baby would listen and listen.

“Do you still remember how you’d try and help me prune the roses when you were little? I’d hold the shears for you, and you’d try to press down on the handles with all your weight, but they wouldn’t budge. Your entire body would shake all over with the effort and you had the most serious look on your face. It was always so hard for me not to laugh.”

Silver smiled but said he didn’t remember. He began saying that a lot as he grew older.

“Are any of the roses here the same ones from when I was a child?”

Malleus scanned his garden and pursed his lips before answering, “No, my oldest bush is only about 40 years old. Many of these flowers are the descendants of seeds I planted during your infancy, however.”

“Amazing,” Silver whispered. He reached out and traced a gnarled finger along the velvet petals of a young rose, still not yet unfurled.

“What is?” Malleus asked.

“Ah, I was just thinking about something I’d read in a book lately. It said there’s trees in Twisted Wonderland that are older than even the oldest living human. And I was thinking, long after I’m gone, those trees will probably still be standing there, right? And the planet will keep turning, and the sun will keep shining... It’ll be like I was never even here.”

Malleus furrowed his eyebrows in thought. “…And you find that amazing? You aren’t afraid to leave this world and miss all those things?”

“I’m trying not to be,” Silver replied, a tired smile tugging at his dry lips. “I guess I just...”

Silver searched for the right words. “…I just take comfort in knowing that your roses will keep blooming for you long after I’m gone, my Lord.”

Malleus had wanted to snap at him, wanted to whirl on him like a viper and spit, “But what will I take comfort in?”, but the words got caught in the lump forming in his throat. He turned away from Silver and cursed himself for acting so childishly.

At Silver’s funeral, Malleus’s eyes blurred as they lowered the casket into the ground. He tried to focus on something else, on anything other than the sound of dirt and rocks being heaved onto the wooden frame, and he clung desperately to the shard of a memory from what felt like a lifetime ago.

He’s standing in Lilia’s cottage, and Lilia offers Malleus to hold the baby for the first time. Malleus holds out his hands, but then draws them back in hesitation.

“And you’re certain I won’t injure him?”

“Oh, you’re such a worrywart. It’ll be fine…” Lilia thinks for a moment and then continues, “Ah, I know. Just think of him like he’s one of your roses! You’re always so gentle with them, aren’t you?”

Gentle. A word most would refrain from using to describe Malleus, what with all those rumors and stories of his awful powers. (The Halloween incident still hangs fresh in his mind.) But Lilia was correct – Malleus fawned over his roses like nothing else.

When he was little, he would cup their pleasant, pink faces in his hands with a featherlight touch and whisper to them the secrets of his child’s heart. And every year, when the juvenile buds slowly began to unfurl for him, stretching out their newborn petals in welcome of the boy’s fanged smile and glittering eyes, the joy that washed over him was gentler than any spring rain and warmer than any afternoon sun. They were more precious to him than all the jewels in the castle vaults combined - his own dragon’s hoard of living rubies, topaz, rose quartz, and garnet.

And so he nervously accepts the tiny infant that Lilia holds out to him and he shifts the child awkwardly in his arms. Be gentle. He’s like one of your roses. Be gentle, be gentle, be gentle.

The sound of Sebek loudly clearing his throat next to him ripped Malleus from his memories. He whispered a quiet “Thank you” and took the handkerchief from Sebek’s outstretched hand.

Malleus buried a piece of his heart together with Silver that day, and he buried yet another piece when Sebek passed away a couple of centuries later. And when a record-breaking snowstorm ripped through Briar Valley that winter and decimated his rose garden in its icy wrath, he found he simply did not have the energy to mourn any more.

II.

Malleus can tell that someone is standing outside his room. He figures it’s one of the young servants in training; he can hear her muttering the lines she must’ve been instructed to say as she paces back and forth for a few minutes.

Finally, a tiny voice squeaks out, “Umm, Lord Malleus...?”

Malleus looks up from the book he’d been reading and sees his door has been opened just a crack. A young girl dressed in a servant’s uniform peeks through, wide-eyed.

“Yes, what is it?”

Perhaps out of fear, or excitement – or a juvenile mixture of both – she hurriedly blurts out, “Her M-Majesty requests your audience at once!!” and then promptly shuts the door with a soft thud.

Malleus sighs and tells the closed door, “Thank you. I’ll go to her now.” 

“You called for me, Grandmother?”

His grandmother, Queen Maleficia, smiles broadly at him as he steps into the throne room. She bids him to come sit, and he lowers himself hesitantly into the empty chair – the king’s throne - next to her. It’s seldom that he ever comes into this room, and rarer still he’s allowed to sit there. The hard armrests dig into his elbows, but he doesn’t complain.

“Malleus, I called you here to talk about something very important,” His grandmother says with sparkling eyes. “Your birthday is coming up!”

“Yes?”

“Your one thousandth birthday, my dear. A momentous occasion for us dragon fae, for you’ll finally become a full-fledged adult.”

“Ah.” The cobwebbed gears in the attic of Malleus’s mind begin to turn. He has an idea of where this conversation is headed.

“And as such, I’ve been thinking… I’ve ruled over Briar Valley far longer than I had ever intended. I meant to step down from the throne and let your parents rule after you were born. But of course, things didn’t quite turn out the way I had envisioned.”

His grandmother’s smile falters for a moment, and then she continues, “But now, I feel certain the time is right. My precious grandson, you have grown into such a wonderful young man. You are clever and resourceful, and you have a passionate interest in history and foreign affairs the likes of which I’ve never seen in any budding politician before.”

“I know you’ve faced so, so much loss in your young life already, and you’ve come through it with such grace and humility.” She reaches out to clasp his hand in hers, and Malleus shivers at the shock of her cold skin.

“There is no doubt in my heart that you are ready for this. And that Briar Valley is ready for you.”

Malleus isn’t sure what he’s supposed to say, so he just smiles and then whispers, “Alright.”

“Excellent!” His grandmother rises and claps her hands together loudly. “Someone, go fetch me the members of the royal planning board! We have a coronation to get ready for!” She turns to Malleus, and he rises, too.

“Do go ahead and start thinking about whom you’d like to invite, my dear. I’ll have the board reserve some seats up front for your friends.”

Malleus’s birthday comes and goes with much fanfare and hoorah, and once all the confetti is swept away and the banners and flags are taken down and he no longer has to dread passing a window and risk seeing an effigy of his awkward face staring back up at him from the town square, Malleus takes some time to think about whom he’d like to invite to his coronation. He sits at the desk in his room, pen and paper spread out on the table before him. He sits there for a while, as still as stone, until finally, like a petrified creature released from decades of slumber, he slowly, stiffly reaches out, takes his pen in hand, and starts to write.

He starts with whatever names come to mind first – his old classmates and instructors from Night Raven College, the people he met during his brief internship, the politicians and members of foreign royalty he’s had to endure countless boring dinners and stuffy balls with. His little list grows longer and longer, and he grabs another sheet of paper after filling up the first one. As he sets his pen down after a couple minutes of hurried writing, he’s surprised, but pleased, at how many names he ended up recalling.

And now the difficult part: He must choose the fortunate souls who shall be blessed to attend the coronation of King Malleus Draconia. He smirks and starts with the first sheet of paper, slowly reading aloud the name he’d written at the top. And then he frowns. No, you can’t invite Kingscholar; He passed away already. You attended his funeral, don’t you remember? He picks up his pen again and draws a black line through the name. And then he reads the next name and recalls Sebek once complaining about how the television programs wouldn’t stop replaying Vil Schoenheit’s movies for weeks on end after his death, and he strikes through it. And he does the same for the following name, and the one after that. His list turns into a jumble of scratchy lines, and then he moves to the second sheet, crossing out one name after the next. He realizes with a shaky sigh that most of these people are already dead.

But there is one name that he’s not so sure about, it’s the only one that stands unmarred in his clean handwriting amidst the mess of black ink: Ortho Shroud, younger brother of the late Idia Shroud. He can’t remember the last time he’d seen the tall, lanky figure of the elder brother, but he’s certain he wasn’t at Silver’s funeral. Only Ortho attended; he’d mentioned something about once treating some injury or other that Silver had incurred at the equestrian club. Malleus had smiled as he listened to the story back then, and he smiles again now as he recalls Ortho’s animated figure telling the tale.

He leans back in his chair and rests his chin on his hand as he thinks. Malleus never quite grasped just what the boy was, only that he wasn’t quite human, but not fully machine, either. If he truly was some form of inorganic creature, then perhaps there’s a chance that he’s still…

Malleus moves aside his stationery with a sweep of his arm and pulls out the laptop he keeps stored in the drawer underneath his desk. The construction of Briar Valley’s first nationwide power grid and internet network had recently been completed a couple of centuries ago, and electricity now thrummed throughout the land. It took some getting used to, especially for a folk so accustomed to their magic, but the citizens quickly grew to enjoy the novelties of television and the world wide web. Malleus had also recently learned of the wonders of online chess, and he proudly considered himself a bit of a gamer.

He opens up his email and begins his search. There is a faint memory that clings weakly to his brain of Lilia sending him a message not long after he’d departed for the Land of Red Dragons. There was a grainy picture attached showing Lilia’s pale, outstretched hand, his nails painted cherry red, pointing to some snowcapped mountains towering in the distance. If his memory serves right, Lilia had sent that email to a number of addresses, and one of them might’ve had Ortho’s name in it. He scrolls through his archived folders and clicks on the one he created just for Lilia’s old emails. It takes only a moment to find the message he was thinking of. He remembers now that it was the last time he’d ever heard from the man. He didn't see Lilia again until Silver dutifully retrieved his small body from those frozen peaks.

He doesn’t dare open the attached picture. He quickly scans through the list of names and addresses in the “to” field until he finds the one he was hoping to see, and with shaking hands, he begins a new email. He types a curt message asking the boy how he’s been and if he’d like to stop by for a few days so they can catch up.

He clicks “send”, and then folds his hands in his lap as he waits for a response.

III.

Ortho comes to Briar Valley later that week, and Malleus is surprised at the pure quietness of the boy’s arrival. He’d expected something more grandiose from a member of the Shroud clan, like dark clouds of smoke and exhaust and great explosions of light. But there is none of that – Ortho merely descends from the sky with all the whispered elegance of an owl gliding through a nighttime forest, and he alights a few meters away from where Malleus had been waiting for him in the courtyard.

They shake hands and say their hellos, and Ortho adds that the current director of Styx sends her greetings. Malleus raises a thin, black eyebrow at this.

His curiosity piqued, he asks, “Is she, ah, descended from your brother, then?”

Ortho laughs, high and bright like the aluminum wind chines that hang from some of the trees in the courtyard. “Oh, no! My big brother never got married or had children. After he passed away, another branch family in the Shroud clan took over Styx, and their descendants have been running things at the Island of Woe ever since.”

As they walk towards the castle gates, Ortho explains that the new management agreed to let him stay with them after his brother died, and he’s been spending most of his time the past few centuries overseeing the island’s security system. (Apparently, he can operate it remotely via “satellite”, but for Malleus the word only conjures up visions of the moon, and he tilts his head in perplexment.)

Malleus asks, “And you’re absolutely sure it’s alright for you to be here? I don’t want any problems with Styx, especially not so soon before the coronation.” His grandmother had scowled deeply when he told her whom he’d been planning to invite, and he was eager to assuage her concerns.

“Yeah, Styx is still as secretive as ever, but they’re pretty lax when it comes to me leaving the island. As long as I don’t divulge any top-secret info, of course.” Ortho finishes with a wink.

“I see. Good, then let me show you to where you’ll be staying.”

They walk together to Ortho’s guest room, and the castle servants scatter before them like a parted sea. Malleus knows they’re staring; he can see the white faces of the chambermaids peeking out from behind half-shut doors, but he doesn’t mind. He remembers how intrigued he’d been when he first met Idia Shroud and the little robot that always seemed to be hovering in his shadow. And how shocked he was when the device opened its mouth and began to speak.

Malleus, too, finds himself glancing now and then at the boy walking beside him. He doesn’t look much different from how Malleus remembers. He’s not grown any taller, and his fiery hair isn’t any longer than before. He still has that soft, round face, and those striking yellow eyes and that small mouth filled with razor-sharp teeth.

Later, while Ortho unpacks his charging apparatus and surveys the room for the closest outlet, Malleus asks the question that’d been pestering him since his guest’s arrival.

“Ah, it made my big brother uncomfortable whenever he saw my face, so that’s why I always wore either a visor or a mask while he was alive. Since he’s gone now, I don’t bother with covering up my face anymore.”

“What? Why would your face make him uncomfortable?”

Ortho looks over his shoulder from where he’s kneeling before the outlet he selected. He states plainly, “Because it reminded him too much of his little brother, Ortho Shroud.”

Malleus blinks. And then he frowns. “Wait…. Seeing your face – you, his little brother, Ortho Shroud – reminded him too much of his little brother…. Ortho Shroud. And that made him… uncomfortable?”

“Correct!” Ortho grins like an absolute imp, and Malleus wonders if he’d been studying up on fae humor before coming here.

“….I must say, the more I learn about your family, the more bizarre you all sound.”

Ortho laughs again. “You have no idea.”

Once Ortho is done packing, Malleus asks if he’d like to go tour the valley with him. He answers with an excited “Absolutely!”, and they make their way back out to the courtyard. The day is still young, and a sky as blue as freshly picked morning glories greets them once they step outside.

At the castle gates, Malleus asks Ortho to wait a moment. He squats before the boy and takes his smaller hands into his own. Lilia had once told him that children listen better when adults get down to their level, and Malleus wants to make absolutely sure that Ortho understands the gravity of what he’s about to say.

“Listen to me well, Little Shroud. Most of the fae here are kind and virtuous people, and I trust the castle staff not to lay a hand on you. But I cannot say the same about our townspeople and countrymen. I fear a young child of man like you… Yes, even one made of cool metal and not the warmth of living flesh and blood, will attract those who wish you harm. If, when we are away from the castle, I take your hand and draw you close to me, you must not let go, for it means they are near. You must not listen to their whispered temptations; you must not believe their siren lies. Do you understand? If they gaze at you with eyes of black fire, if they promise you Heaven’s greatest rewards, if you turn to them and see your brother’s face and hear his voice calling out your name, you must look away. Can you promise me you will do that?”

Ortho nods his head slowly, and they set off.

They begin with a cursory flight over the valley; Ortho using his machinery, and Malleus his magic. Malleus restricts his speed at first, concerned he might accidentally leave the boy behind. He’s pleasantly surprised to find Ortho easily keeping pace with him, and when he cries out into cold winds asking if they might go a bit faster, Ortho responds with a thumbs up and a sharp-toothed smile.

And so they race over the castle town, past the church, whose twin spires watch over the land like a pair of dark sentinels, past the cobbled streets and the timber houses of the residential districts, past the bustling marketplace and the quiet town square. Malleus explains how all the buildings radiate around the castle like the petals of a flower surrounding its pistil, and he points down to the linden trees - dull and naked in their meager spring attire - that line nearly every street. He tells Ortho that come summer, the whole town will be bathed in their flowers’ intoxicating perfume, warm and soft and sweet like honeysuckle. The cool breeze feels delicious on Ortho’s skin, and the low buzz of Malleus’s voice beside him is as tender as the overhead sun.

As they circle overhead once more, Ortho is surprised that no one seems to pay them any mind. Not the merchants behind their stalls, and not the townspeople passing by; not the swarm of children playing tag in the maze of shadowy back alleys; not the red-faced shepherd barking at his sheep to move, and not his perfectly unhurried sheep. None of them so much as glance their way as they fly by. Ortho glides next to Malleus and asks him why that is, and Malleus laughs. “My people are deeply intertwined with magic; it courses through our veins from the moment we enter this world. Seeing two people soaring through the sky is no more riveting to us than a toad that hops or a cow that lows. Many of us begin flying at a few months old, after all.” Malleus laughs again as Ortho’s mouth drops open in astonishment.

They leave the castle town behind them, flying faster and faster, beyond the evergreen forests and the rolling hillsides and the miles of grassy fields glimmering with white snowdrops and yellow daffodils. Malleus describes with a smile how beautiful the valley looks in the summer, when the wheat is heavy and ripe for harvest and the modest green farmland transforms into an ocean of gold. He loves windy summer days especially, loves how the acres and acres of wheat undulate and dance in time to the rhythm of the breeze, the entire countryside sighing and rolling like gilded waves as far as the eye can see.

They press on, and Malleus leads Ortho towards the mountain range that rises in the distance like the spikes on a dragon’s back. The farmland below transforms once more into lush grasslands and forests, and a massive river cuts across the valley plateau.

The sight reminds Ortho of a passage he’d read in one of his travel guides:

“Briar Valley is a relatively small nation, flanked on all sides by jagged mountains and bisected by a massive, winding river that many of the locals continue to worship as an ancient Lindwurm. The winters are bitter cold, and the summers are pleasantly warm; it is a fertile land, and the majority of the county’s foodstuffs is produced within Briar Valley’s borders.”

Ortho’s eyes follow the twisting body of the river, and he can easily imagine why the fae revere it as a deity - the mouth of the great waterway stretches infinitely wide like the jaws of a python as it spills into the freezing ocean. But it’s the mountains that truly take his breath away. They are a thousand times bigger and a hundred times darker than what he’d been envisioning based on the photos he’d seen, and their obsidian bulk nearly consumes the skyline.

Malleus points a pale, clawed finger at the angry mass of black rock and stone that rises up taller than all the others. “That is the Forbidden Mountain,” he shouts above the roar of the wind. “Legend says the Thorn Witch once ruled over the valley from atop its peak.”

“It’s amazing!” Ortho shouts back.

They stay there for a while, quietly admiring the black obelisks towering before them. Ortho almost wonders if the Thorn Fairy might still be lurking up there somewhere on that dark peak, the shadow of her terrible specter still searching in vain for the lost princess after all these millennia. He dispels the thought with a shiver.

Finally, Malleus turns to Ortho and says, “Come, let us return to the castle town. There’s a place I want to show you.”

Even from high above, the church had looked magnificent; and now, standing before it on the ground, it’s absolutely breathtaking. The fae’s connection with Nature - a glorious mixture of reverence and intimacy – is evident all throughout the building’s architecture. The façade is richly decorated with a host of stone creatures: rearing bucks locked eternally in battle, golden eagles and barn owls and songbirds frozen in flight, and foxes and hares circling each other in an endless hunt. From up close, Ortho now sees that the bulging lines he’d noticed winding around the twin spires are delicately sculpted rose vines, replete with thorns and all. Jagged spikes erupt down the spines of the flying buttresses, reminiscent of a beast Ortho doesn’t quite want to think about, and they stretch and yawn as they support the heavy weight of the towering walls. As they circle the building, Malleus happily points out all the different gargoyles that snarl at them from their guard posts up high; Ortho had nearly overlooked them in the forest of masonry and metalwork, and he stumbles as he tilts his head further and further back just trying to take it all in. All the travel guides that he’d downloaded had lavishly praised the church as the “Pinnacle of the Briar Valley Gothic style”, and now he understands why.

Malleus ushers Ortho towards the heavy bronze doors at the entrance of the church, and they head inside. A few members of the laity sit hunched over in the wooden pews within, murmuring prayers in a language that Ortho cannot understand. His eyes flick up to Malleus’s face, and then down to his hands, which lay unmoving against his side. After a moment’s hesitation, Ortho takes a step forward, and then another, and he quietly walks down to the end of the aisle, walking just the slightest bit faster whenever he has to pass one of the fae mulling about. Finally, he reaches the apse and the alter. He doesn’t notice Malleus joining him a moment later; he is far too entranced by the stained-glass windows that tower before him. The afternoon sun spills through the windows and pools onto the floor below, bathing him and Malleus in a shower of multicolored light.

In his mind’s eye, Ortho can see the master architect urging his laborers to keep building higher, to push the spires taller, up into the sky, closer and closer to the seat of Heaven’s mighty throne. He can see the sculptors playing with light as though it were clay, molding it in their calloused hands and transforming it into the countless stained-glass windows that crown the head of the altar. He thinks about the townspeople emerging from their dull and darkened homes and blinking into the bright light of the completed church for the first time. What must they have felt? Had their hearts ached for something they couldn’t find the name for, like his heart aches now? Had their eyes burned hot with the threat of strange and unfamiliar tears, like his eyes are burning now? Had they felt as overwhelmed and insignificant and small and suffocated as he is feeling now?  Oh, and to think! To consider - how many weary pilgrims, how many desperate worshipers and weathered souls have stood in this very same spot before him, gazing up at these same venerated panes of kaleidoscopic glass and feeling what he feels; how many millennia upon millennia has this architectural wonder united the peoples of its creator in whispered awe and indescribable rapture!

Ortho takes a shuddering breath, and he steps back to admire the windows once more. He’s seen tracery like this elsewhere, in the churches of the Queendom of Roses and the cathedrals of the City of Flowers. The square sections of glass come together to create a series of fantastic images, and they remind Ortho of the illustrated fairytale books he used to read with his brother when they were little.

Ortho tilts his head back and focuses on the pictures up at the very top.

He sees:

The golden fields of corn and wheat that dot the valley’s farmlands.

Lush forests, twisting rivers, towering mountains, and azure lakes.

Smiling children - with horns and antlers sprouting from their foreheads and wings fluttering on their backs - dancing in a circle, arms linked together.

A fae mother sitting before her cottage and nursing her child, the baby’s tiny horns but white specks on its head.

Ortho’s eyes travel further down. The glass panes gradually transition from cool greys and blues and bright yellows to duller oranges and reds. Further and further down, the redder the panes become, like tongues of fire spilling over the window.

He sees an image of a human man and a fae woman holding hands, with shy smiles on their faces. Both the woman’s wings and the human are gone in the next image, and her smile has warped into a scream. He can’t quite tell what happens after that.

