#thread: even dragons get colds

[fellsparks]

Rely on others? A sentiment that's easier said than done, and the scoff that follows is involuntary as Darios hoists her up from the ground. Nel lacks enough strength to protest too heavily, though, and her eyes fall shut as she leans against him and gives in to the help offered. Were she in full control of her faculties, though, the mortification that she would feel over being reduced to such a useless state... Unheard of for someone of her heritage. Precisely why Rafal could not know. Or the Divine One, for that matter. This, too, would pass; she only needed the time to recuperate without worrying them. "They cannot know. That is not an option," Nel grumbles, gaze averted from him as she moves with him, bangs damp from sweat and sticking uncomfortably to her forehead. "I am not so weak as to require extensive care-- to return to my dorm... that is enough. Should it worsen, I will do what is necessary to keep myself well." What that entails... she isn't entirely certain of in this moment. Regardless, she'll worry about it if and when the issue arises. @grxstnnefealltoir

even dragons get colds

cont. from here

[leftpoetrymoon]

Guys imagine, non mc is their soulmate, the one who owns half of their soul in every Life time. But they don't know that and forget their love for non mc and they fall in love with mc instead of her in every life time.

It's because non mc is cursed by Astra (instead of Zayne) so she suffers in every life watching them fall in love with mc. Like if she works as a hunter Xavier notices her and feels like she's someone that he should be devoted to but the curse activates and blocks his mind so he goes to mc.

If she works at Akso hospital as a nurse , as much as she tries to engage with Zayne he won't talk to her and have lunch with mc or hang out with her. But at night he suffers from nightmares where a faceless girl walks with him and dies at the end so horribly by his evol that he gets reminded of you.

If she is a secretary to Rafayel he playfully chats with her, hangs out with her- hell he won't even notice that his soul is responding to her because of the bond like a clueless fish, so when he sees mc he immediately forgot about her entirely .

If she is a sidekick to sylus, she slowly avoids him but like a fool when he looks at her she melts in his gaze knowing that she will be hurt when mc arrives. So she Just watches her dragon is loving another instead of his sorceress.

If she works at farspace fleet , yea Caleb is cold to her. But something in his body is always yearning for her. So she lets him, but when mc arrives she is thrown aside.

So when she finally ends that bond by cutting the red thread all of them feels like their heart gets crushed by the force only then their memories returns.

Xavier was killing wanderers as usual with mc but suddenly he fell down his knees and clutched his heart like his soul was tores into pieces. He starts to remember. The girl who died in his arms at Philos gifting him the star tassel , the girl who became a queen to feed his planet it was not mc it was her. The one he always looks at does not talk. His soulmate. So he rushes to her apartment only to find it empty. Why?

Zayne was working with his documents when suddenly his breath got hitched, his head felt like splitting. Slowly, steadily he sits on the chair gripping the edge of the table. Memories flood into his brain like a dam, he finally remembers the faceless girl in his dreams, the one died horribly at the tower by his evol, the one who symbolises his jasmine. Opening the door he rushes into the busy hallway to find her but bumps into Grayson. Zayne gripped his shoulders and asked about non mc but his heart got dropped when Grayson questioned him. "Who is non-mc? She's a nurse at Akso hospital? What are you saying Zayne there's no one working here in that name."

Rafayel was sitting by the beach to escape from Thomas, he looked at the sea and sighed softly. Suddenly he feels that. His bond disappeared suddenly, he got startled for a second so he called mc to check if she was ok. But to his surprise he didn't feel the bond when he talked to her. He suddenly groaned from the pain and gripped his hair. Back when the god of tides bonded to his priestess but forgots her when he met mc because of the curse and betrayed his homeland. He remembers that. He remembers non mc. He looked at Thomas who was running in his way. "Rafayel! Get up-" ,"where is non mc?" Thomas looked at him with a confused gaze, "what are you blabbering? Did you forget that we are hiring a secretary for you? Get up!"

Sylus walks into the mission with the twins behind them from the auction. He expects your presence to greet him when he comes back just like you always did. His eyes widened when he felt that his heart was splitting from the pain. The twins noticed this immediately and grabbed his shoulders. "Boss! Are you ok!?" Years of pain came to him, his sorceress, the curse, how he forgot his sorceress that he was searching for eons and gave his attention to someone else? His sorceress was always standing beside him but he only noticed that when you break the bond. "Luke, Kieran bring non mc to me", "Boss who is that?"

Now caleb. Alright, the colonel was at his home which was in skyhaven going through documents. He checked his phone every two minutes expecting a call or message from his new soldier but he didn't. That's when he felt the agonizing pain. He knows. He knows. He fucking finally remembers who was the girl besides him at his childhood when they were experimenting on him. Who was the girl that always holds his hand so he won't cry in his sleep. Who was the girl that he failed to protect when ever ripped you off from him. The next day he checked every possible place that you could be, but he couldn't find you. When he goes to your dorm he was surprised to find out that it was vacant for 2 months and no one's been there.

Why? What happened to non-mc?

She got erased from the universe. Because when she cuts the thread she knows that she won't be here anymore so to end this pain she does it.

Why? Love is always cruel to us?

So the roles got reversed.

Now they are the one who's with the memories of you, while you are playing the game as a player. Now in this life they are just a dating sim to you. But sometimes you notice that they don't talk about their scripted dialogues or how they look at you with the longing eyes. How they wanted to break off the fourth wall to touch you, to give you the love you deserve, wanting your forgiveness for making you wait for them. If this is their fate, they will definitely change it.

They will definitely break the fourth wall to bring you to their world, like before and gets their happy ending.

Can they?

This is just an idea that came randomly to me. So if any of you want to make a fic using this idea please do!!

[lighting-and-shadow]

Ikigai, Part 4

Summary: You’re desperately in love with a man who already belongs to another.

Ikigai (n.) (Japanese): "A reason for being," the thing that gets you up in the morning.

Part 3, Part 5

She’s holding a gun at him.

Normally the sight of someone pointing a gun at Sylus wouldn’t floor you so much. It might make you a little worried. Sometimes it’d be humorous. Right now isn’t either of those times. No. You were flooded with a concoction of emotions, a sick and twisted storm that came up from the depths of your stomach.

Anger. Fear. Jealousy. And strangest of all, relief. Relief that maybe, just maybe, your eyes might be wrong for once. That the string from Sylus doesn’t lead to her. How else would you explain this?

Soulmates don’t do this to one another. They don’t spend days trying to force the other to cooperate. They don’t perpetuate lies to one another. And they certainly don’t press guns against one another’s chest and scream about how they murdered their family.

You want to intervene. To stop this nonsense right now. But Sylus’ gaze tells you otherwise. His very soul says otherwise. So you wait. You wait for something good to happen.

Bang.

Who knew such a familiar sound could make your blood run so cold? Never did one sound cause you so much turmoil. Everything goes blank at that moment. One second you’re standing a fair bit of distance away from the pair, the next you’re at Sylus’ side, pressing down on the wound that strangely won’t heal like it normally does.

Miss Hunter is one the ground, unconscious once again like the first time you saw her. You don’t hear her breathe. In fact, you don’t hear anything but your pounding heart and:

”My dragon is dead.”

It’s her voice. A voice so full of grief and rage that it puts what you heard shouted earlier to shame. A voice that weighs on you, drapes itself across your shoulders in a cold embrace. Your skin prickles at its touch. Bile wells up in your throat.

”My dragon is dead.”

There’s flashes of a different Sylus overlaying the one before you. One with horns, a gemstone in the center of his chest, and a long tail. You’ve seen this Sylus before. It happened the first time you two met. So the sight of him doesn’t change anything for you at all.

What does change things is that he seems paler. Pale from blood loss, something anyone from the N109 Zone would recognize immediately. He’s more ragged than you remember the former dragon being. Beaten. Broken. Defeated. So unlike the Sylus you know from both timelines. You can’t bare this image any longer. You look to a familiar sight: his eyes.

Whatever emotions and thoughts that swirl in those eyes evade you. You can’t look at them for long because that red doesn’t give you comfort. That red eats at you, devours you like the fiend he once was probably would’ve done to you. So you look elsewhere.

That’s when you see it. The thread, his and Miss Hunter’s thread, transforms before your very eyes. Standard red, the red of all threads, warps into the red of Sylus’ eyes. It shines and shakes until letters begin to dance out of both of their hearts. Those same letters curl along the thread, spiraling up and down it. You know it means the second you see them.

Messages on each other’s skin. How fitting.

Soulmates are never apart. But the fact that universe decided to give these two a way to communicate no matter the distance makes your heart burn. Even worse when you think of the applications: secret love notes on one another’s forearms, little doodles on the hand that remind them of each other, entire discussions taking place on their skin (discussions you’ll never be privy to)…

Wells of feelings, of emotions, churn in your threadless heart. You stare at Sylus’ with contempt, pain, and grief. The same sensations from your talk with Sylus on Miss Hunter’s first day come back. And it’s all because of some stupid thread. That thread made you this way, so you decide to gaze even further down.

You already knew you’d be getting glances of the old Sylus the further you looked down. Any dragon parts should not faze you.

The giant claymore through his chest does.

_”There’s so much blood,”_both you and the Miss Hunter from the past think.

Rational thinking is out the window.

“It’s stuck…” you hear yourself whisper. You don’t feel your voice come out from you when you do. You don’t feel your lips mouth the words. You don’t even feel the vibration of the sound in your skull.

