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kitkatkitzune · 5 months ago

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MUSE

Pairing: Klaus Mikaelson x Fem!witch!reader

Summary: Always the artist, never the muse… until now that is… sorta?

Warnings: A tiny bit of Angst, Death, Mentions of painting with blood, Inconsistencies in the tense it’s written in (whoopsie)

Notes: First post of the new year!

After a lot of consideration I have decided that I am not going to be making a tag list at this point in time. I am simply not organized enough for it, maybe sometime in the future but not now! I’m sorry! If you’d like to be notified when I post you can turn on notifications… sorry again!

Word Count: 1.5k

MASTER POST , TVDU MASTERLIST

———————

You hum as you walk around the Mikaelson home, stopping every few moments to admire the paintings hung around the house. Some of the paintings were incredibly old and some were only made a few years ago, and all of them had been made by the hybrid.

There was at least one of each sibling, Elijah, Rebekah, Kol, and even Finn. Freya had also gotten a painting after her return. However, there was someone missing.

There was not a single one of Klaus hung around the home, he wasn’t even in the large family portrait at the end of the hallway. You come to a stop in front of it, tilting your head in confusion.

You don’t get long to ponder the thought as a familiar voice cuts through the silence, “Admiring the artwork, love?”

Turning, you face Klaus with a small smile, “Yes, everything is so beautiful… you’re incredibly talented.”

He hums, taking a step backwards, “Come, I’ll show you my studio.” he beckons you to follow, holding out his hand for you to take.

After a moment's hesitation, you take his hand, allowing him to whisk you away to the art room. The room was isolated, far away from the rest of the rooms in the house. You could tell that this is where Klaus goes to clear his head, when he needs a moment to himself. You couldn’t help but feel honored that he brought you here.

He smiles, “Take a look around…”

You begin to look around the room, admiring the different paintings and drawings all around. Every one was unique in its own way but they were all so Klaus.

There were even paintings in blood, you assumed that the blood used had come from one of Klaus’ many victims. You hover your hand near the canvas, it was of an angel. Ironic. There was something about the painting that you couldn’t shake though, it looked so familiar.

“An angel of death? Since it’s in blood?” you question, quietly.

“Sometimes,” Klaus murmurs in your ear, causing you to jump, you had been too distracted by the paintings to notice how close he had gotten, “inspiration strikes at the strangest times, even while I’m slaughtering my enemies.”

“It’s beautiful…” you smile softly, tilting your head to look at him.

“It’s yours,” he says instantly.

“Oh Klaus, I couldn’t…” you trail off, your eyes catching another painting behind him.

You quickly move to the other side of the room to get a closer look, it was of you.

You look back at Klaus, who, for once in his life, looks a bit nervous, “You weren’t intended to see that yet…”

“You painted me?” you ask in a whisper.

Klaus smiles, regaining his confidence, “Well, I paint you quite often,” he makes his way to you in a split second, “Your beauty is something I enjoy capturing… although, no painting will ever compare to the real thing.”

Your face heats up a bit at his words and you sputter trying to find a response, Klaus however grins, responding before you can, “I don’t know if you picked up on it… but the frame on this was is the same as the other ones displayed, I plan to hang this one in the hallway with the rest of the family portraits….”

Your brows furrow, letting out a small laugh, “I’m not a Mikaelson, Nik.”

“No, but you practically live here, practically family at this point.”

“I suppose that’s true.” you let out a little laugh before frowning, “but what about you?”

“What about me?”

You roll your eyes at his question, “All these paintings, Nik, and not a single one of you.”

He smiles but you swear you see a flicker of hurt pass his eyes, “I’m the artist.”

“And?”

Klaus sighs, “I’ve simply never had the urge to paint myself… I prefer to paint other things.”

You knew there was a deeper meaning to his words and reading between the lines you were quickly able to figure it out. Klaus painted beautiful things, even in his most chaotic works there was beauty, whether it was landscapes or a pretty girl— he painted things he liked, things he loved.

His whole life, Klaus had felt like an outsider in his family, he was the half-sibling, the hybrid, the bastard child. He felt that he did not deserve to be painted, to be hung on the wall with his siblings, and you would make it your mission to show him just how wrong he was.

As it turned out, painting was a lot harder than it looked. You had gone through at least ten canvases over the past week, all containing painted scribbles of the original hybrid and you were growing increasingly frustrated. Klaus always made it seem so simple but it was anything but.

After numerous attempts at recreating his face and failing miserably, you decided to cheat.

There were spells for death, aneurysms, memory, you name it— there was a spell for it. It took time but eventually, you found one for painting. It helped you create a spectacular painting of Klaus. You use the term ‘help’ when in reality, the spell did most of the work.

You were ecstatic to show him the painting, holding the canvas close to your chest as you reached the art room.

“Nik?” you call out quietly, entering the room.

He hums, setting down his paint brush, he was working on a landscape painting. He turns to you, raising a brow when he sees you’re carrying something.

“I’ve brought you something…”

“You’ve got my attention.” he stands up from his stool as you hand him the canvas.

He flips it over and reveals the painting of himself, a small smile appears on his face. Suddenly, his brows furrow, causing you to gulp.

“Do you like it?”

“It’s excellent, love, I just wasn’t aware that you painted.”

“Oh,” your face heats up, “I don’t, not really… it’s just, you deserve a painting too… just because you’re the tortured artist type doesn’t mean you shouldn’t be captured and immortalized in art…”

Klaus surprises you by pulling you against him in a tight hug, “Thankyou.” he mutters, pressing a kiss to your head.

You freeze in shock but, after a moment you relax, “Of course…”

When he finally pulls back, he stares down at the painting before finally looking at you, “I know that you did not paint this though.”

“I- What do you mean?“

He clicks his tongue, “Artist, remember? I assume you used a spell, little witch?”

You sigh, “Well yes, but I just wanted to paint you and I couldn’t do it! It’s incredibly difficult! I tried my best but everytime I just ended up with scribbles!”

“Scribbles?”

“Yes! Scribbles!” you grab his hand, dragging him to your room to show him the failed paintings.

As expected, Klaus cackles at your failed attempts making you pout, “I did try!”

His laughter quickly subsides at your protest, “I know you did, it’s just… I think we should hang this one up,“ he holds up one of the paintings, “although, people may think Hope painted it.”

“Don’t be mean…” you cross your arms, looking away from him.

Klaus frowns, setting the paintings down, he approaches you and places his hands on your arms, uncrossing your arms, “I’m only teasing, I think that it’s quite sweet.”

Finally, you turn back and look at him, trying to hold your angry expression but fail. The two of you stand there for a moment in silence, just staring at each other until finally, Klaus moves. He dips his head, connecting your lips in a sweet kiss that quickly turns heated, his hands find their way to your waist and he pulls you flush against him.

You tug on his hair and he groans at the feeling, sliding his hands to the back of your thighs. He picks you up with ease, pushing you against the nearest wall causing a few things to rattle, including the painting made in blood. It fell to the ground, making you both break apart at the sound.

“That painting…” you mumble, out of breath, “It’s still so familiar…”

Klaus smirks, setting you back on the ground, “I thought you’d have figured it out by now…” he brushes some of the hair from your face, “It’s you, you’re the angel… I made that the day we first met. When you were surrounded by those vampires… and with a flick of your wrist all of their heads exploded, coating you in their blood. I had never seen a sight so beautiful…”

“That is… so messed up…” you breathe out, “but so hot.”

And with that, you grab his face and slam your lips to his. You truly were his muse, and he was yours… sort of?

Bonus!

You sit at the dining room table, coloring with Hope and Klaus. Rebekah was braiding Hope’s hair and Elijah sat at the head of the table drinking his coffee while looking over the newspaper when Kol came waltzing into the room.

Kol smiles, “I saw your new painting Hope, it’s lovely.”

Hope tilts her head, “What painting?”

Elijah answers before Kol can, “The portrait of Niklaus in the hallway.”

Your eyes widen and you immediately look at Klaus who is smirking at you.

“You ass!” you take the crayon you were currently holding and throw it at him, causing him to cackle.

“I told you I’d hang it up!”

#kit kat writes <3 #klaus mikaelson x reader #klaus mikaleson imagine #niklaus mikaelson x reader #klaus mikaelson #niklaus mikaelson #elijah mikaelson #rebekah mikaelson #kol mikaelson #hope mikaelson #the originals #the vampire diaries #tvd #fluff

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byrachel · 3 months ago

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Could you do a blurb/short story where Paul meets his imprint (shy!female reader) in the woods while in wolf form. And the reader becomes sort of friends with the wolf (as she had no other friends) and they (wolf Paul and the reader) keep meeting in the wood until Paul finally transforms and tells the reader the truth? Thanks :) 💞

UNEXPECTED FRIEND [PART ONE]

PARING: paul lahote x female reader

CONTAINS / WARNINGS: angst, hurt/comfort(ish), descriptions of an anxiety attack

NOTE: sorry for making you wait five years for this, that's actually so horrible of me. i was going through my old requests after talking to a friend i actually met through this account and i was suddenly hit with tons of inspiration. obviously i didn't complete the whole request so that why it says part one, but i don't know how long it will take for me to write a second part, because by now everyone knows how inconsistent i am lmao. i hope there's someone out there who'll enjoy this :)

You should have listened to your parents.

With an increase of mysterious and very violent bear attacks, they had urged you to not hike through the woods for the time being, knowing how much you loved to take out your sketchbook in search of the perfect place to draw. Like the angels they are, they even suggested driving you themselves to other cities for a change of scenery to spark inspiration. But being a hormonal, know-it-all young adult, of course you didn’t even waste a second entertaining the idea.

As the bear-sized wolf stared you down, you wished you could turn back time to a week ago, showing your parents the appreciation they should have gotten for even suggesting an alternative.

Your heart crashed against your ribcage, blood whirring in your ears as fear froze you in your place.

You were completely at the wolf’s mercy. This was his terrain, his home, an area he knew like the back of his hand. Even in open air, there was nowhere for you to run. For every four steps you could take, he would get to you in a single leap, his claws and teeth ripping into you before you could think to scream for help.

If you weren’t imagining all the ways he could make you his next meal, you would’ve laughed at the irony of it. Even if you would scream for help, it was of no use. Of course you liked to hike as far away from human civilization as possible, trying to capture nature in its rawest, untouched form.

Before anyone would even realize you were away for an unusual amount of time, you would be long gone. If you were lucky they would find some of your remains, leaving at least something behind for your parents to bury or cremate.

Oh god my parents, you thought to yourself, tears blurring your vision. They were gonna be devastated. Your heart twisted at the thought of them blaming themselves for your irresponsible actions.

The ashy grey wolf raised his head, snapping you out of your never-ending self pitying thoughts and you flinched.

Slowly, he inched towards you like you were an unsuspecting prey. Remaining nearly motionless, he must have assumed you didn’t notice him and tried to come as close without warning you of his presence, before finishing his plan of attack.

In an act of pure desperation, you dropped to the ground, making yourself as tiny as possible. You pulled your knees to your chest and wrapped your arms around your head, the straps of your backpack uncomfortably tight underneath the grip of your armpits. Like you had been running a marathon, your chest rapidly rose and fell as your body trembled in fear, your lungs feeling like they could explode at any moment.

“Please, please, please. . .” You cried in a whisper, repeating your pleas like a mantra, hoping that a god, the universe or whatever deity was out there would forgive you for the simple sin of disobeying your parents. Surely this wasn’t what you deserved.

The ground beneath you shook with every step the creature took. His paw brushed along your arms as he towered over you, his heavy breathing coating you in warm, moist clouds.

You sobbed as you tensed all the muscles in your body, bracing yourself for the razor sharp teeth biting into you, hoping he would nick a major artery or accidentally break your neck to make your inevitable end quick.

You waited and waited, counting down to the moment you certainly knew the wolf would make a move.

But it never came.

From above you, the creature made a strange high pitched squeaking sound. He lowered its snout and nudged at your arms. Confused, but still terrified you refused to give into his unclear request, clamping your arms even tighter around your head.

To your surprise, you were still intact as the wolf backed away, his high pitched whining continuing. It was only when a heavy thud shook the ground that you felt you could breathe again, your lungs desperately gulping for air.

You loosened your grip and slowly peeked between the gap of your arms to look at him. The large creature laid down a couple of feet to your side, his head facing you. His big brown eyes sadly stared into yours like you had hurt his feelings. It reminded you of your aunt’s dog when you didn’t want to play with him.

He wasn’t whining. He was crying.

Your eyebrows furrowed together. Did you scare him? Was he empathetic to your fear? Either way, the wolf’s unusual behavior was even more shocking than the expectation of him tearing you apart. Whatever his reasoning was, it seemed like he had no intention of hurting you.

Still, you didn’t take any chances, trying to remain as still as possible.

Saturated from rainfall hours before, the dirt beneath you clung to your clothes, wetness seeping through the layers.

At a certain point you weren’t sure how much time had passed, but with each passing moment your body recognized it wasn’t in danger anymore. The thumps in your chest returned to their normal rhythm, blending into your body until you couldn’t feel them. Your trembling gradually dissipated and your sobs died down.

And with yours, so did his.

It had been long enough for you to realize he wasn’t going to leave you alone. It was like he was waiting for you to do something.

You gathered the courage to move, keeping an eye on the grey furred wolf as you relaxed your limbs. Still shaken, you lowered your arms and carefully stretched legs to their natural position while pushing yourself in a sitting position.

Your chest still felt tight and you pressed your hand against your heart, starting a sequence of deep breaths —in through your nose, out through your mouth— to help regulate your system.

Like he was trying to be mindful of your state, he cautiously rose on his legs, his standing height even more terrifying when you were sitting on the ground. But you didn’t panic. If he wanted to harm you he would have already done so and probably without crying.

He observed you closely, making sure it was okay for him to come closer and you let him. You weren’t sure how to communicate with a wolf, how to tell him you would rather not want him to come closer, but as long as you weren’t his lunch, you would just play along until he hopefully got disinterested in you and moved on.

The wolf sniffed at your hair, face and arms, testing the waters as you stayed stiff. Without warning, he licked at your face with his large tongue. You could tell he was trying to be gentle, his touch tickling you. You squirmed away with a laugh falling from your lips and you held one hand out to him. Your other hand wiped his saliva off your face. “No, no, that’s enough.”

Oddly enough, he listened. Or at least it seemed like he did, because he didn’t lick you again.

Instead he dipped his head down and your eyes widened. When you didn’t do anything, he nudged his head towards you. Not only did he empathize with your fear, he wanted to show you he wasn’t something to be feared.

Hesitantly, you reached for the top of his head and you raked your fingers through the strands of his fur, giving him a firm rub. He gave you a huff of approval and a soft smile tugged at your lips. “Maybe you aren’t as scary as I thought.”

Growing more comfortable, you used both hands to pet him, sleeking the fur on the top of his head back with gentle strokes. “Now I’m kind of embarrassed that you saw me react like that. That was a major overreaction.” You chuckled.

Eventually you found your bearings, the grey wolf, you named Wolfie for convenience, comforting you with his head rubs until you felt comfortable enough to move freely around him.

He helped you up, letting you use him as leverage to get on your feet. You dusted off the dirt as best as you could, but the brown stains would raise suspicions from your parents about your whereabouts. If they ended up giving you a hard time about it, you knew you deserved it. Even if Wolfie didn’t eat you, he scared you badly enough to not go against your parents’ wishes for at least the next five years.

The grey wolf’s head cocked up, his ears perking at a sound your human ears didn’t seem to pick up on. You followed his line of sight, deeper into the woods, not finding what he was looking at. Suddenly he turned to you, prodding his nose into your side, shoving you from your place.

“Hey!” You exclaimed, regaining your footing.

He stomped one of his paws against the ground, giving you another push in the direction you came from.

He wanted you to leave the woods.

“Okay, okay, fine, I’ll go.” You said sheepishly, adjusting your backpack on your shoulders. You headed towards the nearest road, guessing that with all the noise of manmade vehicles it was probably the easiest way to stay clear from any other animals who would definitely harm you if you came across them.

“Thank you for not eating me.” You shot him a glance over your shoulder as he watched you walk away, hoping he would somehow get what you were trying to say.

#rachel's assignments #twilight wolf pack #twilight wolves #twilight imagines #paul lahote #paul lahote x reader #paul lahote x female reader #paul lahote fluff #paul lahote imagine

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cowpokemythology · 4 months ago

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immortal he, return to me.

playlist pairing: ghost!jacaerys velaryon x fem!reader word count: 8.8k description: the sea swallowed your heart the day it took your husband to a watery grave, two lives cruelly ripped away by the stranger's greedy hands. but, you should've known, he was too stubborn to stay away for long. tags: angst, smut (18+), lots of grief, mentions of canon-typical violence, gore?, spoilers for fire & blood/s3, lots of talk of death and the supernatural, inconsistent and unclear ghost lore because it's just vibes. a/n: this is my first fic, please bear with me. ALSO first time writing smut, sorry if it's cringe as hell. also, sorry it took me ten million years, life kept me busy. from here on out, i will not tease with false promises of release dates lmao. the quote in the beginning is from paradise lost by milton.

“our state cannot be severed, we are one, one flesh; to lose thee were to lose myself."

The beaches of Dragonstone crawled with winter’s mist and your Jacaerys was dead.

He had promised you a safe return.

You’d stopped him before he’d left that morning. Pleading, a hand clasping one of his own. The way his calluses, worn from swordplay and dragon riding than any real work, brushed against your skin is still imprinted into your memory. You do not know why your mind clung to this empty detail. Perhaps, you knew even then, that this would be the last time you’d see your husband.

Your touch had been gentle, easy for him to break through if he wished to brush past. He’d stopped for you, though. When his honeyed eyes had met yours, they were softened.

“My love…” He’d murmured, a low lilt. The way he moves back into your orbit almost makes you believe that there’s an invisible tether, endlessly tugging you back into each other.