“What is that grey substance the humans are forging in that pane there?”

“Iron.” Malleus hisses the word, as though it burns him just to say it.

Ortho doesn’t say anything as he turns back to look at the windows.

He sees:

Human and fae armies marching towards each other with swords drawn and war flags raised.

Villages engulfed in flames.

A smokey battlefield littered with armored bodies.

Flashes of lightning splitting a crimson sky.

And finally, the last image: A black dragon, its wings spread wider than a hurricane. The glass surrounding it blazes as red as blood.

“Malleus Draconia… What… is this?”

“My people’s history. Our triumph.”

Malleus swallows thickly, and then he whispers, “Beautiful, isn’t it?”

All Ortho can do is nod. He dare not defile this place any further with his words.

It’s late afternoon by the time they return to the castle. They head to the dining room to get some lunch, and Ortho watches wide-eyed as a horde of servants materialize as soon as Malleus takes his seat.

Malleus lifts his hand, and a servant steps forward to slide the day’s menu into his waiting fingers. He contemplates for a moment, and then announces he will have the slow roasted pork shoulder served with shredded sauerkraut, potato dumplings, and gravy. A young chambermaid asks if Ortho would like any refreshments, as well, and he declines her kind offer with a smile. His oral intake unit isn’t equipped, and he doesn’t feel bothered enough to go fetch it from his room. He looks around the dining room while they wait for the food to be served. It resembles a grand hall more than anything else, with a massive glass chandelier hanging overhead and several huge windows lining the walls, and he figures the long table they’re sitting at could easily seat over thirty guests. 

Presently, the head chef and sous chefs and other kitchen assistants march out in a line. The assistants all carry a silver cloche server in hand, and they remove the domed covers with a flourish as they set the trays down before Malleus. The pork shoulder has been roasted to a brown perfection, and a thick, crispy layer of fat sits atop each slice of meat. The gravy is dense and richly seasoned, and the sauerkraut is the most beautiful shade of lavender that Ortho has ever seen. A stack of steaming potato dumplings completes the ensemble. The head chef nervously searches the prince’s face for the slightest sign of approval or dissatisfaction, and his shoulders sag in relief when Malleus dismisses the troupe with the wave of a hand. The head chef bows deeply, followed in turn by the sous chefs and other kitchen assistants, and they file back to the kitchen as efficiently as they came.

The entire spectacle delights Ortho, and he kicks his feet in excitement while he waits for Malleus to finish eating. He imagines how the dining room must look like when the castle is hosting a party, when the heavy window curtains are pulled back and the rays pouring in from the evening sun dance across the rows of silver plates and golden goblets and the entire room erupts into light. And he thinks of gaudy princes and princesses discussing the silliest of things in their ridiculous costumes, and tireless knights prowling the castle grounds in search of hidden marauders and ne'er-do-wells, and he thinks of royal balls that last until the first light of dawn pierces the sky when it’s still not quite morning but no longer night, and other such things that tickle a child’s heart.

After lunch, Malleus resumes showing Ortho around the castle. They start with a tour of the Imperial Guard’s training grounds out back, and they stay and watch for a while as the young recruits spar with some of the captains. Ortho almost thinks he should cheer on the recruits, since they might like the encouragement, but he also considers taking the side of the captains, since they are so spectacular with their flashy jabs and stunning parries. The captains ultimately prove victorious, and as they turn to greet the prince, the sight of the small, fiery-haired boy clapping enthusiastically next to him perplexes them more than anything else they’ve seen the past few months.

Then Malleus takes Ortho to the highest of the watchtowers, where they can see the church’s spires jutting up not too far in the distance. And then he takes him to the castle archives and the library and Malleus’s private study. Ortho is especially fascinated by the library, and they spend hours going through ancient spell books and history books and collections of Briar Valley fiction and poetry. So many of these texts have never made it outside the small nation, and Ortho uncovers books about species of fae he’s never even heard of, and books written in languages he’s never even seen. He drinks it all in with sparkling eyes and toothy smiles. In his eagerness, he accidentally tips over a heavy bookshelf while attempting to extract one of its paper treasures, and Malleus laughs so hard that his eyes water when the boy ends up buried under a mountain of leatherbound tomes.

The heavy wooden doors of the library close behind them with a loud bang as they leave. They only make it a few steps before Ortho reaches out and tugs on Malleus’s arm.

“May we go see your rose garden now?”

Malleus blinks. “My… what?”

“Your rose garden! All the travel guides I downloaded mentioned it. They say it’s one of the greatest wonders of the valley, and that you can see it all the way from the forests that border the castle town.”

Ortho notices the frown forming on Malleus’s face and asks, “Don’t tell me something happened to it?”

Malleus sighs. “Indeed. Sadly, the whole garden was destroyed when we had that bad snowstorm not too long ago.”

“Bad snowstorm…” Ortho closes his eyes for a moment as he thinks.  “Wait, I remember that! You mean that monster blizzard that struck Briar Valley over a hundred years ago? People were calling it the storm of the century!”

With a solemn nod, Malleus replies, “I do believe that was the one. …Has it really been a hundred years already? I suppose I just haven’t gotten around to fixing it up yet.”

In truth, he’d considered rebuilding his garden more than once, but he never could bring himself to do it. All the seed packets his grandmother’s been giving him for his birthday the past century have yet to be opened, and they lie buried deep within one of the chests in his room.

A week after that awful blizzard tore through their small nation, he and his grandmother gathered together around the dining table for the first time that winter. They both shivered as they ate, and at one point she looked out the window and murmured something about his “poor roses, the dear things”. Malleus was shocked. He hadn’t even remembered to go check if his flowers had made it through the storm. He’d stopped tending to them sometime after Sebek’s death. It was a gradual thing. He’d water them less often - once a week instead of twice, and then once a month, and then not at all. And then he forgot to tell the servants to purchase more fertilizer when his supplies were getting low. And then he didn’t bother deadheading the bushes in the fall. And then he just stopped going to the garden altogether.

There are times when he’ll wonder, where had that gentleness that Lilia had once spoken of, that love in his heart gone? Had that vengeful snowstorm ripped it from his chest and scattered it to the winds together with his roses? Or had it withered and died and returned to the earth alongside Silver and Sebek’s worn and ashen bodies? Or had it been stolen from his heart long ago, had Lilia taken it with him as he climbed those great mountains, up higher and higher, beyond the radiant clouds and into a world he wasn’t yet ready to journey to?

And there are other times where he’ll go look at the skeletal remains of his garden and he’ll wonder if those rumors about him being detached and apathetic and cold were true. He knew many in Briar Valley believed so. He knew they’d hesitate to even speak of him, as though his name were an ill omen. And he did not blame them. His love was never anything flashy or obvious, was never as bright and as brilliant as the shy half-smiles that Silver would reserve for his father.

No, Malleus’s love was soft and quiet, the glass of his heart opaque, not clear. It was often timid, often awkward, but his love was always there. Even now, even if he could no longer detect its gentle thrum coursing through his veins, his was still the love of that lonely little boy who’d hold his ear against the warm mass of his rose bushes and listen as the flowers revealed to him their perfect wisdom.

And the people he cherished in his heart of hearts were his roses, too. All of them – Lilia, Silver, and Sebek, his parents and his grandmother, and his dear friends from school. To try and rebuild his garden - to press those expectant seeds into the wet earth and wait for the tiny buds to emerge into the light of a January day, to look with bated breath for the sepals to fold open and reveal the sacred pink gems held tightly within their green grasps, to awaken to the sound of the cardinals heralding Spring’s arrival and race to the garden while the sky is still yawning off the night’s indigo embrace and to rejoice at last at the first newborn blooms - it felt blasphemous, like summoning the dead back to life. And his heart was simply too dark and too heavy still for such a thing.

Malleus watches silently as the light of excitement rapidly fades from Ortho’s eyes, and he snuffs out the last dim sparks with a shake of his head.

Ortho sighs. “Well, it’s too bad I couldn’t see your garden, Malleus Draconia. It always looked so beautiful in those pictures I saw. But I’m glad at least the castle and the town and everything made it through the storm okay.”

They resume walking, and Ortho decides privately not to mention the garden again.

Later, after the lilac night had blanketed the valley once more and a calm hush had fallen over the castle, Malleus stalks through the dark halls trying to shake off his restlessness. He passes by Ortho’s room and can hear him murmuring through the closed door. It sounds like he’s talking to someone, but Malleus can’t imagine whom. He hovers at the door for a moment, and then he continues on, not wanting to disturb the boy.

IV.

The next morning, Ortho and Malleus are to have breakfast with the Queen. Ortho wakes up early so he can hook up his oral intake unit in time, and he opens the windows before setting to work. The sun has just barely risen, and the sky is a pleasant gradient of pinks and oranges and yellows and blues. The chilly air is abuzz with thrushes and chiffchaffs singing their daily praises, and the loud cries of haughty wrens undercut the performance. March was in full swing in the valley, and before long the chorus would be joined by the excited twitter of the goldfinches and the sugar sweet call of the willow warblers as spring rolled on.

Just as Ortho finishes equipping his unit, Malleus knocks on his door and softly asks, “Little Shroud, are you ready?”

Ortho answers, “Yes!” and he goes to join Malleus in the hallway. They walk to the dining room together in comfortable silence. Ortho stayed up late last night, gripped with an innocent mixture of nervousness and excitement, but he’s still bright-eyed and brimming with energy. He knows very well that few outsiders are lucky enough to get invited to Briar Valley’s royal castle, and that even fewer still get to receive an audience with the Queen.

Two servants standing before the dining room pull the heavy doors open for them, and they go to where the Queen is waiting for them at the head of the table. She rises from her seat as they approach.

Ortho bows deeply, just as he’d practiced the night before, and says, “It’s an honor to meet you, your Majesty. Thank you so much for permitting me to come here.”

The Queen smiles. “And I thank you for accepting my dear grandson’s invitation. I hope you’ve been enjoying your stay.”

Ortho confirms that he has, and then he looks up and studies her face. The Draconia family’s resemblance is plain to see. She and Malleus have the same bright green eyes, long, black hair, and those sharp fangs that peek out when they smile. Only the thin crow’s feet around her eyes and the slight gauntness of her high cheek bones betray the difference in their ages. She’s a good head shorter than Malleus, but her presence is so much more intimidating. Malleus’s great aura feels like an April shower in comparison to the tempest of energy emanating from her body, and it takes every ounce of Ortho’s willpower not to crumple to the floor when she goes to shake his small hand.

The Queen bids them to sit, and they all take their seats, with her at the head of the table and Ortho and Malleus flanking her on either side. Bowls filled with wax-white sausages floating in steaming water sit before them. A gorgeous, herbal scent - a dazzling mixture of cardamom, mace, parsley, lemon, and other more deeply buried smells - wafts from the bowls. Their plates are decorated with large dollops of dark brown mustard, along with a number of soft, golden pretzels. A crimson-colored juice of some sort swims placidly in their goblets.

Malleus takes his fork and deposits some of the sausages onto his plate. “They’re filled with very finely ground veal and bacon - made from pork loin, rather than pork belly. Poached just long enough for the meat to turn this greyish-white color. They’re one of Briar Valley’s specialties,” he explains.

He waits for Ortho to fill up his own plate, and then continues, “The skin is edible, but we typically don’t eat it. Just take your fork and knife and cut the sausage open lengthwise, and then peel back the skin and eat the meat. And do be sure to try the mustard.”

The explanation finished, Malleus and the Queen take their cutlery in hand and begin to eat. Ortho watches how they expertly incise the sausage casings and extract the white meat as though they were performing surgery. He picks up his own fork and knife and tries to copy their nimble movements as he slices open the fibrous skin. He is pleased to find the meat tastes just as delicious as it smells, and his mouth pulls up into a smile from the rich blend of spices.

Ortho next dips a piece of sausage in the grainy mustard and gingerly takes a bite. He gasps at how sweet it is - he’d been expecting something spicy. It’s nearly too sweet, but only just nearly, and in a strange way he can’t explain, the sugary flavor perfectly complements the savory meat. He eagerly dips another piece of sausage in the mustard and brings it to his mouth, and then another, and another.

The Queen laughs at the boy’s exuberance. “Please take your time, my dear. There’s plenty more where that came from, and if you’d like another serving, just let one of the waitstaff know.”

Ortho begins to reply, but quickly remembers his mouth is full of food, and he shoots his hand over his mouth in embarrassment as he nods. He takes a sip of the juice and considers the flavor for a moment – it’s a pure, bright blend of various kinds of wild berries and other fruit, and the cool liquid somehow invigorates his appetite even more.

As Ortho sets to work on the pretzels, the Queen finally begins her questioning.

“Malleus tells me you went to school together at Night Raven College. I’d been envisioning someone a tad older when he told me that, so I was quite surprised to see just how young you are. I take it your species must age slowly, like ours does?”

Ortho chews contemplatively on his pretzel. “It’s not that I age slowly, it’s just that my appearance doesn’t really change as time goes on. I guess you could say?”

“Oh, really? My, how very interesting.” She takes a sip from her goblet, and her pointed tongue darts out to capture the stray drops trying to escape down her lips. “He also told me you hale from the Isle of Grief, from the Shroud clan. Is your family doing well these days? I haven’t heard from Zephyr in quite a while.”

“Ah,” Ortho says, but then closes his mouth. He’s not sure if it would be impolite to tell the Queen that Zephyr Shroud had passed away four decades ago, and that someone new is leading the family now. He pushes around the last piece of sausage on his plate as he searches for the safest answer. “The Shroud family is doing well. We…. recently got a new clan head, and she sends her greetings.”

The Queen continues, “I see. Please do send her my thanks and well wishes in return. And I hate to pry….” (Ortho privately thinks she does not) “…but are you involved at all with Styx’s operations, by any chance?

“They make my equipment for me, and I help run security at their headquarters, but I’m not involved in their research, no.”

“I see, I see. Good, yes, that’s good.” She nods, but Ortho can’t tell if the gesture is directed at him or herself. She pushes her empty plate away and folds her hands on her lap. Ortho sees a glimmer of hope, and he thinks this strange and awkward conversation might soon come to an end. But all his hopes are dashed when the Queen turns and asks one of the servants for two more bowls of sausage and another plate of pretzels. “Now, what do you mean by “equipment” exactly? And I noticed you hardly seem to have any traces of magic about you. How were you able to attend Night Raven College, may I ask? And is your hair actually on fire? I’ve always wanted to ask your family’s clan leaders, but it slips my mind whenever I see them, and I don’t remember until they’ve already passed. It’s as though each time I blink, you’ve got someone new in charge!” She finishes with a curt laugh, and her bright green eyes bore into Ortho expectantly.

Ortho glances across the table and gives Malleus a plaintive look, but he is seemingly far too engrossed in his pretzels to offer any help.

After breakfast, the Queen excuses herself to go attend to some royal matter or other, and Ortho and Malleus quickly retreat to the library. They wander up and down the rows of shelves for a while, only half paying attention to the books they pull out and flip through. When they happen to meander towards the same shelf and meet in the middle of the aisle, at last they talk, having recuperated enough for conversation.

Ortho starts first, and he exhales like a pierced tire. “That was…. Intense.”

Malleus sighs, as well. “Yes, my grandmother can be quite… severe in her inquisitiveness. I do apologize if she made you uncomfortable at all.”

“Oh, it’s alright. I remember my mom used to drill me and my big brother like that whenever we came home for the holidays, so it was kind of fun, in a way.” Ortho smiles to himself reservedly, as though recalling some precious secret.

“Anyways,” he continues, “I wish my big brother could’ve been here. I’m sure he would’ve loved to meet the Queen.”

Malleus raises an eyebrow. “You really think so? I always had the impression he wasn’t a very sociable fellow.”

Ortho laughs. “You’re right, he wasn’t. But her Majesty resembles a character from an anime he really liked, and I bet he would’ve gotten a kick out of meeting her.”

Malleus isn’t sure whether his grandmother has just been gravely insulted or highly praised, and so he resigns to simply hum in agreement. He tries to imagine how a meeting between the two would even look, but the image refuses to form, his brain balking at him like a stubborn horse. He gropes through a haze of hundreds and hundreds of years of memories and tries to conjure the elder Shroud’s face in his mind, but all he sees is a blur of white skin and blue hair and sharp teeth.

Finally, he looks over to Ortho and slowly admits, “You know, I can’t quite… seem to recall how he looked…”

Ortho flashes him a reassuring smile in return. “That’s okay, I will assist you.”

Some part of Ortho’s body emits a beep, and then his chest plates slide back to reveal a black lens at their center. Before Malleus can ask what he’s doing, the lens turns from black to bright white, and now Idia Shroud himself is standing before them. He’s dressed in the navy-blue coat with the white triangles down the sleeves that he’d always wear at Night Raven College, and his long, fiery hair undulates like waves around him.

For a moment, Malleus is stunned. And then his stupefaction quickly melts into hot anger. Necromancy is strictly forbidden amongst his people, and by no means will he permit this black magic in his own home.

“Wretched spirit!” he snarls. Dark emerald green energy swirls around him, and he raises a glowing hand towards Idia. The books piled around them fly open and the bookshelves begin to shake as a whirlwind of paper dances around the room.

Ortho runs between Malleus and his brother and waves his hands frantically as he shouts, “No, no, no wait! It’s just a hologram, Malleus Draconia! It’s not a ghost, it’s okay!”

Malleus’s slit pupils dart between the two brothers. He tries to focus on Idia for as long as his rage allows, and at last he notices the miniscule dust particles passing through the beams of light that make up the specter’s body. Malleus lowers his hand and dispels his built-up magic with a shake of his arm, and Ortho sighs in relief as he watches the green sparks dissipate into the air. The airborne books crash to the floor a moment later.

Malleus says quietly, more so to himself than to Ortho, “My apologies, I thought you’d…” He doesn’t trust himself to finish the sentence. He knows just speaking the words would stoke his wrath again.

Ortho quickly scans Malleus’s vitals and blot accumulation levels, and he can feel the tension seep from his own body once he confirms the storm of danger has passed. He looks over and sees Malleus staring at the floor, working his jaw in contemplation. Ortho waits for him to speak again.

Finally, Malleus plucks one of the thoughts swirling around in his mind, and he asks, “Can you… Can you project the other students, as well?”

Ortho nods, and the lens in his chest whirs for a moment before the room suddenly fills with a crowd of figures. Malleus scans the familiar faces. There’s Deuce Spade and Ace Trappola and the Child of Man together by one of the windows. There’s Leona Kingscholar, frozen in the middle of a yawn, surrounded by his pack members. And there’s Vil Schoenheit, a compact mirror in one hand, his other paused midair as he fusses with some miniscule imperfection in his mascara that even Malleus’s fae eyesight couldn’t ever hope to uncover. And then he sees them. They’re standing together in the corner of the room.

Malleus takes a step forward, and then stops.

“Do they… Can you make them move?”

“Yes, by taking the footage I recorded while at school and running it through one of my AI programs, I can configure the holograms to perform pretty much any action you can imagine. I can also simulate their voices, if you’d like.”

Malleus opens his mouth as if to speak, and then he closes it again. He shakes his head and says, “Ah, no. No, that’s fine. I’m not even sure why I asked, please don’t mind me.” His gaze lingers on the three of them while he talks. He continues staring at that spot long after Ortho shuts his lens off.

The rest of the day passes in a blur. Malleus has a fitting to attend to, and then yet another rehearsal for the coronation. The servants hurry and fuss around him like honeybees on a wildflower as they double-check and then triple-check their measurements. He slowly disappears underneath the long bands of white measuring tape, and Ortho tries his best to stifle his laughter while he watches, looking away guiltily whenever a surreptitious giggle escapes his lips. But Malleus doesn’t pay him any bother; his mind is too focused on other things.

The holograms have been haunting him all morning. He sees them when he looks into the mirror, he feels their presence when he’s alone. They’re always at the corner of his eye, always just out of arm’s reach. As though taunting him. He wonders if they plague him so because of how real they looked. He had seen movies projected onto screens before, and he still remembers the ghastly window projections Lilia would dig out every Halloween. But that footage was always so grainy, so dull and lifeless. The holograms that Ortho had conjured earlier were deceptively vibrant, they had breathed. They were alive. If Malleus had reached out and touched them, he scarcely doubts he’d have felt warm flesh under his hands.

The murmurs of the servants around him pull him from his thoughts, and he is gradually befreed from the prison of safety pins and sewing needles and measuring tape and color swatches. He turns slowly as he hears someone approaching, half dreading it might be another radiant phantom coming to vex him.

“Malleus Draconia, I’ve been detecting a delay in your response speed since this morning, as well as periods of increased heart rate. Is something on your mind?”

Malleus’s shoulders sag in relief. With a sigh, he answers, “Ah, it’s just you, Little Shroud. No, I’m fine. I’ve just been preoccupied with the preparations is all.”

Ortho smiles with all the innocence of a lamb. His barracuda teeth glint portentously. “…Did anyone ever tell you I can detect lies?”

“I am not-“

A chambermaid interrupts to ask if Malleus is ready to start the rehearsal, and he gratefully follows her to the throne room. He hears Ortho walking behind him. He tries to ignore the second set of footsteps he knows isn’t really there.

The cool reprieve of night is accompanied by a sudden rainstorm, and Ortho excuses himself to his room at the first crack of thunder. The blinding marks left behind by the lightning raking its great claws across the sky still terrify him after all these years, and he closes the windows and draws the curtains shut, not wanting to look at those awful flashes of light.

Later, Malleus passes by his room during his usual nighttime stroll, and he again hears Ortho’s excited voice floating through the wooden door. He stands there listening for a few minutes, and then finally knocks on the door. He asks loudly, over the pouring rain, if he might come in, and Ortho shouts back, “Of course!”