It’s all overtaken by the weight on your chest. An elephant in the room that made its home right on your heart. Sitting there, waiting. For what, you don’t know. All you know is that you want that blade gone.

Your hands move on their own. They try to catch the imaginary blade, to yank it away from the chest of your beloved. As if that would do any good. Your hands meet air, and your tripped up brain still isn’t convinced to abort this useless mission.

“I-it won’t come out…” your voice comes out broken at first. “It won’t come out!”

Now you’re screaming. Large palms latch themselves to your shoulders, and you’re forced to face the dragon before you. Blood drips from his mouth. Yet, the same mouth seems to be forming words.

“Gamayun,” they read; it’s still not enough to bring you back. At least not to the present.

You hate your job as an auctioneer. Standing on a grand stage in front of sleuths of people who’re eager to buy whatever it is you’re selling with their blood money as you spin tales about this and that. Jewels, relics, weapons, protocores, and other such things are presented by you as you barter for the highest prices imaginable.

It’s terrible. But manage through it with a plastered smile and beautiful suit as you egg the nouveau riche on. They were, of course, your only real entertainment during work. Seeing flocks of people with too much money raise paddles to try and upstage their rivals never ceased to make you smile. They spend their money on such useless things.

You found joy in the little moments to survive. A man buying a prized jewel for his wife. A child’s eyes lighting up at some obscure antique. People happily finding that one missing piece for their collection. Those are the moments that keep you going; they’re what get you on stage.

That, and people watching. Some days you’d have the same crowd; other days an entirely new one. The auction house was just that kind of place. People come and go like the tide.

Because of that, it took a lot for anyone to truly catch your eye. So as you prance on that stage in your tailored suit, you pray for someone, anyone, to end your boredom. Today hasn’t been a good day for people watching. Nor has there been any of those sparse happy moments.

”Now, before we get to the real stars of the evening, I bring forth a more humble prize, an unassuming masterpiece. A rare gem not all get to have their eyes on, let alone own.”

As you spoke, you stand in front of the display case, blocking the object from view. Your gestures are dramatic, your voice is loud, and everything about you screams at the crowd for them to look at you and only you.

You play upon their greed, upon their pride and need to feel special. Because this next piece is yours. It’s something you crafted and begged for your boss to let you put it in. All the profits will go to you.

”Now, this piece has quite the history, ladies and gentlemen. A diamond rumored to bewitch and curse whoever is foolish enough to wear it.”

A different sort of a silence falls over the crowd. But you smile to yourself. You’ve planned for this exact scenario, the moment where weariness and fear begin to set in among the superstitious gang members of the N109 zone.

”What I have behind me is the infamous Hope Diamond, plucked away from the ruinous cage a silly museum once held it. Now, it rests in a crown of great value once again. Jewels are made to be owned, after all. Who in their right mind would listen to rumors of a curse when they could own such a beauty? Why do they let it rot in storage when it should be owned by the most powerful, rather than seen by the eyes of the poor?”

As you speak, you allow the guests to fully see the necklace you’ve crafted. It’s some of your finest work. It had to be, given what you were selling. 

”Why would anyone allow such silly thoughts to stop them from owning such a gem? Who would be foolish enough to pass over such a beauty because of a little fear? Life is all about the unknowns and adventure. Perhaps previous owners didn’t know this, and fell because of their weakness.”

You add flare to your words, putting your heart and soul into selling this crown.

”And who knows? Maybe our lucky buyer will be the one to break this curse?”

You play to your audience well. Everyone here is full of greed, whether that be for money or power. And what better display of power is there than proudly wearing a cursed diamond?

Your ploy works. Guest can’t take their eyes off of the beautiful necklace. You mentally pat yourself on the back before calling out prices.

”Can I get 100 million for it?”

The resounding gasps warm your heart. Exactly what you wanted. Low-balling a gem as famous as the Hope Diamond, beginning bids at less than a third of its value, gets people to sit up. It makes them hope they can win. And it makes them spend like there’s no tomorrow. After all, even the criminals of the N109 zone love a great deal.

”150 million!” One familiar guest yells.

That’s all it takes for chaos to unfold.

”200 million!” Goes another.

”300 million!” And another.

”500 million!” And another.

You go all over the place, calling number after number, until the price reaches 800 million. A price higher than the original value of the gemstone.

”Going once,” you call. “Going twice…”

You let yourself pause, long and dramatic as you walk around the stage. You lock eyes with all those who had previously bid, but they shrink back in shame. The price was just too high. And you open your mouth to seal the deal.

That is until a new voice calls, “1 billion.”

You barely keep your composure.

”1 billion from Number 109.”

Silence. You call once, twice. More silence.

”Sold!”

The display case is wheeled away behind you. You barely notice the crew moving. All your attention is the man who just bought your piece. Because the amount it sold for was beyond your greatest dreams.

But there’s little time to dwell on it. There’s more things to be sold. So you resume your job, calm and collected, as you weave stories to the ignorance and prideful people.

The new guy continues his streak, showing off his wealth by spending an exuberant amount of money on practically nothing, or coming in and snatching away someone else’s prize at the last minute with a ridiculous bid. The reactions he gets each time almost causes a smile to cross your lips at inappropriate time. And he could tell, judging by how he stared at you.

Despite how far you are from the man, many details stand out to you. The first is how he, for some reason, seems to flicker. Back and forth his appearance shifts. From human to something more. Something with horns, scales, claws, and a tail. A dragon. He stays that way for a moment before returning to what you assume to be his normal look, a human.

The next thing you notice is his hair. The bright silver contrasts the darkness of the auction room, and his own black/red attire. It’s a beacon of color, matching well with his pale skin.

You can’t see his eyes from here, but you do feel them on you as you leave the stage. You don’t quite know how you feel about that.

As soon as you slip out of a view, you drift to your little private room and instantly deflate. You’re alone now. Away from prying eyes and soulmate threads that shake you to your core. You can be you here. You don’t need to pretend anymore.

The slight bit of reprieve is enough for you to regain your strength. Because you know your boss doesn’t like for you to hang around when you have a client as big as the new man. He hates when you go anywhere near them. And since you’d rather not be fired, you quickly move out. Only to be greeted by a strange sight.

The same man is backstage. Now, you can see him in full detail. He smells a bit of gunpowder and cologne. A perfect face, broad shoulders, and beautiful eyes. Oh how his eyes make you stop for a moment. That red; that blazing red. He had the red of soulmates, the red of fate, in those eyes.

You can’t help but stare. The only thing that gets you to rip your eyes away from him is the call of your name. Your boss. He says something about giving the man a tour and a few special gifts. The usual treatment for someone who spends so much at your auction house.

What’s weird is that you’re doing it. You employer values your orator skills too much, but he also trusts you too little to let you do something like this.

”And why ever would it by my responsibility to do this? Tours aren’t my thing.”

”I was curious about the crafter of my crown.”

The first words the strange man say to you give you pause. You turn away from your boss to look directly at him. Your crown, the Hope Diamond, sits precariously on his head. He stares into your eyes as he crooks it more with one hand, teasing you.

”You told him I made it?” You address your boss this time, weirded out even more.

He never gave you credit for your past creations and contributions to the auction house. Your boss only cares for the pretty words you spout. Not the endless nights setting and resetting jewels. Not the countless hours of researching and scouring the world for the perfect gem. None of your other work goes noticed. Why would that change now?

Looking at your boss again, he’s nervous. Cold sweat on his face. A subtle shake in his shoulders. The way he leans away from your guest in fright, something he’s never done with anyone else. You pretend not to notice. He opens his mouth to speak, but another voice cuts him off.

”I asked him about you,” the mystery man interrupts. “I was curious about the person bold enough to sell a cursed jewel. Who’d willing want anything to do with such misfortune.”

”Strange words from the man who bought it for such an exuberant price.”

He lets out a breath; not a laugh, but not a scoff. Just some acknowledgement of your words and the boldness they carry.

”Besides, I for one like to see things with my own eyes. Only I myself can make such a judgement with my own knowledge and experience. Whether that be about curses or people.”

”And why’s that?”

”Because people love to twist the narrative. A pretty lie always garners much more love and affection than a bitter truth.”

That seems to resonate with your guest. He smiles at you. And in that smile lies something you’d rather not dig into. In the N109 Zone, you know better than to dig into things that don’t concern you. It’s how you’ve survived this long.

Knowing that, you keep your guard up as you stare at the stranger. He stares right back, scanning you. He looks at you as if it’s only now that he truly takes you in.

”Mr. Qin?” Your boss breaks the odd tension between the two of you.

”Ah, yes. The tour,” Mr. Qin turns to you and offers his arm to you. “I’d like to get started now, if you don’t oppose.”

”Why ever would I?”

You turn to your boss, trying to hide a smug smile when he reluctantly presses the key to his private stash in your palm. You never go down there; other staff do, but you’re different for some reason. Maybe because you’re not originally from the zone? Or maybe because you have principles, line you won’t cross, unlike them?

The two of you leave, and descend below the stage. You arm still rests on his as you walk down the familiar stairs. You’ve walked down here dozens of times. But you’ve never been able to enter the treasure trove that laid in it. Today was different.

”You seem awfully chipper,”

”I’ve never been allowed near his majesty’s treasure room,” you smile up at him. “And now you’ve allowed me to do so.”

That seems to catch Sylus off guard. But he quickly recovers.