He raises your hand to his plush lips, brushing them across the ridges of your knuckles. His other slides around your waist, melding to the small of your back and drawing you close. The familiar smell of cedar and dragon smoke envelops you, something so uniquely Jacaerys that he never could wash away. The warm lines of your bodies pressed against each other. Your chemise is a flimsy barrier between the heat of him, the blood of the dragon. You’d always privately thought that if anyone could simply feel how warm he was, that any barb of bastardry would be swallowed. You could still feel it through his thick doublet.

Your heart hurts with his affection, worry carved into every crevice of your face. If you could, you would tug him back into bed. If he was entwined with you, beneath the safety of your furs, he would face no danger. You would keep your sweet boy with constellations of freckles and raw umber eyes and he, in turn, would keep you.

You were too old, now, to hide like children.

He sees this, of course he does. He speaks before you can put voice to the multitudes of protests on the tip of your tongue.

“I must go.” He tells you, the words whispered against the back of your hand. You see the resignation in his expression, the trepidation. But a fire burns there too. One that has been raging since he’d returned from the North to a keep bereft of Lucerys’ laughter.

He’s been hungry for this, to fight, to avenge his brother, to win back what his mother had had stolen, to prove himself to those who sneer at his parentage. He’s been reeling against the council for months to put him to use. That much, you can understand. You cannot rebuke his going, however you can’t help but lament over the peril of it all.

“I know…” You reply in a resigned breath, your eyes memorizing everything about his form.

He hums in response. His hand releases yours in favor of cupping your cheek, you can feel his warmth branding your skin. You lean into the touch as if you’re freezing. He gently drops his head to slant his mouth over yours, not yet a kiss.

“I will return to you, you must know that. I do not think even the Stranger himself could keep me from you.” Jacaerys whispers against your lips. It was a promise of the cosmic kind, but uttered with the naivety and assuredness of youth. You were both hardly twenty, you had lives stretched out for leagues in front of you. It did not seem plausible, then, for such strong lights to be extinguished.

“Do not tempt him.” You murmur in response, a furrow in your brow. You’ve never been pious, but this day was as good as any to be superstitious.

The puff of breath that leaves him is amused and then he’s kissing you.

His mouth is pillowed against yours. You respond to it eagerly, eyes fluttering shut as you melt into him. Soft hands curl into his padded doublet, pressing yourself so close it seems you’re trying to meld your body to his. And maybe you were. If you could, you’d thought you’d make a home for yourself in his ribs and stay there for all eternity. His hands flex slightly around your waist, a pleased noise leaving his throat.

You try to pour your prayers to him through your lips, to imbue him with safety. He kisses you as he always does; sweet, gentle, and all-consuming. There is a withheld passion in him that sets you aflame. He makes your body buzz and your blood sing.

The kiss does not last nearly long enough. Dark ochre eyes flutter open to meet yours, his lashes like those of a doe’s. Jacaerys has always been heart-achingly beautiful. Every bit of him, perfectly sculpted by the loving hands of unforgiving gods. You wondered if they’d regretted it, if they’d melded his cupid’s bow and carved out sharp shoulder blades and decided that this beauty was to be ephemeral.

“Come home to me.” You breathe out, beseeching him with your gaze.

Jace’s gentle smile in return is woefully disarming. His thumbs brush over your hips, as if he too, were memorizing the feel of you. The way the pads of his fingers catch on your nightdress make you shiver. He presses a final, gentle, kiss to your forehead.

“I love you.” The words are pressed into your skin.

His warm hands retract from you regretfully, like waves receding from a stalwart shore. His eyes take you in for a moment more before, in a turn of red velvet, he’s gone. The thud of the mahogany door shutting behind him is a resounding omen of sealed fate.

When the dragonseeds do return, their heads are hung low in face of their costly victory. Your husband was not among them, nor was his steed. It seems the dragons sensed the loss as keenly as their riders. The scaly beasts seemed deflated, mournful. Far less proud than how they’d left, with a true dragon prince at their helm. Their chuffs are low, quiet. Everything was stilted, heavy. The stench of sulfur and the sharp tang of iron that hung in that room has not left you since.

It is Addam of Hull who tells you. He kindly takes your arm, guiding you a short distance away. With your heads bent towards each other; he tells you of your husband’s bravery, his strength, and his fate. Of bolts embedded in tender flesh, numb fingers grasping to ship wood, and the blood of the dragon returning to the salt of the sea.

Many eyes, draconic and human alike, averted their gazes as a raw cry tore itself from your throat. Your hands clawed at your chest for a heart that no longer existed. It lay at the bottom of the sea, with so many other sunken wrecks and bones.

The light has gone out of your life. The world around you is grayed and dull, the fog and winter clouds invade in his absence.

You have not known life without Jacaerys, and that remains true even now. You’d been at each other’s sides since the glow of youthful infancy, to the awkward, jutting limbs of adolescence, to the shining pride of (what you could barely call) adulthood. The yarn of your fates, your souls, were intertwined. Together, you formed a tapestry that was supposed to tell the tale of a prosperous king and queen. You knew him better than you knew yourself. You knew his skin was as soft as downy petals, the smell of the oils you’d run through his curls each night, the way his warmth bled into you, and how his smile felt pressed into your collarbone.

You knew his kindness in the way he’d pressed daisies into your palms as children, you knew his strength in the way he wielded steel easier than breathing, you knew his frustrations in the tick of a jaw over a comment of dark tresses, and you knew his tears; hidden away in privacy. You knew the way they’d shimmer in his eyes until he could not withhold them any longer, the defeat in a downturned head as the first droplet slid down his cheek. You’d hoped he’d always know the feel of your lips as you kissed them away and kept them close to your heart.

You would never kiss him again. Nor would you ever know him, feel him.

Without him, you’ve withered, more phantom than woman.

You did not leave your bed for two weeks. It is a sea you drown in. It’s much too vast without another body to keep it warm. You shiver despite the furs piled upon you and you hardly ever find sleep. When you do rest, it is fitful, light, or forced by exhaustion. If you’d had the capacity to think of it, you would’ve been surprised that you did not drown in your tears.

You keep your curtains closed. Gone are the days when you invited a welcome sea breeze to billow through your rooms, there was no longer a Velaryon prince to share in it. You refused to lay eyes upon the endless azure blanket that had stolen your breath from your lungs.

It was much like a tomb, your rooms. It was shrouded in constant darkness. You did not even permit a lit candle or hearth. You would not feel any more warmth, even should your chambers set alight with you inside. All comfort seemed to be extinguished with the soul of Jacaerys.

There was a constant pain in your chest, an ache where your heart used to reside. It was bleeding, seeping out of your every pore. It was so empty yet the weight that pressed upon you was greater still. It was difficult to breathe without him. This weight kept you lying, motionless, in a bed that was now only yours.

It took all the energy you had to force some of the food your handmaiden brought you down your throat. It all crumbled like ash in your mouth.

At first, the sobs that had racked your body had hurt your ribs. No comforting hand of a maester or handmaiden could rouse you from these fits of grief. It felt pathetic but you couldn’t find it in yourself to care. Who could blame you? You’ve lost part of yourself. You’d never hurt so much.

It came in fits. Lots of your time was spent in a haunted daze. Unseeing eyes gazing at a wall or ceiling, hands tangled in furs drawn up to your chin. It was as if your mind refused to live in a world without Jacaerys in it, therefore it would not take part in it. The passage of time meant little. You would wake and soon it was nightfall again, another day spent bleeding out in bed as you stared at uncaring stone.

You can see the concern shining in the eyes of your maids. You can hear them murmuring to each other as they prepare your chambers, when they think you sleep. About your ashen skin, your frailing body, of the heartache that has drained every bit of life from you.

At some point, and you really can’t remember when, you’d drug one of his old cloaks to bed with you. It had been in a moment of haziness in your grieving stupor, a late night when a storm raged not just in your heart, but outside the walls of Dragonstone. Your bare feet had drug across the floor with a soft scrape, leading you to his old wardrobe. A cloak, of deep crimson, found its way into your hands. It was an old one, one he had not donned for some time. But it was soft and weighted in your hands. Sheltered amongst his other dressings, it smelt distinctly of him. Of rosemary oil, old cedar, the smell of Vermax’s scales, and the underlying hint of the specific musk that clung to his skin. The fabric has not left your hands ever since.

You distinctly remember a time, in recent memory, when he’d returned late to your chambers from flying with Vermax. He’d left for the dragonmount with a tick in his jaw and a deep furrow in his brow, frustrated by his perceived coddling by those at the council and his own mother. Sometimes, there was a restlessness in him that not even you could settle. You knew, far too well by now, that it is a burden he must unleash in the sky. When he’d returned; his shoulders were unburdened, his curls windswept, his cheeks tinged with lasting nips from the air, and a small smile revealed a small dimple in his cheeks . A light sparkled in his eyes as he laid eyes on you, his wife.

You’d laughed as he swept you into his arms. You had soon wrinkled your nose and wriggled in his hold as he buried his face to your neck, his nose was still cold from outside. His curls tickled your chin and jaw, the smell of dragon was thick and cloying in your nostrils.

“At least wash first, Jacaerys. Your smell will transfer to me.” You’d huffed, exasperation laced with ever present affection. He’d merely hummed in response, a bright smile spreading against your skin. His arms pulled you even closer, melding your bodies together as he lent over you. He nipped lightly at the skin of your neck in retaliation, making you jolt in his arms. Any additional scolding died on your tongue as he brushed those sinful lips up your throat to smother your face in kisses.

You would give anything to smell the heavy scent of cinders and sulfur on him again. He could smell of volcanic ash for the rest of your life and you would not care so long as he was breathing in your arms. You lay, prone with suffering, clutching the cloak to your chest. If you closed your eyes hard enough, you could almost pretend he was beside you again. Your tears soaked the fabric like blood seeping through gauze. The smell of him faded by the day, and you still refused to let go. Your face was pressed to the fabric, almost as if you wanted to smother yourself in it.

“Please, please, please.” You mouth into the red expanse, begging for a return of something that will never come.

You could only find sleep clutching the linens, like a child with a prized blanket or doll.

It is on the morn of the third week without him that you find the strength to leave your chambers. That is when he begins to come back to you. -

Since rising, you can hardly stand to be in the keep of Dragonstone. It is too empty. Barren. You drift the halls like a ghost, palored and untouchable. The twisting walls and damp darkness feel all too much like a crypt.

You have not seen the Queen since the news of her son’s death. The servants whisper to each other in fear, about the mother who has had all love burned away from her with the loss of her eldest. You do not try to go to her, you fear to lay eyes upon the woman Rhaenyra has become.

Baela is on the back of Moondancer more than ever before, flying the dragon to near exhaustion every day. You understand it, you can no longer stand the stifling labyrinth of the keep yourself.

That is why, today, you’ve taken to the beaches.

You had scarcely allowed your handmaidens to run a comb through your tresses before you’d been up and moving. You’d thrown a woolen dress over your chemise and some shoes before abruptly departing, with his cloak slung over your shoulders like a blanket. You’d ignored the confused calls of your helpers, you’d apologize to them later. The walls had felt as if they were closing in on you, suffocating you. You’d remained in there too long. A moment longer, and you’d felt as if you’d be buried under ancient rubble. It’d caused a thick panic to seize your throat, you needed escape. You couldn’t breathe that stale air any longer.

You keep your eyes trained on the sand in front of you. You refuse to acknowledge the water, as if that would give it power over you. The sound of the sliding waves, coming, receding, and coming again, seemed to taunt you. You are glad for the heavy fog. It covers you like a shroud, hiding your heavy grief and sunken disposition to the eyes of all, including the gods.

The sea is greedy and unknowable. It has stolen from you, it mocks you. Yet, you cannot help but feel the nostalgia and comfort from the constant white noise. When it was sunny, he used to walk arm and arm with you along these very same shores.

The sand tracks your steps, a reminder of the breath that still fills your lungs and your blood still flowing through your veins. Even if you were missing your heart. The wind blows your hair around you, the occasional wisp of it brushing your cheek. The cold bit at your nose and cheeks, you kept the lower half of your face buried in the crimson cloak around your shoulders.

You do not know how long you walk for, you’re in a daze. You could have made entire laps around the isle and you would not notice. Your eyes flick up once, to gauge your surroundings, that’s when you see him.

And it is him. You know it is. You’d know him anywhere, even at this distance. It’s the faint outline through the fog, tousled curls, a billowing cloak, a lithe form. It makes you stop in your tracks, your breath evacuating your lungs.

You’re left stunned. Your body doesn’t know what to do with itself. Your stomach drops and your heart hammers painfully in your chest. Your limbs are paralyzed. Your eyes are trained on him, chest scarcely moving with breath. You watch him as… he seems to be watching you. The world has frozen. Your body doesn’t know whether it should be afraid, hopeful, or some other third emotion.

Have you gone mad? Has your grief touched you so deeply that it has irrevocably harmed your mind? Your gut twists with the wrongness of it all, of this. He was dead, you knew this. The ocean holds its breath. You feel a sweat break out along your brow, alarm bells ringing in every section of your mind. And that isn’t right, this is your Jacaerys. That was him. It was him-

The tether that seems to immortally tie you together tugged at your heart, reeling you in like a fish on a line. Every fiber of your being buzzed with the urge to rush to him, to combine his sinews with your own so he might never leave you again. You want to cling to him so tightly that your nails would draw rivulets of fire and blood.

My love, my love, my love-

You shut your eyes tightly, taking three deep breaths. For an instant, the scent of cedar engulfs you so completely that it sucks the air from your lungs. There’s a brush of fingers across your cheek that causes your body to shudder, they are frigid. A faint whisper of a low, regal voice reaches you on the wind.

In a moment, it’s all gone.

You open your eyes. There is no one around you. The fog is empty of all its secrets. The sea continues sighing as it always does. The smell of something earthy and pungent reaches your nose, the wind is picking up. A storm is on the horizon.

You stand there for a moment longer, every sense searching for any trace of him.

When the rain starts, you’re forced to turn and pick your way back to the keep.

The storm that began when you left has not ceased, that does not stop you.

You keep coming back to that spot. Over and over and over again, hoping for just a glimpse of him, any hint.

You feel as if you’re going mad. You can feel him there, something of his presence. You know him, you would know him anywhere. He’s there, he’s here, somewhere. He’s trying to get back to you, like he promised.

And yet, you do not see another trace of him for a long while. You keep returning to the shore each day. It’s almost an obsession, the search. You pace around the beaches, heading down at dawn and only coerced to retreat at nightfall.

There is one day when you break down. You stare down the Narrow Sea with angry eyes. Your hands and chest tremble with the extent of it. Why won’t it reveal him to you again? Why must it take everything? Why must it withhold him?

You wade into the surf, despite the cold air around you. It laps at your calves. It begs for you to wade closer, to dive beneath it’s all knowing depths to drag your heart back to the surface. The laughing white tops dance and swirl, turning your legs numb only after a few moments.

In the turn of a moment, you snap. You curse, spit, and cry at the ocean. You kick and throw sand like a woman deranged. You hiss out venomous words of hatred and raving disgust. You beg and cry for your husband back. You offer the ocean anything it wants.

The outburst leaves your chest heaving. You slowly slide to your knees, sobs wracking your chest as the rain soaks your clothes… his cloak is heavy on your back. It almost feels like cool arms around you. The waves soak your dress, the push and pull of the tide causing your body to lull to and fro.

A knight of the Queensguard finds you just after sunset, still sitting where you collapsed. He thinks you are almost dead. Your hands tremble, lips blue, eyes glossy. Your whole body is wracked with powerful shivers, yet you hardly notice when he calls out to you. Your gaze is still trained on the dark ocean, waiting for any slight glimpse of brown hair or pale skin. -

Your efforts, it seems, are not in vain. You sense the traces of him constantly after that.

One morning, you catch the tail end of his scent on your sheets. You spot a red flash of velvet turning down the hall, hear murmurings that sound strangely like his voice when you stand on your terrace, feel a caress on your cheek when you cry, feel the brush of curls under your chin when you try to rest at night combined with a heavy weight on your chest.

He is trying to come back to you, you know it.

Every day he gets closer. -

You have not dreamt often since his death, but when you do it is always the same thing.

It begins with you falling. The air is so limitless that you think you might be flailing until you turn to dust. It is not dark, nor silent. The air is bright and you can see clouds above you. Around you, the screams of men, the roar of dragons, and splintering wood consumes your hearing. The smell of sulfur and burnt flesh makes your stomach turn.

Then you hit the water. Your body is wracked with pain from the impact, every limb stings. You’re stunned with shock and cannot move, sinking. You will drown here. Up and down are confused in your scrambled mind. When your lips part for air, water invades like a greedy interloper; filling your lungs and aiming to take your life. Your limbs flail and claw towards where the light shines down, reaching for you.

Finally, you break through the waves, coughing and sputtering. Your lungs heave with the exertion of spitting up water while simultaneously fighting to get air in. Legs kick beneath you to keep you afloat, though every movement shoots pain through you. When you hit the water, it felt like hitting hard earth. Your body burns, exhaustion begging you to just cease and let the sea claim you.

Adrenaline burns through your veins like fire. You cannot give up. You made a promise.

A piece of driftwood bumps into your side, a savior amongst the chaos. You cling to it, your hands shaking. If you could just hold on, hold out, you could make it back to her. What else could you possibly do? And Vermax… Oh, poor Vermax-

You don’t have the time to process your dear companions death before you feel some split through your shoulder. It jolts you forward, your chin smacking against the rough wreckage you hold onto. Then, the pain blooms through you- white hot. You grunt, your eyes screwing shut. It’s unlike anything you’ve felt before, it reaches deep within you and feels like it’s trying to break through to your chest. The wound throbs, radiating through your whole body. Blood gushed around the crossbow bolt in your back as if it was eager to jump in the water below. Before you can even think, another pain embeds itself in your lower back, making your muscles lock as you cry out. You lose control of yourself for a moment, your body slipping down your refuge. You dig your nails into the wet and decaying wood, splinters embedding themselves under your skin.