When Malleus opens the door, he sees Ortho reclining on his bed, and Idia Shroud sitting in a chair nearby. Malleus groans and closes his eyes, shaking his head. But Idia is still there when he opens his eyes, and he takes a hesitant step back.

“What’s wrong, Malleus Draconia?” Ortho asks wide-eyed, looking between his brother and Malleus. “Is my hologram bothering you again? Here, I’ll turn it off.” The apparition disappears without a sound, and Malleus takes a shuddering breath.

“My apologies, I just wasn’t sure if he was really…” Malleus shakes his head again. “No, it’s fine. What were you doing just now? I thought I heard you talking with someone.”

Ortho sits up and hangs his legs over the bed. “Oh, I was just talking with my big brother.” He watches as Malleus’s usually stern face scrunches up in confusion, and stifles back a laugh.

In his stupefaction, Malleus blurts, “And what were you talking to him about?”

“All sorts of stuff! I was telling him about our breakfast with the queen, and all the cool books we found in the library. Oh! And I’ve been showing him all the pictures and videos I’ve been taking so far.”

Malleus thinks for a moment. “Ah, so when I heard you speaking with someone in your room the other night…”

Ortho nods. “I was just talking to my big brother, yeah.”

“I see,” Malleus breathes out. And then, quietly, he murmurs, “I see… That’s quite surprising.”

“What do you mean?” Ortho asks.

“I suppose I hadn’t expected a robot to be able to be so sentimental, missing your brother and talking to his photo like that.”

“I mean, of course I miss him! But there’s nothing in my programming that makes me feel this way. It comes from my heart, the same as you.”

Malleus blanches. “You have… a heart? The literal organ, you mean?”

“Erm, no.” Ortho winces. “You see I’ve got this magical circuitry onboard and-”

“And there it is again,” Malleus sighs.

“What?”

Malleus crosses his arms. “To me, you have always been a very confusing amalgamation of machinery and human. And I fear I shan’t ever understand exactly what you are.”

During his time at Night Raven College, Malleus had only ever heard fragmentary rumors about the Shroud brothers. The other students would whisper that something terrible had befallen their family in the past, and that Idia had created the little robot in his grief. But neither of the brothers had ever offered to divulge their past to Malleus, and he never asked them to. He kept many things close to his heart, and he respected others who wished to do the same.

“Well,” Ortho says as he folds his hands in his lap. He stares at them for a moment, and after looking back up at Malleus, he continues, “I can try and explain it to you, if you’d like.”

“Only if you don’t mind, I don’t wish to pry.”

Ortho shuffles further down the bed and pats the empty space next to him, and Malleus sits down.

Ortho takes a deep breath, and then begins, “Well, this story starts a really long time ago. There were these two brothers named Idia Shroud and Ortho Shroud, and they always dreamed of going on adventures together…”

Malleus leans over, trying to grasp onto the shaky whispers that spill from his mouth like a confession. He had always thought of Ortho’s voice as bright and animated, like the titter of a goldfinch on a summer morning. But now, for the first time, as he listens to the boy talk, he finds his voice is very small. It’s as though his words have been crushed and shattered, the fine bits and pieces sent adrift like dust in the wind. He notices for the first time, too, just how small Ortho is, he notices the smallness of his hands. Is this not but a child’s body shivering hesitantly beside his? Is this not but a child’s tiny hand gripping nervously onto his own? For him to be carrying such an endless ocean of sorrow inside of him, how has he not drowned from its tremendous weight already? How has the earth not opened up and swallowed him whole, trapping him inside the same deep, dark pit that Malleus has been staring up from for centuries now?

The story comes together slowly, dripping like water, steadily taking shape like some great crystalline structure in a cavern long forgotten by time. And at long last, the pure light of revelation dawns before Malleus’s eyes. With a gasp, he tells the boy he understands now. Yes, that secret truth that has stood unnoticed before him for half a millennium, that has always slipped by him unheard, like a distant cry swallowed by the winds - now he sees it, now he hears it. Now he finally understands.

Exhausted, Ortho closes his eyes and sinks into the bed.

Malleus reaches out and cups Ortho’s cheek in his hand. A dim warmth emanates from the synthetic skin. As he sits there in the cold darkness, he wonders and wonders just what haunts the boy in his electric dreams.

V.

The rainstorm fades away into the black night as quickly as it had appeared. The next morning, the sun rises sluggishly, as though weighed down by the lingering dampness that hangs heavy in the air. The dawn chorus, as well, lacks its usual fervor, and only the intermittent cries of a distant blackbird accompany the horizon’s slow transition from black to red to blue.

If Ortho had been at all bothered by their conversation last night, he does not show it. He greets Malleus cheerfully when they sit down for breakfast, and they discuss only the drab weather and what plans they have for the day. When Ortho asks if he might accompany Malleus on his morning rounds, he readily agrees.

First on Malleus’s agenda is a violin recital. Sometimes he will perform for his grandmother, and he used to enjoy showing off a piece or two for Lilia, but as of late he’s been playing for only himself. The usual forlornness of the music room is somewhat stifled now that he has Ortho with him, and he searches for a chair the boy can use. Ortho watches him, shifting speculatively from one foot to another.

After Malleus locates a second chair and goes to take his seat before the music stand, Ortho timidly asks, “Remember when we were talking yesterday after your fitting, and that maid came and interrupted us?”

“…Yes?” Malleus replies, pausing as he picks up his violin case.

“Well, I still want to know if you’re doing okay. I keep detecting irregularities in your adrenaline and cortisol levels.”

“I assure you, I’m quite fine.” Malleus puts on his best smile as he unlocks the case and takes out his instrument. The smooth blend of maple and spruce feels reassuring in his hands, and he sets his jaw as he begins his tuning. “Now hush for a moment, please. I need to focus.” Ortho acquiesces, and he dutifully goes to sit in the corner of the room. The violin’s mournful voice somehow dissolves the tension that had been sitting uncomfortably in Ortho’s body since that morning, and as Malleus decisively strikes his bow across the pearl white strings for the final, piercing note, a firm resolve solidifies in its place.

Next is a morning meeting with the royal council, and Ortho resumes his endeavors while they walk to the council chamber. He breaks into a trot to keep up with Malleus’s long strides.

“Talking things out can help you feel better, you know!” Ortho implores.

“And that would be lovely,” Malleus huffs through gritted teeth, “- if only I needed to feel better!”

The servants passing by wonder to themselves if the boy is purely brazen, or if he’s just ignorant. They watch as the black column of their prince stalks faster and faster down the hallway, unable to shake off the white and blue speck following him.

The council meeting provides a short reprieve from Ortho’s questioning, and Malleus listens eagerly as the advisors, merchants, secretaries, and other council members take turns giving their rambling reports. The meetings were one of Malleus’s greatest delights; he was always eager to hear how things were going outside the castle, and the merchants would often bring back fascinating stories of what they’d seen during their travels. Most of the members pay no heed to the small boy sitting quietly next to the prince, but Ortho catches some of them glancing his way. Their blue and green and yellow eyes remind him of cat’s eyes marbles, and he admires how they catch the light. He ducks his head whenever they notice him staring.

Malleus’s excitement quickly disperses together with the conclusion of the meeting, and Ortho, in turn, swells up again with curiosity. The other council members file out of the room first, some of them still quibbling and grumbling over the issues they’d been discussing, and Malleus and Ortho bring up the rear. Ortho tugs on Malleus’s sleeve after they pour into the hallway.

“Are you-”

“I’m fine!”

For the rest of the morning, Ortho clings to him like a shadow, his perturbations hanging over Malleus’s head like circling buzzards. No matter how many times Malleus shoos him away, no matter how fiercely he glares, no matter how much venom he tries to inject into his refutations, the boy simply flutters back to his side moments later, as unbothered as a dandelion on the wind. Even teleporting to another part of the castle proves fruitless – Ortho’s location systems keep tracking him down within a matter of minutes.

Finally, around noon, Ortho corners him in Malleus’s study. He asks once more, “Are you sure there isn’t anything bothering you?”

Malleus sets down the book he’d been hiding behind and sighs. “You really aren’t going to let up until I talk to you, I suppose?”

“Nope!” Ortho grins.

“You’re truly vexing, you know that?” Malleus replies, a tired smile pulling at his lips. He gestures to a nearby chair, and Ortho sits down.

“Very well then. If you must know, it’s because of those…” He waves a hand in the air as he searches for the word. “Those holograms you showed me yesterday. I can’t stop thinking about them, for whatever reason. I don’t know if it’s just because I haven’t seen photos of them for so long or…”

“Them?”

It takes Malleus a moment to coax the names out of his mouth. “…Lilia, Silver, and Sebek.”

Ortho nods his head. “Oh, yeah. I remember you were really close to them.”

“Yes, they were like family to me…” Malleus murmurs, trailing off in thought. He licks his lips and asks, “…Does it not… Does it not make you sad, seeing your brother’s picture? And talking to him as you do?”

Ortho shakes his head. “It’s perfectly normal to feel uncomfortable when looking at pictures of your deceased loved ones. I just happen to be one of those people who doesn’t. And when I talk to my big brother, it helps me feel close to him. Everyone processes grief in different ways, after all.”

“Grief?” Malleus scoffs. “It’s been ages since they passed. Why would I still be grieving? It’s not like I hole myself in my room all the time, sulking about.”

“That’s not…” Ortho frowns. “Grief isn’t always loud and in your face. Sometimes… Sometimes it can be really quiet.”

“Mm,” Malleus sighs. He was familiar with that sort of quiet grief, the kind that would strike him faster than a cottonmouth, usually on still mornings or hushed nights, when his loneliness was at its most palpable. It always felt like an ambush, the way it would suddenly materialize in his heart like a rainstorm on a clear day. It was not like the burning, bone deep sorrow that had gripped his body after Lilia left, and neither was it suffocating, like how he’d felt at Silver and Sebek’s funerals. But it hurt him just the same.

“And how exactly does talking with his pict- his hologram make you feel better?” Malleus asks, genuinely curious.

“So my big brother and I had always wanted to travel the world together- Well, more like I wanted to get him out of his room, for once.” Ortho laughs, and Malleus smirks.

“But anyways, we never ended up being able to travel much since he was stuck dealing with Styx stuff most of the time. That’s why I like to talk to him and tell him about the places I go to, and the things I see. I know it doesn’t make up for the memories we never got to make together, but that hologram kind of helps me process all the stuff I regret not being able to do with him.”

“I see.”

Ortho takes his lower lip into his mouth and nibbles it pensively. “Is there anything you regret not being able to do with Lilia Vanrouge and the others?”

Malleus nods gravely. “Of course, for I never got to… Lilia was already gone by the time Silver and I arrived at his farewell party, and that has always weighed heavily on my mind. I know there’s nothing I can do about that now, but… I still would’ve liked to have at least spent one last night together with everyone.”

Malleus opens his mouth to continue speaking, and then closes it again. Ortho waits patiently, watching as Malleus furrows his brows in thought.

Finally, Malleus continues, “…I wished desperately, perhaps more so than anyone else at Night Raven College, to have the kinds of school experiences I’d always read about. I wished to have study sessions with my classmates, to go visit my friends and stay up late talking with them, to go to parties and other social gatherings… And yet, when I finally received the party invitation I’d always longed for, I didn’t even go. I still marvel at my foolishness to this day.” He finishes with a shake of his head.

Ortho crosses his arms and closes his eyes. “Hmm… I might be able to assist you with that. Could we reserve the castle’s ballroom tonight?”

Malleus blinks. “That shouldn’t be a problem… But why?”

“You’ll see!”

Later that night, after Ortho explains his plan, he instructs Malleus to go put on his old house warden uniform. It’s been ages since he last wore it, and the fabric feels alien to him. He tugs at his collar and fiddles with his gloves and fingers the lining of his coat, as restless as a snake eager to shed its skin. Even standing before the mirror, it feels like he’s looking at someone else, like the pale, awkward face staring back at him belongs to some unfortunate stranger. He clicks his tongue and turns to make his way to the ballroom. Ortho greets him when he passes through the towering doors.

“Now, it consumes a lot of battery power for me to run so much footage through this specific AI program all at once. I’ll probably be able to display the holograms for about two hours before I’ll need to stop. Okay?”

“Yes, that’s alright. I don’t imagine this will go on for very long, anyways.”

Ortho glides up to the gallery on the second floor, and he turns to face the dance floor. The plates in his chest once again unfurl to reveal the lens of his built-in projector, and in the blink of an eye, the ballroom is filled with the glimmering holograms of their old Night Raven College classmates.

“Is everything okay? May I start the music?” Ortho shouts from the gallery.

Malleus stills his nerves with a deep breath. “Go ahead!” he calls out, and the ballroom’s speakers start thrumming a moment later. At once, all the holograms turn and look up at him expectantly. Even from where he’s standing atop the stairs, he can easily pick out Silver, Sebek, and Lilia’s white faces peering at him from the crowd. Silver steps forward and offers his hand. Malleus rushes down the stairs and takes it.

The first few steps are awkward and offbeat. Again and again, Malleus moves his hands or feet too close to the hologram’s body, and his limbs pierce through the projected light like a clumsy blade. He winces, both at his inability to perform a simple waltz, and at the sight of his fingers halfway embedded in Silver’s waist. Eventually, Malleus figures out that if he counts the steps, it’s easier for him to move while hovering his hands just above Silver’s body. One, two, three, one, two, three, one, two, three. Their steps finally line up with the beat, and they glide across the dance floor with confidence and surety.

For the first time that night, Malleus smiles, and Silver smiles back. How he ached to pluck that smile off the boy’s face and safekeep it in his pocket forever! Alas, all he can do is drop one arm and raise the other, signaling Silver to turn. He watches silently as Silver twirls beneath him, and their hands rejoin at the next step. After a few minutes, the music swells – it’s time for the swap.

Silver swings away and takes his father’s outstretched hand, while Sebek separates from Epel to come join Malleus. Malleus almost wants to turn around, to just stop right there and simply watch Silver and Lilia dance, but Sebek’s brilliant smile captivates him like nothing else. They move quickly, with Malleus leading the way, and Sebek forceful and heavy in his movements. Where Silver was reserved, Sebek is thunderous, and Malleus laughs as they whirl and race across the dance floor. When the music finally swells again, Sebek hands off Malleus to Lilia with a bow.

Malleus again fumbles for a few moments, having to adjust to Lilia’s much shorter height. He curses as his one hand shoots right through Lilia’s face and the other cuts through his shoulder. After a couple of hesitant steps, he at last finds his rhythm once more, and they move leisurely to the steady thrum of the music.  

Like a pair of jubilant cranes declaring their great love, like the push and pull of the moon and the ocean’s tides, they take turns leading and following one another. The throng of students parts before them, clearing a path for the two to drift down. As the song races on, more and more couples stop to watch them, and soon it’s just Malleus and Lilia floating across the dance floor. Malleus can feel their eyes boring into him, but he doesn’t care. He has been bewitched. He grows more and more drunk on every turn, every dip, every carefully placed step and dizzying revolution. The floor disappears underneath him; the ballroom fades away. There is only him and Lilia and the music. Rapture’s final trumpet could’ve sounded in that moment and he wouldn’t have noticed.     

As the last, winsome notes of the song gradually fade away, Lilia reaches up and ruffles Malleus’s head, and Malleus closes his eyes. For nearly five hundred long years he has lived trapped underneath the immovable weight of his sorrow. He has beaten his fists against it and kicked it and raked his claws down its sides, he has wailed and screamed and roared until his voice grew hoarse, he has cursed Heaven and Hell and begged for salvation from both, but he was never able to get it to even budge. The past few days, he finally felt it starting to shift. And just now, when that small hand he so desperately yearned to feel the touch of had reached out to him, it nearly disintegrated on the spot.

Finally, the song ends, the air stills, the spell is broken. Malleus opens his eyes, and the world reforms before him. He raises his hand and rubs his head where Lilia had touched him. He had almost felt it, almost felt those familiar, thin fingers running through his hair. Maybe if they just start the song over and go through the dance again, he’ll feel it next time.

“Little Shroud!” Malleus cries. “Please! Do it once more!”

“Okay!” Ortho yells from above, and the song begins again. The holograms disappear for a moment, and then reappear in their starting positions a second later. Malleus retreats to the top of the staircase. Then he turns around and takes Silver’s hand.

This time, there is no awkwardness, no clumsy missteps or fumbling movements. Malleus and Silver spin with all the grace of a courting swan, he and Sebek whirl as determined as a maelstrom. When Sebek releases him into Lilia’s arms, he handles the transition with ease, his hands finding their correct positions all on their own.

Yes, this time, when Lilia goes to pat his head, there is the slightest hint of the cool fabric of Lilia’s gloves ghosting over his skin. And as Lilia pulls his hand away, a scent not unlike one Malleus has smelled a thousand times before washes over him – it’s sharp like iron, and musky and sweet like jessamine. He’d always thought it fitting that Lilia smelled that way. The canary yellow bells that adorn jessamine vines were often mistaken for honeysuckle, and many a thirsty child had fallen paralyzed to the forest floor after drinking its sugary nectar. Its sweet smell was both a warning and a temptation, and Malleus found it purely intoxicating. He breathes in the air greedily.

Oh, if they could just try again! Surely, he’ll feel that hand’s tender caress next time!

“Little Shroud!”

Ortho restarts the music and resets the holograms again. And again and again, for hours on end. As the night marches on and the firefly lights of the stars begin to dot the sky, Ortho ignores the high-pitched beeping of his low battery alert.

It takes a few minutes for Malleus to realize the holograms have vanished. He’d been keeping his eyes squeezed tightly shut as he twirled Silver around the dance floor. When he finally opens his eyes, ready to take Sebek’s hand next, he sees only the dark, empty ballroom.

“Little Shroud!” he calls out, and then louder, when he doesn’t get a response, “Ortho!”

He teleports up to the gallery and finds the boy sprawled out on the floor, his eyes closed. He goes to check for a pulse, chiding himself once he realizes his simpleminded error. He flips Ortho onto his stomach and searches for the battery indicator light the boy had mentioned before, and he sees it blinking an angry red.

Malleus lets out the breath he’d been holding with a hiss, and he gathers Ortho into his arms. He staggers as he rises from the ground, the boy’s small frame proving much heavier than it belies.

He takes Ortho back to the guest room and deposits him on the bed. He fumbles as he hooks up the charging cable to the port on the boy’s back. Nothing happens at first, and Malleus worries that he’s done something wrong, but then a voice sounds out, “Time Until Full Charge: 3 hours and 42 minutes”, and a faint, green light begins to glow near the battery port. Ortho’s eyes open a moment later.

Malleus peers over him as he asks, “Little Shroud, are you alright? Can you hear my voice?”

“Malleus… Draconia…?” Ortho blinks a few times, and then sits up. “…Yes, all my systems are operational. According to my memory dump files, it appears I crashed due to a critically low battery. I’ll be good to go as long as I fully charge my battery tonight.”

“Ah, thank goodness…” Malleus exhales, relieved. “I do apologize, I was so absorbed in my own whims I lost track of time. I shouldn’t have put you in danger like that.”

Ortho looks away. “It’s okay... and I’m sorry, too.”

“For what?” Malleus asks, confused.

“I was trying to give you one last night together with everyone, but I went and ruined the whole thing…”

“You didn’t ruin anything!” Malleus exclaims, and then he clears his throat. Quietly, he continues, “You didn’t ruin anything. You gave me something I wasn’t aware my heart desperately needed. And I thank you sincerely for it.”

“Mm,” Ortho mumbles, only half listening. He blinks rapidly and looks around the room - at the door, at the bookcase, at the bedside table. Everywhere except at Malleus.

Malleus frowns. “Is something the matter?”

“I guess I just… I don’t know.” Ortho lets out a shaky sigh. “When I saw you dancing with those holograms, you looked so happy. And that made me really happy, too. But then I started thinking, you’re my last friend from NRC, right? One day, you’re going to be just another hologram to me, same as everybody else...” He brings his knees to his chest and wraps his arms around his legs. It reminds Malleus of how Silver and Sebek would look when they got upset as children, and a feeling he can’t find the name for begins prickling in his chest.

Perhaps encouraged, perhaps despaired, Ortho’s words pour out faster and faster. “I never asked my big brother to make me, but he did. And then he just up and left me behind. Everybody does. And there’s nothing I can do about it…”

His voice shrinks to a whisper. “…I guess I just don’t like that I never got any say in the matter.”

Ortho clears his throat, and then a heavy sob wracks his small body. The tears he’d been fighting so hard to hold back finally burst free and rush down his scrunched-up face. Malleus desperately wants to look away, but the moonlight reflecting off the boy’s tears paralyzes him.

He thinks back on all the times in his life when he had failed to comfort someone. He still remembers the night of Lilia’s departure with perfect clarity, he remembers the pure white of the snowflakes that fell on Silver’s face, how they mixed with the iridescent tears that spilled from his eyes, and how they melted from the warmth of his quiet sorrow. And he remembers the hard line of Sebek’s shoulder trembling under his hand at Silver’s funeral, he remembers how small the huge man had looked, crumpled over, folded in on himself, crushed under the immense weight of his endless grief.

And now he stands before this child who has wrenched back the heavy curtains of his heart and led him into the blinding light of the world for the first time in nearly half a millennium. At times, he viciously fought back against the small hand that guided him, refusing the open pastures before him like some forgotten creature long left to rot within the darkness of its cage. And at times, he was only eager to follow its gentle coaxing, desperate for even the slightest bit of reassurance that he really could escape the pit of his sorrows and the ground wouldn’t swallow him whole again.

Is there truly nothing he can do, nothing he can say to soothe the poor boy’s heart? Must he once again be rendered dumbfounded and dazed by those silent tears?