”You’ve worked for him for how long now?”

”About a year."

”You’d think you’d have earned more trust by now.”

You shrug.

”I’m just a simple spokesperson. A seller, if you would. And trust isn’t a thing here.”

Sylus lets out a chuckle. It sends delightful shivers down your spine.

”A spokesperson who crafts crowns made of cursed gems?"

”Crowns? I believe you mean crown. I’ve only even made one crown out of a rumored to be cursed gem.”

He laughs a bit as you finish descending the stairs and begin to maneuver down the winding hallways.

You speak again, “I used to be a jeweler before I fell out with my past employer.”

”Fell out? That’s not what I heard.”

”Fell out? Murdered? Same thing,” he chuckles a bit before you continue. “We had irreconcilable differences and moral standings.”

The rest of the walk to the room is silent. But something to had shift in Sylus. He looked at you more now, glancing every once a while as if he was trying to figure you out. But you just focus on the key in your hand and what was in store for you.

The moment the door appears before you, made of dark wood and carved with designs dotted with protocores, you almost pause. But then the sensation of Sylus pulling his arm away from yours snaps you out of it. You insert the key, turn it, and walk inside.

Your boss’ treasure room isn’t what you imagine it to be. It isn’t covered in jewels, or antiques, or protocores. Rather, a single desk with chairs on either side sit in the room. And on it, lies a single notebook.

Sylus doesn’t stop for a moment. He makes a beeline for the notebook, reads it, and his expression changes again. This time to something darker. But it’s only for a moment before he puts on the same cocky look before leaning against the desk.

As Sylus sits on the desk, something begins to peak out from his pocket. But it’s enough for your heart to drop. A detonator switch. You look at it for a bit before forcing your eyes to snap upwards. Sylus smirks at you.

”He knows,” you think. “He knows you know.”

Your survival instincts kick in at that moment. And you talk. You talk about your skills. You talk about your past. And you talk about your hatred of your boss. Then, he takes the bait.

”Sounds like you’re in desperately need of a new employer.”

_”You offering good sir?”

_He looks at you with eyes that say he knows what you’re doing. Eyes that know your words are just that of a person desperately trying to survive. Those eyes scan you, dig into you to try and discover something. You don’t know what that something is, but you hope they don’t find it.

_Then they suddenly change.

”You don’t know, do you?”

”Pardon?”

It wasn’t just his words that gave you pause. It’s his tone, the gentle and tame look in his eyes, and the overall sudden shift in his demeanor. But before you can ask questions, he shows you the notebook.

Suddenly, your blood is cold. You’re cold. Full of dread and fear and bitterness. You want to throw up. You want to scream. You want to cry. But you can’t do anything of those things. Because none of that would measure up to the feelings that that notebook gives you.

There are names inside of the book. Pages and pages and pages of names with numbers next to them. Ages. Victims. A log of people your boss didn’t want you to know where dragged here

You left your previous job because of trafficking. You burned that place to ash and strangled your old boss to death with her own thread of fate because of the children she kept chained up below her establishment. You told your current boss the day you signed on that if he did the same, you’d be out.

But he did it anyways. According to these records the man, Sylus, gave you, he’s selling people on your days off.

”I’m bit surprised I’m not on here,” your tone is bitter, and it surprises Sylus, judging from the way his eyebrow raises and his eyes shift. “He’s willing to break the terms of our deal, and yet’ll keep me free.”

Neither of you can speak after that.

”Do you know where they are?” You force the words out of your mouth.

”My people have already taken care of things. All that’s left is the aftermath.”

You both stare at the little device in his hand. Your heart pounds in your chest.

”Would like to do the honors, my dear diplomat?”

You stare at his open hand for a moment. You could take this and run. You could ruin his entire plan. You could betray him. Your eyes flit back and forth between his hand and his eyes. There’s no weariness in them. No worries or judgement. Just curiosity.

Then you replay his words in your head. _His diplomat. You were hired. And because of that, you take the device from his hand, cautious and watching. But, at the same time, anticipating your new future._

”It would be my honor,” you fiddle with the device for a moment. “But one more thing."

”And what would that be?”

”My benefit for this deal. It’s hardly a good one if one party isn’t satisfied.

Sylus laughs at you and summons his Evol to pull you close to him. You don’t struggle. In fact, you embrace the red energy swirling around you.

”Name your price.”

You’re a bit surprised at his nonchalance. But you take it.

_”Don’t betray me. Don’t lie to me.”

”And I ask the same for you.”

”How do you know I’m not lying to you like your former boss?”

You smile. “I don’t. Just as you don’t know if I’m lying. We’ll just have to wait and see.”

He shakes his head at you playfully.

”If I do, will you add me to your roster of murdered employers?"

”Absolutely.”

”Then I look forward to it.”

”As do I,” and the you press the button.

Explosions ring out. Rubble falls around the two of you, people dying left and right with screams. And yet, you feel so at peace. It’s serene and lively here with Sylus, his Evol shielding you as his grin widens when he sees your expression. Are you smiling too? You can’t tell because all your senses are drowned out by the pounding of your heart.

Something touches the top of your head, and you look up. It’s Sylus. His hands situate something onto you and you touch your head. It’s your crown. He adjusts it carefully, cautiously, and a wide smile crosses his lips.

”There,” he mutters. “It suites you.”

You just stare into Sylus’ eyes. You look at his red, and you love it. For once, the red of fate isn’t so lonely.

And you snap back to the present. You wish you hadn’t. You wish you could stay in that time and place before your life got complicated. Before you fell in love with the wrong man. Before said man’s soulmate appeared and wrecked your life.

Your vision steadies. But you wonder if you’re still stuck in some weird medium between another time and your present. Why else would Sylus look so scared?

Author's Note: Also, please go to the original blurb to ask to be added to the taglist (it's impossible for me to keep checking every part every time I update).

Taglist: @eolivy, @rafayelridesfisheatsfish, @animegamerfox, @jasperjokester, @schrodingerskimdokja, @just--crys, @snowdynasty, @shi-thats-kiera, @mansonofmadness, @dwuclvr, @ameilli, @katiedoesstuff101, @everythingistaken00, @napa-the-yappa, @hanaluxx, @lovesick-sylus, @tenaciouszombiewombat, @ladyparamount, @applepi405, @midnight-reverie, @69-gojos-wife-69, @bellagrayson-wayne, @phisen, @idkmanimjusthorny, @munchychuusy, @autumn2534, @poptrim, @sillyfreakfanparty, @zaynesfirefly, @flamedancer13, @thissmartdumbass, @mrsllawliet, @jeondyy, @ssetsuka, @dels-page, @that-lost-one, @johnnysactualgf, @mariquitas-en-verano @toelady, @sinnamon-bunn, @yesbiaswrecked, @doggyteam2028, @little-rays-of-darkness, @albatrossblue, @vyntheria, @silverianni, @browneyedgirl22, @tiklestar, @beaconsxd, @pepperushia

[yourheart-inmyhands]

Hello friend!

Would it be alright if I request some angst content with the Archons + Neuvi + Arlecchino where the darling is injured to a lethal extent, where they are hanging by a thread (your choice if it was self-given or otherwise).

Maybe some of them took darling's company and time for granted so having them be so close to gone is like a wake up call to them, and they become 10x more overbearing, and perhaps a little loving? Thank you!!!

🍌anon

Hi thank you so much for the request! Unfortunately I don't really do more than 3-4 characters in one post anymore so I did half the characters you asked for, but you are 100% free to send in another request for the others <3 I hope you enjoy :D

Warning: this post contains yandere-themes, including mentions of violence, mentions of delusional behavior, mentions of reader being sick, hurt, and otherwise injured, and other potential topics. Please read at your own risk.

Arlecchino:

Arlecchino might be a bit cold and standoffish, but she was never a cruel lover. She just didn’t trust herself to get any closer to you than she was. She’d sleep in the same bed as you at night, buy you gifts, and eat meals with you, but affection was a difficult thing to get from her. Arlecchino has feared being close to someone not because she doesn’t want to be loved, but because she doesn’t want to experience any more loss in her life.

She thought that by keeping you at arm’s length she could protect you, but in fact, she had been wrong. Sitting by your bedside, ears blocking out the dull beeping of your monitors as she stares. Not at your face, she can’t bring herself to look at your gorgeous features after letting you get this hurt, but instead, she stares at your hand. It lays limp on top of the bed sheets, and as much as Arlecchino hates to admit it, she wants nothing more than to hold it right now.

It’s almost as painful as the first time she saw you all bandaged up, wires all over you as you lay on the bed, looking more so asleep than in the coma the doctor said you were in. The desire to hold your hand, it made her fingers twitch, her nose scrunch and her heart hurt. Arlecchino loved you, undoubtedly, but she just couldn’t bring herself to be affectionate with you on this level. Against her will though, her hand seems to move on its own, creeping up the side of the bed and gently scooping up your limp one. Arlecchino was never one to cry, a barely audible curse leaving her lips as she bites them, trying to steady their trembling as she turns her head, blinking away the building tears. She hated crying, but she hated even more that this was the first time she’d ever held your hand, a time when you couldn’t even return it, couldn’t even be awake to feel it.

Neuvillette:

Neuvillette is distraught, both because of how long it took him to notice how bad your cold had been getting and because he didn’t even notice till a small hoard of angry melusines stormed his office. It wasn’t like he was trying to be ignorant, he had just been busy and figured that you’d get over your cold soon. Humans are strong and resilient, a mere cold shouldn’t be that difficult, especially with some melusines caring for you.