Something wet and warm fills your mouth, it tastes like iron, it dribbles down your chin like a drunkard's dribbling wine. It’s getting harder to hold on, your body fighting between survival and giving into the pain. But you must. You’ve no choice but to hold on. Someone will find you, someone will help-

You must make it back to your mother, your family, to your heart…

Something rips through your neck, cruel iron revealing red muscle to the world. Everything goes black. -

You wake choking. Your lungs take a few moments to suck in a full breath. You’re panting, lying on your side, Jace’s old cloak clutched in your fingers. In the darkness, the deep red seeps through your hands like his blood. Your eyes are cloudy with tears, a sob lodged in your throat. The recurring dream rarely lets you sleep through the night without grief.

When you shift, you feel a warm arm around your waist, a body pressed at your back.

It makes you freeze, your veins turning to ice.

He notices this. He has always been so attuned to you. That remains so, even in death. A gentle shushing reaches your ears, a toned arm tightening around your side. Curls tickle your neck, his nose bumping against the hard bone of your shoulder.

“It’s alright, my love. It’s me, I promise.” The royal timbre of his voice brushes over your skin. And it’s so real… so tangible. You can feel him against you, his voice is right at your ear, and, when you look, you can see his arm around you… As if his death and these past months were all but an extended nightmare.

Was it?

“Jace?” You breathe, voice wavering. You can almost taste your heart in your throat, your palms becoming clammy. You move to turn to face him but his grip around you tightens, holding you still.

“I don’t-” He stops. When he speaks again, it’s quiet. “I don’t wish for you to see me... like this.”

The words send a shiver down your spine, something like fear gripping your heart. Unease takes hold of you and you shift against him, breath picking up.

“What-” You start, still trying to wrap your mind around what was happening. He’d made his way back to you but what had happened? What did he mean?

Your words are cut off by the brush of lips over your skin, skimming across your shoulder. His lips are as plush as you remember. They brand themselves into your memory once again. It makes you shudder. He begins to press soft kisses to the crook of your neck.

“I am sorry it took me so long…” Jacaerys begins, his arm around you shifts so he can rub circles into your stomach. The touch causes your eyes to flutter shut, it was a familiar comfort. “But I’m back now. I swear, I will never leave you again.”

Your mind fights against itself. You struggle to even wrap your head around how he’s managed to appear like this when you’ve been trying to catch glimpses of him for weeks. On the one hand, you know he’s dead. He is not alive, he has not tried to convince you otherwise. What was he? Should you be indulging in something so… unnatural?

The other part of you begs all rationality to quiet. He was Jacaerys wasn’t he? Your heart, your husband… the person you’ve been begging to return to you. He has granted your wish, has he not? You are in no position to be picky about the way in which he has done it. You would know him even at the end of the world, deafened and blind, you’d know him.

The relief of his return is what ends up winning.

“I’ve missed you.” The words are reverently pressed against your skin, as if you were the Maiden and your body a place of worship. One arm slides under your body to hold you close as his other slides down to your hips, a cool hand brushing over your abdomen. Which was odd… how has the blood of the dragon cooled within him?

His kisses become more insistent, lips trailing across your pulse and your throat. When his teeth nip at the sensitive skin, you jerk against him. You’ve not been touched like this in such a long time, not since he’s left you. You feel the familiar stirring in your stomach, the desire for him. You're dazed, left breathless by his sudden return to you and the heat he is kindling under your skin.

“Missed you too… so much…” You whisper in response, your body being wound by his expert touches. It’s almost overwhelming. You’ve grieved painfully for him and now he was here… touching you.

You suck in a breath as he uses his teeth to tug your chemise sleeve down your shoulder. Jacaerys takes advantage of the open skin, left undisturbed since his absence. You can feel him almost trembling against you as he presses desperate kisses along wherever he can reach. The one arm tightens around your ribs, palm brushing underneath your chest. The other brushes along your abdomen, traveling along your thigh. He toys, dangerously, with the hem of your chemise. Despite the coolness of his skin, his touch brands you all the same. The faint smell of cedarwood and sea salt reaches your nose, filling your lungs. You're surrounded, held, by just him, him, him.

It hits you then, the bittersweetness of it all. He is here, but not as he was. He will never be your Jacaerys again. Here was his spectre, to give you a sliver of what you’d had while he’d lived. Jacaerys’ bright shining light and warmth has been dulled to dim cinders. You cannot help the tears brimming your eyes. It is a complicated thing, the emotions that swirl within you. He has defied the Stranger to be here with you again, but things will not return to how they were.

Your lungs shake with a withheld sob, warm tears trailing down your flushed cheeks. It is an odd opposition to the feelings his touches are evoking. You find one of his hands, the one lingering near your chest, and you bring it up to your lips to press a kiss to his palm. His hands are still soft yet so cold…

Jace can feel your chest heaving, the quiet sounds of heartbreak you try to withhold. Your heated tears soak into his hand pressed against your plush mouth. He stops his heated kisses, stills his wandering hands. You cannot see it, but his brows furrowed with concern. His forehead presses to your shoulder, a shuddering breath leaving him. Warm breath brushes over bare skin.

“I’m sorry… I’m so sorry, my love. I didn’t mean to- I… I didn’t wish to upset you. I will stop. I’ve only missed you so much, I could not help-” His voice is apologetic, saddened. It breaks his heart to see you so distraught. Jacaerys thinks his advances are unwanted, that you are disgusted by his undead return.

That could not be farther from the truth.

You cut him off quickly.

“No-” Your voice cracks over the words. You swallow thickly, clutching his hand to your lips as if he’ll disappear at the slightest loosening. “Please. Please, stay. I want you. I need you so badly, Jacaerys… Let me be close to you again. Let us be one.” You utter, voice watery and edging on desperation.

You crave this closeness with him, to feel your husband as yours once again. You have no clue if he will even be able to return to you after this. What rules to the dead follow? You will take all you can of him, let him consume you, possess you.

His fingers mess with the lacy bottom of your nightdress again, testing the waters. He presses his lips to your shoulder blade.

“You are sure?” Jacaerys whispers against you, needing your permission. He wants his wife again. To feel as if he can be hers in the way she needs him again, even if just for a short moment.

“Please…” You almost beg, desire sweeping through your undertones. Your gentle hand finds his own on your thigh, guiding his nimble hand under your chemise and between her thighs. There is an audible hitch in his breath as you guide him to cup you through your small clothes.

You sniffle and gasp, arching into his touch.

Jacaerys curses softly, you feel long lashes brush against your skin as he screws his eyes shut. He shifts against you, hand leaving your guidance only for a moment to grasp your thigh. It’s hitched over his hip, opening you for him. You’re almost surprised to feel that his skin is bare behind you. You ache to look upon him, to cup his face and kiss him till your heart is whole again… but you stay how he wants you.

His hand returns to you again, gingerly brushing over the inside of your thigh. He’s memorizing the feel of you again, of your smooth skin under his own. You feel so alive, so plush, thrumming with the ichor of life. He groans as his hand slips to the apex of your thighs again, feeling your smallclothes are already damp. You wriggle against him, hiccuping with soft cries as your tears refuse to cease.

He whispers your name, a breathless prayer. His chin perches on your shoulder as he continues to feel you through your fabric. Downy curls brush across your cheek, soaking up the dampness that lies upon it. His other hand moves from your kisses to tug down the neckline of your chemise, revealing your bare chest. You whine as he takes one in his palm, thumbing over it. Your eyes flutter shut, head leaning back against him. He takes this as an invitation to kiss your bare throat. You push yourself back into him, feeling his arousal at your haunches. Jacaerys makes a soft noise of pleasure, hips grinding against you for only a moment.

His hand at your core shifts. Your breath picks up, stuttering over gentle whimpers, as he slides his nimble fingers beneath your smallclothes. He’s murmuring soft words into your skin, yet your mind can hardly process them when his fingers swipe through your wet center. You gasp, pressing back into him as your hips jerk into his touch.

He groans, biting lightly at your shoulder before soothing it with his tongue.

“Oh, my love…” He murmurs, sounding almost amazed. Jacaerys is breathless behind you, massaging your breast in one hand as the other explores your arousal. You can hardly take the perceived teasing, squirming in his hold.

Your tears have begun to slow, your sweet grief overshadowed by pleasure. You had not realized how much you’d craved his gentle intimacy till you had it again.

“Jacaerys, please.” You moan, hand reaching to wrap loosely around his wrist. He shushes you gently, pressing soothing kisses to the crook of your shoulder.

“I’ve got you…” Your husband soothes. His lithe digits press your clit for a moment, making you mewl, before he’s sliding a finger into you.

You gasp at the feeling, you have not felt such pleasure for too long. He’s mesmerized. His kisses have ceased their gentle assault as he watches with amazement, his eyes focused on his hand beneath your nightdress. You’re already slick enough for him to make the slide easy. The way you tighten your hand around his wrist and shift back against him is indicator enough that you need more.

His second finger breaches you easily. Your moan comes louder now, almost a sigh of relief. His fingers have always reached so much deeper than yours can, brushing against the gummy spot within you that he only knew to reach. You roll your hips with every gentle push of his fingers, a slow rhythm being set. He hums, lips skimming across your skin. Every once in a while, he sucks marks into your neck, laying waste to the previously clean slate. His hips buck against you, trying to find some friction. He cannot help it, it’s almost embarrassing. He craves you more than life itself.

Lashes brush across your cheeks as your eyes flutter. Every pump of his digits has you whining. He always stretches you so fully, so deeply. The sounds are almost embarrassing, a slick slide becoming apparent with every thrust. Your body welcomes his touch into your tight heat, wet and eager. Your cheeks burn, mind hazy with the pleasure of it all. Momentarily, you forget every bit of the world around you. You are his again and he is yours. You gladly let him take whatever he wants from you. Your heart is his.

He begins to curl his fingers within you, picking up the gentle pace. His thumb finds your pearl, rubbing it in tight circles. Your plump lips part over a mewl, your hips jerking into his every touch. Jacaerys feels as if he might come simply at the feeling of you against him once again; as your body melds to his, the way you squeeze his fingers tightly, the way you cry and beg for more. It has been far too long. But he never intends to leave you again.

“My poor wife…” He mumbles to you, his voice low and punched out. “Her pleasure has been neglected for far too long… I will fix that. I’ll make sure you never go without a warm bed for the rest of your life.” The undead prince promises. It does not occur to you at the time to think too deeply about his words.

Soon, you're writhing against him. Your eyes screw tightly shut, your throat constricting over moans. Your cunt squeezes and flutters around his digits, brought to release at his expert touches. You ride it out beautifully; lips parted, red marks blooming across the one side of your throat, body flushed, and your grasp on his wrist forcing him still as you take your pleasure from him. He can feel your release dripping down his palm, messy and desperate. It makes his body tighten with desire. He craves to be inside you, to make you his wife again, to feel the ultimate form of connection they can share.

“That’s it… Take what you need, my girl. You can have it all…” He praises, the filthy words curling over your skin. And you do.

You slump back into him, grip growing slack around his arm. He gingerly pulls his fingers from you, shushing you as you whine at the loss. His arm leaves you for a moment… but you hear him licking his hand clean of your release. It makes your gut swirl with heat, your body buzzing with the eagerness of having him again.

Jacaerys’ veined hand keeps working at your breast as he lets you catch your breath. Soon enough, you're shifting against him again. You can feel his cock pressed against you and he’s been so so patient. You press yourself back to him, you both moan in tandem with him at the friction it provides.

He suckles at your neck, breathing heavily. His hand tightens at your chest, feeling you almost roughly.

“Please.” He utters. Jacaerys was never one to beg easily. But his soft whimper always made your knees weak and heart flutter, arousal flowing through your veins like the wine of the gods. “Let me take you again, my heart… I’ve missed you. I just.. I just need you again.”

You're nodding before he can finish his next sentence. You want to kiss him so badly. You want to lick into his mouth as you let him claim you. You wish to spend all night with him warming your bed and pressing his imprint back into your body till the memory is ingrained into your sinews forever.

“Take me…” You breathe.

That’s all he needs.

Jacaerys moans against you. His nips at your pulse point as his free hand slides your small clothes down your legs. You kick them away swiftly. He hitches your leg over his bony hip once again, exposing your bared core.

He positions himself at your entrance, almost trembling with the effort to hold himself back. He pants against you, pressing his nose to your throat. Your eyes flutter as you feel his disheveled hair caressing your skin. Your body hums with anticipation, clenching around nothing.

It’s a momentary stillness, almost as if the room itself is holding its breath.

Then, he’s pushing into you.

You’ve never felt so complete. Your lips part over a silent moan, your body trembling against him. He groans loudly into your neck, almost whimpering. He mouths over your skin, as if to distract himself from the overwhelming pressure of sliding home to you once again. His kisses are wet and hot, tongue laving over your throat as if he was trying to eat you.

Your body flutters around him. He moves slowly, letting you adjust to taking him once again. It used to be a nightly ritual for you both, but now… it was something reverent. Your chest heaves, he fills you so completely. He isn’t even pressed in fully yet but it forces your body to make room for him. It’s beautiful. Jace’s hand tightens on your thigh, keeping you spread open despite your fluttering muscles.

Soon, you can almost feel him in your lungs. His hips press flush to your backside. You both pant, breathing synced. His thumb brushes your nipple, causing you to mewl and squirm against him. Your cunt flutters, adjusting to the stretch. You cannot handle the stillness any longer.

“Jacaerys…” You moan. He knows that inflection in your voice all too well. He rolls his hips against you, punching a groan out of you both. He feels almost frenzied, having your perfect body wrapped around his cock once again.

Soft rolls soon turn into gentle thrusts. It feels like he forces the air out of you with every move. The stretch soon becomes intensely pleasurable. His hand on your chest and thigh holds you in place, holding you open for him to take, for the slick slide of his cock. And you’re so much more than willing.

Your eyes flutter closed, your mouth parted with continuous whines and mewls. You sing so prettily for him. He tries to bite back his pathetic whimpers, but it’s little use. He’s soon moaning into your neck, always so loud and needy for you. He can feel your walls sucking him in, pulling him deeper with every thrust. His hips hit your plump backside with every move. He feels as if he’s reached heaven.

“My love..” He whines against your skin, greedily kissing and licking at any skin he can. He nips at your jaw, your throat, your pulse, your shoulder, even your arm. It’s frenzied, wet, hot, desperate.

“I’m sorry..” He rambles on, causing your chest to tighten. You whine, mouth opening to argue his apology but a moan takes its place as he picks up his pace.

“Broke my promise..” Jacaerys continues, nosing along your jaw. “But not anymore. Not leaving you ever again… My wife… my beautiful beautiful girl… Always so good for me. Saw you mourning me..” As he speaks, his hand moves from your thigh, finding your pearl and pressing mercilessly into it. It causes your body to jolt, your cunt fluttering around him. You’re left almost breathless with pleasure, voice hoarse from crying out to him in bliss.

“I’ll take care of you now.. I promise. Never again, never breaking my promise again… I’ve got you.” He murmurs, an oath formed with a gentle kiss to the thudding pulse beating against your neck. You gasp out, rolling your hips back into him with every firm slide of him within you.

You’re embarrassingly close already, body spasming around his length. He hits every place within you that makes your body light with fiery rapture. His hand has never moved from your chest, firmly holding you against his own as he feels you. The other works mercilessly at your clit, playing you like an instrument made just for him.

“I love you, I love you, I love you…” You repeat over and over again, the confession barely made over heaving breaths. Then, you’re pushed over the edge.

You cry out, gasping as waves of pleasure roll through you. You gasp and ramble meaningless sweet things, incoherent. You hear yourself repeating his name like a prayer. You clench tightly around him, taking all the pleasure you can. It makes him whine, arms tightening around you as he finds himself in a similar state.

Jace’s breaths are shaky, raspy as he pleads your name. It rolls off his tongue easier than his own, the sound melting over you like honey. The tight slide of him within you, the sounds you make, the all consuming heat of you against him has him following you over the edge.

A hand slides from your chest to your throat, tilting your head back against him as he muffles his pathetic moans into your throat. He pumps his hips; once, twice more before he’s spilling into you. He fills you to the very brim and you’ve craved that very warmth. You feel so alive, so full, so thoroughly had.

Panting is the only thing heard in the room, breathy whines reverberating off the stone walls. His hands slacken around you, shifting to a comfortable hold. You can feel Jace practically drooling on your shoulder, no doubt blissed out as he always is after such intimacy. He is pressed deeply within you, kissing your womb. He makes no move to remove himself yet.

But eventually, you whine from the overstimulating feeling and your body’s sensitivity. He shudders as he pulls out of you. You can feel his release dripping down your thighs. You regret the absence but you both know your bodies well enough to know it must be done.

You take advantage of the lull in his guard. You turn quickly in his arms to face him, too swift for him to make a move to stop you.

Jacaerys speaks your name, startled. It’s a protest that comes much too late.

Your heart feels as if it shatters in your chest.

He is your Jacaerys… but he is changed. He looks much like he did before. His skin contains its color, as if he still holds life. His freckles stand out on the bridge of his nose, his curls disheveled across his forehead, his eyes watery as they meet yours.

But what catches your attention the most is the crossbow bolt through his neck. The wound does not ooze and bleed as it would normally, it is more a stationary part of him now. There is only the red, irritated flesh where the metal enters and exits him. It is a cruel reminder of how he’d suffered his fate.

Jacaerys shuts his eyes tightly at the sound of your startled gasp. He turns his head into the pillow beneath him, almost looking ashamed. He hadn’t wanted you to see him like this… and yet you’d discovered him anyway.

Trembling hands reach out to cup his face, tilting it towards your own. When his eyes find yours, he finds your bright eyes filled with tears. Your bottom lip wavers with the effort to withhold your cries. He shushes you gently, his own hand coming up to brush away the first tear that falls.