He decides this time will be different - it must be.

He sits down on the bed next to Ortho and takes some time to gather his words. After a couple seconds, he utters, “I see. Yes, I can certainly understand how you feel.”

“While I cannot say I agree with what your older brother did, I will say this...”

“When Lilia announced he was going to be raising a human child, I thought he had finally, truly lost his mind. I eventually figured out why he must’ve seen no problem with it, since he would far outlive the boy - he’d have his hands full for a couple of decades at most, and then be free to continue living his life as he pleased. I’m sure you can imagine what a shock it was when he ended up passing so much earlier than Silver did.”

“It wasn’t until I got older that I realized I had it all wrong. He must’ve known very well that he was going to die before Silver, and that’s precisely why he decided to take him in. For he knew that he couldn’t… He knew that he wasn’t strong enough to live in a world that had taken his heart away from him.”

“But he must’ve felt that I was strong enough, and that I can do what he could not. I suppose older generations always have such hopes for those who come after them.”

Ortho finally looks at him. He wipes the wet mess from his face and takes a deep breath. “Maybe my big brother felt the same way, that I’m strong enough…”

“Perhaps he did. I certainly think you are, at least.”

“…Thank you.”

Malleus stays with Ortho until his battery finishes charging. Ortho is due to return home the next morning, and they talk about all the things they saw and did together on his much too short visit. And then they talk about everything and nothing, about their memories from their time at school, about all the different people and things they missed, about all their budding hopes for the future. And finally, enveloped in the twilight darkness of that small room, they promise to always keep in touch.

They fall asleep to the sound of the cardinals heralding the dawn.

VI.

Malleus squints as walks with Ortho into the soft light of the courtyard. They stand still for a while, just listening to the gentle hum of the windchimes. The foul weather from the day prior has vanished, and the sun’s golden rays stretch triumphantly overhead. Ortho remarks that it somehow feels like it was both forever ago and only just a couple seconds ago since they last stood there, and Malleus quietly agrees.

He turns to Ortho and places his hand on the boy’s shoulder. It’s time for him to go home.

“And I will see you at the coronation?”

“I wouldn’t miss it for the world!”

“And you will let me know when you’ve made it back safely?”

“Yup, I’ll email you soon as I get back to the island. And then we can schedule a time to play some online chess together!”

Malleus smiles, and Ortho beams up at him in return. “Good. Take care, Little Shroud.”

“You, too, Malleus Draconia.”

As he watches the lights from Ortho’s propulsion system dissolve into the amber sea of the early morning sky, Malleus strokes his thumb across the packet of rose seeds in his pocket.

#malleus draconia #ortho shroud #twst silver #lilia vanrouge #sebek zigvolt #twisted wonderland #twst #txt

[hannie-dul-set]

sunwater [teaser].

SYNOPSIS. this is how you get a merman boyfriend.

PAIRING. park sunghoon x female! reader. GENRE. merman! sunghoon, artist! reader, slight college! au, strangers to lovers, romance, modern fantasy, humor, suggestive. WARNINGS. swearning, drowning, dirty/inappropriate jokes, mentions of sex, things might get a lil spicy but No Explicit Smut, mermaid politics, reader says and does a lot of questionable shit (might add more as i progress!) WORD COUNT. full fic: est. 20k more or less. teaser: 1.3k RELEASE DATE. late july to early august.

NOTE. finally thought of a title last night and immediately made the header so i can post the teaser HAUHASDH. stemmed from a convo with a friend of mine (i quote "u reject every man woman person that tries to date u. little do they know, ur type isn't human 🤩").

anyway, send me an ask/dm to be added to the taglist! preview under the cut.

GANGNEUNG-SI, GANGWON-DO. The drive to the east coast is always nostalgic, like fragments of previous summers are powdered into the air and with every inhale of the breeze outside the car window fills you with the past— scraped knees from the rocky beachside, saltwater daydreams under bunny-shaped clouds, and the smell of paint and the sea melting together in early morning dews. It takes a little over an hour for the cab to roll up to your summer neighborhood. It takes twenty minutes of walking to get to your family’s vacation house situated right beside the sea.

“Welcome home.”

Your words echo in the empty living room and your own voice greets you with remembrance. A smile crawls onto your lips. Eggshell walls, sandy brown wooden panels, your favorite blue sofa matching the stripes on the rug underneath it, and the sheer cream curtains painted with the orange spills of the sunset through wall to ceiling windows— it’s a still life painting of last year’s summer. Prior to that, you still had plants around, but they kept dying, getting replaced and dying again until your neglectful guilt finally hit you. Throughout highschool, your family diligently spent time here every December and July. Now, it’s just you every summer and the caretaker that comes by every few months.

“I should call mom after dinner,” you hum, washing the dishes you found in the cupboards. Your first night here always ends early. By sunfall, you have a quick meal, wash up, tuck yourself into bed upstairs and allow yourself to be lulled to sleep by the sloshing waves of the nighttime sea. 

Four in the morning is when you start to feel alive.

The first thing you do upon waking up, pitch black sky with the sun still hiding behind the oceanline, you grab one of the bags you left on your living room sofa, slinging it over your shoulder before picking up a folded up easel leaned against the wall and two of the blank canvas panels stacked beside it. Your body moves mechanically, practiced and familiar movements— sliding the glass door open to the backyard and closing, feeling the sand wither underneath your bare soles until soft grains blend into jagged stone as you climb up the natural staircase of rocks, leading up to a solid flat plateau.

Is it safe to be painting on top of a cliff when you’ve just woken up? No. Have you been doing this every day since you were fourteen every summer you spend at your vacation home? Yes. 

When the sun starts to rise, you become invigorated with life that it almost feels like rebirth.

You haven’t fallen to your death yet, and you don’t have any plans to slip and succumb to its cold hands any time soon. Not until you manage to perfectly capture the image before your eyes at this very moment; neither your memories nor your imperfect renditions can compare to the vibrancy of the orange stained waves, the clarity white seafoam kissing its surface, and the beauty of flaming disk peeking from the firmament where the sky meets the sea in all its ephemeral glory.

It’s five-thirty when the sun fully emerges from the water. Your legs give in, and you fall onto the rocky ground with a sigh. All you could finish is the underpaint today. You’ll continue working tomorrow. 

Whenever someone asks you— why the fuck are you doing this? you never have a satisfying answer. It’s an exercise, it’s a routine; it’s the only time when I feel like I’m painting something worthwhile. You have countless pieces in galleries and exhibits, meaningless works with the highest praises from your professors, but they’re nothing worth the buzz of your fingertips whenever you chase the sunrise with your own paint-stained hands until it inevitably, ritualistically flies beyond your devoted reach.

The strain in your leg muscles takes forever to recover. You should remember to bring a stool tomorrow because although you don’t feel anything besides adrenaline whenever you attack the canvas with your brush, the aftertaste can be a little brutal. 

“Can’t you stay a little longer tomorrow?” you mumble to the orange tinted sky as you lay on the uneven ground, arms and legs spread out in vulnerability. When it doesn’t respond, you groan and pull yourself up. You could leave your painting materials here, but the probability of them getting thrown into the ocean by the wind is too high for your peace of mind.

As you collect your paint brushes and gather your extra paint tubes, your eyes keep getting pulled by the ocean’s songs. The scene before you has been imprinted in your retinas since you were seven. So when something appears amiss or changes, you can pick it apart immediately. A shift in the tides. A crack in the rock formation. Even a floating piece of driftwood from afar can’t slip away from your attention.

So when you find something— rather, someone emerging from the warm blue near the sprouting rocks, you drop your things and pace quickly to the edge to get a better look.

This is odd. This entire plot of land is private property, and it’s the only way to get into the water besides the island across it, which is still at least twenty miles away. Your eyebrows furrow, wondering how they got here, but when you get to the edge of the cliff, the rough terrain biting into your feet, your concerns are suddenly thrown into the water underneath you.

You can see the intruder’s face clearly now. Whoever he is, he’s breathtaking.

He’s gotten closer to the shore, resting his arms on the inky rock, half submerged into blue depths. The saltwater beads glisten like jewels on his porcelain skin, splashing sunlight into the water when he throws his head back before letting the ocean consume him once more. There’s a flicker of gold that splashes above the surface in a steady rhythmic wave, slowly moving further away.

You have found your new ocean sunrise. You don’t intend on letting him get away.

Splash!

Suddenly, all the warmth from your skin is stripped away as your body sinks into the sea, engulfed by the thick raptures of its waves. Though having been enamored by it for the better part of your life, you have never stepped into the ocean’s embrace— never dared to corrupt its ethereal beauty with your feeble humanity— that is, until now. You slowly feel heavier, and each second hurts more than the last, like the sun itself has entered your lungs and is burning you from the inside. Maybe you should have learned how to swim. Maybe you shouldn’t have jumped off the cliff in the rushing hopes of catching a fleeting stranger’s attention.

No one should underestimate the lengths an artist would go for their art. Just when your consciousness starts to slip, you see a spark in the dark water, slowly approaching before your eyelids flutter to a close. You can hear nothing. You feel nothing but the cold, until all of the sudden you’re gasping, coughing out water from your lungs and the jagged rock you’re laying on sinks its teeth into your wet palms.

There’s one person who could have saved you. You can’t believe your deranged plan worked.

You open your eyes and look above, your still beating heart burning into a frenzy and instead of the sunrise sky, your gaze meets a pair of stygian gemstones muddled with concern. A few droplets of water from his damp hair fall onto your cheeks. 

“Are you okay?”

Burnt stars form a constellation on his face. His lips are full and painted by coral hues. 

“I want to burn you in my memory.”

He’s even more breathtaking up close, it’s almost impossible to believe. Your gaze draws down, noticing how you’re caged between his arms, noticing the patchy waist bag loosely hanging on his bare hips over a makeshift skirt of fabric, noticing the iridescent gold flakes blending into his skin, shimmering under the sunlight from where his lower half should be.

You flit your eyes back up. His are now widened in panic.

Splash!

sunwater. © hannie-dul-set, 2023.

#enhypen x reader #park sunghoon x reader #sunghoon x reader #enhypen scenarios #park sunghoon scenarios #sunghoon scenarios #enhypen au #park sunghoon au #sunghoon au #enhypen smut #park sunghoon smut #enha x reader #enhypen sunghoon x reader

[thisisarcanereverie]

Cutting Ties (Dark! Moon Knight x Reader) Part 2

A/N: This is Part 2 of a 3 Part fic. (Here is Part 1!) This is also a dark fic so please DNI Minors and others. (I got a little carried away with this idea Anon so thank you for the suggestion)

Now if you can interact or want to, please do! Like, reblog, reply!

DISCLAIMERS/WARNINGS: kidnapping, angst (like a ridiculous amount of it), light cursing, I've never been to London or England in general so I'm going based off of what I've seen, English is my first language I just suck at it. I do not own the picture above but i DO own the header below, it's something that I made. I might make a few others idk. Enjoy!

Summary: You're a former Widow on the run, only in London for a year you meet Steven Grant, a goofy gift shoppist. But is there more that meets the eye?

For as long as you could remember you were not your own. Your name, your face, your mind, your body, even your own autonomy was not your own. It had always belonged to Dreykov and to his Red Room. Then, suddenly, the very color that controlled you, freed you. The red powder burned your eyes for a moment before suddenly it felt like you could breathe again. 

It was strange how one’s life can completely turn on its head in a matter of moments. 

One moment you were another Widow, easily expendable and replaced and the next you were…new. At least that’s what it felt like, you no longer existed at the whim of another. You weren’t a chess piece on the board, you were now a player. 

You remembered the day the Red Room fell as the best day of your life. 

There were so many things you could do, there were so many possibilities. 

You just weren’t prepared for the reality of it. 

That despite the mind control and the lack of autonomy, you still hurt people, at the end of the day it was your finger that pulled the trigger. You would wake in the middle of the night still haunted by those faces with a red mark between their eyes. It felt like you couldn’t escape from the Red Room you concocted in your mind, that no matter how hard you tried you will always be a Widow. So instead of fighting it, you gave in. 

You had offers, from SHIELD to Tony Stark himself. Which surprised you, but in the end you decided you didn’t want the spotlight on you and were a merc for a while. It was gritty, but it was work you knew well. You thought you could do it but the first time you were ordered to kill you couldn’t. They were innocent, they were just there at the wrong time. So you killed your boss instead, grabbed what you could, and left. You made enemies that day, one that would love to see your head gifted to them on a silver plate. 

You called Natasha after that, you weren’t sure what else to do. You didn’t know anyone else, you were completely alone. She gave you this guy's number, said that he would help you disappear and with whatever else you may need. You could feel her wink on the other end of the phone as you wrote down his information. 

Since then you’ve been running, changing addresses and identities every couple of years to stay ahead of people who may want you dead. Her friend would give you new identities and you would exchange with money that you earned at jobs you would work. For a while you were content with being alone, working everyday and coming back to your place to eat food you previously were never able to eat and watching tv. Then you met Steven Grant, Marc Spector, and Jake Lockley. Then suddenly you realized how gray your life had become, how long you had merely survived and what living actually meant—even if you were merely living a lie. All at once you were no longer alone, someone held you at night and kissed your blood-soaked hands. 

For the first time in your life…you felt clean. 

But that had all been a delusion. 

/////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////

You woke up in pain, your head throbbed and your limbs felt weighted down, as though someone had thrown two weighted blankets on top of you. You willed your eyes to open and was greeted with an unfamiliar ceiling. You squinted your eyes as you looked toward the open window, watched as the powder blue curtains danced gently as the breeze blew in. You weren’t sure how long you’ve been asleep, last time you remember it was nighttime and….

Rain

Pinching

Jake.

You took a sharp breath in and shot up from the bed as your hand went to the side of your neck, Jake had drugged you–and from the look of things–abducted you as well. Why would he do this? Did he act alone or did Steven and Marc help him? All these questions swarmed your mind but one question stood out. 

Have you been blind?

You shakily made your way to the open window, sure enough it was morning, and sure enough you weren’t in London. As far as you could tell you could be miles away from the nearest village let alone London. How long had they been planning this? To already have a second place squared away, ready, were you the first to be here or the latest addition. 

“You’re up.” 

You swerved your head as you looked beside you, your skin crawled and blood turned into ice as you looked at him. Upright posture, hair a little less unkempt, and a twinge of a chicago accent dripped in his voice. 

Marc. 

You opened your mouth to speak only for a small, pathetic squeak to sound instead of words. Your hand reached for your throat and realized for the first time how absolutely parched you were. Like you hadn’t had any water in days. 

“Here,” he handed you a glass of water which you greedily accepted, you didn’t bother breathing as you chugged the glass he gave. After the soreness in your throat subsided a little and hummed to warm up vocal cords that had not been used in a while. You put the glass on the window sill  and looked  at him and at the tray he was previously holding. Turkey Bacon and Eggs, it was Marc's favorite breakfast, one he had made you dozens of times whenever he was sorry for something. 

You were silent as you looked at him further, he wore sweatpants and a t- shirt, both clearly slept in. The tan of his skin glowed in the morning light and it looked like he ran his fingers through his dark curls once or twice. There was something unsettling about him though, one that made the hair on the back of your neck stand, something that wasn’t there before. 

Those eyes. 

You flinch a little as he raises a hand, only for him to retract it. 

“Sorry,” he apologized, his voice uncharacteristically small. You debated on what to say, what was there to say? You had so many questions and yet you could not speak. You weren’t even sure if you were just dreaming, it almost seems like a dream. A house far away from everything and everyone, and your boys were right there with you bringing you breakfast in bed. You were partially worried that you would wake up and find yourself sleeping in a plane seat millions of miles away from them, but the other part of you worried that you would never wake up. 

“How long?” you finally spoke, voice still hoarse. A moment of silence fell before he answered. 

“I can’t tell you.” Marc says lowering his eyes, something he does when he has something to hide. 

“Did Steven or Jake tell you that,” You fidgeted with the sleeve of your shirt.

“Neither.” 

“You have to let me go,” You finally said, voice getting a little less hoarse the more you speak. “Please.” 

“Stop,” He said looking at you finally with a hard look in his eyes, “Stop saying you have to leave. You don’t need to leave.”  

“Yes I do,” you emphasized, you held his face in order to hold his gaze, “there are a lot of things you don’t know about me, things that I’ve lied about. That person you fell in love with isn’t me, I’ve done horrible things-” 

“I know-” 

“No you don’t.” 

“Yes,” he said, grabbing your wrist with an intense look in his eyes, “I do.” 

It was like someone had dumped a bucket of ice water on you and stuck a fork in an outlet all at the same time. There was no way he could know, at least, not everything. 

“I know that you used to be a Black Widow,” he said, taking a step towards you, the grip on your wrist tightening, “you’ve killed, lied, and stole from many people including me.” his nose brushed with yours as you tried to steady your breathing. 

“How could you know all that?” You asked, whispered, your mind was pounding in time with your heart as he leaned closer to your ear. 

“I also know you used to be a mercenary,” you heard him whisper in your ear, his breath ghosting over the goosebumps that formed on your skin, “that’s how we met.” you stopped breathing as he leaned slightly away from you, far enough for you to look him in the eyes. Dark eyes that held the sun in them. 

Oh

Oh. 

The last job you went on you worked with a team, you never saw his face and he was never much of a talker. You just remember his eyes as he held a gun to you ready to shoot…only to lower the gun and let you get away. 

That had been Marc. 

Without a second thought you ripped your wrist from his grip and grabbed the glass laying on the nightstand throwing it at him. Your heart pounded as you made your way through the open door, sure to close and block it before he had time to reach it. You were sure by now you were on the verge of a heart attack with how loudly your heart was pounding. You could hear Marc on the other side banging the door with his fists. You had no plan, your heart was breaking all over again and your entire body has gone into a fight and flight zone. You made your way down the wooden stairs skipping every other step, unafraid of the small fall you have on the last step before you regained balance and ran straight through the front door. Even from outside you can still hear him banging and screaming, you tried to decide where the best place to run to when the banging stopped. It wasn’t in Marc's nature to give up so you look behind you, he wasn’t coming down the stairs either. What the hell? 

Then you heard a familiar grunt and footsteps above you. 

The open window. 

All at once it didn’t matter where you ran to as long as you ran. Your feet carried you swiftly into the tree lining of the woods surrounding the house. The adrenaline coursing through your veins hid the pain of the cuts and barbs that scratched you as you pushed them aside. Your goal was to run, or to find a pointy enough stick or a sharp enough stone to throw at him, but mainly run and hide. 

You weren’t sure how long you ran, all you knew was that your lungs were on fire and you couldn’t feel your limbs. You knew you couldn’t run much further, at least, not at full speed. So you went to the nearest, sturdy tree you could find and climbed, you grabbed one branch after another. The bark dug into sensitive parts of your hand but you didn’t care, you could see your arms shaking as they pulled you up to that final branch. It seemed strong enough to hold your weight and shielded enough to provide cover. 

One of the things the Red Room taught you was to assess weakness and who had the advantage. Marc had the advantage when it came to muscle mass, but you had experience–granted those were mainly espionage missions that required more brains than combat prowess. You always carried a gun on you,�� but if he was smart (which you know he is) he took that away and was carrying it with him now.  

All this time, you thought he loved you and that you were protecting him. You never even suspected the truth, he seemed so familiar and you had that gut instinct that something was up but you ignored it. All this time everything had been a lie, he didn’t love you, he was finishing the job. How long did he have his eye on you before he made a move? 

Stop! You didn’t have time to mourn, you had to focus on surviving. 

You halted your greedy intakes of air as you heard rustling in the leaves. Careful not to make the slightest sound as you saw him run past, calling your name. You waited until you slowly couldn’t hear the crackling of the leaves before beginning your descent. Time was of the essence, at some point Marc will come back to retrace steps, so you had to make another break in a different direction he had gone. Maybe back to the house and hotwire the beat up jeep you saw in the driveway. Once there you would make it to the second nearest village because the nearest would be the first place he’ll look, use one of those grimy old payphones to call in your ID guy. 

Your feet had barely touched the ground before you felt the wind being knocked out of you as you tackled the ground. You were pinned before you could push Marc off of you, unable to do much but struggle in his grip. 

“Do it,” you growled while still fighting, “I’m not going to stop fighting but if you’re going to do it, do it now.” 

“Do what now?!” His eyes wide and intense, his grip becoming tighter on your wrists again. 

“Kill me!” You yell, “that’s what all this has been for, hasn’t it? I killed your boss and stole a lot of money and relics from the people who hired us. A lot of different people want me dead, a lot of powerful people who can make things happen want me dead for more than this. Once you kill me you’ll have your pick of the litter. Whatever you want.” You see his brows furrow as you feel his breath ghost over your lips. 

“Have you ever thought that maybe what I wanted was you?” He pecked your lips once before continuing, “that I intended to keep you for myself rather than sell you to the highest bidder.” 

“Why would you do that?” 

“Cause I love you,” Marc said, pinning your hands above your head with one hand while the other caressed your cheek, “I have since we met on those desolate dunes, that has never been a lie.” you can feel his heartbeat as he lays his weight down on top of you, like so many times before, as his words swirl around your head. Your first thought was that he was lying, how could he not be? Deep down, however, as you looked him in the eyes you were reminded that Marc was many things–but a good liar was not one of them. 

“You can love me,” you say, “and still betray me.” you hear him let out a frustrated groan as he drops his head to your shoulder. You can feel his grip tighten before he lets your wrist go, and his weight on you is gone leaving you strangely cold. For a moment you think he’s letting you go, a foolish thought, one full of hope. 

You were wrong. 

No sooner had you gotten off the ground yourself, your feet were dangling above the ground as you were swung over his shoulder like you weighed nothing more than a sack of potatoes. Had this been ANY different situation your knees would be weak for a different reason. 