He had rushed home immediately, finding you curled up under a mass of blankets and yet still shivering, a gathering of melusines around you fussing and frantic over your continuous decline. While Neuvillette wanted to reassure them that you’d be alright, looking at you in this moment, he couldn’t even reassure himself of that.

A week had passed since Neuvillette had rushed home, refusing to return to his office until you had made a full recovery. He spent most of the day laying in bed with you, helping to keep you warm by holding you close, his natural body temperature being higher than humans helped greatly with this. He wasn’t worried about catching your cold, dragons had much hardier immune systems, but he was worried about your slow recovery rate. Even with the gracious help of the melusines, you had rapidly declined before he came around to ensure you were recovering. A small part of him wonders what it was that was making you worse, he knew the care the melusines provided was above and beyond what he could do himself. The small part of him that doesn’t know hides the smaller part that does know what was wrong, that small bit of denial that his ignorance was making you worse.

Zhongli:

It had been a long time since Zhongli last felt the warm, sticky feeling of blood on his hands, the front of his suit splattered in it and his polearm drenched in it. Despite having once been the war god, it was never something Zhongli enjoyed, which was why he made the change to the god of contracts. Yet in this moment, he couldn’t refrain from the violent nature that lurked within him. 

Seeing you crumpled on the ground, an ever-growing puddle of blood beneath you as a gathering of treasure hoarders laughed and stalked off, hands holding belongings stolen from the innocent citizens of Liyue, you included. It left a gross feeling in his chest, a sickening, growing rage that he couldn’t dismiss. His first move was to evaluate your condition, making sure you were stable before demanding Xiao, his most treasured Adeptus, take you to the Bubu pharmacy. His second course of action was to summon his polearm, following the obvious trail the attackers had left behind.

Zhongli didn’t even bother to clean up before going to visit you, his once pristine image now stained as he stalked into the pharmacy. He was covered in dried red, yet not a spec was his. He didn’t even need directions to know where you were, silently walking over to the cot you were laid on, pulling up a chair to sit beside you as he nodded in regards to the doctor himself, Baizhu. There weren't many in Liyue that Zhongli trusted to treat his beloved well, but Baizhu he knew was a capable doctor. Looking at Xiao, who stood silently in the corner, watching over you till Zhongli arrived, the tall man dismissed the Yaksha, who knew exactly what mess he was being asked to clean up. It was in this moment, watching skilled hands drag a needle through your delicate skin, stitching up wound after wound, that Zhongli swore he’d never leave your side, not even for a moment. He couldn’t lose you.

[just-some-user-hunny]

Platonic yandere Rhaenyra as your mother...

~ The moment she laid eyes upon you, she helplessly fell in love. All the anger and shock towards Daemon took a backseat to her emotions the moment she saw you- her breath stuttering in her throat as her own amethyst eyes settled upon the wailing girl in the mad prince's arms. No woman is keen upon the idea of their other half returning with a child that they've had behind their back, but the sight of a girl- a daughter, for her, settled her decision at once. It's unlikely for her to take out her frustrations out on you, and something about your tearful little face and upset cries for your mother made her want to take you into her arms at once to soothe you. She didn't care at all about you being a bastard, all she could see was a daughter. Hers.

~ Rhaenyra would spoil you. Gifting you dresses and jewellery and books and fine silk threads, and always wearing an adoring twinkle in her eyes whenever she sees you. Rhaenyra herself loves her precious gems and fine luxurious dresses, and now with her own little girl, you bet you're getting spoiled. She'd also love seeing her dear boys get along with you, further fueling her delusions that you're her own child. She'll call her 'my dearest love' and 'sweet girl' , a cautious protective arm always within reaching distance of you if things get heated at the dining table during rowdy family dinners.

~ she's often the one to smoothe your anger and sadness over when it comes to your conflict with Daemon, your father. He is always the one to dish out punishments and restrictions, and in his stead, she'll be the one to lather you with comfort and alternatives. As a child she'd carry you in her arms, wiping away your tearfulness and promising you a ride with Syrax after Daemon forbids you from riding your own dragon for a week. That dynamic fits well with them. Essentially, Daemon is The bad cop, and she is the good cop.

~ as a child, you were very against this woman mothering you when you missed your one mother at home. However you may eventually grow soft to Rhaenyra, even if it's unintentionally done. She's so attentive and gentle towards you, it's hard not to seek out her comfort- even if most of it is dismissive and performative to keep you calm. She'd happily braid your hair if you wish to go riding upon horse or dragon-back, and always with a smile upon her face.

~ Rhaenyra soothing you whenever you fights with her father, Daemon. She is firm, but gentle, the perfect salve to Daemons cruelty and coldness. He has always stood strong and confident, and the powerlessness you'd feel around him would both infuriate you, and make you feel hopeless. Rhaenyra is always there for the aftermath, to distract you from the sadness brewing in your chest. Squeezing your hand beneath the table as you all eat your meals together, your presence always insisted upon by Viserys and Daemon.

~ she'd be a fiercely protective mother. As you grow older, transitioning from her little girl to a young woman, she'd be very against any arranged marriages. If she could, she'd keep you at home forever, single and happy- or free to love whoever you like as long as they are approved by her and Daemon and that you remain at home with them.

Thankfully, due to your bastard heritage, you have no political duty to marry, and are therefore free from being wed for gain. (Sure, you'll never seat the iron throne, but as a woman in those times everything was cut-throat. You may as well have a taste of freedom)

~ Syrax is just as doting. You're her riders little girl, and that maternal feeling would come through both Rhaenary, and syrax. The large golden dragon will chirp and purr in your presence, bowing her head to sniff and gently prod at you- like a doting mother.

"Darling, are you joining us for lunch?"

"For the afternoon".

Rhae smiled warmly, watching you pet Syrax- who gazed upon the princess with passive golden eyes. Crooning gently into your touch, before retreating softly. Rhaenyra approaches soon after- peeling her riding gloves off before taking your face within the cradle of your palms and kissing your brow. 1...2...3, a mantra of soft kisses laid upon your face before she steps back to look at you. Her smile is genuine and warm.

~ As the dance of the dragon approaches, the more protective and demanding she becomes. Suddenly your dragon riding time is limited, especially after Luke's death :( the moment you even suggested leaving upon dragon-back to get some fresh air in the clouds she snaps almost tearfully, composing herself shortly afterwards, and then sending you outside upon the balcony with a guard. A pleading look in her eyes begging you not to disobey her, for her sake, please. She cannot lose you as well.

~ She becomes especially paranoid about team green snatching you away, as both teams are obsessed with keeping you on their sides amidst the approach of war. The amount of kingsguard that stand position outside your chambers every night, hell, even accompanying you around the castle increases. You seldom have a moment to yourself without a lady in waiting heel-to-heel with you, or a towering armoured knight breathing down your neck.

Even with Daemon gone, you're still trapped within the castle.

~ Bastard!princess reader wants nothing to do with this war, and although she may have created a connection to Rhaenyra and Jace and her twin sisters, she may see this as an opportunity to finally leave. Escape would be difficult, near impossible, but not out of the question. You still have your dragon at your call, so you may find a way to slip away and find a way to get to your dragon to escape.

Everyone would go mad however, almost putting a pause on the conflict to go out and find you. Be warned that Daemon and Rhaenyra would immediately go seek your hometown and mother and brothers (that is, if they are still alive), so you'd have to be smart with slipping from their grasps.

~ To the end Rhaenyra will hold onto you dearly like her life-line, committed to being your mother, regardless of your feelings or circumstance. Even as she is burnt, she will not cry or scream- only thinking of everything that she has lost. How she failed you, and everyone she ever held close.

(under the scenario that in the end you did leave and vanish, or worse, got killed in the conflict).

[dragon-ascent]

Rex Lapis wants to devour you, so you prepare yourself accordingly.

You sigh, tugging at the stray threads on your hemp tunic. Never would you have thought such a day would arrive - but your god is a dragon, after all. You should consider it an honor he desires to have you for dinner tonight.

Tightening the rope around your waist, you pause. Actually, should you even be wearing any clothes at all? Wouldn't that make it inconvenient while he's eating you? Or perhaps the fabric adds a zing of extra flavour, who knows.

Or maybe he'd like to undress you himself while he dines.

Taking a look at yourself in the reflection of your water bowl, another thought crosses your mind - should you season yourself? Rub some spicy pastes all over? Rex Lapis didn't say anything about that, only that he wanted you for dinner. So before you can overthink it further, you make your way to the elaborate den the deity resides in.

The lofty dragon, coiled up at rest, perks up when he catches sight of you making your way to him. His eyes shimmer with excitement, and his long whiskers seem to have a mind of their own as they dance about. He eagerly leads you further inside, mentioning how he has been looking forward to tonight.

Now that you're here, you're starting to get cold feet - but it's too late to turn back or do anything about it. His dinner table - your chopping block, ostensibly - lies in wait.

Upon the stone table is a wide array of dishes - rice, pastes, breads, pickled and fermented vegetables, some broths... wow, this dragon certainly intends to make a feast out of you, huh?

Gulping, you pensively ask, "Will it hurt? Or will you kill me first and then eat? I don't want to die painfully..."

Rex Lapis, taken aback, nearly knocks over a decorative plant when he turns to you. "Whatever are you alluding to?" he asks, lowering his head so his gaze is level with yours.