“Oh, Jacaerys…” You murmur weakly. You're quick to pull him to you, clinging to him so tightly that he thinks his apparition of flesh will blend with your life. As your hands slide around his back to hug him, you discover two more bolts. One in his shoulder, the other in his lower back. You whimper against him, face pressed into his collarbone. You cannot imagine the pain he’d gone through… the fear he’d felt as he felt life slipping through his fingers and bleeding into a hungry ocean. Your warm tears seep into his skin. He holds you close in turn, his hands press their firm marks into your skin, clutching you close like you’re salvation. He buries his face deeply into your hair and shutting his own bleary eyes.

You’ve seen him, the worst of him, and your first instinct is to pull him to you… not to flinch away in fear or disgust… He loves you, more than anything else.

“I’m so sorry.” You sob into him, chest heaving with the weight of it. “I’m so sorry, Jace…”

He shakes his head immediately, pressing his lips to your hair.

“Don’t.” Jacaerys murmurs to you, his voice quiet and shaky. “It is no fault of yours, my heart…”

He gently pulls away to make you look up at him, his eyes soft as they meet your own. He presses your foreheads together.

“I’ve made it back to you, my love. I told you… the Stranger could not even keep me. I belong to you. Heart, body, and soul… You shall never be without me again. I will crawl back to you if I have to, always.” He promises. You do not comprehend the full extent of it but your heart warms with the words of utter devotion. Jacaerys has defied death and will continue to do so… for you.

He’s always been so stubborn.

Your eyes flutter shut as his lips brush your tears away.

“I am yours… I love you.” You whisper to him, throat tight but your words sincere.

Then, you press close to kiss him. It is all gentle and saccharine.

That night, you fall asleep with him in your bed. His tresses brush your chin as his face is buried into your neck, you can feel his breath fan across you, his plush lips pressed to your skin. His hand rests protectively over your still beating heart. You cannot feel the beat of his own, but his chest rises and falls with your breaths. Your arms rest around his shoulders, greedily holding him to you, face pressed to the crown of his head. The smell of cedar chokes you but you happily suffocate in it. His old cloak is wrapped around you both.

It is the best sleep you’ve had in weeks. -

The next morning, you wake alone.

You feel the most rested you have since Jacaerys has passed. The memory of his loving touch, even if just a dream, was a pleasant one you cling to as the Sun coaxes you awake. You are unsure if it was real. The more that dawn lights your rooms, the more unlikely it seems. The storm that has haunted Dragonstone for weeks has seemingly passed.

Strangely, your immediate grief is stifled as your eyes flutter open, something warm and pleasant wrapped about you like a blanket. Your body hums with the feeling of rest and intimate exertion. Jace’s burgundy cloak is tucked nicely around you, you bury your face into it until your handmaidens come to rouse you from your bed.

You are groggy, still half-asleep as they begin to dress you.

You are startled when one of your maidens gasps, stilling in her braiding of your hair.

“My lady! What has happened to your neck?”

Her hand cautiously brushes along your shoulder and you hiss, the skin surprisingly sensitive. Your eyes sharpen, finding what she’s talking about in the mirror.

Lying stark in hues of red, pink, and purples are violent looking love bites.

#jacaerys velaryon #fanfiction #house of the dragon #jacaerys x reader #jacaerys x you

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dvesinthewind · 6 months ago

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Dream of You | Gladiator/ST Crossover

During final season, you drag Eddie along with you to gather information on a particular Ancient Roman art piece. Unexpectedly, the experience hurls you past the line between real life and fantasy.

A/N: WC 3.3K I got the inspiration from a book I'm currently reading; A Witch in Time by Constance Sayers. Much like all of my works, this is entirely self-indulgence. Though I am a history geek, there may be some historical inconsistencies. I am aware the real Emperor Geta did not look anything like Joseph Quinn. Nevertheless, enjoy ;)

Warnings: eddie munson x f!reader x emperor geta, mentions of passing out, head injury, switching of time periods, blood, mentions of death typical to the period, wounds, fluff, angst

Hawkins, Indiana. 1986

A sharp pain swiped across your forehead as you rubbed your temples. The bridge of your nose left heavy from the frames resting upon them. Glaring at the exhibit in front of you, what stared back was an article of clothing, or what was left of it, from the Roman Empire. The garment was plain and ravished of its original pigment, yet it stood powerfully inside the glass casing. In fabulous shape for its age, the item was described to be feminine. It was completely unfamiliar and a stark difference from the fashion you were clad in currently. Nevertheless, you felt a wave of nostalgia for something that was never yours.

Your hand skimmed over the stitching of your jacket, leaving your fingertips curious if the soft material would survive such turmoil. It was then that you imagined yourself in the garment, standing on uneven ground in a bustling empire. You imagined the fluorescent lighting beaming down on you as the harsh Roman sun, penetrating your skin sweetly during the summer months. Eyes finding your own reflection in the glass pane, the silhouette of the mannequin merged with the outline of your own shape. Completely submersed, you neglected to see the figure approaching from behind. A swift hand found its way to your waist, a chin tucking along the cave of your shoulder.

"Might I say, you'd look fantastic in that? Whatever it is."

You spun on your heels to face the culprit. Smirking infamously, your boyfriend peered right back at you.

You scoffed. "You don't even know what it is."

"Does anyone?"

Brows raising playfully, you responded. "Arguably, yes." Your final paper was supposed to consist of research on a particular piece of ancient art and its function during the time period. Eddie didn't care for school like you did, and though the assignment was dreadful, it filled some of that insatiable hunger for knowledge everlastingly persisting in your brain. So, as long as Eddie was able to stick by your side, he was happy to comply with educational activities.

"Is this what you were looking for?" He asks. His face contorts into slight shock, as if he were disappointed in the garment's lack of personality. Your head bobs up and down in response. The two of you stand side by side, viewing the exhibit before you. Eddie's leather jacket and combat boots were yet another stark comparison, and it leaves you wondering what he might've looked like centuries ago.

Bemusement settles into the gap between his brows, eyes skimming the description behind the glass; a small panel inscribed with such little detail, for it's all that is known of this article. Eddie allows his weight to shift onto his opposite foot, expressing what you interpreted as impatience. His leather garments squeak with every uncomfortable shift, prompting a frown to settle along your lips. "I'm sorry this is so boring to you." You stated, avoiding eye contact even through the glass.

The brunet shifted towards you quickly, and in the corner of your eye, you could see his immediate apologetic pout. "No, no, I'm not bored at all. It's just that there's something I want you to see."

Eddie has you clinging onto his bicep as he weaves through the museum halls, as if something is drawing him to a particular exhibit. Concentration swallows his brown irises. Each stride has you quickening your own steps, leaving your heeled shoes clacking in competition with muted conversations. Your boyfriend loses the determination in his broad shoulders, noticeably loosening as his gaze settles on a near statue. Breathlessly, Eddie laughs. A tint of pink rushes over his pale complexion. "Now, I want you to know I don't see it at all."

"What are you talking about, Eddie?"

As you approach the marbled statue, a chill settles deep inside of your spine. It's uncanny. The hair sticks up on the back of your neck, almost as if it's prying itself off. You know he's scanning your reaction, yet your mouth cannot change from its position fixed agape.

"One of the workers approached me, told me I resemble—"

"Eddie," you choke out. "It's uncanny." You can't put a finger on why it's making you speechless, yet the sculpture is terrifyingly familiar. The feeling is intimate, like being reminded of a memory from when you were a child—you never remember the picture clearly until someone paints it for you. Emperor Publius Septimius Geta, it inscribed. Yet, it should've had your boyfriend's name instead. As the peculiarity of it somewhat haunted you, everything that happened in Hawkins was way more concerning. You never believed in the mythical, but as the marble statue stared back at you, you pondered the existence of reincarnation.

"Sweetheart, you're fucking with me, right?" But any protest was left hanging lifeless on the tip of your tongue. Mouth dryly agape in disbelief, you examined the sculpture of the late Roman emperor. How had you not seen this before?

Each detail, from the bridge of his nose to the curvature of his brow, mirrored those of Eddie's. His tousled curls were much shorter than your boyfriend's, yet your own fingers tingled with nostalgia. You could feel the curled strands slipping off the pads of your fingertips and bouncing back against the head of hair. Eddie rambled on about his spoken ancestry, denying any possibility of relation.

"This isn't the craziest part, though." Eddie reveals, excitedly. Grabbing your limp hand, he drags you to the following display. Something resembling a cruel joke, the painting before you delicately expressed Geta and Wife, in which the woman beside the Emperor was adorned with a complexion identical to yours. Age had swept greedily over patches of the canvas, but her features were undeniably yours. Staring back at you with identical irises and jewels resting on her bare neck, the woman somewhat mocked you.

Eddie rubs the back of his neck as he takes in your shellshocked state. An uncomfortable chuckle leaves his lips. "Kinda creepy, right?" You can't respond. Your heartbeat rattles against your temples. "I guess we found our celebrity doppelgängers." Eddie laughs once again, and had you not been so focused, you would've felt the warmth trickle from your nostril, splashing onto your black shoes like a drop of rain. "Honey, you're bleeding." The brunet brings your chin into his hand and hisses at your noticeable decrease in temperature. The color drains from your face, dragging your vision along with it. It spills onto the ground, beside the splatter of your blood.

"I don't feel well." The words leave your lips successfully, but you are unable to hear them for yourself. The symphony of ringing against your eardrums mutes any plea for assistance. Eddie's frantic expression is the last thing you see before your body hits the hard surface of the linoleum.

Rome, Italy. 209 A.D.

An inconsistent breeze brushes against your skin. Eyes closed, you imagine the ceiling fan clattering above your head. Envisioning Eddie's bedroom fan as it rotates, brushing cool air that trickles down to your position on his bed. The surface beneath your back is somewhat harsher than you remember it to be, however. You don't inhale subtle breaths of your boyfriend's cologne; instead, the ground beneath you begins to dig into your delicate skin. The warm air engulfing you prompted confusion. How long had you been out? Expecting such memorable scenery, you slowly adjust to prying yourself from slumber. Expecting the inevitable darkness that was Eddie's shaded room, you instead peel your eyes open to see a handful of leaves being thrust into your face. Each stroke pushing fresh air into you, as coos are heard around your fragile silhouette. Several pairs of eyes grow in size as they watch you gain consciousness. Frozen on the apparent concrete, the whites of your own eyes swelled. The person fanning you paused quickly, and a feminine gasp left their lips.

"Augusta! You are okay. I must gather your husband." The woman all but jumps from her crouched position and runs out of the small box-like room. Her native tongue is far different than yours, yet your fluency in understanding is just as bizarre. Surveying the crowd of oddly dressed people and their pitiful glances, you soon realize the humor at hand. You must be dreaming of Ancient Rome. Your heartbeat thumps against your temples, rattling loud enough to deafen any surrounding clatter. Gentle hands find the crevice of your elbow and lift you from your fallen state. Only then do you get a glimpse of the exact state you're truly in. Oh, my God, you beg breathlessly. Knees buckling like they had in the museum, you're caught by the same strong arms. Moving for you, the individual places you into a sturdy chair, where you can successfully overlook the Colosseum's promising views in their glory.

A man, paler than a vampire, tilts his head sideways, peering at your delicate state with faux sympathy. Thin lines become of his blue eyes, and a condescending smirk spreads across his sick face. "Brother, it appears your wife has seemingly lost it. Perhaps in such a fugue state, she will choose a new husband." He snickers. Brother? The acknowledgment of your situation only worsens the nausea menacing in the back of your throat. Had this truly been a dream, why did it make an example of all of your senses? If you had truly concussed yourself at the museum, why were you living and breathing in a flourishing ancient empire? The golden wreath situated on the infected one's head beamed pridefully in the Roman sun. His confidence was as repulsive as his appearance.

"Shut up, Caracalla!"

"She cannot handle it; you shouldn't have brought her here again." Caracalla spits. Turning to face your defender, your gut churns as if one had tampered with the very water several women were pouring down your dry throat—maids of some sort, you assumed. Servants that worked for the familiar man sitting directly next to you. His large brown eyes plead as he examines your body language. Those same freezing goosebumps mumbled threats against your clothed spine. You couldn't help but gasp as you caught his gaze.

"Eddie?" You know it isn't him, yet you couldn't hold the name back from leaving your agape lips. Suddenly, your lips felt overwhelmingly dry against your complexion, as if the very name spilled venom over your already split pout.

The man raises a hand, caressing your temple. A streak of blood paints his fingertips. Yet, he doesn't react to it like he does the fallen gladiators. This drop seems to offend him. You watch as his thick brows furrow in frustration, and he barks at a nearby servant. "I should never have brought you here. Either the persistent heat is flustering you, or the series of deaths in the arena." The same brows lift in anticipation. He is demanding. You've learned that rather quickly.

"Perhaps both." The Emperor's shoulders loosen slightly at your small smile. Studying your husband, you are seeing him for what he has never been before. In the flesh, Geta is cruelly pale. It is apparent he is decorated for the occasion, as his eyelids are messily black as if a toddler broke into their mother's makeup. Tousles of yellow curls flush against his head—a color you'd never expect your beloved to cherish. Familiar with seeing Eddie clad in an ocean of black, Emperor Geta is confidently donned in an array of vibrance and a parade of wealth. You supposed you were as well, as the tired eyes of the patrons sitting beneath you reminded you of your apparent status. Your status?

Conflicted in what was real and what was fantasy, you found yourself absorbing the sweet Roman air. It was better than you had envisioned in the museum. The clang of clashing swords mirrored the golden bangles decorating your wrists, clattering in their own fashion as you nonchalantly caressed your cheek. Your gaze avoided the violence raging before you. It was one thing to read about it and another to see it for yourself. Your gaze was not the only one paying no mind to the excitement. Reluctantly, turning to face the man beside you reminded you of your own boyfriend centuries into the future. Geta’s face was scrunched in skepticism, as if your thoughts were being whispered to him while you conjured them. The fine lines in his forehead mirrored those of Eddie's. The way he studied every inch of your being for maltreatment, injury, and inflicted imperfections was inherently familiar, just as it was romantic. It was extraordinary how different, yet similar, both men were.

Geta stretched out a gentle hand, where you met him with your own. The calluses imbedded into the plush of his parched flesh could not be the result of vigorous guitar playing but the executions of an emperor.

His attention to you was cut short by the demands of a cacophonous arena, ravenous for a gladiatorial victor. Concert venues you’d attended had nothing on the boisterous Colosseum crowd. The starving eyes of vengeful spectators met your seemingly naive ones. Children just the same age as Will Byers when he was taken scream piercingly for the Emperors to choose the inevitable fate of the loser. Spits of sours amongst miscellaneous objects hurled into the dirt-like stage. And as Geta arrogantly signifies approval for the unfortunate’s execution, your quick feet exit the secluded box—leaving you exempt from watching the gladiator’s life seep back into the earth.

Back in the palace, you'd somewhat begun to adjust to life in a different time period. It helped that with each step you took, someone was almost walking for you. Every corner you rounded, an anticipated item of decor greeted you pleasantly. This was your home after all, and it began to not feel so paranormal. Admitting to yourself that you were the historical wife of an emperor was a different feat altogether.

Finding yourself in the very bedroom you and the Emperor shared, you sat quietly in your desk chair. The mirror before you presented the makeup delicately added to your complexion. Paler than usual, you did not resemble the illness your brother-in-law wore pompously. Hair swept up into a neat updo, the skin of your neck was exposed. Goosebumps gathered along your shoulders as the bedroom door whisked open. Standing rather awkwardly, Geta once again resembled the man you loved in Hawkins. His shy demeanor struck you as peculiar. As he approached your sitting silhouette, a gentle kiss was felt on the side of your neck. "Something is different about you."

Heat settles into the pit of your stomach, finding yourself somewhat starved as his lips left behind a burn on your skin. Wanting more, you reply. "Admittedly, I am a bit scattered today."

Geta crouches down to your level, grabbing your hands in the process. How does this work exactly? Is it a vivid dream you'll be reluctant to wake from, or an alternate reality? His pleading eyes prompt guilt into your gut. "Darling, allow me to jog your memory." He says, though it resembles more of a beg. Effortlessly, your husband leads you across the grand palace. With each step echoing on the polished floor, Geta waves off the entourage of guards following suit. It is just the two of you standing under the beaming sun now, surrounded by a garden larger than the town of Hawkins itself. Still adorned in his attire from the Colosseum, Geta glows under the warm lighting. His yellow hair absorbs the glare, illuminating proudly in response. It is there that Geta embodies a God. Every inch of his entirety soaks in the golden brilliance. From the prominent bridge of his nose to the rise and fall of his armored chest, you admire him shamelessly.

"It is as if you do not recognize me." He admits. "As if this is your first time seeing me."

"You wouldn't believe me if I told you."

Geta shakes his head profusely, a frown etching on his pale face. He steps before you then, blocking the beaming sun from heating you any further. You are reminded that in this life, he controls your well-being. Yet, as his hand cups your cooling face, the Emperor is not your ruler, or your God, but your equal. "Your silence wounds me. Please, confide in me."

It is your turn to bob your head sideways in objection. A pitiful laugh escapes your stained lips. "You will think I am mentally disturbed."

The blond tilts your chin for easier access, dipping his head to caress his lips to yours. Embracing his kiss pleasantly, you bring a hand to the back of his neck—almost in desperation for the moment to never fully conclude. Against your mouth, Geta whispers. "I wish nothing but to bring life back to yours."

The man held you whilst waiting for your confession, yet you couldn't shake the concern that if you confessed, you'd be sent forward in time. Had you revealed the truth of your origin, would you wake up from this fantasy you had grown to adore? Eddie was presumably waiting for you in the 80s, where your life expectancy was much longer. Geta would die in a few years at the hands of his own brother, meaning your life would likely be cut short as well.

"I am not from this time. I'm from 1986." The statement felt as ridiculous to hear aloud as it did in the comfort of your head. Geta's gaze never left yours, but as if he could get any paler, any semblance of color drained right from his face. You imagined it seeping into the ground, just as the gladiator's had. Panic began to brew.

"I'm not understanding. You're from years into the future?"

"Yes, at least this version of me."