Once again you fought, kicking and screaming. He wasn’t going to kill you, not yet, but you were honest when you said you weren’t going down without a fight. You didn’t even register entering the house until he sat you on the couch with an unceremonious plop, his hands gripping your shoulders and a frustrated look in his eye. 

“What is it going to take to get you to believe me?” He said, voice low edging on a growl. 

“Give me one good reason to believe that you wouldn’t give me up.” You said, eyes narrowing, “a reason that I would believe.'' There was a beat of silence, you see his brows furrowed together as his brain itches for an answer that you know he wouldn’t have. He has betrayed you and has all the reasons in the world to sacrifice you to the altar. 

Then the lights starting flickering, 

The hairs on your neck stood on end as you felt a shift in the air, the lights flickering and a hum of something else. Something you’ve never encountered before. Then you see the bandages wrapping themselves around Marc like snakes and his eyes were no longer the dark color you used to adore. They glowed now like moonlight reflecting off of water. 

Of course. 

You’ve seen the small articles in the paper passing by or clickbait news in the media about London’s vigilante who called themselves Moon Knight. You usually never paid much attention to it, you rarely were out past dark anyway why would you? Maybe you should’ve. 

“If I wanted anything that they have,” You hear him say as the mask unbound itself to reveal his face, “I would’ve just taken it, and they couldn’t have stopped me.” 

“You’re moon knight.” Of course the first person you fall in love with is not only a mercenary, but also a superpowered vigilante. Your life hasn’t been ordinary, why would your love life be?! You groaned in frustration as you leaned your head back against the couch, “well that explains why you always look exhausted and always came back home at weird hours.” 

“You knew about that?” He asked, you gave him a deadpan look, “...of course you did.” You look at him for a moment and replayed every moment in your head leading up to this, he had a point. With these powers he really could have walked into any place, taken what he wanted, and left. He wouldn’t have needed you, but why keep you?

“Ok,” you start, “so you don’t intend to sell me or kill me or whatever.”

“I’ve been telling yo-” 

“But why keep me?” You ask, “Why bring me here? Based on this house and location it is-”

“Everything you ever wanted.” Marc finished, his grip softening on your shoulders, “a small house with a sunroom, far away from everyone, a place to plant flowers and a lot more sun than what you got in the city…A home.” 

“This would’ve taken at least half a year to build,” you say, “and another few weeks to a month to draft up the plans. So that means that you have been planning on bringing me here since-” 

“Since fate decided to give us a second chance,” he said, “I couldn’t follow you before and lost you, trust me I tried to follow you but you were so damn good at running and hiding that I couldn’t find you. Then, one day, I see you on the bus. I was a fly on the wall, Steven was in charge, but I saw you. You have no idea how badly I wanted to talk to you, but seeing how you fled before, I knew I had to be patient. I told Steven everyday to talk to you, building him up until he eventually sat next to you.” You see him laugh a little, “I really shouldn’t have kept him up the night before, but it all turned out alright.” 

He was sick, you knew this from the beginning, you just never looked below the surface of it. He needed help, something you couldn’t give him here. 

“Baby,” You said softly, holding his hands as he knelt down in front of you, kissing the tops of his still bandaged covered hands, before leaning your forehead against his, you had to be calm. You had to convince him with honey and not vinegar. “Thank you so much for doing this, it must have been so much work.” You start, lowering your voice to barely a whisper, already sensing the tension leaving his body, “you must be so tired.” 

“I am.” 

“I’m just worried for you,” you said brushing your nose against his, “maybe we should see someone hmm? Like a specialist or a doctor, get you some melatonin or some medicine to help you sleep.” You feel him shake his head before you gently shush him, bringing a hand to cup his stubbly cheek, “just to help you sleep.” 

“I don’t need them.” He says definitely, “I have you.”

“And you’ll always have me.” You promise, “let’s just call and make the appointment, I’m sure they’ll be more than happy to help.” 

“No,” he mumbles quietly at first, “no” a little louder, “I don’t-” 

“Do it for me?” You ask, fluttering your eyelashes and giving him a small smile, “please baby.” gently moving your hand to scratch the nape of his neck you knew he was putty. 

“Ok,” he agrees. 

“Ok,” you quietly repeat, trying to keep your tone even, “how about we call them right now and make an appointment?” 

“No.” 

“Ok,” you say, rubbing soothing circles on the back of his neck, “we don’t need to call them right now but in a short bit here, yeah?” 

“Yeah.” 

You breathe in, “yeah.”

#x reader #marvel #x reader angst #x reader smut #marc spector #marvel characters #marvel cinematic universe #ask rev #marc spector angst #marc x reader #dark steven grant x reader #dark marc spector x reader #dark!moonknight #dark mcu #dark x reader #moon knight smut #moon knight x reader #moon knight series #mcu moon knight #moon knight imagine #moon knight x reader smut #moon knight #steven grant #jake lockley #khonshu #mcu x reader smut #mcu x you #mcu x reader #dark mcu x reader #dark fic!

[hederasgarden]

Stand By Me - Part 2

Summary: When a local ranch hand’s attention evolves into something more sinister, Rhett Abbott becomes an unlikely source of comfort and protection for you. Pairing: Rhett Abbott x F!Reader Word Count: 4.3K (SORRY DEAR READERS) Rating: Mature, future chapters will be explicit and 18+ only. Stalking, anxiety, misogyny, inaction by the police and Rhett being protective. Future chapters will include some violence. No spoilers for Outer Range. A/N: This will be a four part series. I cannot thank @mayhem24-7forever, @callsign-phoenix, @whatblogisthis216 and @wildbornsiren enough for their help and support putting this together. Thank you @callsignhurricane for the absolutely gorgeous header.

Please comment and reblog if you enjoyed this story. Your interactions keep me writing and inspired.

Masterlist

In the morning, you find Rhett fast asleep on your couch. Sometime during the night, he removed his boots and placed them side by side under your coffee table. He looks a little uncomfortable crammed on your couch, one sock-covered foot resting on the floor. You take a moment to study him, his face relaxed in slumber. He’s always been handsome, but he's even more so now with his golden lashes resting against his cheek and his long hair mussed. One hand rests on his stomach and you see his long, lean fingers twitch while he sleeps. His other hand is behind his head.

When you take a step forward, the floor creaks and his blue eyes snap open. He shoots up, tension lining his whole body, but it dissipates the moment he sees you. He twists his neck to the side with an audible crack and you feel a rush of guilt thinking of him sleeping out here. You’re about to apologize when he speaks.

"Sleep okay?" He asks. The grizzled tone of his voice makes your stomach swoop and it takes you a minute to respond.

“I did, thank you. Do you, um, want some coffee or something? I was going to make some for myself…"

“That’d be good,” he says with a soft smile. He rakes a hand through his hair to clear it from his face. On the table, his phone buzzes and he bends down to get it, the corner of his lip pulling up briefly. “It’s Ma,” he explains. “Checking in.”

He texts something back before dropping the phone on the couch to follow you into the kitchen. It’s strange to have a man in your space and with the way he follows so closely behind, you’re self-conscious of every little thing. It was silly and maybe a little vain, but you did your hair and make up before coming out this morning, even though you’re still in your pjs.

“I don’t have anything fancy. It’s just Folgers,” you tell Rhett, pulling down the big red tub and scooping out the powder into the coffee filter.

“I’m not a fancy guy,” he says, smiling at you. He leans against the counter and folds his arms across his chest, continuing to watch you.

As the coffee pot gurgles to life, you pull down two coffee mugs, taking the chipped one for yourself. He turns down your offer of milk and sugar, drinking it black while you doctor yours up.

“I can make some breakfast,” you offer. “Least I can do since you had to stay the night.”

He shakes his head. “The sheriff’s station opens at 8 am. We need to talk to Burt about this. See what can be done.”

“Yeah, of course,” you say, feeling silly. This wasn’t a social visit, Rhett was only here because you were in danger, because you’d caught the wrong kind of attention. “You probably have 100 better things to do this morning. I’ll um, go get dressed. Sorry.”

Rhett catches your arm as you walk past. You feel that same jolt of electricity move under your skin, just like last night when he touched you.

“Hey,” he says softly, waiting until you look up at him before continuing. “No need to apologize. I wanted to be here last night and I want to come with you to the station, if you’ll let me.”

It’s a lot, being under his intense stare and you fidget nervously. “I- I want you to come.”

He smiles and pulls away. “Good.”

You leave him to get dressed, surprised to find him lingering in the hallway outside of your bedroom when you emerge. He looks a little sheepish, rubbing the back of his neck. “Couldn’t find the bathroom,” he explains.

“Oh, these old houses have weird layouts. It’s just, em, through my bedroom,” you tell him, pointing behind you.

You let him pass and move into your room. You see his head turn as he takes in your small, cluttered space and you feel incredibly self-conscious. The bed is only half made and yesterday’s uniform is still in a heap on the floor. Heat burns in your cheeks when you spot the bra hanging off the bathroom door handle. You don’t realize you’re just standing there after he disappears until you hear the toilet flush.

Hurriedly, you turn around and head to the living room only to pace anxiously while you wait for him. You spot Rhett’s hat on the coffee table, the light brown suede material looking soft to the touch. For a split second you think about picking it up but then you hear the old warped flooring of the hallway groan and withdraw your hand guiltily.

“Ready?” He asks, slipping on his hat.

“Yes,” you tell him, grabbing your purse before you suddenly remember. “Wait, I need to get something.”

You dart past him, back down the hallway to the old linen closet and stand up on your tiptoes to feel along the top shelf. You shoved an old shoe box into the very back when you put it there two weeks ago. As if hiding it would make all of this disappear. A small frustrated sound escapes your pressed lips when you come up empty handed. You’re considering dragging out the old step stool when you step back into a solid chest.

“Easy, it’s just me,” Rhett rumbles in response to the startled yelp you let out. His hands settle on your shoulders and you drop your head forward, embarrassed all over again. Of course it was him. “What are you looking for?”

“A shoe box. It should be on the top shelf."

He hums and reaches past your head, snagging the item in question. You hesitate when he offers it to you and there’s a slight tremor in your fingers. Rhett tilts his head in response, brows drawn together in concern. You force yourself to take it from him carefully, an anxious shiver running down your spine.

“What’s in there?”

For a second you don't want to tell him, ashamed. “Things he left me,” you finally say, not needing to expand on who he is.

“Can I see it?” Rhett questions. “I’d like to see it if that’s okay.”

You nod, looking up at him when he takes it from you and lifts the lid. A muscle in his jaw twitches and his nostrils flare as he carefully picks through the items. When he pulls out one of the man's drawings, you look away. They might have once been beautiful, flattering even, but your eyes were scratched out in all of them. The sharp lines of the man’s fury with you were unmistakable.

“This everything he gave you?”

“No," you admit. "I threw most of it out but then I thought maybe I should keep them. In case it got bad enough to show them to the sheriff.”

A tick in Rhett’s jaw jumps and you feel foolish. Of course he thought you should have gone to the Sheriff before now. Maybe if you had, he wouldn't be here wasting his time with you.

“You’re very brave for keeping this,” Rhett says, touching your shoulder. “It couldn’t have been easy, having this close by.”

You look up, surprised. “I should have told someone before this,” you whisper.

“You did. That’s why I’m here.” Your lower lip trembles in response and you reach for the box but he doesn't let you take it. “I got it. Come on.”

Just like last night, Rhett follows closely behind as you make your way to his truck, although now there is no hand on the small of your back to guide you along. You miss it. He opens the passenger side of the truck for you, making sure you’re buckled in before walking around to get in himself. The ride to the station is quiet though not uncomfortable. With Rhett you don’t feel the need to fill the silence like you do with others. You can just be.

Even though you try to distract yourself with the radio, you find your eyes drawn to the box sitting between the two of you. You stare at it, wondering how the Sheriff will respond. Would he believe you now? He’d have to with Rhett by your side and those awful “gifts” as proof – at least you hoped he would.

“Ready?” He asks, drawing you from your thoughts.

When you look up you’re surprised to see you’re parked in front of the police station. You can feel Rhett’s eyes on you, waiting for a response but you can’t make yourself move or even breathe. You don’t want to do this, fear and anxiety curdling the coffee in your stomach.

“It’ll be okay.” he tells you. His touch on your shoulder has you looking into his beautiful blue eyes. “We’re gonna make him listen,” he promises.

“We will,” you agree, even though you don’t quite believe it.

Rhett takes the box, tucking it under his arm and waits for you before heading into the station. He tips his hat at the receptionist, offering her a smile that she returns. You can see she likes him. She sits up straighter and tucks a strand of hair behind her ear, paying you no mind. You recognize her from high school, Monica Barlow, one of the varsity cheerleaders and runner up for prom queen. She still looks just as thin and beautiful as you remember. You tug at your work uniform self consciously.

“Morning. We need to see Burt,” Rhett says confidently.

“Hi Rhett,” she chirps, twisting a strand of shiny blonde hair around her finger while she stares up at him. “I’m not sure if he’ll have time to see you but you can wait with me if you want. It’s so boring here, I could use the company.” She giggles and Rhett smiles.

“Come on Monica,” he says, leaning closer to her, his voice dropping lower. “You mean to tell me you don’t run this place yet? Got all those guys at your beck and call?”

She laughs and it’s a light, pretty sound. “Oh, you’re awful,” she tells him, reaching out to slap his arm. “He’s got a pretty booked schedule…” she trails off, glancing behind to Burt’s office. Even though the blinds are partially drawn, you can clearly see him sitting at his desk.

Rhett pushes up his hat with a finger, tilting his head to the side but says nothing. To your surprise, Monica blushes. “Let me get him his morning coffee first,” she says.

When she heads down the hall Rhett stands up straight, his expression falling back into that serious look he’d been wearing most of the car ride. You shift from foot to foot anxiously, only settling when he touches your arm. Even though he doesn’t say anything, it helps and the two of you wait in silence for Monica to return.

“He’ll see you now,” she tells him, glancing at you for the first time. You can tell by her blank, pleasant smile that she doesn’t recognize you.

“Thanks, Monica,” he says, winking at her. She preens and bats her lashes.

Rhett uses the hand still on your arm to urge you to walk with him. On the way to Burt’s office you pass Deputy Joy who seems surprised to see you there, her eyes narrowing at the sight of the man beside you. She looks like she wants to say something but before she can, he’s herding you into the office and shutting the door behind him.

“Well… if this ain't something. Rhett Abbott in my station without handcuffs on.” Sheriff Burt exclaims, leaning back in his chair. The wood of his chair creaks dangerously as he settles his hands on his prominent gut. “What can I do you for?”

He doesn’t even spare you a glance, focused entirely on Rhett. It makes you feel small, inconsequential. Silly. Like the first time you stammered your way through your concerns and he just stared at you with that patronizing look. The one people give small children and dogs. You clench your jaw and stare down at your shoes as Rhett explains why you’ve come. He shows the Sheriff the shoe box and recounts the man’s behavior last night.

“Well, like I told the girl last time, it sounds like she’s got herself an admirer.”

“An admirer?” Rhett asks sharply, taking a step forward. The hand at his side curls into a tight fist. “That’s horseshit.”

“Now Rhett,” the Sheriff starts, hooking his thumbs into his belt, his tone painfully familiar to you. “This sounds like a personal matter best solved between the two of them. Or maybe you. Have a chat with him, man to man. Might be that he doesn’t know she’s got herself a man and he just thinks she’s shy. You know, in need of wooing.” He looks at you then, thin lips drawing up into a smile. “You seem awfully timid, honey.”

“I-I told him I had a boyfriend,” you say. “I said-'' you start but the Sheriff cuts you off with a wave of his hand. His quick dismal makes you feel so little and insignificant.

“You don't think stalking is a police matter?” Rhett asks, the anger in his voice clear. “Threatening a woman isn't serious enough to necessitate getting off your ass?”

“Now listen here, boy,” the Sheriff warns. You flinch when he stands abruptly and his chair scrapes against the linoleum flooring.

“You’re the one who’s not listening,” Rhett interrupts. “How the fuck you got elected is beyond me.”

“Careful, boy. I’d hate to have to call your momma to bail you out again.”

Rhett takes a step forward and you see the Sheriff’s hand move to rest on the butt of his gun. The tension in the room is suffocating and your heart hammers in your chest. You may not know Rhett well, but from the look on his face you think he might lunge across the desk to reach the Sheriff if this continues much longer. The thought of him getting in trouble or hurt on your behalf is too much and you latch onto his arm.

“Rhett,” you plead. “It’s okay. Let’s just go.” He looks at you, working his jaw but the sharpness in his eyes fades a fraction. ”Please.”

“Best listen to your woman, boy,” the Sheriff says, his smug tone enough to make Rhett’s head snap back up.

You say his name again, touching his shoulder.

He breathes out harshly in response and purses his lips. “This ain't finished,” he warns the Sheriff with a pointed finger.

The Sheriff scoffs, unfazed by Rhett’s threat and you feel his muscles tense under your palm. He looks like he’s gonna say something else but then shakes his head and turns to leave, grabbing your hand in his. He pulls you through the station at a fast enough clip that you struggle to keep up. When Monica sees you coming she stands, smiling, but Rhett doesn’t even spare her a glance. He doesn’t stop until you’re outside.

“Fucking useless piece of shit,” Rhett growls, kicking the tire of his truck.

He takes his hat off and runs a hand through his hair, shaking his head. There’s a deep red flush up the back of his neck and color in his cheeks. When he turns away from you, you don’t miss the tension in his shoulder and the way he breathes heavily, working to get his anger under control. Were it another man, his behavior might have been frightening but you feel a different emotion, one that makes your chest warm and your skin tingle. You’ve never had someone fight like that for you before.

When Rhett turns around a few moments later he looks almost ashamed. “Sorry,” he says, rubbing his jaw, “Shouldn’t of cursed in front of you like that or reacted like I did. Sorry if I scared you.”

“It’s okay,” you assure him, taking a tentative step closer. You want to touch him but aren’t sure if you should or if he’d even want you too. “You didn’t scare me. I… I trust you, Rhett.”

Something in his face changes, an emotion passing through his blue eyes you’re not familiar with. You watch his lashes flutter and his jaw go slack before his gaze cuts away from you. It’s clear you’ve said something wrong and that thought has you twisting your hands together.

“What time’s your shift start?” Rhett asks abruptly.

You blink, a little taken aback by the sudden change in topic. “Uh, 10 am,” you respond.

He nods. "We got time then, come on. You should eat somethin’. I think Odessa's is open this early."

“Okay.” You agree, surprised when you feel his hand settle on your back.

You walk alongside him and let him lead you north on the main street, even though you’re well aware of where the diner is. It’s been a staple in Wabang since before you were both born. Rhett looks deep in thought so you don’t talk, but you do steal glances at him now and again until he distracts you enough that you miss a divet in the sidewalk. It sends you stumbling, but he catches you easily, an arm around your lower back and a hand on your elbow. Underneath your embarrassment is a strong current of warmth in your gut that has you inhaling sharply.

“Alright?” He asks.

You nod and he lets you go. You continue walking but this time you pay attention until you arrive at the busy diner. You seat yourselves and take one of the peeling menus from the holder on the table. You’ve eaten here enough times to know what you’re getting, but you need something to do with your hands. That only lasts so long before the waitress takes your orders and you’re left with nothing to do but look at Rhett.

“I’m sorry,” you blurt out suddenly. Rhett’s eyebrows rise in response and you hurry to keep talking. “It’s just, I mean… I’m sorry you had to waste your time on this.”

“Only one who wasted my time this mornin’ was the Sheriff,” he tells you, lip curling in distaste for the aforementioned man. “You got nothing to be sorry for.”

You know on some level he’s right, that the Sheriff should have listened to you, especially once he’d seen the box. The box…Shit. You left it behind at the station. It was probably at the bottom of a trash can now, long forgotten, along with you and Rhett. You really should return for it, the box was your only physical proof of what was happening, but you’re not sure you have the stomach for it, even with Rhett at your side.

“I suppose the Sheriff did have one good idea,” Rhett says.

He chuckles at your surprised expression

“What’s that?” You question.

“That he might back off if he thought you had a man,” Rhett explains, the look on his face letting you know exactly how he felt about that antiquated statement. “He’s already seen you with me at the store. It wouldn’t be too hard to convince him that I’d make trouble for him if he didn’t knock it off.”

“You mean….pretend we were together?” You ask hesitantly, afraid of misunderstanding what he’s suggesting. It’s a little pathetic how your heart lurches in your chest at the chance to spend more time with him. To have him close.

“Yeah. Don’t think it would take much. You could come watch me ride tomorrow night. I’m sure Ma would love the company. Then maybe… drinks at the Handsome Gambler a few times?” He questions, eyes narrowed in thought. “I know I’ve seen that guy in there before with the other men from the Dustin ranch.”

You don’t respond immediately, overwhelmed by his offer. You weren’t used to having people go to bat for you, at least not since your grandfather passed shortly after you graduated high school. It’s a sobering realization to know Rhett’s probably the first man you’ve felt safe with since he died. That thought dislodges something in your chest that sends a spike of unwanted emotion climbing up your throat and pressing on your eyes.

Rhett seems to take your silence as something else and leans back looking a little uncertain for the first time since he came to your rescue last night. “If you’re not comfortable-”

“No,” you’re quick to assure him. “It’s just…” you trail off, biting the inside of your cheek to keep from crying.

“Hey,” Rhett says quietly, hands settling over your own. God, the soft tone of his voice goes straight to that bundle of fear living under your breastbone, easing it just a little more every time you hear it.

You shake your head, hating how emotional you’re getting again. This was stupid, he was just offering you help. That should be normal, expected. It’s what people did. You weren’t usually someone who fell apart so easily but that seemed to be the only side of yourself you were showing Rhett.