You blink. "You...said you wanted me for dinner."

There's a long pause within which an entire generation could live and die. Then, Rex Lapis speaks.

"My dear, when I said I wished to have you for dinner, I meant as a guest."

[crystal-to-bloom]

Chapter 3: The Quiet Between

Grayson family x child dragon reader

𝟙, 𝟚, 𝟛, 𝟛.𝟝, 𝟜, 𝟝

Another crack

Then — movement

A tiny hand — clawed but fragile — pushed gently against the shell from inside. It wasn't violent. Not angry. It felt... hesitant. Like someone knocking softly on a door, afraid of being tu rned away.

Debbie backed up one step

Then two

She wanted to run. To call for Nolan. But something stopped her. Maybe it was fear. Maybe something else. A quiet pull in her chest that she couldn’t explain.

Tap

Tap

The shell crumbled outward, a soft pop of frost swirling into the air.

And then — eyes

Two of them. Huge, glowing, the color of frozen seafoam — somewhere between blue and green. They blinked up at her through the broken shell. And beneath them, a face — small, soft, inhumanly delicate.

Hair spilled out over the rim of the egg — snow-white at the roots, fading into glowing turquoise at the tips. It shimmered like crystal threads under moonlight.

Two tiny horns, just barely curved, peeked from under her fringe. And a thin tail, matching the color of her hair, trailed after her as she dragged herself free of the shell.

She didn’t cry

She didn’t move aggressively

She just looked up at Debbie… like she’d known her all along

And Debbie — frightened, breathless, frozen — didn’t run. She didn’t scream

She took a step closer

One step. That’s all

But it was enough

The living room was still. The only sound was the soft crackling of frost melting into the carpet.

Debbie didn’t know how long she stood there — a minute, maybe five — just staring at the tiny creature that now lay curled on the blanket. The shattered pieces of her egg steamed faintly in the warm air, fading like mist.

The little girl — because there was no other word for her — didn’t move much. Her eyes blinked slowly, tracking everything, especially Debbie. Her breath came in soft puffs, visible in the cold air.

And she was small. So small

Debbie’s gaze moved over her again — the white-and-turquoise hair clinging to her damp face, the way her horns barely curled above her forehead, the way her thin tail coiled instinctively around her legs like a kitten’s.

She doesn’t even look like she knows how to stand

The thought startled her. She hadn’t meant to think of the child that way — like someone helpless. Vulnerable.

And yet… she was

Debbie took a slow step closer

The child didn’t flinch

Another step

Still nothing — just wide, watching eyes. Like she was waiting for permission to exist.

Debbie knelt beside the coffee table, careful not to get too close. Her hand hovered in the air for a long second before she let it fall, slowly, onto the edge of the blanket.

They sat in silence.

The baby tilted her head slightly.

Then — without a sound — she reached out with one tiny, clawed hand and touched Debbie’s fingers.

Cold. Ice cold

But her touch was gentle

Delicate

Instinctive

Debbie’s throat tightened. She blinked rapidly, forcing the tears back.

— “You’re just a baby” she whispered.

The little girl blinked. Her small tail twitched once behind her.

Debbie didn’t pull away.

She didn’t call for Nolan.

She just… stayed. In the quiet. In the cold.

She didn’t know what this child was. Not yet. But for now, she didn’t look like a danger. She looked like someone just as scared as Debbie was.

And maybe that was enough for tonight.

previous part 》 Chapter 2

Chapter 3.5

[idkyetxoxo]

Harwin Strong - The Heart Wants What It Wants

Summary - She is caught in a tangled web of desire and secrecy, as her passion burns uncontrollably, the birth of a child brings a truth dangerously close to the surface. Between love, guilt, and the consequences of her actions, she wonders how long this fragile reality can last.

Pairing - Harwin Strong x Baratheon reader

Warnings - Sexual content (smut!)

Word count - 2651

Masterlist for Harwin • House of the Dragon General Masterlist.

The bed's getting cold and you're not here, the future that we hold is so unclear but I'm not alive until you call and I'll bet the odds against it all. Save your advice, 'cause I won't hear you might be right, but I don't care. There's a million reasons why I should give you up.

Being given explicit permission to cheat on my husband by my husband was a concept that seemed almost laughable—something out of a tawdry fantasy. 

Yet, here I was, living out this impossible reality, caught in the grip of something far more intoxicating than I could have ever anticipated.

The air between us was electric, charged with a forbidden tension that had been simmering all evening. 

The moment our lips met—his warm and commanding, mine desperate and hungry—it felt as though every second of restraint shattered in that instant. 

I kissed him feverishly, losing myself in the heat of it, the outside world slipping away entirely.

"You look absolutely ravishing tonight," Harwin murmured against my lips, his voice a low, sensual rasp that sent a shiver of desire straight through me. 

His hands were already at work, undoing the delicate laces of my gown with a practised ease, each movement making my pulse quicken. In return, I tugged at his tunic, my fingers eager to strip him of the barrier between us. 

Desire surged through me, wild and unrelenting.

"I've been waiting all night for this," I breathed, the words coming out as a hushed confession, barely audible over the pounding of my heart. 

With a swift, almost predatory motion, he laid me back onto the bed, his body hovering over mine, his smirk maddening in its confidence.

"As have I," he replied, his lips curving into a teasing grin as his hands roamed downward, his fingers tracing the sensitive skin of my inner thighs. 

His knee nudged between my legs, parting them slowly, deliberately, and a deep ache began to bloom inside me, impatient, insistent.

"Don't make me wait any longer for what I know you're dying to give me," I whispered, my voice barely a breath, my fingers threading through the dark strands of his hair, pulling him closer, urging him on.

"As you wish," he murmured in return, his words dripping with a promise of sweet surrender, before he pressed his body into mine, filling the space between us in ways that made every nerve in my body come alive.

I gasped as the weight of his body settled over mine, every inch of him pushing me further into the depths of desire.

 The heat between us became almost unbearable, a thick, heavy tension that made it impossible to breathe, to think. 

My hands, still tangled in the dark curls of his hair, gripped him tighter, pulling him closer as if my very soul yearned to become one with him.

His lips were everywhere—trailing hot, breathless kisses down my neck, across my collarbone, and then up to my ear, whispering promises that sent shivers of delight through me. 

His touch was both firm and tender, a delicate balance that drove me wild with wanting.

 Every brush of his fingers, every gentle caress of his skin against mine, sent electric jolts through my body, igniting a fire that spread outward in waves.

I arched beneath him, my body responding to his every move, every whisper, every soft press of his lips. 

The world beyond us was a distant memory—there was only him, only this moment of raw, unrestrained passion.

His eyes met mine, dark and intense, and for a brief second, I saw the flicker of something more—something beyond the lust and the heat, something that made my heart race even faster.

 But before I could fully grasp it, he was lost in the rhythm of us, his movements becoming more urgent, more desperate.

My body was on fire, the pleasure building inside me with an intensity I couldn't control. Every movement, every shift of his hips, seemed to drive me closer to the edge. 

I moaned softly, my hands tracing the lines of his muscles, feeling the power of him as he moved with an unrelenting pace, as if he, too, were lost in the moment.

His name slipped from my lips, a breathless cry that seemed to echo in the quiet of the room. 

He groaned in response, his body tightening, his grip on me shifting, more possessive now, as though he could no longer contain the desire that had been building between us.

And then, with a final surge, the world around me shattered. 

My senses exploded in a wave of sensation that left me trembling, my body pulsing with release as everything inside me coiled tight and then unravelled in a dizzying, euphoric crescendo. 

But he wasn't done. His grip tightened around my waist, pulling me closer as his body began to shake with the intensity of his own release.

 "I want all of you," he groaned, his voice thick with passion. "Every part of you."

His thrusts became more erratic, more desperate, and then with one final, intense push, he was inside me completely, filling me, marking me with the culmination of his need. 

The feeling was overwhelming, the heat of him searing deep within me, and as he released, I felt a part of him stay with me, filling me completely in a way I'd never imagined.

His body collapsed against mine, and for a moment, there was nothing but the echo of our breaths, the shared intimacy of the moment. 

I held him close, my fingers still tangled in his hair, unwilling to let go. 

The warmth of his release still lingered deep inside me, and I knew, even before the reality fully sank in, that there would be consequences—consequences that neither of us could escape.

For a long time, we stayed like that, tangled together, breathless and sated. His forehead rested against mine, and for a fleeting moment, there was silence—no words, no demands, just the gentle rhythm of our hearts, still beating in sync.

But even in the aftermath of that blissful surrender, the world outside our bubble loomed, and I couldn't help but wonder how long this fragile reality would last. 

Would it all come crashing down, or had we truly created something irreversibly powerful? 

Only time would tell. But in that moment, as his arms wrapped around me, pulling me close once more, I knew only one thing: I was lost to him, completely, utterly, and irrevocably.

─── ✦⋅♡⋅✦ ───

A baby boy. A beautiful baby boy, with dark, curly hair, a soft crown that glistened in the candlelight. 

Curly hair that, even in my sleep-deprived haze, I could tell did not belong to my husband.

"He is gorgeous," Laenor said, his voice warm and gentle, the perfect picture of the devoted father. 

He cradled our son in his arms, his gaze soft as he admired the little boy who was now ours. 

His words should have been comforting, but they only reminded me of the truth I could no longer deny. A truth that had been growing inside me for months, nestled beneath my heart.