His lingering hand leaves your cheek, once again staining it with heat as it departs. Your husband runs the newly free hand over his hair, tousling the curls into a mess. "But you're here? You are my wife. We are married."

"I'm not exactly sure. It feels as if I'm dreaming. I suppose both things are true at once."

Geta nods in what appears to be acceptance. Whether or not he understands is unclear, but as he grabs a rose from the bush behind him, he appears to be in solitude. Fumbling with the green stem, you watch as uncertainty settles in his brown eyes. There are a million things he could ask you, compromising things that could change the outcome of the future and many series of events. The curiosities congregate at the front of his brain, pulling the infamous furrow between his brows. Yet, he won't ask. Instead, he brings his grip onto your clothed waist, pulling you into his firm body. The sun beats down on the two of you, though its embrace is nothing compared to the Emperor's. Geta tucks strands of hair behind your ear and offers you the white flower. "If this much is true," he begins. "I shall love you in every lifetime."

Geta presses his lips onto yours once more, and by the time you open your eyes again, you are back to where you started.

Seemingly in the museum once more, Eddie holds your head in his hands, as if it would roll off if he lessened his grip. He searches your face vigorously, brows pinched in desperation. He brings your limp hand to his lips and presses them to your skin. His long hair tickles you gently, yet you hiss as you feel a sting along your fingertip. Glancing down, you find a minuscule hole poked into the plush of your hand. Blood pours from the wound leisurely, as if plucked from the grasp of a rose's thorn.

#stranger things fanfiction #eddie munson x reader #emperor geta x reader #gladiator fanfiction #stranger things x reader #gladiator ii fanfiction #gladiator x reader

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aachria · 1 year ago

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The long awaited (maybe? Idk how many of you were waiting for this) SSSBMTY College AU!

Majors in bold

Headcanons in regular text

Notes about the art indented in orange

Luffy — Undeclared

Was forced into school by his gramps. (The university dean. The fucking dorm building all the Strawhats but Jimbei live in is named after him.)(it was this or join the navy.) Takes the most random classes he can. Some of them are advanced and require perquisites and no one knows how he keeps getting into them. Wears shorts and sandals in winter & will run any errand or do any odd job for food. He has a very nice bike he got for free from a garage sale that Franky fixed up. There's a campus wide bet on when and what he'll choose as his major. His bucket hat was a gift from Shanks, the universities World Economics prof. Has a million friendship bracelets on his ankles because Ed makes them when they're stressed. Never has a bag on him. Fights Canadian geese on the way to class, like a fucking maniac. Protected species who?

When I tell you that this drawing of Luffy is the first time I've ever drawn actual feet with toes that don't look fucking ridiculous I need to cheer for me. Why is he a different flavour of boy every time I draw him please. His ass isn't rubber in this universe, of course he's scuffed to shit. Chopper ran out of Spiderman bandaids, sorry bud. Advocate for the Single Piercing Luffy™ agenda, he went and got it done with Ed when they got their helix.

Ed — English major Psychology minor

Took History of Piracy for easy grades & a story idea. Known around campus as that asshole who'll tell you exactly which of your roommates ate your leftovers for $5. Is roommates with Luffy because of a system mix-up when they got distributed. Always wears a Burberry trench coat Nami thrifted for $3 and gave them as a bday gift. Carries everything in a ratty falling apart messenger bag. Them and Luffy filled out marriage papers on a dare, Zoro (who got legally ordained on a dare minutes before) oversaw that, Zoro and Ed filed the papers when they were drunk. So Ed and Luffy are legally married. And they don't even notice until tax season and Jonah, Ed's accounting friend, asks about it.

I need you to ignore the inconsistence with the hands in these ok? Some of them get very nice and normal hands, and others get weird shaped blobs. Sorry Ed, them's the breaks kid.

Zoro — Health and Fitness major Mathematics minor

Literally no one knows why he has a Mathematics minor, least of all him. P sure he walked into the wrong class on the first day and just stuck with it. The most terrifying captain of the kendo team the university has ever had. He's won more championships and trophies in his tenure than the school has in its history, the revenue he brings in from sponsorships and such make them turn a blind eye to his... eccentricities (three sword style. Nobody has stopped him yet, anyone who says it's illegal gets penalized). Has had campus security called on him so often from being creepy when walking home from the gym in the dark there's a poster of him in the security office that says 'NOT ACTUALLY A THREAT. JUST WEIRD AND WALKS WITH PURPOSE.'

Zoro's sword patch on his jacket was designed by Usopp, embroidered by Luffy for a class (shittily) and fixed up and sewn on by Ed. Those docs have seen war. He has put them through hell. He has walked through a fucking river with those things, he superglues them back together every time they break. Franky had to strongarm him into getting the soles professionally replaced.

Nami — Meteorology major Finance minor

All of her clothes are thrifted designer things. Regularly terrorizes Value Village employees. Anything she has that isn't thrifted she gets from the many estate sales she plagues, snatching grandma's entire Chanel collection and all her nicest jewelry. She has absolutely everything anyone could ever need in her purse. Tampons and pads? She gotchu. Extra pens? It'll cost you, but yeah. A curling iron? Sure, why the hell not. She runs the betting pool on Luffy's major with Ed. She also writes a gossip column for the school newspaper and has a podcast she uploads a new episode to every few months. Shows up to every class looking like a supermodel no matter the time. 7am? Perfect. 10pm? Fabulous. Your go-to if you get locked out of your dorm. Has a moped but barely uses it.

Nami's bag is a large Prada Gallaria Saffiano bag, which I painstaking drew to accuracy down to the colour even though it still looks ever so slightly different, because Nami is a big purse girl. The compass rose necklace was a going away gift from Nojiko when she left for uni. I think her haircut is so cute I love her sm. Don't pay any mind to how fucking disheveled half of their lineart looks next to her pls.

Usopp — Graphic Design major

Not a member of the archery club, but shows up enough he’s in all the team photos. Was originally the designated driver, had a pretty little mini van they called the Merry, had one of those fucking fuzzy dice hanging mirror things in the shape of a sheep’s head. Got in a bad car accident and she got totaled by some jackass in a red Honda Civic. Dating Kaya, who’s a nursing student. They barely see each other because she’s so fucking busy and half the students are convinced the girlfriend Usopp is always talking about and calling is fake. The Strawhats have a dnd campaign that they run every other week, Usopp DM's. On weekends he works at an axe throwing range and holds the record for most bullseyes in a row. They have his picture mounted on the wall.

Usopp's necklace is the old key to the Merry, and he engraved his belt buckle for a project. I cursed his ass with the giant fuck off portfolio bag because those things are so big and unwieldy. The people in his program's studio never clean their paint up properly, that's why he's covered in it. Advocate for the Usopp With Gages™ agenda. God he is such a cutie patootie.

Sanji — Business degree

Literally grew up working in a restaurant, he’s only going to school to get the degree so he can open his own and also because Zeff threated to castrate him if he didn't get a higher education. Cooks basically every single meal for the dorm, since it’s just the Strawhats (it's a new (old it's old and was refurbished. Everyone assumed it was haunted.) building that they just dedicated to Garp. Has no other residents yet). Him and Zoro fight so much in their shared room half the time he ends up kicking him out and making him sleep in the community room lmao. He just shows up in half the culinary classes because he hates the business ones so much, the one time someone tried to tell him to leave he cussed them out for a full ten minutes while gesticulating wildly with a knife in hand. They never tried that again. Saw one of the profs berate a young lady for wearing a dress shirt to class because it’s impractical and proceeded to take that personally. Yeah he wears three piece suits to all his classes, he could still kick you ass in ‘em. Shut up. Volunteers to show around foreign exchange students because he can speak at least 4 foreign languages fluently. Is it to woo pretty French girls with his charm? Wouldn't you like to know.

I could not draw Sanji in a decent pose for the life of me, his ass was just not having it. He's got one of them really nice leather messenger bags with the lined pockets and filigree, he's very proud of it.

Chopper — PreMed

One of the few Strawhats who regularly sees Usopp’s reclusive girlfriend, and is very confused as to why people think she isn’t real. Still a literal child (is 15 still a child? Yeah that's like barely a teenager), a goddamn prodigy and got in with an incredibly good recommendation from the best doctor in the country, who just so happens to be his adoptive mother. He’s literally too cute for anyone to question that, plus he’s the sharpest tack in the damn class. He knocked his front tooth out ages ago (it was an adult tooth) but he's too fucking busy to get an appointment to get it fixed, just adds another layer to his babyface. Nice girls keep asking him if he's here to go see his parents or older siblings, he's endlessly infuriated by it and Sanji is endlessly jealous. Saved Ed from choking to death in a Domino's parking lot the first time they met, he dropped his pizza doing it so they bought him another. The rest is history. Does not feel cold, wears chunky boots year round. Got them reflective ass eyes like a deer, no one has ever taken a good picture of this child. He looks fucking possessed in his school ID.

TELL ME WHY I ALMOST FORGOT TO DRAW CHOPPER. I finished drawing Franky and was like "gee, only Brook and Jimbei to go! Good for me," and then I had to pause while looking as the picture of the group I was semi-referencing for heights n shit and was like "OH FUCK THE CHILD—" He's so cute tho. He's giving lil baby Goro Akechi. The argyle sweater vest and Timbs were a must, so was his hockey boy haircut. Matching backpack and tie for the win. Oh and the freckles, Chopper with freckles is everything to me.

Robin — Has a million hyper specific degrees. Currently earning her third doctorate.

Very mysterious and sexy. Mature student who occasionally gives lectures in the archeology program when she has free time. Owns a motorcycle but barely rides it. How is she not in debt after so much schooling? Don't fucking ask if you want to live. Is that why she lives in the dorm building? Do. Not. Ask. She and Luffy attend the same Theology class, no one knows how Luffy is passing with such good grades, but Robin is adamant that he doesn't take notes or borrow hers, and takes to having the same scores as him with grace. Child actor on one of those show like Barney (but not Barney dear lord) or Reading Rainbow and people only knew her as 'that kid with the creepy fuckin stare.' She was a meme a few years back, they called her the devil child. Every time someone asks her about it she just says she has no idea what they're talking about while giving them the creepy stare.

Women with Big Bags truther, right here. Robin deserves to be put in a suit. Goddamnit, get that woman in a suit!

Franky — Has a bachelors of Engineering, a bachelors of Architecture, and is earning his (water specific) Architecture degree

Currently the groups designated driver (after the tragic death of the poor Merry) with his supped up SUV, the Sunny. How do all the Strawhats fit inside? The power of love, obviously. That car will NOT fucking move if even one of the seatbelts is undone. Made Ed and Luffy wedding rings after he found out they accidentally got married. (Only after laughing for a half our straight, almost passing out, and laughing again. Then he cried for another hour about how beautiful it was.) He sometimes works as a nude model for life drawing classes on campus. Half of the the Strawhats have, in one way or another, seen him in the buck. Has knee braces from an... incident... with a train when he was younger. Now he volunteers at KidsAbility and has a shift on the campus crisis/suicide hotline. Huge advocate for mental health services at the school. He lives in the dorms for the ✨experience✨. Even worse than Luffy, mf wears booty shorts in the dead of winter. He's constantly dressed like It's laundry day. One of those guys from a famous Vine when he was younger that just gets stopped while he's walking so people can go "TRAMPOLINE VASE GUY??" (Iceberg was recording. I love Iceberg.)

Yes Franky is wearing an I ♥ MILFs shirt, what of it? It was a gift. Drawing him was an exercise in struggling with the pompadour and getting uncomfortably close to drawing Syndrome. Yes, he's cold all the time. No, he will not stop.

Brook — Literally no one knows. Something music related probably.

Fucker has been around forever, there’s old ass profs who swear to god they went to school with him and he hasn’t aged a day. Regularly plays local bars and cafes. Doesn't own a cellphone, he can literally only operate rotary phones. Computers confuse the shit out of him. Knows nothing about pop culture or recent events, but is up to date on everything in the music industry. He sometimes helps organize the old library archives because he's somehow the only person who understands the system they're organized in. Sometimes he'll just namedrop a famous singer/band he's either played with, done karaoke with, or done background vocals/instrumentals for and you have to guess whether he's telling the truth or just saying shit. There's a campus wide betting pool (run by Nami and Ed, go figure) on whether he's a vampire, ghost, time traveler, or Dorian Gray in disguise. Prepares the questions for 70s night pub trivia. Every time the Strawhats plan a ghost hunt he's busy, then at the end they find out that all the paranormal shit they've been experiencing is just him running his errands. It's happened at least four times.

Is Brook off-putting enough? I was trying to make him off-putting. He swears up and down the neck tattoo was gotten on a dare by Elton John, what, you gonna question a man who looks like he stepped out of Coraline? The skeleton gloves were a gift from Ed.

Jimbei — Has already graduated as a Marine Biology major Political Science minor and is taking both a Gender Studies course and a Peace and Conflict Studies course years later.

Teaches martial arts at a local dojo on weekends and volunteers with the martial arts team on campus. Robin helps him organize protests on weekends. He's good buds with a lot of the faculty and gets invited to after work drinks regularly. He helped establish a program that walks people who stay late at the library to their dorms when he was first a student that's still going strong to this day. Lives off campus and has the Strawhats over for BBQ on long weekends. Literally the only time the Strawhats eat food not made by Sanji. The Grill Master™. Somehow holds some kind of record or high score at every single bar/pub in town. Knows every single mailman and janitor by name. MVP of the catch and release fishing club, helps plan all of their trips.

I struggled with him. I struggled hard. That's a man who went his whole childhood with a horrendous underbite and only got it fixed once he was an adult. Ed gave him the fishing lure earrings out of guilt after he brought them on one of his fishing trips and they fell in and nearly capsized their boat. IT'S A REUSED PLASTIC BAG JIMBEI IS RESPONSIBLE ABOUT THE ENVIRONMENT—

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leighsartworks216 · 9 months ago

Text

The Raven

Sylus x gn!Reader (more fem coded)

Can be read as a prequel to Lap Dog or as a standalone. (There are inconsistencies when read as a prequel.)

I love them, your honor. I just love the idea of Sylus with a badass partner that he knows can take care of themself. I spent all morning doing nothing but writing this and now my head hurts ;-; worth it

Warnings: violence, injury, implied/reference torture, selectively mute reader, flirting, drinking, alcohol

Word Count: 3,569

Main Masterlist

Love and Deepspace Masterlist

The Raven Masterlist

AO3

Tag List Form

First Meeting:

A name in whispers spreads around auctions and black market galas. The hush is a silent, fearful reverie for the one who owns it. A prayer to their godhood. It crops up more and more, stoking the flames of curiosity.

The Raven.

Sylus has spent hours trying to dig up scraps of information about this fascinating newcomer, a testament to their ability to stay secret. Usually, he can have everything there is to know about a person in a few minutes or less, down to the second they were born and their favorite places to frequent. It was easy, child’s play. So to come up with mere scraps of speculative guesses at best, it draws him in deeper. The only thing he can find for certain is the protocore purchased by them almost three months ago.

He has an invitation for the next auction before it even becomes announced to other interested parties.

The products on display are boring. He glances at each one, but there’s nothing interesting about them at all. Instead, his attention is focused on the potential buyers who browse each selection like they’re in search of a fine wine. Most of them linger for a second or two, then walk to the next. Others place starting bids. But one person does neither. They stand in front of a red protocore, staring it down like they’re dedicated to studying its every intricacy.

It’s the same kind of protocore the Raven purchased months ago.

He flags down a bid assistant. “Ten million on the red protocore,” he says.

The assistant looks down at her datapad. “I’m sorry, sir. The highest bid on it currently stands at 12 million.”

He smirks. “Double it.”

“Right away, sir.”

He watches the stranger from afar. The assistant nearby cautiously walks to their side. They don’t look up or react at all as he speaks to them. The assistant stops speaking. Sylus holds his breath.

Play the game, won’t you? he thinks.

The stranger’s hand gestures for the datapad. The assistant hands it over. They study the screen, before slowly turning, scanning the crowd. Their eyes land firmly on Sylus. He doesn’t budge or falter, doesn’t react to being “caught”.

They grin slightly as they tap at the screen, then look up. The assistant next to him clears her throat. “Excuse me, sir? The bid has gone up to 120 million.”

They raised the bid by 5 times. They are playing the game.

“Two hundred.”

They look back at the tablet. Press a couple keys and look up. The assistant by them is antsy, but politely stands to the side.

“It’s at 249 million, sir.”

He tilts his head. They smile. “Two-fifty.”

They glance at the screen and hand the tablet back to the assistant. They calmly turn around, looking at the 250 million red protocore. He passes the assistant his black card. She scans it quickly and hands it back with a bow.

He crosses the bidding floor to stand beside the stranger. “How would you like it wrapped?” he asks.

You look up at him, sly and mischievous in the red glow. You tap your earlobe.

He chuckles. “Earrings, then.” He looks at the protocore. Now that he’s up close, he can see for certain that there is nothing unique about it whatsoever. It hasn’t been altered and it’s not especially rare, not when compared to the rest. He wonders what you see in it. “And how should I have them delivered to you, Raven?”

You tilt your head, like you’re surprised to hear him know that name. But you just smile, shake your head, and walk away. He doesn’t follow. He wonders what game you’re stringing him into.

Second Meeting:

It’s not an auction he sees you in next, but a gala. You’re dressed in a rich red color, black feathers accentuating your shoulders and drawing in the eyes of other attendees. You pay none of them any mind. You stand on a mezzanine, idly sipping from a glass and watching all the little people below. You spot him first.

He grabs a glass of wine for himself as he joins you. It’s smooth and rich, if not overly floral.

You lean against the railing as he approaches, expectant. He smirks as he pulls a box from his inner coat pocket and passes it over. You set your glass on the railing to open it. Inside the black box is a pair of earrings. Golden wire cradles the protocore fragments delicately, like a hand around a throat threatening to squeeze. You smile.

“I trust they’re to your liking?”

You hold the open box out to him and he holds it in one hand. You pull out one earring and hold it up to the light of the elaborate chandelier above. It shimmers and shines. Red light glimmers on your face. You immediately slide it in place, adjusting by feel until it sits right. You take the other from the box and do the same. They make you look regal.