“We can figure something else out,” he says. “Perry and I can pay a visit to the Dustin ranch. Make him understand… it was just a thought.”

“It’s not that, it’s a good idea,” you promise him, trying to find the words you want to use. It takes several moments before you speak, Rhett watching you patiently. “It’s just people always say they want to help but they don’t mean it. They have their own problems and families to care for,” you explain. “I guess what I’m trying to say is I appreciate what you’re doing for me. Not everyone would.”

“Families aren’t all they're cracked up to be,” Rhett promises you cryptically. “And you’re making this sound like a chore when it’s really not. I’ll have a pretty girl cheering me on in the stands and someone to share a beer with on Friday nights instead of sitting alone at the bar like a sad sack.”

Pretty. He called you pretty. A part of you wants to believe him but you know he’s only trying to make you feel better. You saw the kind of woman he went home with, the whole town did and they didn’t look like you.

“Alright,” you agree with a shy smile.

You take comfort from the feel of his fingertips on the back of your hand and the two of you stay like that until the food arrives. The waitress eyes you curiously. You expect Rhett Abbott taking a girl out to breakfast wasn’t a sight she’s ever seen. It might be your imagination but she seems to linger a few minutes longer than necessary after dropping off your plates before heading back behind the counter. You catch her whispering to another waitress, both of them watching you. Rhett notices and smirks, shoving a piece of bacon in his mouth.

“That didn’t take long. See, this is gonna be easy,” he promises you with a grin. “Though, I’ll apologize in advance for dragging down your reputation.”

“Don't think I really have one,” you tell him. The only reason people seemed to remember your name half the time was because you wore a name badge.

“Nah, you were always a good girl in school,” he tells you with a grin. “I don’t think that’s changed.”

Your cheeks heat at his flirty tone. You don’t respond, taking a bite of your pancakes instead. While you continue to eat, Rhett lays out his plan. It’ll start that night when he picks you up after your shift to go to the bar for a few drinks and be seen. Tomorrow, you’ll join his parents at the rodeo to watch him ride. If the man shows up anytime in the future, Rhett wants you to call him immediately.

When the check comes, he pays before you can offer. You thank him but he brushes you off, his hand returning to your back once you’re outside on the street. It’s a quick walk to the hardware store. You can see your boss and another employee inside already, preparing to open. Rhett’s hand on your back drags up to rest on your shoulder and he turns you to face him.

“They’re watching us,” he says. You try to look behind you but he stops you with two fingertips along your jaw and a shake of his head. “Should probably do a little more than wave goodbye,” he suggests.

“Oh, good point,” you agree, anxious anticipation for what he might suggest making your voice shake. “Whatever you think, Rhett. I trust you.”

“I don’t want to make you uncomfortable,” he whispers, looking concerned.

“I don’t mind you touching me. It… it makes me feel safe,” you admit in a rush, skin hot.

That same look from outside the station earlier passes over his face and he inhales quietly. You worry you've said the wrong thing again.

“Alright, c’mere,” he directs, a hand on your hip pulling you in for a tight hug.

His hat bumps into your head when he tucks his face into the side of your neck. The feel of his warm breath against your skin sends a rush of butterflies to your stomach. You make a soft sound when he drags the flat of his palm up and down your back comfortingly. He pulls back a fraction but is still close enough that you’re partially shielded by the brim of his hat. He smiles and you’re quick to return it, chest warming at how handsome he looks.

“I’ll pick you up at 5,” he promises, leaning in to brush his lips over your cheek. “Call me if you need anything.”

“Okay,” you agree.

Rhett doesn’t move again until you’re safe inside the store, offering you a sweet little wave that you return before watching him climb into his truck. Today didn’t go as well as you hoped, the Sheriff still doesn’t believe you even with Rhett, but you don’t feel as anxious or scared as you expect.

For the first time since this all started, you’re no longer alone. You have Rhett and a plan.

#rhett abbott x reader #rhett abbott x female reader #rhett abbott x you #rhett abbott imagine #rhett abbott fanfiction #outer range #outer range fan fic #outer range fanfic

[killerpancakeburger]

Header by @saradika-graphics

Fics:

Bluebeard's wife, Soap x f!Reader, (Reader deals with a creep on base, Soap and Ghost have more... drastic methods than her to solve the issue) (~1k)

I'm the powder, you’re the fuse, Soap x f!Reader (Soap finds out his gf is a mercenary and he likes it) (~2k)

Soap giving you a massage, Soap x GN!Reader (<1k)

Breaking Point, Ghost x GN!Reader (3.6k) hurt/comfort

Breaking Point, Soap x GN!Reader (4.3k) hurt/comfort

Another Headache, Soap x F!Reader (1.8k) hurt/comfort

Headcanons:

Being Ghost's BFF (while dating Soap)

Dating Soap HCS: (Combatant!Reader)

Dating Ghost HCS

Soap x Reader HCS PT.2

Ghost x Reader HCS PT.2

Imagines:

- Sacrifying yourself to save Soap for Ghost's sake

- Not being able to spend Valentines with Soap in person

- Ghost giving you the Shovel Talk bc you're dating Soap

All dividers by @saradika-graphics

In my BG3 era and writing a bit.

Fics:

Outpace the dawn, Spawn! Astarion x Reader (rewrite of the ending) (<1k)

Baby it's cold outside, Dammon x Reader (going on a date with Dammon in the snow) (<1k)

The wizard is dead, Rolan x Reader ("Who did this to you? I'll kill them" trope over his bruises) (5k)

Headcanons:

- Catching Rolan and Dammon by surprise

- Attending a wizards soiree with Rolan

- Attending a wizards soiree with Rolan - ANGST VERSION

#mine #bg3 #bg3 astarion #astarion ancunin #astarion #astarion x tav #astarion x reader #astarion x mc #astarion x you #baldur's gate 3 #baldur's gate iii #baldurs gate astarion #baldur's gate fanfiction #baldur's gate astarion #baldur's gate fic #baldur's gate headcanons #astarion headcanons #astarion hc #baldurs gate 3 #headcanon #headcanons #fics #writers on tumblr #masterlist

[eleanor-bradstreet]

The Field: Lavender Forever (Benedict Bridgerton x Reader)

Benedict Bridgerton x fem!Reader Modern AU Rated: 18+ - explicit sexual content, drug use Word count: 2.4k

Part 1: Dandelions Part 3: In a Week Masterpost

Summary: Two years into your relationship, you and Benedict share pleasures on a summer day.

Author's Note: The second in a four-part series based on songs about fields/nature that I associate with Benedict. This part is based on the song Lavender Forever by Jake Wesley Rogers. Thank you to the talented @bridgertontess who made me oodles of photo edits for the header image! 💙

Two years later

You were on your back with Benedict’s head between your legs when the tea took hold. Sprawled on his bed with your dress bunched around your waist, you surrendered your body to the sensations he and his favorite elixir could stir within you. You had been wary the first time he offered you the mysterious purple powder his brother Colin had brought back from some remote corner of the world. But after learning to mask the taste in a cup of tea and having several exhilarating trips where every nerve hummed with heightened sensation, you now shared his fondness for it, particularly when paired with sex. 

You knew you were being irresponsible, rude even, to be getting high and getting off like a teenager visiting her boyfriend and sneaking around his parents’ house. But while he was your boyfriend and this was his family home, you were old enough to know better and Benedict was not the reason you were at Aubrey Hall. It was the company outing, now an annual tradition after its initial runaway success. It had grown from a dinner into an entire weekend and you had arrived early to help Anthony coordinate. Everything was in hand but you still would have made yourself available to your boss were it not for his brother who kept spiriting you away like some hedonistic pied piper. 

It was the day before the employees arrived and you and Benedict were making the most out of your time together by indulging in every pleasure. It was something you had been working on perfecting, timing your dosage of the powder with your climb to orgasm so that both of the highs he offered hit you simultaneously. It was damn close this time, the weightless calm of the tea flooding in just moments before you felt the first flutters of ascent. You gripped into Benedict’s hair and pulled him closer against your body. He responded with a moan and sped up the fingers that were rocking inside you.

Then someone called both your names. It was Anthony. He was looking for you. You knew the door was locked but in that moment you wouldn’t have cared if it wasn’t. Soaring on the tea and the rising wave of release, all you could focus on was reaching your pinnacle. Breathing hard, you tugged at Benedict’s dark locks and began to grind against his tongue, building friction as he sucked your clit hard and wantonly. 

Each of your names was shouted again, growing closer, more agitated. You were nearly there…

You panted to keep yourself from squealing and with a final swirl of his tongue, Benedict brought you over the edge. You rasped his name at the same moment Anthony barked it which caused him to laugh, releasing you from his mouth but keeping his hand in place as you writhed.

“Coming!” He called as you clenched around his fingers. You couldn’t even acknowledge his cheek. You were too numb, your entire body tingling as euphoria muted out the world. But then he was pulling you to stand, the two of you laughing as you straightened each other’s hair and somehow you wandered to the foyer below where Anthony was waiting. The powder had the strange effect of making time slow but also leaving you unable to remember one moment to the next. It rooted you firmly in the present with every sense notched to ten.

“Anthony?” You smiled and tried your best to sound sober. “What do you need?”

“Ah, there you are. What have you been up to?” He raised a curious eyebrow but when Benedict burst into a fit of giggles it lowered into a glare. “Actually…don’t answer that. I need to ask you, is the agenda finalized for the weekend?”

You could feel the stress pouring off of him though it was a foreign concept to you in your current state. “Yes, the coordinators have it.”

“Alright. And we’re good to announce the rollout of the new branding for the charity hospital?”

“Yes, it’s all taken care of.” Despite your current immature behavior, you really had completed all your tasks and were happy to report as much. As you watched the tension easing out of Anthony’s stance, you felt arms wrap around you from behind and the warm breath of someone nuzzling into your neck.

“Benedict, do you mind?!” Anthony growled. “Can we have one minute of peace to discuss some business?”

You bit your tongue to keep from bursting into laughter as Benedict pulled away, hands raised in defeat.

“Sorry, sorry.”  

You turned to see him saunter over to a flower arrangement and begin stroking the petals.

Anthony’s eyes rolled so hard you swore you could hear them. “And the uh…the hampers. For the picnic.”

You nodded. The weekend was going to kick off with a relaxed reception. Each guest being gifted a hamper of local treats to sprawl with on the grounds as they settled in. “Daphne and your mother are putting them together in the back garden. I can go and check on them now.”

He sighed in relief. “Thank you. You’ve taken care of everything.”

“I always do.”

He matched your grin and you basked in the warmth of his favor. Then Benedict suddenly appeared beside him and booped him on the nose with an orange daisy, sound effect and all. The two of you couldn’t contain your hysterics as the viscount clenched his jaw and stormed off to escape you.

You were slightly more apprehensive about hiding your condition from Benedict’s mother and sister but thanks to his antics you hardly needed to. You found them both in the kitchen garden, hampers arrayed before them as they inspected the contents. Benedict swooped in, gave each a kiss on the cheek, complimented how Daphne was tying bunches of Clyvedon lavender to the handles, slipped a hamper onto his arm ‘for a test run’ and pulled you away. It was not what you had intended by checking on their progress but you were so giddy you didn’t protest. As you scampered along the back of the house where staff were bustling with deliveries and laundry, he pilfered a quilt that had been hung to dry with other linens. 

Then you were out on the grounds and far from any onlookers, weaving your way around out buildings and trees, taking a familiar route that made your destination obvious. But the effects of the powder lent the well-worn path a new magic. Your journey seemed to take a day, you and Benedict both falling into a slow, wandering gait with your eyes casting about at the nature that surrounded you. He would sling an arm across your shoulders and marvel as he pointed out dragonflies and rabbits through the sun-dappled shadows. You felt like Alice, swirling in a strange and beautiful wonderland.

Then you reached the field, overgrown and verdant, the grass rippling with the warm breeze. There were no dandelions to be found, not only because the season had passed but because the Bridgertons had actually taken your suggestion and harvested the blooms to try their hand at wine making. Benedict had insisted on it that day when you shared your first kiss and the product of the first harvest was tucked into the hampers for everyone to sample.

You spread the quilt and began to rifle through your spoils like a couple of wily scavengers. Inside you found the bottle of wine bearing the label you designed, a jar of honey, a wedge of cheese, a small bit of bread and fruit from the orangery among other little delights. You loosened the bunch of lavender and breathed deep, feeling its calm sweetness waft over you. You began to twist at the stems, an old hobby from childhood, and within minutes had fashioned a fragrant crown.

You popped it onto Benedict’s head with a giggle. “I hereby proclaim you Lord of Summer.” He rolled his eyes but left it on, too distracted by the food. 

You began to sample everything on offer. The scents were mouthwatering, the colors overwhelming. Benedict promptly began eating the honey with his hands. When he caught you watching him he held a sticky finger to your lips and moaned as you sucked it clean, never breaking eye contact. It tasted like sunshine. 

There was a small knife in the hamper and you attempted to slice the cheese but with half your mind floating somewhere else altogether, you slipped and cut your finger instead. You hissed as you held it aloft, watching a crimson drop swell on your fingertip, captivated by the way it sparkled in the light. Benedict lightly took your wrist, equally mesmerized.

“This passed through your heart,” he murmured. “And you live in mine.” Then with the gentlest swipe of his tongue he lathed your wound and sealed it with a soft kiss. The act felt so profound, so intimate, that you could feel your heart tugging to get closer to him. Within seconds your tongues were entwined, as were your limbs, and you both shed your clothing until you could feel the heat of the sun on every inch of your skin. 

You rolled to straddle him, never failing to marvel at the planes of his toned body. You found him aggravatingly attractive when sober and now with the heady haze of the powder he seemed like the male ideal; Adam waiting for you in the Eden of the field, a perfected creature born and bred in flowers. Planting your hands on his chest you lowered onto him, both of you groaning in ecstasy, and then began to move. You were somehow drowning in the sensations of your body and floating high above them simultaneously. It was almost as if you could picture yourselves from a distance, the two of you entirely nude, clothed in nothing but sunlight and writhing rhythmically against one another. Surrounded by nature and the dusky perfume of lavender it felt primal, pagan, an ancestral ritual you were reviving. Benedict trailed his hands up to cup your breasts, watching you, enthralled as you rode him. 

As always with this elixir time seemed to bend, leaving you no measure for how long you chased pleasure together. All you knew was that you reached a crescendo when pixelated rainbows burst behind your eyelids. Your heart felt as rapid as a hummingbird’s and was joined by the throb of Benedict between your hips, pulsing something electric into your every nerve. You both panted and laughed, content to stay joined together.

“Marry me.” Benedict looked up at you with eager eyes, all smiles beneath his lavender crown. 

You paused. “Ben…you need to stop asking me that.” 

His request didn’t bowl you over because it was the third time you had heard it. The first was far too early in your relationship to take seriously. The second had been what he requested as a gift for his most recent birthday and you were convinced he was joking. But now it seemed he wouldn’t relent.

“You need to give me a straight answer.” He frowned.

“It’s not fair when we’re high and you’re inside me.” 

Benedict smirked, running his thumbs gently over your hipbones. “An altered man’s words are a sober man’s thoughts. I want your honest answer.”

Your heart thudded double time. You knew your honest answer. You had known it from your first kiss. But there was always some anxiety that stopped you from speaking freely, some logical argument that your brain lobbed to overrule your heart. You had wanted to wait until a respectable amount of time had passed in your relationship. You had worried what it would look like if you married into your boss’s family. Mostly you couldn’t quite allow yourself to believe you could be so lucky. 

“I honestly think your timing is terrible.” You deflected.

“The timing is perfect.” He studied you, pupils wide. “I can see your soul shimmering around you. The blues… the greens… iridescent.” He ran his fingers feather-light up the sides of your body and down your arms, tracing your outline. “It changes color when you’re laughing. When we’re making love. I want to see what color it is when you say yes.”

Your breath caught, stunned and a bit jealous that you had not received the same superpower from the tea. You didn’t know if you could see his soul but he did look ethereal, glowing like a stray stream of light. Then again, he always looked like that to you. He was sun-kissed even in the darkest of hours, possessing some innate source of joy. 

“Bit presumptuous to think I’m going to say yes.” You teased.

“Then tell me why you would say no.”

“We’re already mucking up this weekend enough as it is. If we get engaged Anthony may kill us both.”

“That’s why you don’t want to announce an engagement, not why you don’t want to marry me.”

“Ben…” you breathed, knowing he had you cornered. 

He continued. “Because if the rest of my life could be like the last two years, I know it will be a good one. I love everything we do together. I love picking you up from work. I love reading next to you and feeding you and fucking you and buying you toothpaste and painting you and cherishing you.”

He laced his hands with yours and held them tight to his chest, speaking softly. “I was born to love you and I want to die that way. That’s why I want to marry you. Why don’t you want to marry me?”

Tears pricked at your eyes as love and excitement swelled within you. If this had all been a ploy to make you emotional and vulnerable to his advances, it had worked. But you couldn’t be mad at him. Perhaps he had understood exactly what you needed to overcome your defenses. You couldn’t think of any reasons to resist anymore but still knew you couldn’t topple the plans for the weekend.

“Ask me again on Monday.”

His pale eyes sparkled as a crooked grin overtook his features. “Is that a yes?”

You beamed, nodding, praying that you weren’t hallucinating. Benedict gasped, gazing up at you in awe.

“Purple,” he whispered. “It’s purple. Lavender.” Then he lifted the crown from his head and reverently placed it on yours.

The two of you stayed in the field for the rest of the day, lounging half-clothed in each other’s arms and watching the clouds float by until the sky grew ombre and the grass grew dewy. You polished off the picnic and opened the wine as you descended back to earth. It was sweet with a kiss of grassy bitterness. Exactly as you remembered from childhood. A resounding success. A memento of your first fateful meeting in the field returning to celebrate this one. 

Tagging: @angels17324 @bridgertontess @broooookiecrisp @secretagentbucky

#bridgerton #bridgerton fanfiction #bridgerton x reader #bridgerton x y/n #bridgerton x you #bridgerton imagine #benedict bridgerton #benedict bridgerton fanfiction #benedict bridgerton x reader #benedict bridgerton x y/n #benedict bridgerton x you #benedict bridgerton imagine #benedict bridgerton smut #female reader #modern au #smut #romance #lavender forever

[cryoculus]

— guard dog 02 ⟢

pairing: thoma x assassin!reader

summary: in which thoma proves to be one of the most insufferable captors in teyvat. how someone like him sees himself in someone like you is a complete mystery.

word count: 3.5k words

notable characters: thoma, kamisato ayaka, kamisato ayato

tags: found family, enemies to lovers, slow burn, angst, eventual smut

warnings: nightmares

notes: so, i've decided to cross-post these two per day instead of one per day :')

header art cr: pncgnsn on twt

masterlist

“R-Retainer?” 

You didn’t miss the uncharacteristic stutter of Ayaka’s voice when she’d said the word. You couldn’t blame her. 

To your side, Thoma nodded too enthusiastically to be genuine. “You heard right, milady. I discussed it with her earlier this morning, and Miss Kira has agreed to be your temporary retainer. Only until the Kujou clan is out of her hair, of course.”

“It would be an honor to serve you, Lady Kamisato,” you managed through gritted teeth that could somehow pass for a smile. Thoma still nudged you with his elbow as a warning, though. “Even if it’s only for the meantime, I owe it to your family for nursing my injuries. I’d like to repay your kindness however I can.”

Ayaka seemed at a loss for words, blinking at you with those silver-blue eyes of hers like it was the first time someone showed her a hint of gratitude. You almost felt bad for being a fraud. Almost.

“I… I don’t know what to say,” she sighed, staring at the cup of tea in her hands before meeting your gaze again. “Your duty lies with the war between the Sangonomiya resistance and the shogunate. You mustn’t waste your time tending to the whims of someone like me.”

“Oh, but I will,” you insisted, just as the bastard chief retainer instructed you to do. “Besides, with how my, ah, infiltration turned out, the resistance might’ve listed me off as M.I.A. No one’s going to be searching for me for a good while, milady.” 

After that little…conversation you had with Thoma, you reverted back to your false persona as Kira of the resistance come morning. Though you had absolutely no moral obligation to stand by the terms of your agreement, you decided to play along for now. 

Naturally, your voice of reason rebelled against the notion. Letting yourself be manipulated into the situation you’re in without a fight? As if.

But…you weren’t about to call for back-up like you should, either.

Kujou Sara’s feather never left your person. Once Thoma had gotten you a fresh change of clothes, you made sure to slip it inside the intricate folds of your garbs—never to be seen by anyone else.

When the chief retainer confiscated your powdered crystal marrow, you didn’t resist. Surrendering your murder weapon would take off the suspicion that you were carrying something else, and Thoma even met your cooperation with a promise of ‘a lighter sentence’. Whatever that meant. 

Not that it mattered, though. Because even if you kept Masahito’s contingency plan around, your pride as a mercenary prevented you from using it. 

You were beyond repulsed as you recalled how quickly you bit the bullet the night Thoma had cornered you in the kitchen. Years of relying on no one but yourself, flushed down the drain—all because of some crafty blond foreigner! You rated the humbling experience a 0 out of 10. 

And then there was his master plan to turn you into Kamisato Ayaka’s friend.

That part was the most confusing. Was Ayaka so sheltered that Thoma had to wrangle in a fugitive like you just so you could be friends with her? 

“I suppose there’s no harm in accepting,” Ayaka murmured, cheeks red with embarrassment. “D-Do tell me if there’s anything I can do to assist. I can even have someone contact the resistance for you—”

“There’s no need for that.” Thankfully, Thoma had the foresight to beat you to it. “Communicating with Sangonomiya might endanger the clan’s relationship with the shogunate. We can shelter Miss Kira for the meantime, but we mustn’t act publicly, milady. Else, it will implicate the entirety of the Yashiro Commission.”