"Is he..." My voice faltered as I struggled to catch my breath, my body still aching from the trials of labour. I looked up at Laenor, but I couldn't bring myself to meet his eyes for too long.

 I shifted my gaze downward, to my lap, where the weight of the truth seemed unbearable.

"Is he... alright?" I asked again, a quiet desperation creeping into my voice, hoping for reassurance, hoping against all odds that things would be fine. 

That nothing was wrong, that my secret would remain just that — a secret.

Laenor, ever the gentleman, smiled and nodded, his hand gently brushing my hair back. 

"This is our son, our beautiful, perfect son," he promised, his words soothing, though the heaviness of the situation pressed down on me like a weight I couldn't shake.

I nodded weakly, allowing him to help me sit up, the exhaustion still clinging to my limbs.

 The handmaidens rushed in, their eager hands working to make me presentable, to erase the signs of my labour so that I could face the world. A world that I was terrified to face. 

The world outside this room, the world where my secret could unravel at any moment.

"We should present him to my parents," Laenor suggested gently, though I could hear the hesitation in his voice. 

He knew the timing was less than ideal, knew how drained I felt, yet he also knew I wouldn't wait. I couldn't.

 The weight of what had transpired over the past few months—hidden, concealed, and now so painfully visible—was more than I could bear.

"I am terrified," I whispered, my voice breaking as Laenor reached for my arm, steadying me.

 His touch was kind, reassuring, but the fear in my chest remained. I felt his hand on my back, warm and strong, as we made our way down the corridor toward the chambers of his parents.

"I am by your side," Laenor insisted softly, his words a promise. His presence beside me was a comfort, but it did little to calm the storm brewing within me.

We arrived at the door, and he pushed it open, his hand never leaving mine. 

Inside, Corlys and Rhaenys stood, their eyes lighting up with joy as they saw their grandson. 

Their smiles were bright, radiant even, as Corlys reached forward to take the little bundle from Laenor's arms.

"A boy," I announced weakly, my lips curling into the faintest of smiles. The words felt hollow in my mouth. 

A boy. Our boy. But whose blood ran through his veins?

"A fine boy at that," Rhaenys remarked, her sharp eyes never leaving mine. There was a knowing look there, one that made my stomach tighten, though I couldn't pinpoint why. 

"The Baratheon bloodline favours him," she added, her gaze lingering just a little too long.

"It— it does?" I stammered, unsure of what to say, my heart pounding. I couldn't tell if she suspected, if she knew the truth. 

Could she see it in his eyes, in the way his hair curled so distinctly, as though it carried a different heritage? Or perhaps she was just being polite, as noble as always.

She gave me a small, almost knowing smile, but I couldn't read it. I didn't want to. I didn't want to know if she knew. If they both knew. 

The fear of discovery gnawed at me, every passing second feeling like an eternity.

The older couple fawned over the baby, their hands delicate as they cooed at him, their voices filled with pride. But all I could do was sit there, numb, my body still aching and my mind spinning. 

The pain in my stomach was still fresh, still raw. I shifted uneasily on the settee, trying to find comfort, though there was none to be had.

Corlys, ever the perceptive one, looked down at the scene before him, his eyes flicking between Laenor and me. His voice was low, as though he, too, felt the weight of the moment. 

"Perhaps we ought to let the new family get to know each other," he murmured, his tone leaving no room for argument.

Laenor moved with quiet care, lifting our son from the cradle of his arms with a tenderness that only a father could possess.

 He looped his arm through mine, a silent gesture of support, and guided me back toward my chambers. 

The corridors seemed to stretch on endlessly, as though the walls themselves could feel the weight of the secret we both carried.

When we arrived at my door, I could already see Harwin standing just inside, his broad frame slightly hunched, a small frown etched on his brow as his gaze swept over me.

 His eyes lingered on my weakened posture, noting the weariness in my steps and the way I clung to Laenor for balance. He didn't say a word, but the concern in his eyes was enough.

I allowed Laenor to gently pass me off to Harwin, who immediately took hold of me with his usual quiet strength. 

His hand rested at the small of my back, steadying me as he helped me to sit down on the edge of the bed. I could feel the weight of his gaze on me, but I didn't meet it.

 Instead, I looked down, the emptiness inside me settling like a heavy stone.

"Perhaps Ser Harwin would like to meet the babe," I suggested, my voice soft and careful, as though I were walking on fragile ground.

 I dared to glance up at Laenor, who nodded in understanding, his eyes briefly flickering toward Harwin.

Without a word, Laenor handed our son to Harwin, and I couldn't help but notice the brief hesitation in his movements, the awe that seemed to overtake him the moment the child was placed in his arms. 

There was something in the way he held the little bundle — with such reverence, such tenderness — that made the room feel smaller, more intimate as if it were just the three of us and no one else in the world.

"A beautiful babe," Harwin murmured, his voice barely above a whisper, his eyes soft as he looked down at our son. 

His smile was slow and genuine, the kind of smile that could melt even the hardest of hearts. 

But then, his gaze shifted to me, and I saw something else in his eyes — a mixture of pride, longing, and perhaps something even deeper, something unspoken that lingered between us.

I swallowed the lump in my throat, looking away. The silence between us stretched out, heavy with the weight of what was unacknowledged. 

Laenor, ever the one to ease tension, stepped forward and pressed a gentle kiss to the top of my head, his lips warm and reassuring against my hair.

"Rest," he said softly, his voice filled with affection. "I will return later." He didn't linger long, not wanting to draw attention to himself any more than necessary. 

With a final nod to Harwin, he took his leave, the sound of his footsteps fading into the hallway.

The moment the door clicked shut behind him, the air seemed to thicken.

 Harwin didn't move from the edge of the bed, still cradling our son as though he were holding the most delicate thing in the world. 

He gazed down at the child, his expression a mixture of wonder and disbelief.

For a long while, there was only the soft sound of our son's gentle breathing and the quiet rustling of the blankets as I tried to gather the fragments of my thoughts. 

Harwin's presence beside me was a comfort, yet it also made my heart ache in ways I couldn't quite understand.

Finally, Harwin's gaze flicked back to me, his eyes meeting mine. The silence between us was thick with everything we couldn't say — the things we both knew, the things we both feared.

 But instead of speaking, he only smiled down at our son again, his fingers brushing lightly against the baby's tiny, perfect face.

"You've made something beautiful," he whispered, and I could hear the raw emotion in his voice. 

There was no accusation in his words, only wonder. He looked at the child as though he were a miracle, as though he could see both of us in him, and yet neither of us at all. 

The truth of the situation hung heavy between us, but in this moment, it felt as though the world outside this room had ceased to exist.

I exhaled slowly, my body still tired, my heart still heavy with the weight of the secrets I carried. 

But for a moment, I allowed myself to believe that, maybe, just maybe, things would be okay. That this fragile, delicate life between us — our son — could somehow make everything bearable.

But the heart wants what it wants, the heart wants what it wants.

A/n - part 2 for 'In the Name of Love' but can be read as a standalone!

[avocadorablepirate]

Beneath The Surface - 5

Pairing: Trafalgar Law x fem!reader

Summary: When memories, buried deep within your sea of emotions, resurface, you’re left to question what lies beneath the surface. Did he truly mean to leave you behind, or was there something more to his silence than you ever understood?

Word Count: 1.6K

Warnings: angst, swearing, mentions of smoking, mentions of death, mild gore, OP spoilers, this story follows the Dressrosa arc.

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Hey everyone! Sorry for the wait, been a busy couple of months. Just for the long wait I’m going to upload one more chapter either tomorrow or some time next week :) Anyway, thank you for reading, hope you like this chapter.

Law felt his stomach drop. Doflamingo let out a maniacal laugh that echoed through the shattered throne room, followed by a low almost thoughtful hum. "Such a shame," he mused. "If you had both stuck with me...maybe you two could have lived a good life together." His words dripped with false pity, a cruel and unforgiving grin forming. "But now, I'll have to kill you both."

Law clutched Y/N tighter against him, desperate to keep her safe. Doflamingo's presence, his words, even Luffy's angry shouts as he tried to get out of the threads Doflamingo had wrapped him in - none of it mattered. Nothing mattered except the girl bleeding out in his arms.

Doflamingo shook his head in mock disappointment, letting out a small sigh. "The biggest mistake you made," he drawled, voice rising with pride. "Was thinking you ever had a chance of defeating me. I am of the noblest blood! A Celestial Dragon!"

Law felt more sick than he had previously. Each word that Doflamingo spoke was another knife to the gut. He has always known that Doflamingo carried himself like he was a cut above the rest. But hearing those words from his mouth made Law's stomach twist with revulsion. And then, Doflamingo twisted the knife even deeper.

"And you know who else is?"

Law's breath stilled. His world seemed to tilt.

No.

Doflamingo was lying. He had to be. It had to be nothing more than his usual manipulative lies. But the gleam in his eyes never left. Sheer amusement dancing behind them as he watched Law take in his every word. "Oh, come now!" he said, almost giddy. "There was a reason why I said she reminded me of Corazon...all that unbridled compassion. Unable to hurt even the smallest fly. Don't tell me you never wondered!"

It suddenly all made sense. Y/N's past, the way she spoke of her childhood in fragments, never fully understanding the grandeur of the place she lived in. Had she even known?

Corazon. Corazon had been a Celestial Dragon too. Had he known?