“Beautiful,” he compliments softly. You smile and take a sip of your drink. He closes the box and tucks it back into his pocket. “Are you here for business?”

You nod and look back down over the banister. He steps closer and joins you, looking over to try seeing what you’re searching for. It’s his fault for letting his guard down when he feels your hand pluck his phone from his pocket. You lean your back against the railing again, screen faced away from him as you type.

He chuckles at your misdirection, crossing his arms as he leans over to see what you’re doing. You’ve unlocked his phone with no issues and scroll calmly through his contacts, reading the numbers carefully as you search. “What are you looking for?” he wonders softly. You smile, but don’t look at him.

You glance over your shoulder to the ground floor, then back to the phone. You open a new message and type in a number he doesn’t recognize. He scans the words as you quickly type them out.

My partner for the evening is interested in the guns you claim to have hidden away here. Care to show them around?

“Is your trade in assassination, Raven?” he muses. You tilt your head. “Or, perhaps, information?”

You grin up at him at that. A response comes in.

Who is this?

You roll your eyes. From the way you searched his contacts earlier, you must have a multitude of numbers and names cataloged in your head; the thought of someone seemingly high profile not knowing whose phone this belongs to must bore you.

Sylus.

Oh, Mr. Sylus, of course! My sincere apologies!

Meet me in the garden. Statue of Venus. 10 minutes.

You pass the phone back over to him. “Already using my name to open doors.”

You smirk. You drain the rest of your glass and push yourself from the railing. He offers you his arm without needing to be asked. You pat his arm when you take it, as though praising him for it. You walk together to the garden, neither leading nor following. Silent equals.

Third Meeting:

He received a message a week later from an unknown number.

Deal proposal: you help me negotiate with a client and I’ll give you information on your competitors.

What information do you have that I couldn’t get anywhere else?

I have a crate of their supplies, blueprints detailing their alterations, and their sketches for their next model.

Sylus chuckles.

You must have stolen it straight from the horse’s mouth.

Deal?

He mulls it over for a minute.

Where are we meeting?

His motorcycle growls as he weaves it through the N109 Zone to the outskirts of Linkon City. His destination is an old shipyard. From a distance, he can see the worn, forgotten ships that line the docks, rusted and beyond repair. You stand at the land-end of one, staring out at the array of ships as you wait. It’s the first time he’s seen you dressed so casually.

A gun is obviously strapped to your thigh.

He pulls up and kills the engine. You don’t bother watching as he removes his helmet and leaves it on the leather seat. He steps up next to you. “Which one is she in?”

There’s no use pretending you’re still waiting for your prey to show up. You smirk. He follows you down the lineup to an abandoned ferry. Out of date cars line the hold, vintage, soon to be antiques.

You lead him up to one of the passenger floors, where plastic seats have been broken off metal bases or crumpled beyond use. There’s only one that’s occupied.

Your “client” is tied up solidly with a length of steel wire. Power tools nearby point to your methods of tightening the wire around her wrists and ankles. More wire dangles in loose curls around her body, her arms, legs, neck. A cluster of car batteries from several of the models below sits nearby with jumper cables and rubber gloves. Two rubber mats have been neatly laid out; one for him and one for you, just in case.

He chuckles darkly at the sight. The last time he witnessed your methods, they were improvised with the surrounding materials available to you - garden shears being your favored tool for the evening. While these materials have been primarily gathered from here, he can see the planning behind it, the precautions you’ve taken and measures you’ve met to ensure this transaction goes according to plan. “You’ve been busy, haven’t you?”

You don’t react to his words. Your face is neutral, unresponsive. It’s like witnessing a switch being flipped.

You step around the woman, flicking the loose wire around her neck as you do.

It’s going to be a long night.

Fourth Meeting:

Masquerade tonight. Join me.

Sylus takes apart and cleans his gun carefully, ritualistically.

His phone has been silent for hours since he sent the message. He has no reason to demand your time or attention, certainly not when you seem to be actively working to retrieve intel from all over the N109 Zone and Linkon City.

He wipes the old oil and gunpowder burns off with a rag, diligently getting in between the nooks and crannies. His brow is pinched, eyes sharp with focus. He turns the piece in the light, searching for any spots of improvement. Then he reapplies fresh gun oil, massaging it into place.

His phone buzzes. He glances at it.

Incentivize me.

He chuckles. He sets the piece down among the array of parts, a puzzle he’s quite familiar with by now. In less than 10 seconds, everything has been put back together. The gun sits weightily in his hand as he flips it around, admiring his work.

He sets it aside like a toy he’s grown tired of and picks up his phone.

I have a deal I want to propose. In person.

You’ve got my interest, but that’s not enough incentive for me to join you. What else will you offer, aside from the deal?

Dinner, and another item of jewelry to match the earrings.

A few minutes pass. He reaches for another gun to take apart and maintain.

I’ll see you there.

His mask is perfectly tailored to his face, formed and decorated to resemble a crow. The inky black feathers contrast with his white hair and suit. Wearing white is certainly a branch out from his usual tastes, but it prevents the ensemble from being drowned out.

He scans the crowd of people with a discerning eye. With no idea what outfit or mask you’ll choose to disguise yourself in tonight, he scans everyone with a similar build to you in search of that dangerous aura you exude. He doesn’t have to look hard, when someone enters and everyone gives them a wide berth.

You wear the protocore earrings he gifted you before to match the intricate white and red ensemble you wear. Your mask is also red and gold, white raven feathers fanning out like a crown upon your head. People awe at you as you seamlessly glide into the party proper. He watches as you look around, searching for him amongst the sea of paper faces.

Sylus crosses the marble floor to you. “I don’t think you needed the incentive,” he teases. You look up at him and a secret smile, tilting your head coyly to ask what he means. “It takes longer than a few hours to have an entire outfit tailored.”

Your grin widens. He hit the nail right on the head. You were planning to come all along, but you managed to squeeze a free dinner out of him. He looked forward to it. But for now, he offers his hand and leads you to a quieter area of the party. It’s you who pulls him onto a balcony, shutting the french doors behind you both. You lean against the railing once more, not letting go of his hand until he’s standing in front of you.

He gets a sense of deja vu as he pulls another jewelry box from his coat pocket. The box is thin and narrow. He holds it while you open the lid.

Inside, resting delicately on red velvet, is a black choker. The centerpiece is a red protocore, just as the one used for your earrings. Golden feathers circle the red jewel. You smile and pull out a box as well.

He searches your face for answers he won’t find as he opens the lid with one hand. Inside the small box is a set of studded earrings. Red protocore jewels gleam back at him, held in place with gold detailing. He smiles.

You turn around, glancing at him expectantly over your shoulder. He takes the choker from the box and nimbly lays it across your neck, clasping it in the back. When you turn back around, it rests beautifully against the hollow of your throat. His eyes linger for a moment longer as he takes in the sight.

You tap his chin and his eyes are drawn to yours once more, framed in your fierce raven mask. You grab the collar of his shirt and gently pull him down to your height. Your fingers on his chin turn his face to the side.

He listens to your soft breathing as you gently place one stud into the lobe of his ear. He wonders how long you’ve known that his ears were pierced. He doesn’t frequently wear earrings.

You turn his head again. Your fingers are precise, the sign of a professional. He shoots you a look when you playfully blow against his ear. You smile. Once you’ve finished, he stands back up to his full height.

“You look radiant,” he tells you, voice hushed, like this is a secret only you can know. You touch his chest, conveying the same message to him as you feel the silky fabric. “Would you care to dance with me?”

Your brow furrows slightly as you tilt your head, questioning him. He chuckles.

“Don’t worry. I haven’t forgotten about my proposal.” He takes the box from your hand, setting both on the railing. “You can dance and talk business, can’t you?”

You stare at his offered hand for a moment. Then, you take it. He leads you back inside and toward the ballroom, where dozens of guests have taken up partners and move as a unit through a waltz. He leads you toward the center, within a gap. Less prying ears on his business this way.

You rest your hand on his shoulder. His finds your waist easily. He leads you through the dance. You’re only a few steps in when he ducks his head to whisper in your ear.

“Now, for my offer…” He pulls you in closer, keeping you from accidentally bumping into someone as an intoxicated pair stumbles. “Work with me. The information you’ve been interested in revolves around protocores, correct?”

You glance at him.

He grins. “I have an advantage in position; I can help you find the information you seek, and the people that have it. You’ve used my name once already. Imagine how many more doors would open for you.”

You consider his offer as it stands. Your current sources can only get you so far, he’s right about that. And with Onychinus’s position as a dealer in all sorts of trades, you could find information across a wider network.

“Interested?” You tap on his shoulder twice. “Good. I ask for your skills and resources in return. You’ve been able to get past my competitors’ lines easier than I can. So I propose a quid pro quo: You get the information I want, and I get you the information you want. Sound fair?”

You tap him three times. You want more information.

“The deal ends whenever you want it to,” he says, as if he can read your mind. “I won’t throw you away, I promise you that. You’re more valuable to me than you realize.”

You run the offer through your head. Information for information, with an oath not to throw you under the bus. It really is an equal trade, a transaction of loyalty. You grab his collar again, leaning up to whisper into his own ear. “Deal.”

The sound sends electricity down his spine. He stands back up to his full height, both of you smiling at the agreement you’ve just made as you dance. Once the song ends, he takes your hand to lead you to dinner.

You’re almost free from the dance floor when a hand grabs you and tugs you away from Sylus.

A man dressed in a rather mundane tuxedo and mediocre animal mask holds your hips, lower than his hands should be. “Hey, darling. How about sparing a dance for me, huh?”

You pry yourself from his hands, glancing him up and down, studying him with a precision he should be terrified of. He just thinks you’re checking him out. You quickly turn to smile at Sylus. It’s sweet, reassuring, and doesn’t match the fire burning in your eyes. He lets your hand go.

You turn back to the man and hold out your hand to him, silently accepting his offer for a dance. He takes it, and your smile drops.

You grab his fingers in a death grip and push back, hard, forcing his fingers as far back as they’ll willingly go. His arm contorts oddly to compensate, straining his wrist. “Ah! What the fuck are you doing?!”

People back away from you, the man, and Sylus. The music dies on a discordant note.

He tries to grab your wrist and pull you off, but you grab his instead and pull him to the floor, never letting go of his fingers as you twist his arm behind his back. He lands on his hand and knees, gasping in pain as you push his fingers back further. The tendons begin to burn and creak, desperately trying to keep his fingers in place.

“Help! Get them off of me! They’re gonna break my fucking fingers! Do something!”

Sylus chuckles darkly at the display. Your face has remained impassive since your little trick, but your intentions are clear. “You’re making things worse for yourself,” he chides, amusement dripping from every word. He glances at the security that come rushing from the doors. In a second, all of them are wrapped up in black and red tendrils, mouths covered and arms pinned by their sides.

The man screams as a loud crack shocks through the room. The crowd murmurs. Some of them have to leave before they lose their lunch. One person faints.

“YOU CRAZY FUCKER- AHH!”

Another crack.

“WHAT DO YOU WANT FROM ME, EH? MONEY, I GOT MONEY!”

A third. Few people look on with as much grim satisfaction as you and Sylus, even if you didn’t show just how much fun you were having teaching this man a lesson.

“You’ve only got two fingers left. I suggest you make them count,” Sylus chimes in.

The man’s tears stream down his face uncontrollably, saliva and snot dripping from his face onto the polished marble floor. His whole body shudders with agony. His free hand clutches at the ground helplessly, barely able to keep himself from falling face first into his own mess.

His next cry rips from his throat like a child, high pitched and desperate. You only press the next finger back threateningly. “PLEASE! I-I’M SORRY! I’M SORRY! PLEASE, STOP! PLE-EA-ASE!”

You hold the tension a second longer, before finally releasing him. He collapses, heaving as he finally bends his arm back to normal. Three of his fingers are red and swollen, hanging limply. One swells around a gold ring until it looks like it’ll pop.

You sigh as you fix your clothes, brushing invisible dust off and adjusting the fabric. You look at Sylus. He waves his hand and the security guards are released. They don’t move, too scared to get anywhere near you.

You step around the man and toward the exit. The crowd parts for you. An unconscious body is dragged by its feet out of your way for fear of upsetting you further. Sylus walks beside you and takes your hand once more in his.

“Where would you like to go for dinner?”

---

Tag List:

@the-golden-jhope

#fanfic #fanfiction #sylus #sylus x reader #love and deepspace sylus #lads sylus #lnds sylus #love and deepspace #love and deepspace x reader #lads #lads x reader #lnds #lnds x reader #gn reader #x gn reader #gender neutral reader #x gender neutral reader

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coffeegnomee · 5 months ago

Note

genuinely i think alot of kaboodle's actions on lifesteal can be explained by her scripted lore background. the world of scripted lore is fraught with the idea that "lore" is just... being miserable. it was something that made it difficult for me to get into ksmp (though i did eventually enjoy it), because it felt just so awful all the time. pointless arguments didn't tug at my heartstrings, it made me frustrated. but that's besides the point

i think maybe one of the reasons she takes everything way harder than she should and exaggerates relationships and disagreements is perhaps because she is drawing in past experience to be a good entertainer, in the way she is familiar with. which is so fair! we are formed by our backgrounds. it does unfortunately make it difficult to watch her if you're accustomed to the more ""live action"" sort of format lifesteal is usually in, where people seperate their characters from themselves a little less. but she has a good size audience that seems to fw it, so i dunno

that's just my take on the overuse of the word "betrayal" and such

agree but disagree. yes scripted is usually just being miserable but zam is just miserable all the time and his lore actually makes sense and is very entertaining to watch and he also separates himself from his character (to a degree). but when he is miserable he is consistently miserable while also doing some fun things to distract from the misery or making some impact on the server like cleaning up spawn while being miserable to chat. kab just sits around and talks and does fuck all. sorry. hating. a lot of hating below.

and it's annoying because she is miserable but then will go be fighting her inner demons of destruction, but then won't destroy because she doesn't want to be mean and she cares so much, but then she plans to destroy anyway but then she doesn't do it and doesn't have any consistency in any motivation or characterization and she's all over the place. every hour her emotional state is different and there's absolutely no effort at a throughline and everything before is just thrown out the window.

And it pisses me off that she does come from scripting because surely her characters on ksmp had some throughline and consistency.

and yet her inconsistency on ls does make sense bc in scripted you can plan and succeed with every plan you make when you are literally scripting the outcome.

but on lifesteal you can plan for something cool and fun and it can be taken away in an instant by the very same people you were trying to impress and that is hard and will send anyone into being tilted.

and trying to decide how to react to that is wildly difficult and i dont really envy them having to figure out what to do, but i do wish she would DO something. but that's also unfair because she is doing something, she's rebuilding. but while rebuilding she's going between wanting 4c to help her while also trying to convince him to betray his team while also trying to convince him to give her a heart without a fight while also planning to kill him while also reminding herself she has to be nice to him. so she's just using him. just say it with your full chest. you never cared about him and you just want someone else to do the work to get your own selfish self-pity plan back on the server.

you want to complain and then have someone swoop in and save you. and you dont want to make any effort to actually care about that person.

it's miserably sad and annoying to watch because lifesteal is about caring about people, and she goes on and on an on about caring *so much* but she doesn't give a shit about anyone but herself. and she lies to herself and and chat and insists that she cares.

and yes that's a rather consistent characterization to through at ls!kab but damn if it doesn't read like that at all and she went from genuinely apologizing to 4c to just using him flat out and reminding herself that she needs to use him and cant just kill him.

maybe its just that she's vilely unlikable. maybe that's the point in her scripted mind. make a hatable character. and yet her actions also speak to desperately trying to make a likable character whom youre sympathetic to, she tries desperately to guilt trip and pull at the heartstings about how shes just been betrayed so many times and life is so hard for her and shes so weak and how could you be mean to someone so pathetic and wounded.

but she's not likable at all. she doesnt care about a single other soul or what they care about. the second they put a boundary up she wants to run and leave, which, fair enough, actually a cool characterization of trauma but like also so abusive-coded. but in the end she chose to not abandon bacon as far as we can tell, but i can tell you give it two seconds and that thought will come back and she'll decide to betray him anyway. because nothing is consistent and nothing she says has any long term value. she just goes on the past five minutes to decide what she will do.

she's just so fake and that fakeness can be attributed to the character, but it only feels even more fake because she insists it's a character and not her as she turns around and does something that makes more sense for her to do as herself than the character. she is being two people existing on the same account, swapping out whenever necessary. but that's stupid. take responsibility for your actions and your emotions. stop blaming others.

and yes. it all goes back to how painfully different scripted mcrp is from unscripted.

and i know for damn sure that this will not be like this next season because she will learn from this season. or she doesn't. and that's what's so frustrating. the possibility that she never learns why lifesteal is lifesteal.

the possibility that she keeps writing asshole abusive characters that just get more abusive because of her own internal mental problems that lay unresolved and shoved under the rug like they aren't part of the character even though they are part of herself. she refuses to look at herself and acts like if just just acts hard enough they won't affect anything. they effect everything. you can't run from yourself when you are making unscripted content.

and yes. i am being really mean about someone who clearly has a lot of baggage. yes i am being mean about someone who is abusive as a defense mechanism and hates boundaries because of fear of being alone and all these things that are basically the bully being bullied at home type beat.

but she embraces none of it. doesn't even see any of it. thinks she has written a cute story with kazam, a cute ship that may be a little messed up but is at it's core cute.

it's fucking abusive and shit. it makes my skin crawl. zam is screaming to be let out of it and she thinks it's sunshine and roses. she is, to use the word literally, delusional about her actions. she thinks they are one thing when they are anything besides that.

but we do have one success story. and the trend goes that every lifestealer learns what lifesteal is by their second or third season. they all eventually get it. vi chose to do a very distinct character vs streamer in s4 and he crashed and burned to a degree unfathomable. and he learned from it. and he now says that was his favorite story he ever told. he see's how he's grown as a person because of it.

there is only hope in the future when it comes to kaboodle. lifesteal genuinely changes you and makes you grow. not because you choose to grow, but because it forces it out of you.

but in this moment im just constantly a ball of rage and constantly sent into sadness every time i watch. and she keeps interacting with my mains so im not going to just miss the story, and the progression is already happening, the kablantis shock is a genuinely lifesteal trauma moment for kab and is already changing her in good ways. this is the story, this is part of watching lifesteal. the meta conflict is what makes this server painfully unique. this difficult encounter with players that piss you off. because people in life are like this. people can suck and hurt each other and don't look at their internal mental state, they shove things under the rug and think they're fine and cause sorrow and pain when life gets difficult. that's life. encountering it as story really helps understand the people around you. to be more compassionate, be able to see when theyre hurting and chose to be kind anyway. to learn how to feel the negative emotions and process them and not run from them yourself. or learn how to stick up for yourself and put up your own boundaries and learn that you can. to figure out who you are. it's the best. and the worst. and leaves me hating until i realize it is interesting even though i hate it.