You hated to be in agreement with the man who strung you around like a puppet, but… “He’s right. You’ve done way more than I can ever hope to repay, Lady Kamisato. The last thing I want is for you to be under open fire.”

The princess nodded glumly, and her expression tied your stomach into knots.

Lying through your teeth used to be something you did without a morsel of shame. But having to feed Ayaka all this blatant dishonesty on a silver platter… 

You didn’t want to dwell on it.

Once your quick audience in the pavilion had been adjourned, you pulled Thoma to the side.

“This isn’t permanent, right?” you hissed quietly. “I’m not going to be stuck here forever, right?” 

A smirk curled on his face. “Hey, the Kamisato Estate would make a better prison than the police station in Inazuma City. I have all the evidence needed to hand you over to the authorities, but thankfully, I’m kind enough to give you another chance.”

You almost slipped up when he mentioned the police station. Right. You never told Thoma who hired you to kill Ayaka in the first place, nor did he press on the matter. It would do you no favors if you told him that no, the police won’t arrest me since I’m actually in cahoots with the Tenryou Commission!

So, with bitter resentment coiling in your gut, you let him go. You’ll figure something out and bust out of here in one week, tops. Maybe.

“Oh, by the way.”

You turned around with a disgruntled look. “What?”

Thoma had that no-good smile plastered on his face when you met his gaze again. “Now that you’re officially a Kamisato retainer, do you have an idea about what responsibilities come with that title?”

Oh, no. You were not liking the sound of that.

Swallowing thickly, you replied, “No. Why?” 

The horns on his headband might as well have grown in size because this man was an absolute devil. Thoma’s mischievous grin scaled tenfold and you prayed to the Electro Archon herself to just strike you down with lightning from where you stood. 

This was going to be a long week. 

“Have you ever been inside the palace on Watatsumi Island?”

Ayaka posed the question on your third day as her temporary retainer. You looked at her with a hint of curiosity and barely concealed exhaustion once she’d uttered the words. Though you’re willing to play along with this charade for as long as you had to, your escapades from the last few days practically drained the life out of you. 

You never really knew what a retainer’s purpose was. You’d always just assumed they were scoundrels who rode on the coattails of their charge—basking in their status just to flaunt the privilege to others. Perhaps you were right about that when it came to the other noble houses in Inazuma. In the Yashiro Commission, however…

“Hey,” the princess called out with concern, as she made poured you a cup of tea. “Thoma has been overexerting you, hasn’t he? I know these chores are part of a retainer’s work, but he can be a bit…mean sometimes.” 

You blinked at Ayaka slowly, gaze drifting from the princess and onto the teacup she’d offered. While the amber surface glimmered softly in the lantern lights, the mere mention of Thoma’s name was enough to snap you back into your senses.

That scheming little…! 

He’d subjected you into countless hours of manual labor, despite the fact that you were someone who’s supposed to be recovering. That seemed to go over Thoma’s pretty blond head and, by extension, your own because the man has a knack for driving you up a wall. 

“Miss Kira~ Ayame needs some help airing out the futons and doing the laundry. The other attendants are running errands, so you’re the only one who can do this.”

“The grass around the estate seems like it needs some leveling. You’re up for the job, aren’t you?” 

“Ah, Miss Kira. Just in time! Lord Ayato is very particular about sorting his book collection. We have boxes of new arrivals at the entrance. Can you help take them up to the second floor?”

“Do you happen to know your way around the kitchen, Miss Kira?” 

Not only were you swamped with your newfound responsibilities as a maid retainer, but you’re also expected to carry out your agreement with Thoma, still. In the daytime, you were but a humble refugee paying back the Kamisato clan’s kindness, and by twilight you were Ayaka’s so-called friend. 

If you hadn’t known any better, you might’ve assumed that she was behind your captivity in the first place. That Ayaka had been the one to order Thoma to blackmail you into becoming a servant of the house.

But horrible people like that were easy to pick out. Takes one to know one, they said. And now, with Ayaka staring at you like a mother hen, you knew that she didn’t have a single scheming bone in her body. 

Kujou Sara’s feather felt heavier in the folds of your yukata. Suddenly, you weren’t so sure if it’ll take you just a week to do your job and break out of this place.

“This is nothing,” you insisted, seating yourself by the pavilion steps to appease the princess. “You were asking about Her Excellency’s palace, right?”

Once Ayaka had gone to bed, and you’re left to tidy up the tea set you’d used with her, Thoma swooped in like a lone wolf in the night.

“You’re a pretty good liar, you know,” he commented, pouring himself a glass of water. “If I wasn’t as perceptive as I am, you would’ve had me completely fooled.”

You glared at him. “Don’t use my talents to stroke your own ego, asshole.”

“Hey, not everyone can fabricate a tale about Sangonomiya Palace. Looks like someone’s been reading up on their childhood storybooks,” he complimented with a smile that made you roll your eyes. 

“That reminds me,” Thoma mused as he completely ignored your prior aggression. “Where are you from, exactly? I’ve heard of the wandering mercenary who always manages to stay out of the shogunate’s radar. I honestly thought you were an urban myth until you decided to personally grace me with your presence.”

You scoffed. “You’re not the one I’m after.”

“Hmm… That may be true, but I’m the one who’s keeping you in check right now, aren’t I?” 

There was that look again—the one that made your blood pressure rise to unimaginable heights. Thoma wasn’t exactly someone you’d describe as sleazy.

As cunning as he was, the blond still had an air of maturity to him that you normally wouldn’t associate with crafty fixers. Maybe all that noble honor bullshit from the Kamisatos gradually rubbed off on him. 

That didn’t mean he was above being a conniving bastard, though.

“So, will you humor me with a quick background check or no?”

“I’m not an idiot,” you hissed. “If you want to get dirt on me, you’re going to have to try somewhere else, pretty boy.”

The words slipped before you could even think about them, and the effect was almost immediate. A sordid smirk replaced his typically carefree smile, and you’ve never wanted to get swallowed up by the ground more than you did now.

“Oh? First it was ‘guard dog’, and now ‘pretty boy’? I certainly don’t mind the development, though,” Thoma simpered, tipping his head back while he drank his water.

You hated how it took you a moment to peel your gaze away from the way his throat bobbed as he swallowed. 

Once you managed to put away the ceramic tea set, Thoma was still hovering around the kitchen. Like a ghost that just wouldn’t leave you alone. 

Neither of you said anything. You merely held his stoic, emerald gaze in the silence. Now that you thought about it, you’d never really taken a good look at the guy. He pissed you off beyond belief. Why should you take the time to stare at him? 

But here, in the muted light of the kitchen lanterns, you’re granted a glimpse of how Thoma’s hair was still so vibrant in the near-darkness. How his eyes looked like they belonged to someone born miles away from the shores of Inazuma. But when your gaze slowly drifted to the pendant sitting beneath the jut of his collarbones—

“Ah, I best be off,” Thoma spoke up—making that blip of curiosity fade back into nothingness. “See you in the morning, Miss Kira.” 

Before you could wrench out a response, the chief retainer had already left.

“You want me to spar with you?” Your tone was laced with disbelief, and Ayaka hid her face behind her fan as she laughed. 

“Why, yes,” she admitted, legs swinging ever-so slightly by the elevated platform. “It would be an honor to spar with someone as learned with the sword as you.”

You frowned. “I’m a nobody in the ranks of the resistance. I don’t even have a Vision. Sparring with me doesn’t exactly warrant much honor, milady.” 

“Your stories don’t seem to convey the same thing, Miss Kira,” Ayaka interjected. “And if you’re the nobody you claim to be, why would Lady Sangonomiya entrust you with such an important espionage mission?” 

Because I lied to your face. Have been for days now, you wanted to tell her but didn’t, for obvious reasons. “If I was as important as you assumed, then they would have already rescued me without a fuss,” you sighed—diligently trimming the shrubs in the garden the way old lady Furuta taught you the other day.

“Now, now. You’re milady’s friend, aren’t you? Humor her a little.”

You shot Thoma an irritated look, which you quickly masked with a smile. This guy just had such impeccable timing as always, huh?

“Master Thoma,” you addressed him nasally. “Forgive my insolence but I just don’t think I’m fit to be Kamisato Ayaka’s—”

He effectively shut you up by plucking the shears in your grasp, exchanging it for a very real and very sharp Kageuchi sword. You gaped at him like a koi out of the fish pond.

“Well?” he probed. “You’re not about to keep milady waiting, I suppose?”

You weren’t sure if you’d just gotten rusty after days without practice or if Ayaka was just that good. It’s been a while since you’d held a sword, and you knew perfectly well how your technique could dwindle if you didn’t constantly hone it into habit.

But you had the inkling that, even if you’d been in tip top shape, the princess would have no trouble making you yield, still. 

The pebbles on your backside dug into the fabric of your yukata as Ayaka pointed the edge of her blade against your chest. Heart pounding loudly in your ears, you sighed—letting your head fall back into the sand as you let the borrowed sword clatter from your grip.

“You’re mean,” you told her as she helped you back up. “You knew I was a walk in the park, didn’t you?” 

Ayaka blushed. “Ah, I apologize if it seemed that way. It’s not everyday that someone agrees to spar with me…” 

“Ehh?” You purposely drawled your tone as you gave her chief retainer—who was watching you get your ass beat on the sidelines—the stink eye. “Master Thoma doesn’t even indulge you? How cruel of him.”

“It’s quite the opposite, actually,” Thoma replied. “We’ve exchanged blows so much that she’s already grown bored of our sparring sessions.”

“T-Thoma!”

“Don’t say it’s not true, milady. Hm… What’s that?” 

Turning your gaze to where Thoma pointed his gloved hand, you practically felt the blood in your veins run cold. You darted back to the sand garden you’d ruined with your fall—plucking a lone black feather off the ground before Ayaka or Thoma could get a closer look. 

“Ah, it’s a feather I found while sweeping the entrance the other day,” you explained hastily as you slipped it back inside your clothes. “Where I’m from, feathers are said to bring good luck is all…”

Ayaka seemed quite interested. “You mean, Watatsumi Island?”

“No, I’m actually from Yashiori.”

Thoma arched an eyebrow at your admission, and you had to conceal how mortified you were at your own slip-up. The part about feathers bringing good luck was already a senseless bluff on its own. Why didn’t your brain just continue the string of lies?

Relax, relax, you thought to yourself. Thoma couldn’t possibly know that what you said was actually true, right?

By now, you should have known better.

It’s always raining on Yashiori Island. 

The never-ending storm has been there for as long as you could remember. You didn’t even know what the sun looked like anymore. 

It was for that reason that people from the neighboring islands rarely set foot in this place. After all, what person in their right mind would go out of their way to visit the Orobashi’s graveyard? But as young as you were, you didn’t believe in all the tall tales. 

It wasn’t the rain that kept people from visiting Yashiori. It was something else. Evil and intangible—a curse that turned your blood into ichor and ground your mind to dust. 

One by one, the people from Higi Village succumbed to the malignant illness. When the village chief buried your father’s corpse, you’d asked Mother if there was any hope left, but she only shook her head in resignation. 

The traveling doctors had played an important part in keeping the villagers alive, though. They said that lavender melon soup should be able to cure the Tatarigami’s corruption, and you believed them. Because the people around you started believing that this wasn’t the end of the line. There was still hope.

But one night, blood dribbled from Mother’s nose as she tucked you into bed, and the next thing you knew, she’d hemorrhaged all over the sheets. 

Doctor Naoko, one of the traveling doctors, took you in after that—telling you that you should live on for your parents’ sake. It’s not as if you had much of a choice in the matter, though. 

He lived in a house that was too close to the Great Serpent’s skeleton for comfort. But you knew orphans didn’t have the right to complain. Instead, you helped them treat the villagers with their miracle soup—brewing lavender melons all day to serve to everyone that needed it.

Your solace, however, lasted for no longer than two months. 

“Care is also a form of remedy,” Doctor Naoko told you—blood leaking from his eyes as he handed you a blade with trembling hands. The metal felt unforgivingly cold on your fingertips, and your limbs shook from where you stood.

You had your suspicions that he’d been corrupted by the curse, but to go as far as asking you to end his life…? 

“You care, don’t you, little one?”

But Doctor Naoko never died at your hand. Never had to feel a blade pierce through his flesh. No, he ended up dying of blood loss and organ failure before you could even move an inch.

You’ve never even held a sword even once before the entire ordeal. 

But shortly after…it became your lifeline. 

The mansion was deathly quiet. 

You made sure to silence your footsteps as you emerged from the kitchen with a glass of water, not wanting to rouse any of the other retainers in the first floor.

It’s funny how you suddenly started caring about the well-being of these people, but after that little nightmare, you actually wanted to focus on everything else but yourself. 

“I don’t know what you’re trying to accomplish with this, but you best tread carefully, Thoma. She’s still a ruthless killer no matter how much you try to tame her.”

Upon hearing the tones of conversation at the end of the hall, you paused. It’s been about two weeks since your (temporary) inauguration into the Yashiro Commission, and you’ve never once seen Kamisato Ayato’s face in person.

He’s been quite the elusive one—always preferring to eat his meals alone as he locked himself in his study. And if Ayato wasn’t wasting away in his lonesome, he spent his time outside the mansion. But as absent as he often was, you did, however, know what the Commissioner’s voice sounded like.

“So were the rest of our retainers,” you heard Thoma sigh. “Isn’t it the Kamisato clan’s personal preference to hire both ex-convicts and people with criminal records alike? What’s with the sudden change of heart, milord?”

…Ex-convicts? People with criminal records?

Suddenly, the sound of rustling fabric. You could almost picture Ayato holding Thoma by the collar. 

“Our real retainers have long been cleared of their charges, and have expressed a genuine development in character,” he spoke slowly. “That woman, however… She’s the first assassin that got past the gates, and the first one you’ve willingly let get so close to my sister.”

“Aha, I take it you’re worried, then?” Thoma bantered as if he wasn’t talking to his boss. “I’m a good judge of character. If I believe that someone was truly capable of killing your sister, I never would have let them live at all.”

Somehow, hearing that made your skin prickle with goosebumps. There’s something about the contrast between his playful tone and the gravity of his words that made you realize he was dead serious. 

“And what makes you think she won’t try to finish the job?”

Thick silence permeated the air for so long, you wondered if they quietly left and adjourned the conversation somewhere else.

But just before you could poke your head outside the hall, you heard Thoma speak once more—so softly, you barely caught the words.

“Well…” He cleared his throat, as if…he’s flustered. But how could someone brimming with confidence like Thoma be—

“She reminds me a little bit of…myself.” 

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[airbendertendou]

best years ♡ kozume kenma + hinata shoyo

soulmate au where on your 18th birthday, two letters show up on your skin, showing the initials of your soulmate. cw ; an abundance of pet-names used , could b ooc , kenma and shoyo are also soulmates

if you have a blank blog [no bio, no user, no header or profile pic, nothing reblogged, etc] do not interact with my content. you will be blocked.

——♡——

It’s Akaashi that calls you for that weekend’s plans. You wake up Tuesday morning, expecting nothing new ; nothing out of your every day schedule. The call comes during your lunch, your drink half-way to your lips when Keiji! flashes on the screen.

“To what do I owe this pleasure?” A teasing grin is on your lips as you set your drink down. A small laugh echoes from his side of the phone and your grin widens.

“The boys have come up with a plan.” Akaashi replies. He sighs into the receiver and you can see him leaning against his chair so clearly. “They want to get some volleyball players together for a reunion. Ko’s idea, of course. He’s really excited.”

“I can imagine,” you hum. “Why did you call me, then?”

Akaashi lets out a scoff, “you’re invited, obviously.”

“I wasn’t a player, Keiji.”

“No,” he sighs again, “but you were there for every game. You’re an honorary Fukurodani member. Thought you knew that.”

You click your tongue at his flattery. Akaashi pauses and then clears his throat before continuing to speak. “Kenma will be there. And a few out of town players. If that… makes you more interested.”

“You’re horrible!” you whisper into the phone. Biting your bottom lip, you peer around your desk, making sure none of your co-workers are listening in on your conversation. “That was years ago.”

Keiji hums, the sound of his chair squeaking echoes into the receiver — he’s swinging back-and-forth idly, it seems. “So, you’re saying them being there doesn’t influence you in any way?”

You gulp, the two letters on your collarbone burning as your thoughts swirl. You rub them absentmindedly, dazed as high school memories bounce around your mind with the reminder of how it felt to have a crush. How it felt to love freely — to explore the butterflies that trampled in your stomach and to see through the rose-tinted lenses that colored your every move.

But, that was all before your eighteenth birthday ; before your soulmate was revealed.

“If I show up,” you hope Akaashi doesn’t notice how tense your voice sounds now. He doesn’t speak as you pause, allowing you to collect your thoughts. “It’ll be because you asked me. Not anything else.”

His smug grin is audible as he replies, “whatever you say, [name]. I’ll see you then.”

——♡——

Tugging on your outfit of choice, you let out a breath full of nerves as you look over yourself once more. Not a single hair is out of place — all of the accessories you dragged out match perfectly and your shoes are comfortable enough to stand in for a while. A glance at your collarbone reassures you that the powder you smeared across the initials kept it hidden.

One less thing for you to worry about, at least.

A horn honks outside and a grin falls onto your lips as you rush out, hastily throwing your overnight bag in the trunk before falling into the arms that wrap around you. Kuroo grins as he squeezes your waist one last time before opening the door for you. “Been so long, [name]. How did we survive this long?”

You roll your eyes fondly as you click your seatbelt into place. “It’s been, like, three days. We got coffee the other day.”

“So long!” Kuroo whines as he starts his car. In the backseat, Lev is snoozing away on his sister’s shoulder. You send a wave her way, watching as she takes close up, unflattering pictures of Lev’s drooling face. She wiggles her fingers at you excitedly — another hug was coming your way, you knew. “Can’t believe you said yes to ‘Kashi’s invite and not mine.”

“Why would I ever say yes to you?” As the traffic light turns red, Kuroo turns to glare your way. Your giggle harmonizes with Alissa’s easily — the sound takes you back to high school and the games you’d sit at together. “I don’t even get why I’m invited, but whatever.”

Kuroo shrugs, soon pulling into the restaurant’s parking lot. “Think we’re friends and enjoy your company, or somethin’.”

Bokuto is the next one who pulls you into a crushing hug, swaying you side to side as he blubbers about finally seeing you again. You let out a laugh — you’d seen each other a week ago. He was still just as dramatic as Kuroo, it seemed.

A splotch of red catches your attention as more people come to greet you. Hinata Shoyo is at the bar, a grin on his face as he exchanges conversation with the person beside him. He’s just as bright as he’d always been ; just as enticing and pretty as giggles fall from his lips. Your throat suddenly feels dry — was that his soulmate? The one that’s made for him? It had to be ; with the easy conversation and flirtatious touches that were exchanged. 

“[Name],” a voice calls from behind you. He’s soft-spoken ; quiet and nonchalant as a hand rests on your shoulder. Kenma tilts his head, blinking slowly as your throat grows dryer. His hair has grown out, meeting his shoulders as it’s pulled back in a loose bun. “It’s nice seeing you.”

“Hey—” your voice cracks. Clearing your throat, you ignore the heat that rises up your neck and turn to face him fully instead. “Keiji said you were coming, but I wasn’t sure if you ‘d changed your mind.” 

Kenma hums, his hand falling from your shoulder to squeeze your hand lightly before his touch disappears. He sticks his hands in his pockets, golden gaze drifting across the restaurant restlessly. “Thought it would be… interesting to join.” 

A body is slammed into your back within the next second, arms latching onto your torso and squeezing you to them. Kenma grins for a split second before it settles into a small tilt on the right side of his mouth. A nose is nuzzled into your spine, “[name]! I didn’t even see you come in!”

“Hi, Sho,” you breathe. The red head loops around so that he’s holding your front now, his right arm shooting out to gather Kenma into the embrace. “You were— a little preoccupied when I got here.”

The blond across from you smirks at the dip in your voice, scanning your miffed expression and hiding his amusement. You were jealous — clearly — at Hinata and his charms. The red head frowns your way, “really? Still would’ve noticed you, I think.” 

“Guess not,” you grin. Your group gathers, sitting at the largest table that was offered. Laughter and endless chatter bounce off of the walls, drinks clinking together whenever someone would decide it’s time to cheers. Misjudging just how much you were drinking, soon the world was swirling and the colors were blending together. 

“Careful, sweetheart,” Kenma murmurs into your ear. You finish chugging the drink in your hand, beating Atsumu at a drinking contest. “Should start slowing down, hm?”

You shake your head, scrunching your nose, “‘m fine! All good here!”

Hinata chuckles, taking a sip of his own drink as he exchanges a look with the gamer as you gossip with Bokuto. The drinks have officially settled into your system now, blurring the world around you and muting any background noises. Heavy eyes blink at Bokuto as he continues to speak, leaning on the palm of your right hand. Hinata is to your left, finishing up his own drink — the alcohol hadn’t hit him yet [it probably wouldn’t ever] — Kenma sipping on his water to your right.

“Time to head home.” Akaashi calls quietly. He and Kuroo are the other two who are sober, fondly smiling at the rest of you. He taps Bokuto on the shoulder gently, receiving a whine in response. “We’ve rented a house for everyone for the weekend. Figured this would happen.”

Everyone stands up, some leaving to their own homes while the rest follow behind Akaashi diligently. Kenma waits by the door as Shoyo wakes you up, helping you stand. He smiles tenderly at the sleepy pout on your lips, “c’mon, pretty. Time to go.”

“We’ll walk back,” Kenma speaks. His hands are in his pockets again, hair tucked behind his ear as he smiles at the way you’re leaning on Hinata. “Isn’t too far. If you both don’t mind?”