A memory stirred - one from years ago, when Law had still been just a boy, following another person who had given him a reason to keep living.

The crackling of fire filled the night air. Hues of gold and amber dancing against the rocky walls of the cave they had taken refuge in.

Corazon sat with his back against a boulder, a cigarette balanced loosely between his fingers as he lazily tended to the morsels of food that they had for the night. Law sat across from him, arms crossed, staring intently at the fire with his usual sullen expression.

Corazon exhaled a wisp of smoke, watching Law shift uncomfortably from the cool wind that rolled through - not about to admit that he was feeling cold. "You're quiet tonight. What's on your mind Law?"

It hadn't been long since they had left the Donquixote Pirates, and Law still wasn't entirely at ease around Corazon. He shot him a guarded glare. "Nothing."

Corazon chuckled, taking another drag. "That can't be true. Usually you're yelling at me about something by now."

Law rolled his eyes and scowled, but he didn't deny it.

A few moments passed in silence before Corazon pressed again. "C'mon, tell me what you're think about."

Law hesitated, his fingers tapping against his knees. He didn't want to say anything - he really didn't - especially not to Corazon. But the worry had been gnawing at him for weeks.

Finally, he muttered under his breath, "...Y/N."

Corazon tried to suppress a smile, he had heard the soft whisper of Law's friend's name, but he loved to tease. "What was that?"

"Y/N...," Law said louder this time, but still hesitant.

Corazon raised a brow, intrigued. "Oh?" A shit-eating grin spread across his face. "Now this is interesting."

Law scowled once more. "Shut up."

But Corazon's grin only widened, revelling in the boy's sudden shyness. "Stoic little Law, thinking about a girl?" He placed a hand dramatically over his heart before wiping a fake tear. "Why I never thought this day would come. What a historic moment."

Law turned away, hiding the heat creeping up his neck. "It's not like that."

Corazon hummed, clearly amused by the sight before him.

Law let out a sharp exhale, his hands now nervously fidgeting at his sides. "I just...will she be safe?"

Corazon paused mid drag, his teasing smile faltered momentarily. "Don't worry! We'll go back for her once you're cured."

But that hadn't been enough to convince Law. If anything, his shoulders slumped further, his expression more grim. Corazon noticed the shift and, after a second, tried a different approach. “What’s she like?” he asked casually, hoping the subject might distract Law from whatever was weighing him down.

Law seemed to be in thought. "...Strong." His voice was quieter now. "She's strong in her own way."

Corazon's expression softened slightly. "What do you mean?"

Law picked up a small rock and threw it into the fire. Sparks shot up into the air before fading. “She’s always helping people. Even when she has no reason to. Even when they've done nothing but hurt her. She just does it anyway.”

Corazon smiled faintly. “Sounds like me."

Law scoffed. “Yeah, right.”

The older man laughed, ruffling Law’s hair despite the boy’s protests.

But Corazon saw it - the way Law’s voice softened when he spoke about her. The way his eyes flickered, a little more alive. To Corazon's surprise Law continued to speak. “She never talks about it, but...I can tell. She didn’t grow up like us. She lived somewhere big - like a palace or something. She said it was lonely. Always had guards, always had people watching her, but she never really knew them. Then one day her parents decided to leave it all behind."

Corazon blew out smoke, his expression unreadable as he mulled over something far more serious than teasing Law about his obvious attachment. His grip on his cigarette tightened for a fraction of a second before he forced himself to relax. A palace, isolation, a life of luxury, yet you still felt like you had nothing.

He had no doubt.

He knew where she came from. It now made sense why his brother was so fond of her. But he said nothing. If it were true, Law didn't need that burden - not now.

Instead, he continued to listen to Law ramble on about the girl. “She acts like she’s fine, like losing her family doesn't bother her anymore, but sometimes...I can see it.” His voice dropped lower. “That same loneliness.”

Corazon frowned at Law's words, but made an attempt to lift the mood. "She seems like she's trouble," he said, a teasing smirk forming on his lips.

"She’s not!" Law snapped, his voice sharp with instinctive protectiveness, as if she were standing right beside him.

Corazon's lips quirked up as he nudged Law with his elbow. “So, what you’re saying is...you’ve been paying an awful lot of attention to her to know she's not trouble?”

Law’s expression twisted into offense. “Shut up.”

Corazon grinned. “No, no, this is interesting. No one knows this much about someone they don't pay attention to. That’s some real dedication, Law.”

Law shoved him. “I swear to god, shut up.”

Corazon burst out laughing, dodging the boy’s next attempt to push him over. “Admit it! You like her - no, you love her don’t you?”

Law buried his face in his hands, hiding his cheeks that were burning red. “I do not.”

“Oh, you definitely do.”

“I don’t.”

Corazon smirked, resting his chin on his hand. “Tell me, have you ever wanted to punch someone just because they upset her?”

Law flinched.

Corazon’s smirk grew. “Can't deny the allegations now Law."

Law groaned. “I hate you.”

“No, you don’t.” Corazon grinned, taking his coat off and placing it over Law. “But you do love her~” his voice sang. Law scowled, but there was no real bite to it.

Corazon exhaled slowly, watching the smoke disappear. After a long pause, he spoke. "You know...sometimes, people like her - the ones who give everything without asking for anything in return - those are the ones who need protecting the most."

Law glanced at him, surprised by the sudden seriousness in his voice. Corazon offered a soft smile. “So, protect her, Law. Once this is all done, go protect her."

Law looked back at the fire, Corazon’s words sinking in.

“Yeah…”

Those words echoed through Law's head now like a curse.

"Oh this is too good."

Law was drawn away from the memory - Doflamingo's voice, smug and venomous, cutting in. "You've connected the dots, haven't you?" He smirked. "Corazon must have known. But he didn't tell you. How tragic."

It didn’t matter that Corazon didn't tell him. It didn't matter even if Y/N knew. Right now, all that mattered was that she was dying - and it was because of him.

"Poor, poor Law," Doflamingo mocked. "To have everything fall apart minutes before your death." Doflamingo stepped closer, strings dancing at the tips of his fingers. "It makes me kind of pity you."

Law felt his heart pound against his ribs, his mind screamed at him to move - to do something - to protect Y/N like Corazon had once told him to.

But he hadn't.

He had attacked with the full intent to kill, and she had been the one to take the blow. His Injection Shot had torn through her insides, just as he had planned it to do to Doflamingo.

He hadn't protected her.

He had hurt her.

And now, the image of Y/N's bloodied body, the memory of Corazon's dying smile, the sound of Doflamingo's laughter - it was all too much.

Doflamingo was right. She was like Corazon. And Law? Law was starting to think he was like Doflamingo. He hurt the people he called family.

—————

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taglist: @riftmage27 @enigma-of-grand-designs @extremely-ashtridic @crmnic @bluebunny002 @lynndt-chocolate @thekatisspooky

[deepspacedandelion]

To Kill For Love… Or To Die For It?

━━━━⊱♡⊰━━━━

Summary: (Vague because I don’t want to spoil the story) Sylus’ curse finally awakens before you but he’s known how to fix it all along.

Warnings: Mentions of blood, Mentions of Knife/Blade/Dagger, Mentions of Death.

Word Count: 1.3k

*pictures from Pinterest, so full credit to the amazing creators!❤️*

━━━━⊱♡⊰━━━━

“Stop it, please!” You’re begging him, hot tears streaming down your red cheeks as your grip on the blade begins to falter. The more you try to fight him, the more he seems to win, countering your strength, that of a feeble kitten, with his; the strength of a dragon simmering beneath the surface.

His crimson-red eyes are burning into your frame; you can’t quite see them, your vision is blurred by tears, but you can feel them. The Aether core hidden behind his eye pulses, transforming his glowing red iris into a ring of fire.

His large fist bangs inches away from your head, landing against the cold black floor and sending enough vibration through the ground to shake the tears from your eyes, allowing you to finally see his face. His expression is strained, grayish brows furrowed in a fight, soft pink lips blotched with teeth marks.

He’s struggling.

He always has been.

He always will be.

Every second that he’s in your vicinity, the struggle grows.

Growing and growing until it’s unbearable for him.

Until the thin thread that he’s used to hold on for so long finally snaps, unleashing everything he’s tried for centuries to hold back.

This cycle repeats—over and over, never-ending.

A losing fight that will never be won.

A fight only you two face, a mortifying battle that reveals the winners are the true losers in the end.

“Sylus, please! Please, you don’t have to do this! Please don’t do this!” Your pleas fall on deaf ears. But in his eye, the one not coveting the Aether core, you swear you see a fleeting flash, an out-of-reach glimpse of the man you love, trying with all his might to be seen.

His posture wavers for the slightest millisecond, causing him to drop his head.

“Have…to…k-k…” A hoarse voice leaves his throat; it’s gruff and low, filled with determination.

He’s got you pinned down, encased in his burly frame.

There is nowhere to run, nowhere to hide.

A thousand suns are incomparable to the scorching heat radiating off of his body, threatening to burn right through you.

The blade of the dagger rattles, trembling between your grasp and his.

You flail your limbs about, scratching the sleeves of his black button-up and doing your best to use the heels of your feet to push him off you, but it’s as if he doesn’t even notice.

Or maybe, he doesn’t care.

“STOP IT!” You scream, his body getting lower and lower, closer and closer to yours.

The only separation between you and him is the dagger you’re trying so desperately to hold back. To fight off for just a second longer.