#hating #hardcore hating #crit #discourse #all the negtive tags #don't at me i literally warned you im hating #asks #lifesteal spoilers

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psilliguykai · 4 months ago

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Boy why you [all] so white

Anyways! Uhhhh yeah William’s Wanton Weary Wiles designs. Or Something. I debated giving them each their own post but none of them deserve it. I couldn’t figure out how to make it Not A Total Mess lol soooo here we are! Individuals with some more info under the cut.

Ooohhh they gross me out so bad. Both in the /aff way but also in the “oooohh I really don’t like how this turned out” way lmao- but! I finished the lineart before I started disliking it and promised myself I wouldn’t keep waffling on the sketch so they’re. They’re DONE alright they’re DONE [<- still trying to convince himself]

All the colors [especially the skin tones because oof I really. Don’t know how to handle that apparently. I mean like they’re meant to be white but I’m not sure if they should be That white lol ANYWAYS] aren’t too strict and I’ll probably fuck around w them depending on the mood of the post, etc. just a loose guide ig :]

If their designs ever get updated, this post will be updated as well ^^ i was gonna hyperlink the master doc but tumblr is kinda hating me rn and Not Letting Me Do That so uhhh . Look up wwww au in my blog and scroll to the bottom for background I guess [I’m so sorry] 😭😭😭

Ok ok here they are

Jimmy

- you can tell I take this very seriously /silly

- The shortest/smallest, but arguably the strongest of the trio [just by a little].

- Patterns and striped parts are based on the EIAL cover + the tapeworm.

- what it says in the ref tbh. Just kinda a normal guy [in appearance anyways] who dresses way too formally and doesn’t get enough sunlight or sleep. :]

- I feel like he’s kind of very fucking ugly but I’ve given up on trying to fix it 😭

- Tallest by a little and best posture by a lot.

- essentially just the outfit from the TNA cover if it was blue lol

- sorryyy no automaton freak :((( big fan of robot Mind designs, but Al is just. Different to me

Mr. Capgras

- He gets scissors in place of a trident because I thought that could be neat :] when he pulls them out of the halo they get noteably larger and sharper. Tbh it mostly just uses them for normal scissor stuff + violent threats sometimes.

- Patterns depicted here are based on the body paint from the Self-ish album cover. In this ref they’re the hmsw colors, but could technically kinda be anything. They’re super inconsistent, both in canon and also because. Trying to keep up the same patterns every time I draw him would be torture :’]

- Most intimidating/strongest-looking. Middle in height, and worst in posture. Sleep deprived, somewhat empty and bitter but still hopeful and surprisingly optimistic.

- I’d like to think if his socks are ever shown, they’d have the same patterns as his gloves n stuff :3

- This isn’t a design thing at all but I’ll probably be referring to him more as Cotard as I feel it fits best. However, he’s formally known as Mr. Capgras since it would make the official acronym for these three “JAM”, which I think is a neat and completely accidental reference to Jamface :)) completely arbitrary yeahhh but it’s my AU and I’ll include all the obscure references I want in it >:3

- dw about the oversized Cotard’s Solution doodle it’s just there as another ref for how the scissors work lol

Fanart is super duper appreciated but absolutely not needed !! Asks either directly to [<- in this case I’d respond in character{s} depending on the ask] or about these characters/this AU are also always very welcome ^^

William Racheal McSprout Himself will be getting his own post when he’s completed :]

#chonny jash #cccc #chonny’s charming chaos compendium #cj mind #cj soul #cj heart #chonny jash au #wwww au #William’s Wanton Weary Wiles #appalling mustelid tornado #Jimmy wwww #Al wwww #Mr. Capgras wwww

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kaizokunoyume · 7 months ago

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Drawing Askeladd once a day until Christmas | December 11th

#askeladd #vinland saga #camilla #askemilla #vinland saga oc #i adore sketching them sorry #i do this every december but always forget to upload on tumblr please forgive me as i'm catching up #expect inconsistent quality because i'm literally drawing those after my work day in like 1 or 2 hours depending of the time i have lmfao #they won't all be christmas/winter vibe because my heart cant be controlled and will draw whatever the heck it want #canon x oc #oc x canon

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lucabyte · 1 month ago

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Psst. What's your process for Comics? I would like to Know (Because your ISAT comics make me a little bit feral and I would like to learn)

Okay so the cop out answer is: i basically wing it every time since im very very new to making comics and my method is still evolving. but that's not helpful and i like to yap so ill talk through My Method anyway

So first of all: Ideas.

All my ISAT shit is like. extremely dialogue heavy & mostly focused on the same like. 3 topics and philosophical concepts over and over lbr. So mostly when it comes to drafting that I'll just let my brain bash the dolls together until i notice either 1. a fucking banger line (this usually becomes a punchline i then work backwards from when writing it out) or 2. that i keep coming back to the same like 'scene' in my mind.

(I'd love to know. how to make this work for like. OCs??? But I haven't quite cracked that one yet sorry)

For the former though what usually happens there is I write things out on my phone (this happened with the bonnie-centric ones a lot?) or i'll leave a voice note for myself. Or, if i'm at my computer it goes straight into notepad, which is where everything goes before i draw it.

so these are just like. Disgustingly strewn about on my desktop. But this is how i type up the comic scripts, which I do before i put the dialogue in csp because csp's text tool sucks ass, but you can see how these end up having Some Semblance of the final formatting? Some more than others. But they don't have much consistency in how i'm tagging the dialogue LOL. (bonus: one of these i never ended up making. because i come back to the same wells SO FREQUENTLY that it gets embarrasing to retread sometimes) Then I just... screenshot the notepad file and paste it into a csp window LOL.

So I've pulled up three comics just because theyre like, recent ones? (Links to all 3 -> x, x, x) And oh yeah immediately they're rather inconsistent. But this is the level of detail i do in my thumbnails. (Hello Golf Ball Loop) MOST of my long ass comics look like the first one though, and all of them follow the same thought process.

I will take the dialogue, and then just draw a panel that i think works with it. Then move onto the next line, and the next. Basically thinking mostly in speech bubble placement rather than anything? But I'll just keep... going downwards until it is done. You can see the speech bubbles tend to include either nothing or the vaguest indicator of what's inside them.

(The third one here is an outlier because iirc I actually had this very visual idea while drawing something else and went to go quickly draw it out so the text actually went right into CSP bc there was so little of it. But it was still panelled really sequentially for what action I know I wanted in each panel.)

Overall this is probably because of my habits from learning animation? I thumbnail as if im storyboarding, if that makes any sense. Or is any different to how people usually do it, anyway.

My friends who actually read comic books have told me off already for my vile leaning-tower-of-pisa bullshit formatting. I understand their criticisms because genuinely what the fuck am I doing half of the time? I like it though lol. It's a reflection of how stream-of-conciousness my workflow tends to be, but fuck if it means the aspect ratios aren't the wooooorst LOLL

Then i resize the thumbnails to be roughly 1920px wide, aspect ratio be damned. And at this point I usually also have to draw a big grid so that i can align the comic and make it not on a weird tilt. The most thought that goes in here is that I try to avoid making panels too samey in layout from line to line, and try to keep vaguely to making panels the same-ish height but a width of the page either in halves or thirds. Making it so they aren't completely inconsistent sizes does a lot for making things not look too sloppy.

My first sketch over the thumbnail usually is neat enough to be The Final Lines because I'm impatient. EXCEPT when i realise its going to get Fucking Complicated at which point i pull out the CSP models and my beloved cubes. Then i take a billion years to pose a consistent scene (and often realise where I need to cheat angles. Like for loop reaching down to sif's face. That doesn't make sense in 3d space so I had to cheat). This is basically par for the course whenever I want to do a scene where there's Any consistency in character positioning and they aren't just Talking Heads.

THEN. After the sketch (which was done with speech bubble placements in mind back at the thumbnail stage) I will finally put in the speech bubbles. This usually means re-sketching them, then putting the text down and doing all the typesetting (VCR mono looks very ugly in CSP a lot of the time so I fuck with the spacing of individual letters a lot) and THEN redrawing the speech bubbles around them properly.

Sometimes I'll fuck myself over here and have to move stuff but ideally, if I weren't working like some kind of fucking barbarian, I'd do the speech bubbles before finalising the lineart. But I don't on account of going straight from thumbnail to final lines. You'd do this during the sketch stage if you were normal.

then it's finally panel border time. And then when I get to this stage I just make like. another few new layers above everything but the text where i just clean up. Everything that I had neglected while drawing. So any extra white lines or places where i just think things look bad and i want to redraw them entirely. I will also sometimes literally make a flattened copy of an entire panel to just move it around slightly. It's a deeply evil part of the workflow and i apologise for it. But also it's the major benefit to drawing in straight black-and-white with no tones. It means i can just overdraw anything that is unclear in the end.

(and reposting again Links to all 3 -> x, x, x for easy comparison if u want it)

ANYWAY for further reading. I know I've already stated these before somewhere on my blog but for ease of access... The major inspirations for how my comics Look are as follows:

1. tumblr user Floralmarsupial's homestuck comics found [HERE]. She did a LOT of straight up black and white comics that are ingrained deep in my brain at this point. These are always in the back of my head.

2. Leo Fox [LINK] regularly gets really strange and esoteric with overlapping panels and unorthodox layout. I stared at these a lot when i was starting to make the first couple ISAT comics even if i'm not going nearly as abstract as him

3. tumblr user the-hydroxian-artblog's comic Hangin' Out [LINK] has GORGEOUS typesetting and their art in general uses a lot of speech bubbles that convey some really funny shit by just resizing the text in funny ways. Gold standard for emotive typesetting and also their lin weight and b/w illustrations are gorgeous.

4. sonic the hedgehog idw keeps me humble and reminds me to make the speech bubbles fucking SMALLER. if im left to my own devices i make speech bubbles and fonts WAY too big so reading a cleanly formatted professional comic book for children reminds me what i should be aiming for in legibility.

anyway hope this helps? the answer really is "fuck it we ball" tho

#LONGWINDED MODE ACTIVATE GO #anyway yeah here u go hope it means anything. if you wanted more elaboration on the idea generation sorry tho its just like #put blorbos in rock tumbler of brain see what dialogue comes out see if i get fixated on anything #lucabytetalks #isat spoilers #ONCE AGAIN i love to use source material for these thats spoilerrific. since its all i draw #i am genuinely struggling to put these into effect in my oc shit which is maddening. but ill get there... it's all about the writing #in that case... so i just need to practice :/ lmaoo #doodlebyte #for ease of access i think as a tag #long post

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ot7stan4life · 23 days ago

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It’s Not Wrong - Part 2

Dreamcatcher (OT7) x Female Reader

(2 parts - ongoing ⚠️)

Word Count: 5450

Summary: As the 8th member of Dreamcatcher, you struggle with your growing attraction towards your members, because, in your mind, loving seven different people isn’t natural and couldn’t possibly be considered acceptable by any normal human being… so why would they be okay with it?

Click here to read part 1

Warnings: sexual content

A/N: FINALLY I updated this. Only took me a couple years 😭 (I also had a decent chunk of it written already and it still took me literally 10 hours to finish this today- thank god I didn’t have work). I honestly don’t know how I feel about it, so I’d love for you guys to give me some feedback if you have any! I’m just really attached to and proud of the first part so I always felt like nothing I could write will ever live up to that. But maybe you’ll love it. Who knows?

SOMETHING I WANTED TO SAY: I’m sorry I’ve been so inactive. I’ve been working on stuff here and there but ever since I graduated college, I’ve really been struggling to write. But I do see your messages and even if I don’t post a reply to them, just know that I really REALLY appreciate your support and your kind words and even your requests. I promise I am not ignoring them! Like I said, I just haven’t been writing much lately but I’m hoping I’ll be able to put out more stuff soon. Thanks again. Your comments and messages mean the world to me.

Also, HAPPY UAU DEBUT!! 🥳

I definitely think the Minji I’ve written here feels like current Minji and it was supposed to be like 2018 Minji but let’s just ignore that little inconsistency 🤡

"We have a schedule in the morning. You shouldn't be up right now," Minji said sternly as she watched Siyeon and I frantically untangle from each other.

I was too embarrassed to reply and Siyeon mumbled something I didn't quite catch as she stood from the couch. Whatever it was made Minji glare at her as she turned around to lend me a hand up. I accepted, allowing her to pull me to my feet, and stood there frozen, doing everything in my power to avoid Minji's intimidating stare. Siyeon didn't seem too phased by the older member's behavior when they made eye contact and proceeded to casually walk past her on her way back to their shared room.

While Minji's attention was off of me, I seized the opportunity to sneak past her in the hopes that I could avoid what awkward confrontation I'm sure was awaiting me. Only, I didn't make it very far.

"Not you," she grabbed my forearm and my heart stopped. I couldn't even will myself to look at her.

Siyeon took a few steps back towards us, drawing my eyes over to her. As if Minji wasn't even there, she took my arm from her grasp and pulled me into her for a hug. Though maybe a little awkward in the timing, the sentiment seemed genuine, yet I couldn't make myself relax into her embrace knowing another pair of eyes was on us.

Sensing my tenseness, Siyeon whispered, "It's just Minji, she won't bite... probably."

Probably?! I wanted to yell, glancing over to see the woman in question eyeing our movements like a hawk. But I stayed silent, swallowing thickly and feeling every inch of my body tingle with nervousness.

When Siyeon pulled back, she gently grabbed my chin so that I was staring at her instead. Without ever once glancing at Minji, she closed the distance between us to kiss me lightly. I could practically feel the leader's gaze searing holes into the sides of our heads while Siyeon drug it out, taking her sweet time before pulling away.

She smirked, satisfied with herself and then said, loud enough for Minji to hear, "Sweet dreams, babygirl."

The vocalist didn't stay a second longer to witness the aftermath, slipping into her room and throwing me like bait into the lion's cage to fend for myself. It was a petty move, but I knew she was doing it to rile Minji up so that maybe she'd do something about it and make a move on me. Now all I could manage to do was stand there, too afraid to make eye contact with her in fear that she might pounce on me at any moment.

Though, as the silence drug on for a moment, the guilt was fast to creep in when I remembered Siyeon's words about Minji's reaction to my kiss with Sua. She had already been forced to witness me kissing another member and now this? I wasn't totally sure how I'd react in her case, but I probably wouldn't feel too great seeing someone else kissing any of the women I loved.

"Unnie-" I attempted to form an apology, but she was quick to cut me off.

"No," she said coldly.

I finally looked up at her, shocked to find her eyes had turned so dark that they'd become unrecognizable: that little hint of light always shining in them now extinguished.

"I just want to sa-"

"You're supposed to be asleep," she demanded.

I took a step towards her, trying desperately to explain myself. "I know, but if you'd just let me-"

"Why do you think this is acceptable when we have practice in three hours?" Her deep tone of voice resonated through the halls and made me shiver. She had never spoken to me like that.

I grew infinitely more uneasy now realizing how mad she truly was. "I'm sorry, okay? I just... I couldn't sleep." I looked down.

Though it seemed obvious she wanted to make another remark, my change in demeanor seemed to render her mute for the moment.

"My mind races constantly the second I shut my eyes," I admitted, unable to keep these feelings to myself any longer. "I've just been so stressed lately and I can't stop overthinking. I thought getting up would help clear my mind and then Siyeon-" I stopped when I caught her jaw clench in my peripheral at the mention of her best friend's name. I sighed sadly, feeling ashamed that I had upset her so deeply. "I'm sorry. I'll just go," I finally gave up and started to walk away.

"Wait," her voice stopped me in my tracks.

I just stared ahead into the dark hallway, bracing myself for more scolding.

Except... it never came.

After a beat of silence, she let out a reluctant breath. I turned around to face her. It took a second for her to look up at me, but once she did, I could tell from the way her eyes softened that she had finally pushed her jealousy to the side—at least for the time being—and was now only concerned with my wellbeing.

To my surprise, she simply observed me for a moment, as if debating her next move, and then said, "We'll discuss this later. Try and get some rest, okay?"

I didn't have time to reply or even react to her sudden mood switch before she grabbed my cheek and boldly leaned in to place a lingering kiss dangerously close to my lips. I stood there in shock, feeling both my chest and the spot on my cheek burn as I watched her back away and bite her lip while staring at my own. She seemed to have to force herself to walk away, her body stuttering with almost every move back to her room, as if she was fighting the urge to run back and push me against the wall just to smash her lips into mine.

But she never did. And I was left alone in the hallway, feeling more confused and conflicted than ever.

This really was gonna be harder than I thought.

Almost a week had passed since my confession to Siyeon—if you could even call it that—which also meant almost a week had passed since the incident with Minji. And, as expected, I had spent those several days on edge, constantly wondering when and how the eventual confrontation would go. She said we would 'talk about this later,' but a busy idol life combined with a tiny dorm didn't exactly grant us much time or privacy to make that 'later' happen anytime soon.