The sky is clear as you walk, a small breeze drifting through the street. The weather is chilly, but warm enough that you aren’t shivering and your teeth aren’t chattering. You grab Shoyo’s hand, lacing your fingers through Kenma’s right after as you start to hum. 

“You are my sunshine, my only sunshine,” you slur out. Swinging your entwined hands, you raise your head so that you’re facing the sky. Kenma shares a grin with the red-head as you continue the children’s song. “Please don’t take my sunshine away.”

“Only hiccuped once, angel.” Shoyo tugs on your hand. You grin his way, eyes closing with how wide you smile. He looks to Kenma, “time for bed for this one, I think.”

Kenma nods fondly as you race to the house that’s come into view, hopping onto a still-drunk Bokuto. He cheers joyfully as the two of you babble — your words have stopped slurring, but you’re still not making much sense. The gamer sighs, “not much has changed, huh?”

Shoyo grins, “not much at all.”

You’re sharing a room with Kenma. Which is completely fine — it’s roomy enough for both of you to be comfortable. But, you still gulp at the thought of him being so close — all night. Hinata is in the room across from yours with Atsumu, the latter already snoring as you bid Shoyo goodnight.

An oversized, older Fukurodani shirt is thrown over your torso, sleep shorts snug underneath as you brush your teeth. Now that the alcohol’s haze is gone, you feel sleepy ; lucid as you get ready for bed.

Kenma is playing with his gaming console when you enter, glancing at you briefly with a smile before looking back down at his game. You nod in agreement — decorating a house or two sounded so fun right now.

But the silence surrounding the both of you wasn’t comfortable. It was tense — eerie — as shy glances were exchanged. You cleared your throat once, then again as Kenma made no move. You pursed your lips, getting a stupid, bad idea, but going with it anyways. 

“Kozume.”

You’re on your back within the next second, blond hair blocking your face from anything else. Kenma is hovering above you, hands on either side of your head.

“Wanna try that again?”

Before you know it, shy giggles are peeling from your lips as your cheeks heat up drastically. The drinks you’d had earlier had melted away — no longer settled in your stomach — but some of the effects still lingered.

“Kenma,” you coo out. He grins at this, peering down at you with a visible flush. You want to curl your arms around his neck ; ache to bring him close enough to taste. You bite your lip instead, “why are you so quiet?”

“I’m always quiet, sweetheart.” You heave in a breath at the pet-name, grin splitting your face into two. Kenma tilts his head, “jus’ thinking of some things.”

“Like what?” As you shuffle, your shirt slips over your shoulder. Your tattoo was now bare for him to see — bare from the powder you’d applied and free for him to look over. It seems to knock the both of you out of your pink bubble, the reminder of soulmates. Kenma scoots onto his knees, eyes on the floor as he grabs his game once more. You frown, fixing your shirt as you sit up. “Um— what are you playing?”

“Unnamed Animal Game.”

“Oh!” you perked up immediately, scooting closer so that you could peer over his shoulder. “I was just about to play that, too.”

Kenma is the one watching over your shoulder now, watching as you chose to design houses instead of play normally. He lets out a snort, “your island is worse than Shoyo’s and he hasn’t been playing as long.”

Sitting up straight, your eyes widen at Kenma’s words. “Shoyo plays this? And hasn’t added me?!” 

You frown, fighting with your blankets to stomp your way to Hinata’s room. Atsumu is still snoring when you creak the door open, the light from Hinata’s phone glowing on his cheeks. He looks up at you and grins, rushing to you quietly as you gesture him your way. Shoyo closes the door behind him, gathering you in his arms before pushing you back to your room gently. “What are we doing? Sleepover? This is so fun!”

“He didn’t bring it with him,” Kenma speaks up, eyes on his game once more. He glances up at both of you with a half-smile, “can’t play with him now.”

“Shoyo!” your voice teeters on the edge of becoming whiny, going up an octave as you flop onto the bed beside Kenma. “You haven’t added me on Unnamed Animal Game? Thought we were closer than that.” To add a dramatic flare, you let out a little sniffle.

Hinata falls onto the bed beside you, pulling you to his chest and giving you a nice squeeze. He’s warm — comforting in every sense of the word as he allows you to settle against him. “Of course we’re close. Maybe not as we were, but…”

A part of you feels bad, knowing you’d just been joking. But, Shoyo’s voice is solemn now, matching the frown Kenma isn’t trying to hide. You look up from his chest, eyes bouncing between the both of them before settling on Kenma’s hands. He’s holding one of Hinata’s, his console long forgotten as he reaches to hold your hand, too. “We can be like that again, you know. People drift and come back all the time.”

“It was right when we got our names, huh?”

You freeze at Kenma’s observation, clutching his hand tighter before letting out a breath and relaxing. Hinata’s thumb rubs against your hip as you sink further into his chest. The blond smiles at you both before speaking again, ”A soulmate shouldn’t keep us from being friends.”

“Or two.” Shoyo says it casually, but you can feel your heart speed up at the implication. He squeezes you once more, his hand tugging Kenma closer. “I— think I have two soulmates. Always have.” 

Your collarbone tingles ; burns as Kenma lays behind you now. Hinata’s right arm is draped around your waist, still clinging to the gamer’s hand. Kenma has let go of your hand in order to snuggle against the back of your neck, drawing you closer with Shoyo’s grip. The blond sighs, “N and S. Those are my letters — that’s my name.”

“K and N,” Shoyo is bouncing his leg now. He taps your hip, “And I’d bet yours is S and K, hm?”

“This is real?” You breathe out. Kenma pulls you closer as Hinata’s hold grows tighter. “We’re soulmates?” A break of silence and then — “how can we be so sure?”

“I think we’ve always known. Unconsciously.” Kenma nods slowly, reassuring himself of what he was saying. “Since we met.”

“But, we can talk more in the morning,” Hinata pulls the comforter over the three of you. You snuggle deeper into his chest as Kenma nuzzles his nose further into your hair. Placing a kiss on your cheek, then leaning over to give the blond one as well, he lets out a content sigh. “I’m pretty sure we’re right, though. Destined, as they say.”

Kenma lets out a chuckle that vibrates all the way down your spine. “Tomorrow, Sho. Sleep now.”

You click your tongue, ready to argue even though your eyes have slid shut. “What do you know about sleeping early?”

Hinata lets out a giggle before settling down. “Shh! Goodnight now, my loves!”

——♡—— this got sm longer than i expected it to?? but we're halfway done i think! airbendertendou © do not copy, plagiarize, repost, or translate my content on any platform. if you see my content under any other name than my own, let me know. i only have this tumblr and an ao3 account under the same name.

#💝 : soulmate au’s #haikyuu imagine #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu x you #haikyuu soulmate au #kozume kenma x reader #kozume kenma imagine #kozume kenma soulmate au #hinata shoyo imagine #hinata shoyo x reader #hinata shoyo soulmate au #nekoma x reader #karasuno x reader

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[unrequitedloveletter]

paper rings- weddings!! give me a character. a rough word count (10k is the most I’m willing to write, but if you want the fic to be a longer one, specifics are heavily recommended) and where you would want to get married if you were to get married! You can also tell me if you want it to be next level angst or to have the fluff scale turned up to eleven. Provide whatever specifics you want, and along with the fic, you’ll get a moodboard! You can mention if you want the moodboard to replace whatever gif I use as a fic header, but if you want it at the bottom of the fic and for me to include the gif anyway, just let me know!

okayyyy nikolai lantsov andd 1-2k? i've always dreamed of having a forest fairytale type wedding. like the fairy lights, and the green and borwn color schemes. and very intimate, only closeee friends and family (which is still a lot of family on my side but shhhh) fluff scale turned up to 11 plsss! the moodboard, i'm fine either way whatever is easiest<3

Our Forever/Our Eternity- Nikolai Lantsov x fem! reader

Okay, hi! I am so sorry that this coming out so late--I’d started second semester when I went to look at my inbox and having to do assignments on the daily is taking me closer and closer to academic burn out one step at a time. This is coming out on valentines though, so yay! I hope you like this one. The moodboard also came out in the form of a collage, which again, I hope is cool! I made it while tired out of my mind last night and a collage is what my tiredbrain was able to manage at that point lol.

fic type- fluff. 

Warnings- mentions of the consumption of alcohol (wine and champagne, and vodka/kvas) 

You and Nikolai had been dating since you were sixteen, having met by pure happenstance whilst you both worked in the First Army. You were at his side as his partner when he’d met Alina, fought with him as his partner and his confidante in the Ravkan Civil war. 

When he’d proposed at the age of twenty-three, just at the beginning of his kingship, you were overjoyed, and so, it seemed, was he. 

The next year and a half were spent with wedding preparations at the forefront of nearly everyones focuses, though especially Genyas, yours, and Nikolais. 

A fairytale esque wedding was the theme you’d agreed upon, and it was just to your luck that a decent clearing with a couple of large trees was amongst the Little Palaces acreage. 

Genya had said that it was to be the perfect spot for a wedding, and a year and a half later, as you listened to Alina and Zoyas conversation and Genya tailored a bit of powder onto your eyes to give them a pop of color, you had to agree. 

You’d decorated it with a few good tables, chairs painted a deep brown the color of wood, the tablecloths a darker version of leafy green. The centerpieces had been your favorite flowers, encased in small glass display containers that would’ve been used for something like a cupcake display in a bakery, and the tree under which you were going to get married had been laid with lights, making it look like the branches were dripping in stars. 

You’d done your wedding a bit differently to the societal expectations placed onto Nikolais shoulders. It wasn’t public, it wasn’t to occur in the Little Palace and there were no journalists, no reporters or anyone who’s only purpose of attending would be to get the scoop on the happenings of that day. 

You’d only invited the people who’d mattered to you both, those whom you considered family. Tolya, Mal and David were Nikolais groomsmen. Genya, Tamar, Nadia, Alina and Zoya were your bridesmaids. 

Alina and Mal had come along, though Alina had been wearing a wig so that nobody looked at her and immediately knew that she’d been the sun saint, the one who’d been martyred three years before. 

Alina laughed as a breeze picked up and ruined some of the work that Genya had done with your hair, meeting your gaze with a grin. 

“Early summer is a wonderful time of year, isn’t it?” You asked, laugh befalling your lips as Genya gave an exasperated sigh. “There’s a breeze, yeah, but at least it’s warm.”

“Nikolai is just going to faint when he sees you,” Nadia said with a grin. “Oh, the king will faint indeed.”

“Tolya will have to catch him,” Tamar agreed, laugh coming up as she took a sip of her champagne. “It’ll be quite the glorious thing, and no reporters here to tell the tale means that our beloved king and his precious ego will be saved from embarrassment.” 

“He’ll do more than faint,” Zoya said. “He’s never cried a day in his life, I’m sure, but he will. He’ll be crying tears of joy. Men are astonished by beauty, and you look ravishing, so it’s practically par for the course.” 

You took a sip of your champagne as Genya announced that she was done with your hair, peeking out from behind the tree that you’d stood behind, one far enough away from guests and Nikolai to avoid being heard or seen.  

“The king has descended down the aisle,” she said. “Oh, he is going to lose it. I’m so excited!” 

You finished off your champagne as Genya and David walked down the aisle, followed by Zoya with Tolya, Alina and Mal, Tamar and Nadia together. 

You watched, head ducked out from the spot where you stood, as David whispered something to Nikolai and his eyes promptly closed, anticipatory grin spreading across his face. You scoffed, grin coming to yours as well. 

Of course David had listened to Genyas suggestion that he ask Nikolai to close his eyes so as to not see you until you’d walked down the aisle. Photographers were around, and she probably thought it would make for an interesting set of photos. David, as her husband, would’ve agreed, as would you have, as you knew she was probably right. 

Your father walked you down the aisle, and when you reached out, resting either of your arms on Nikolais shoulders and allowing your hands to entwine themselves behind his neck, his eyes opened.

He looked shocked in one moment, mesmerized in the next.

“You look--” Nikolai began, cutting himself off. He laughed after a moment. “It seems I am unable to find the words. You look indescribably beautiful.” 

You grinned. “You clean up nicely, Mr. Lantsov.”

“The same can be said of you, soon to be Mrs.” 

You grinned, rolled your eyes, as the officiant began.

“We are gathered here today for the union of his majesty the king, Nikolai Lantsov, and her majesty the Queen, Y/N L/N,” you’d gotten that part sorted in the weeks prior. You’d been declared queen before the wedding at a small coronation that the public was only made aware of in the days after it’d occurred, so as to pretty much just get the process out of the way. 

“It is my belief that the couple has written their own vows?” You both glanced at the officiant, giving him a slight nod. “Well then, King Nikolai, I’ll allow you to read yours first.” 

Nikolai shot you a smirk, and you couldn’t help but roll your eyes at him lovingly. He’d always been the flirtatious type, and you considered it luck that those flirts had always seemed to be tossed in your direction. 

Nikolai wasn’t just a flirt, though. He was a caring, compassionate, smart and wonderful guy. He was someone you’d met while serving your time in the First Army, someone who you’d seen act in the bravest manner and only in the interest of saving the lives of those around him. He’d managed to sweep you off your feet somewhere in all of the noise, and when he became Sturmhond, you joined him once you’d convinced your commander to release you on honorable discharge so that you could. 

As you stood in front of him, arms around his shoulders, you found that you didn’t regret it. Not a minute. 

“I have loved you since we worked in the infantry department together,” Nikolai said. “I fell in love with you whilst we were in the ranks of the First Army, and, eight years after I joined up, I can say that I have not felt regret over it for a moment. I love you more than words can express, really, and I’m looking forward to proving it to you with my actions. I cannot wait to get to wake up next to you everyday for the rest of my life.”

He paused, closing his eyes for a moment, and you realized that Zoya may have been right. Nikolai may actually have started crying, or have gotten closer to it. 

“Forever has always felt like such a long time,” Nikolai continued. “It still does, usually, but it’s time that I get to spend with you at my side, so I can’t wait for our forever to start.” 

The officiant grinned. “Y/N, you may read your vows in response.” 

“I love you,” you began. “I used to think that I would never get so lucky as I have. I was sent into the First Army, and as most do, I figured I was doomed. I’m delighted that I wasn’t, and though the First Army, the mandatory service, is not something that I look back on fondly, I’m glad I met you from it. I’m glad that I’ve spent almost a decade at your side, and I’m looking forward to all the decades to come.”

“I’m looking forward to coffee on Sundays, to watching the sun go down and drinking kvas as we talk about how lucky we both feel, and I am really excited that I get to be married to you for our eternity. I have loved you as long as I have known you, and I am looking forward to getting to spend the rest of my days loving you even still.” 

The rings were brought out, and you noticed a tear slip down Nikolais cheek as he slipped the ring onto your finger. You slipped his ring onto his, wiped the tear away and gave him a grin as you registered that you were close to crying as well. 

It was your wedding, though. One of the happiest days of your life. People would forgive you if you cried a bit. 

“Nikolai Lantsov, do you promise to love Y/N L/N for the rest of your days, in sickness and in health, in rich and in poor?”

“I do,” Nikolai looked at you, and you looked at him, and all that either of you noticed in that moment was the sheer love in the other persons gaze.

“Y/N L/N, do you promise to love Nikolai Lantsov for the rest of your days, in sickness and in health, in rich and in poor?” 

“I do.” 

“Well then, the bride and groom may kiss to seal this union,” the officiant said.

And so, you did, a tear slipping down your cheek as Nikolais lips were on yours and you were officially his wife, he was officially your husband. You were so happy, it was more than words could ever accurately describe.

Nikolai pulled away, grabbed your hand and interlaced your fingers, and just like that, the party had started, the violins picking up with an old Ravkan dancing tune. 

You spent the night dancing, laughing, drinking and enjoying the night for all that it was. You were married to the love of your life, and you were sure you would be so happy as you’d been that day for the rest of the days in which you graced the earth. 

When all the guests had left, most of them retiring into their rooms after midnight, when all of the celebrations had been had, the good wine and kvas drank, the dancing done, you were still out there.

It was a group of people, actually. It’d been you, Nikolai, Genya, David, Tolya, Tamar, Nadia, Zoya, Alina and Mal. The violinist was still playing because they’d not yet retired to their own room. They were playing a slow song, and like it was habitual, you all paired off and danced.

Nikolai held you close, arms around your waist where yours were resting on either of his shoulders. You were dancing under the tree where you’d gotten married, and the lights were still on. As you registered the flit of a camera, knowing that the photographers had long gone home, you scoffed.

“Need something for the photo album, Tolya?”

“A few somethings,” he said. “These’ll look good framed, and Zoya most certainly agrees with me.”

“She does,” Zoya piped up. “As does Genya, who anticipated this happening and thought that the disposable was a good idea. You’re welcome, lovebirds.” 

You and Nikolai laughed. “Thank you, guys.”

“We’re glad that you finally tied the knot, Nik,” Tamar said. “Seriously. Tolya and Nadia were beginning to debate placing bets.”

“Who would’ve won?”

“Me,” Tolya said. “A good man does not wait for the perfect time, in accordance to my sonnets. He either creates it or finds it in a day that is seemingly mundane.”

You scoffed. “It was not mundane, Yul-Bataar. He proposed to me when the sun was setting. We were by the lakes.” 

“Mundane enough,” Nikolai said. “And perfect enough, after having tried to find the right time for three years.”

“You took my point, you took my compliment, and you unraveled it,” Tolya said, scoffing. “You’re a drunken buffoon.”

“I’m not drunk,” Nikolai said. “I’ve been too busy dancing with my wife to bother with it.”

“Ah, so you’re just a buffoon, then?” Genya asked. “Makes sense.” 

Nikolai scoffed, meeting your gaze. “I love you,” he said.

“I love you too,” you said. “It’s getting late, and cold. Let’s head back inside.”

“Early start tomorrow,” David said.

“I will have Tamar cut my tongue out with one of her beloved axes before I rise at any time within the three hours after sunrise tomorrow morning,” Nikolai said as the group began the walk back. You heard the violin music stop, the violinist packing up as you left. 

You grinned as you took Nikolais hand and interlaced your fingers. 

You’d married the love of your life. You were so happy in what was just the start of your forever with him, and he was so happy in the start of his eternity with you. 

#nikolai lantsov #nikolai lantsov x reader #nikolai lantsov x fem! reader

[yaldabaoth-rex]

Fallen London update

have just discovered Arbor. very intriguing. a city in the dreamlands? what is "Attar"? apparently it is a name for rose oil, but here it refers to a strange red powder that appears on the eyelids as one "beholds the wonders of Arbor." the herald says there are three Arbors, but is classist and dismissive of the first Arbor, and is afraid to talk of the third. an arbor is an arched lattice that garden plants are made to grow on. this place has a rose motif, and there seem to be statues of bees in the header image. Prisoner's Honey is made by bees fed on "The Exile's Rose." could this be where Prisoner's Honey comes from? is this where those who eat prisoner's honey go to?

#fallen london #fallen london spoilers

[alieinthemorning]

Cold Wishes Over a Hot Drink [Dabi | Todoroki Touya]

Content: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Banter, Happy Birthday Dabi | Todoroki Touya, POV Second Person

Pronouns: None

Header: @/takepopopopopo

Reblogs: Let me know that you enjoy my work and want to see more, so don’t forget to like and reblog (and comment in the tags. I love seeing people’s rambles in the tags)!

This work’s concepts, plot and original characters are my own which means I do not allow any sort of creative theft nor do I allow my work to be entered into any sort of A.I. bots. Thank you for respecting my space and boundaries.

January had been unexpectedly cold after December’s nice weather. Today, January 18th, was no different. However, the day was special, so you decided to whip up some hot chocolate. You knew this day was coming, as it does every year, so you made sure to set aside enough money to make it a little fancier than hot milk and cocoa powder. For today, you were able to get actual chocolate (milk and dark), vanilla extract, cinnamon and whipped cream. You whipped up two mugs as you hummed a familiar tune.

Surprisingly, no one bothered you as you did this, but you knew that would be slinking from wherever they were because of the smell. So, you hurried (as quickly as you could with two hot drinks) to a quiet place.

“Bold of you to follow me out here.” He told you as you stepped outside onto the roof of the building, the cold air immediately attacking your senses.

To keep your body from violently shivering, you instead focused on sassing him back. “You’re a glorified heater, I’ll be fine.”

You almost slipped twice, but you didn’t spill a drop (and didn’t burn your hands). You held the drink out in front of him, rolling your eyes when he raised a brow at the mug.

“It’s just hot chocolate.” He eyed it for a moment longer before taking it. You noticed that his fingers lingered longer than necessary, but you said nothing in order to savor the feeling of his cold fingertips.

And then he moved away, and so did you. You both leaned forward on the railing, just watching the world pass you by as you relished in the warmth slipping down your throat into your belly. And it kept you warm even after it was gone, even as the sun set.

Your eyes fell close with the setting sun as you murmured, “Happy Birthday…”

A hand came and rested on your head, pulling toward them. He said nothing, just held you close. But then, as the sun finally dipped beyond the horizon. He whispered,

“Happy Birthday, Touya.”

Places this on the table and fucking dips

Side Note: I have been reading a shit ton of BNHA fics, I'M NOT SAYING ANYTHING, BUT that's what I've been doing lately (I'm also about to start working on the BNHA Masterlist update on Tumblr so...ION DAWG).

Ko-Fi | Commission | Masterlist

#alie ficlets #bnha x reader #mha x reader #dabi x reader #todoroki toyua x reader #happy birthday dabi

[ayulaoneone]

Opening an official-looking letter to a puff of milky-smelling powder blasting into your face. Immediately afterwards you feel your nipples begin to react weirdly to whatever you were just letterbombed with as you read the scary looking header on your dairy duty summons.