It also didn't help that, on top of Minji's nearly-impossible-to-read stares that she would constantly shoot me in practice, Sua and Siyeon were also shooting me stares, but for very different reasons. If a person could be capable of feeling every emotion possible all at the same exact time, that person was me this past week. Which, of course, led all the other members to start staring now that it had become obvious something was bothering me.

I was off my game, even in practice when I normally found it so easy to escape from my emotions through the music and performance. Now I was dancing out of time, missing my vocal cues, and mixing up my lyrics. I could only get away with using exhaustion as an excuse the first few times, then it started to become concerning.

"You sure you don't need to sit out for today and rest?" Our choreographer, Sooyeon, asked, placing her hand on my back as I leaned over to grab my water bottle and rag. She had just called a five minute break from learning our new comeback choreography after I managed to throw the entire group off yet again by starting my rap break out of time.

"No, it's okay," I replied breathless, turning to her. "I'm sorry, I'm just..." through the reflection in the mirror behind her, I caught at least three pairs of eyes staring at me. "...a little distracted."

"It's okay, just try to rid those things from your mind. You know, I always find it helpful to..." she continued talking, but her voice faded to the background as my mind became entirely preoccupied with a scene playing out in a shaded corner of the room away from everyone else.

In the mirror, I watched as the woman—who was supposedly angry with me—reached down to the hem of her shirt and slowly began tugging it upwards, maintaining eye contact with me the entire time. Gradually she revealed her toned stomach that flexed tauntingly with each heavy inhale of her breath before pulling the thin shirt over her head, giving me a sickening view of her skimpy sports bra hugging her chest so tightly that even across the room I could see the not-so-subtle curve of her breasts peeking from the top. She tilted her head back, allowing the dim light to catch the golden layer of sweat shimmering across her body and highlighting the muscles of her neck and arms. Her eyes fluttered closed and her mouth opened slightly as she drug her shirt across her neck and down her chest to dry herself. It was obvious she knew I was watching as she pretended to 'accidentally' tug on the top of her bra to reveal more of her chest to me and bit her lip at the sensation of her shirt brushing across it.

"Sound good?" A hand landed on my shoulder, jolting my attention back to the woman standing in front of me.

"Huh?" I said, stupidly, now registering where I was. I swallowed quickly, noticing an unusual amount of saliva built up in my mouth, before restating, "I mean, yeah. Of course, sounds good. I will... work on that." I pressed my lips together into a forced smile, hoping she didn't just catch on to the fact that I had not heard a single word she just said.

To my relief, she smiled brightly. "Great! Well, in that case, back to practice," she punctuated her words with a clap and started walking back over to the speaker.

Now that she had left, I glanced back into the mirror only to be met with an empty corner of the room. Mildly disappointed, I sighed and raised my water bottle to take a much needed drink of water. Halfway through the sip, a soft hand stopped me and pulled it from my lips. Minji's dark hair came into view, along with the confident smirk now plastered on her face. Her eyes were somehow both dark and playful as she seemed to take pleasure in watching my cheeks turn red as I nervously swallowed the bit of water still in my mouth.

She didn't waste a second in placing my water bottle against her own lips and tilting it back to take a drink of her own. Somehow she managed to make such an innocent gesture feel so explicit as she drank, allowing a little to spill down her chin. I failed miserably at fighting the urge to watch the water drip all the way down her neck and to her chest and regretted it the second I did. Suddenly I found myself wishing it was just me and her in this practice room so nobody else could judge the things I wanted to do to her.

Like she knew exactly what I was thinking, she finished with one final swallow and pulled the bottle away from her mouth just to stare at me expectantly as the water continued to drip from her chin. "Well, aren't you gonna clean up the mess you've made?" she said in a low, sensual tone.

I nearly choked on air at the very obvious double meaning in her words while, of course, she simply grinned at the shocked look on my face. Was she seriously implying that messing with me was making her turned on?

"Clearly I meant this," she teased, taking the rag that I had forgotten was even in my hand and placing it on her chin. "What else could I have meant?" She feigned innocence, tilting her head with a playful smile while rubbing the rag over her neck.

My eyes squinted at her, equally annoyed, frustrated, aroused, and confused. How can she be screaming at me one day and trying to seduce me the next?

She pressed the now wet rag against my chest for me to take and sent me a wink before spinning around and skipping off when Sooyeon called us back to practice. I shook my head at her bizarre antics and turned to follow, noticing a certain main vocalist laughing nearby, clearly having seen at least the ending of what just went down. Nice to know she finds it funny. This was partially her fault.

Ridding the whole thing from my mind as best as I could, I took my place to start the song. Surprisingly, it went well for a few more runs and I was definitely improving. Well, that is, until Minji decided to continue her attempt to seduce me by somehow making the moves to an emotional song about being trapped in a dream sexy. I tried to ignore it by looking dead ahead at myself in the mirror, but then she'd start adding unnecessary contact between us, brushing her hand across my shoulder or thigh when we were next to each other in the formation.

Luckily I managed to make it to (what Sooyeon claimed would be) the final run of the day before we had to head to our individual schedules. Even with my little hiccups, we had finally gotten the choreo down pretty well, so Sooyeon wanted to film it for us to analyze before next practice. Given this information, we all seemed to subconsciously agree that we'd actually try to take it more seriously. Even Minji didn't seem to be pulling any tricks this time and we started off well.

As we were reaching the second chorus of the song following my verse, we had to quickly transition to the next formation. It was one of the fastest transitions in the choreo and required me to take several swift steps backwards in between two other members on the exact right beat before they closed the gap. We had done it many times slowed down because one of us would usually run into the other, but as we gradually sped the song up to its normal tempo, we managed to pull it off so far.

This time, however, I hit the steps just before the transition with my feet a little too close together, causing one of my shoelaces to loosen. By the time I realized, I had already made one step backwards with my planted foot holding the shoelace down with all my weight. The foot I tried to move only made it half as far until it stopped mid air and I lost my balance. I fell faster than anyone could react and instinctively tried to catch myself with my hands extending out behind me. Only, one hand didn't land right on the ground and the force of my weight on it sent a searing pain through my wrist.

I cried out and rolled over to clutch my hand to my chest. The members all exclaimed in shock and immediately ran over to me while someone else in the room went to turn the music off. Even after all this, Minji was the very first one at my side, placing her hand on my face and asking if I was okay.

I groaned as the pain throbbed and took deep breaths for a moment to try to compose myself enough to respond. I knew if I started crying the members would only panic more and assume the worst, so I sucked the tears back in.

"I'm okay," I said, but my voice came out strained, unconvincing. I rolled over a bit and Minji brushed the hair from my eyes so that I could see her face.

Strangely, in that moment, the pain seemed to numb a bit as I stared into her caring eyes filled with concern. I wasn't focused on anything but the cute pout on her lips and the way her eyebrows furrowed over her sparkly eyes. This was the Minji I knew. Or perhaps I was just beginning to discover more sides of her that I didn't know existed. Even in her anger and jealousy. Even in her calculated seduction. It was all truly her. And I was about to learn a lot more about her than I realized.

After my fall, some of the members insisted on calling the doctor, but I convinced them it wasn't that serious and that if it still hurt in the morning, then I would go. Still, they didn't take no for an answer when suggesting I take the rest of the day off to relax at the dorm. As expected, Minji volunteered to stay with me after getting permission to skip her individual schedule for the day. At first I believed when she said it was only because she wanted to help doctor my wound and didn't want to leave me alone while I was injured—and though I still believed that was part of it—I started to realize she was also taking her opportunity to get me alone.

The tension was evident the second we entered the silence of the dorm. She dragged me into the kitchen and directed me to the short part of the counter. "Sit," she commanded in a serious tone and turned around to start grabbing the first-aid supplies she thought she'd need. Recognizing the change in her expression, I didn't dare disobey or even respond.

I took a seat and held my wrist in my lap with my other hand. She came over a second later with a bandage, an ice pack, and some medicine in her hands. Without hesitation, she stood between my legs, clearly perfectly comfortable with being in my personal space. I thought I had become used to it, but my heartbeat started racing as she leaned in close to place the items on the counter next to me. It didn't help that the height of this counter made it so that we were perfectly face to face.

She leaned back so she was standing up straight and reached out to touch my forearm. It reminded me of the moment she had grabbed that same arm a week ago to stop me from retreating to my room after she caught me with Siyeon. I couldn't even begin to know what was going on in her mind. It had become increasingly obvious over the last few days that she wanted to be with me, but I wondered if she also felt betrayed by me. Or Siyeon. Or even Sua.

As she started gently wrapping the bandage around my wrist to give it support, I watched her face so concentrated on the action and began to realize something. She didn't know what Siyeon did. She didn't know that I loved her too. That I loved all seven of them. So, of course from her perspective, she's probably devastated that I chose either of them over her. That's why she had been so desperate to get my attention, maybe she thought I didn't look at her the same way I looked at them. Which was ridiculous to even consider. How could I not look at her like that?

She must've felt me staring, because, when she finished with the bandage, she took a step back and looked up to catch my gaze. Her expression was soft in that moment. Delicate like how she was handling my wrist. But I watched her eyes change as she glanced at my lips. First to longing, then a mix of something between sadness, anger, and possibly even lust. I stood up from the counter and took one timid step backwards towards the kitchen exit, feeling the urge to run away before she did her damage. Those mood swings were confusing me to no end and I was never sure how she'd react. But her next words kept me in place.

"You know, the walls here are thin," she said lowly, looking back down at my wrist as I cradled it in my hand.

I fidgeted with my bandage, feeling mildly embarrassed and afraid for where this was probably leading. "Unnie-" I tried to apologize once again, but it's clear that wasn't what she wanted to hear.

"No, it's okay." She looked up at me, forcing a smile on her face that I saw right through. "What you do in your downtime is none of my business," she said. "But, if you really want privacy..." She took a step towards me and I took a couple back. "...you should at least learn to be quiet."

I gasped when my back came into contact with the wall. She took the chance to abruptly close the gap with her hands on my waist, pushing her body flush against mine so I was pinned against the wall. "Cause I could tell how turned on you were all the way from my room," she whispered into my ear, her right hand pressing flat against the bare skin just above my waistband. I held my breath, feeling her nose brush against my neck. I had no time to even be embarrassed by her words. Her other hand traveled up my body, teasingly brushing over my chest and planting itself at the base of my neck where her fingers traced slowly across my collarbones.

"Do you like how she touches you, hm?" The jealousy dripped from her tone as her hands continued to explore my body. No words escaped my mouth. I just held onto her waist helplessly while one hand moved up my neck in a tantalizingly slow motion, her fingertips tingling every nerve on my skin. She pressed further into me with her other hand against my chest, her head tilted so that her lips now ghosted over mine. "Do you like how she kisses you?" she breathed out, her voice quieter, yet somehow more intimidating. Her thumb moved to slowly brush across my bottom lip, her eyes following every movement.

"Is she better than me?" she whispered so quietly that I almost couldn't make out her words. Her eyes flicked up to mine and now I could see this wasn't all teasing. It was obvious she was genuinely debating these these questions all along.

I didn't know how to answer her with words, so I tried to convey my feelings to her the only other way I could think of. My lips meeting hers was all it took for her to release her pent up emotions on me. The first kiss was timid from her, almost as if she couldn't believe I had done it, but after that, she didn't hold back. She gripped the back of my neck tightly and kissed me so forcefully and desperately that I thought she might rip my lips right off my face. She barely even pulled back after each kiss, never wanting to disconnect our lips. And even when she gave us a break, it was never long enough to actually catch a proper breath.

By the time she slipped her tongue past my lips, it was clear she wasn't planning on stopping anytime soon. Though I still barely knew what I was doing, I tried my best to keep up, which was proving difficult given how lightheaded she was making me. My hands moved downward to feel the skin underneath her shirt and she seemed to follow suit, moving hers to brush across my collarbones and pull at my shirt.

It wasn't until I felt the cool dorm air against my skin that I realized she was unbuttoning my shirt. Momentarily shocked, I released her lips and reached up to grab one of her hands. She instinctively linked her fingers with mine, and before either of us could realize it was my injured hand, she went to pin it against the wall and connect our lips once more.

I almost instantly winced in pain and she pulled back just as fast, letting go of my wrist. "I'm sorry," she rushed out, retracting herself from me, "I'm so sorry, I completely forgot, I-"

"Hey, hey," I grabbed one of her hands with my good hand and pulled her closer, "it's okay. I forgot, too." She looked so concerned that I was afraid she might start crying. She tried to take a step away from me again and kept apologizing. "Look at me," I pulled her closer again and put my hand on her cheek, "It's okay, unnie. I promise I'm okay."

She just stared at me with sad eyes like a pitiful puppy, so I leaned in slowly to kiss her pout off her face. She hesitated for a moment, but couldn't resist in the end and melted into me.

We both pulled back and I said, "see, now this is definitely helping make the pain go away."

She laughed cutely and leaned in to kiss me again. We shared a few more kisses, this time showing me that she was capable of being gentle. Once I was satisfied, I pulled her into my embrace, resting my head on her shoulder.

"You know..." I started, holding her around her torso as she squeezed me tightly around the shoulders.

"Hm?" she hummed.

"You're really scary when you're jealous," I whispered.

She laughed, still hugging me close. "Really?"

I had to resist scoffing at her. "What do you mean really?" I exclaimed and leaned back, causing her to do the same. "I was sure you were gonna murder me that night. And earlier." Even though I was mostly joking, she still seemed guilty.

She sighed. "I know, and I'm really sorry. For that and for yelling at you," she frowned and placed her hand on my face. "There's nothing I regret more. Especially when you told me how stressed you had been. I wished I had known what you were going through before." Her eyes sparkled with sadness as she looked over my features and rubbed her thumb across my cheek. "Normally you come to me when you're struggling with something. I guess I just thought it would be the same with this."

She was right, I did always come to her first when something was troubling me. As our leader, I always felt like I could confide in her and I wanted her to feel the same with me. We told each other everything. So I understood why seeing me with Siyeon must've hurt her. Though, it seems more obvious now that Minji knew all along that I liked more than just Siyeon or Sua. But I can't blame her for questioning whether I liked her too, that's all I can seem to do lately when it comes to them.

"You wanted me to come to you first," I teased in an attempt to lighten the mood, though this revelation admittedly made my heart hurt. Maybe I should've gone to her first. I was sure a lot of sleepless nights could've been avoided.

A small laugh left her mouth at the accusation. "Maybe." She smiled sadly and I didn't waste a moment before kissing it off her face.

"No, you're right though. I probably would've," I said softly after I pulled back, my nose touching hers. "I just didn't really plan on telling any of you." She frowned and tucked my hair behind my ear as she looked at me sympathetically. "It just kinda happened." I shrugged.

"Well, I'm glad it did," she said honestly, making us both smile. "Even though I wasn't first." Her smile faded.

"Sorry," I said seriously.

She laughed and kissed me. "Mm, I think I'm okay with it now," she mumbled against my lips before stealing another and moving her hands down to grab my waistband.

I allowed her kiss me for the next few minutes, just holding onto her neck and enjoying the feeling of her being in control. She didn't slow down, now pushing me blindly across the dorm until my back hit my bed and she was on top of me, making out with me.

"Oh my god," I whispered after bearing a few more minutes of her relentless attacks. My head laid back into my pillow, already overwhelmed by how good she was at kissing.

"What?" Minji giggled, turning her head to try and get a look at my face.

"I don't think I'm ever gonna get used to this," I said, breathless.

She propped her head up with her hand and looked down at me. "Well, you know what they say," she smiled. I just stared at her, waiting for the punchline. "Practice makes perfect." Her smile shifted to a smirk when a blush set into my cheeks.

"I thought you said I needed to rest," I teased.

"Well..." she paused a moment, leaning in and watching her fingers brush across my jaw. "We've both gone without sleep before, I think we'll survive." She concluded like it was a good enough reason and captured my lips once again.

I didn't make an effort to stop her. She was quick to deepen the kiss and my heart burned at the feeling of her tongue in my mouth. I slipped my hands underneath her shirt and resisted the urge to groan at the way her smooth stomach felt against my fingers. She eventually pulled back and helped me take her shirt off with my one working hand. I only got a split second to admire her before she leaned back down and moved her lips to my neck with purpose.

"You're so pretty," she whispered in my ear, stealing my line and yet still making my heart flutter. She gripped my hair and a small whine instinctively slipped past my lips at the action, making her loosen her fingers. "Is this okay?" she asked softly, placing delicate, wet kisses along my neck that slowly became rougher the further down they got.

"Yes," I replied, voice weak, now clutching her waist in the hopes that it might ground me.

Once she reached the base of my neck, her warm, slick lips started sucking down harshly on my pulse point. I gasped, reaching a hand up to rest on her jawline. The sensation that came from the suction of her lips against my throat was so intense that I could practically feel it throughout my entire body. My heartbeat throbbed painfully in my veins and my brain was lost in the clouds.

The unreleased tension her kisses had slowly been building up in me now became unbearable and I was unable to think straight, shifting my position to find some friction on Minji's thigh. The almost painful feeling of the older woman marking me up in tandem with the sudden pressure of her leg against my center once she realized what I wanted sent a feeling of pleasure like I had never experienced before rushing through my body. The overwhelming sensation forced a moan from my throat and I could feel Minji inhale sharply against my neck as her nails clung harder to my scalp. There was no doubt in my mind she reacted that way because she could feel just how wet she had made me through my shorts on her bare thigh.

Right as she leaned up to kiss my lips and drag her hand down to my waistband, we heard the sound of voices in the hall and the front door slamming. We both abruptly backed away from the kiss, but Minji couldn't make a move to get off of me before Dami entered the room.

"Are you oka-" the short haired woman froze the second she saw both of us shirtless in bed and I wanted to disintegrate off the face of the planet at the embarrassed look on her face. "Oh, sorry," she looked away immediately and started walking back into the hall.

Minji stood up to quickly put her shirt on and run after her while I just laid there, mumbling a curse word while placing my hands over my face.

Why did this have to keep happening?

To Be Continued…

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