Why is he doing this?

That’s all that clouds your mind right now.

Can’t he see that you love him?

That you’d live and die for him.

His body drops towards you more, each millimeter the harrowing difference between life and death.

“Do it. Do it now!” His words are choked, holding back the power fighting to be unleashed.

He can feel it, overtaking his bones.

The hand resting on the side of your head finds its way to your hair, scrunching the locks in his palm and bringing your forehead closer to him.

He wants you to do it.

He needs you to do it.

But that doesn’t mean he wants you to see.

The tip of the dagger pierces his shirt and digs its way into his skin, the first drop of blood landing on your stomach. The weight of one drop feeling like a boulder.

Your fist bangs against his chest, pushing against him, trying to stop his weight from lowering down on the blade.

“Please!” You cry out, scrunching your eyes closed in despair.

Why…

Why this curse?

Why me?

Why… him?

“It’s okay,” His eyes flutter shut, nose burying in your hair, inhaling your scent for the last time.

He can feel the urge getting stronger, surging under his skin.

The urge… to kill you.

His inhaling becomes louder, deeper.

The nimble fingers tangled in your hair grip your locks tighter, fingernails scraping against your scalp.

He can’t wait any longer.

He needs it to be done now.

He needs you to do it now.

Before he hurts you.

Before… he kills you.

The hand in your hair travels down your neck, brushes against your shoulders, and finally, rests against the middle of your spine.

You can sense it.

You know what he’s about to do.

He can’t push you away from him anymore.

It’s impossible for him to fight you off, to win against you.

He knows what he has to do.

His other hand is wrapped around your small one that’s gripping the handle of the dagger, trying to pull the razor-sharp tip away from his chest. He tightens his grip around your hand that holds the blade, ensuring it won’t slip.

He knows where he needs it to go.

The only way to end this tragedy.

No.

It will never end.

That is your curse.

That is his curse.

The curse you bear together, never escaping the loop that ties both of your souls to each other.

He’d die a million times over for you, praying that one of them might bring forth an ending.

But deep down, he knows his destiny is eternal.

It will never end.

It will just be… prolonged.

His other hand, the one resting in the middle of your shoulder blades, forces your body closer to him, slamming your chest into his, sealing his foreboding fate.

The embrace, meant to bring him solace and life now brings him death and despair, a devastating end to the life he’d dedicated to loving you.

“NO!” The blood gushes out of him, painting your hands, bringing to life your mistake.

The mistake of loving him.

The dark, garnet liquid covers your dress, the dress he bought you. The dress that signified his love for you, now covered in his punishment.

The punishment of death in every lifetime.

A punishment for his mistake of loving you.

And now, you sit here, contemplating the true winner in all of this as your lover's limp body lies atop you.

You’ve lived to see another day, but that day holds nothing to look forward to, nothing to live for.

He has perished; escaped this catastrophe, the memories of your mortified face now etched into his everlasting memory that he has to watch replay over and over.

You slowly remove the dagger from his chest, turning it clockwise and placing it in the same position.

This…

This is what has to be done.

The sharp tip makes contact with the center of your chest, and as your arms wrap around his frame, bringing his crushing weight down on you, the sizzling pain rips through your chest, careful to miss the Aether core in your heart.

This is what you have to do to see him again, to meet him in another life.

The blood rises in your chest, permeating your mouth and leaving a bitter metallic taste.

A bittersweet taste.

Death is permanent for most.

But for you and him… it will never be.

Black spots blotch your vision, alerting you to your approaching fate.

You hug him tighter.

Soon, My Dragon.

Soon, we will meet again.

In another life.

In a field of flowers, withstanding the trials of time, never to experience this again.

But until then, this is what must be done.

This is how it has to end.

Every. Single. Time.

As the last of your vision disappears into the darkness, you can’t help but wonder, whose devotion is greater;

Those who kill for love… or those who die for it?

━━━━⊱♡⊰━━━━

[aventurineswife]

hiiiiiii i’ve got a poly fic idea for you!! :3

can i get uhhhh ratio x aventurine x vidyadhara!reader? tysm and please take care of yourself! <3

Fate’s Unseen Thread

Summary: In a shared home filled with knowledge and intrigue, Ratio, Aventurine, and you, the Vidyadhara, find yourselves drawn together by fate, intellect, and hidden desires. The three of you, each carrying your own burdens of past trauma and complex personalities, engage in a tense yet intimate interaction where the lines between intellect, chance, and connection blur. As you come to understand each other’s unique perspectives, a new bond forms—one that transcends your differences and intertwines your fates. What begins as a game of words evolves into something far deeper, as the trio navigates the delicate threads of trust, vulnerability, and shared destiny.

Tags: Aventurine x Vidyadhara!Reader x Ratio, Polyamory, Intellectual Rivalry, Manipulation, Complex Relationship, Slow Burn, Character Development, Flirting (?), Emotional Depth.

Warnings: Mildly suggestive themes, Complex interpersonal dynamics, Mentions of past trauma (Aventurine’s survivor’s guilt, Ratio's arrogance), Emotional tension and vulnerability, Some darker tones.

A/N: uhhh again, I'm not good at writing poly fics so yeah... 🧍‍♀️ (Also I don't ship them 🙏)

The air inside the shared house was thick with an electric tension. The faint scent of incense mingled with the faint hum of distant magic as the three of you sat in the spacious room, scattered with books and curious artifacts from across the universe. The walls were adorned with intricate tapestries that depicted cosmic maps and ancient dragon motifs—a subtle nod to the connection between each of you, even if you hadn’t quite fully realized it yet.

Aventurine sat casually on the edge of an armchair, his signature grin playing on his lips as his eyes darted between you and Ratio. The faint flicker of amusement in his gaze never quite matched his words, always careful with how he spoke, like each sentence was part of a game. He adjusted his overcoat, his posture one of calculated nonchalance.

"You know, Ratio," Aventurine teased, his voice dripping with playful sarcasm, "I find it quite amusing that the intellectual giant has yet to decipher the most obvious game in the room."

Ratio, as always, was a study in contrast to Aventurine’s flamboyant demeanor. His sharp eyes focused intently on the calculations in his mind, as if the interaction wasn’t even worth his full attention. His wavy hair cascaded over one eye, his muscular form seemingly out of place in the elegant attire he wore—an intricate blend of intellectual flair and battle-ready sophistication. The golden adornments gleamed in the soft light of the room, but he didn’t react immediately to Aventurine’s jab.

"You are no match for strategy, Aventurine," Dr. Ratio responded coldly, though the faintest spark in his eyes betrayed the fact that he wasn’t truly dismissing the challenge. "You gamble with luck and chance. I... operate in certainty."

His words hung in the air, sharp and clear, as if he were stating a fundamental truth. Yet, the slight shift of his posture, the soft clink of his golden bracelets as he gestured toward Aventurine, hinted that beneath his cold exterior, there was something else. A layer of intrigue—perhaps a curiosity about Aventurine’s unpredictable nature.

You watched this banter unfold from the cushioned seat at the center of the room, feeling the subtle pull of both men’s contrasting energies. Aventurine’s calculated chaos was magnetic, yet Ratio’s calm intellect was a force that rooted you to the present moment. The two were so different, yet somehow, their interplay created a sense of harmony.

But what about you? What place did you occupy in this delicate balance?

The sound of your shifting position must’ve caught their attention, for both men turned their eyes on you in unison, a curious and somewhat knowing glint in their gazes. Aventurine's smile widened, and he leaned forward slightly, eyes glinting like a predator about to make its move.

"Ah, our beloved Vidyadhara," he said with an exaggerated sigh, his voice as smooth as velvet but underlined with something darker, something more dangerous. "You’ve been awfully quiet tonight. Surely you’ve something to say?"

You met his gaze, the draconic sharpness in your eyes mirroring the sense of weight that had been hanging in the air between the three of you for some time. Despite your long-lived existence, your past of continuous rebirth had left you wary, unsure of the cycles of fate that seemed to bind you to this place. The language of your people—the Song of Rebirth—whispered through your veins, but you’d never quite understood the meaning of the threads that wove your life together with theirs.

Aventurine’s presence was chaotic, and Ratio’s intellect seemed like a precise, unstoppable force. Both forces were more than mere opposites—they were intricately tied to your own existence, like pieces of a puzzle that you hadn’t yet figured out.

"I do not see this as a game, Aventurine," you responded softly, your voice a low, melodic hum. "This... this is not luck nor intellect. It is the will of the cosmos."

The room seemed to pause as the two men absorbed your words. The temperature seemed to rise slightly, the energy between the three of you thickening, like the air before a storm.

Ratio was the first to respond, though his voice was tinged with something rare—respect, perhaps, or the recognition of a fellow mind that understood the deeper threads of existence. "You believe in fate, then?" His tone was calculating, as though the mere concept of fate was something to be analyzed. "I would never claim to be bound by such forces, but you... You seem to think otherwise."

Aventurine’s smile was more restrained now, but his eyes glittered with something akin to curiosity. "How interesting," he mused. "Perhaps fate isn’t something to be fought against, but a game we have yet to fully master."

You looked between them, your sharp, pointed ears catching the subtle shifts in their body language—Ratio’s intense focus, his golden owl-like shoulder piece catching the light, and Aventurine’s casual lean, his left hand hidden behind his back as if it held something that didn’t belong.

In that moment, a thought settled within you, a piece of the puzzle that had always seemed out of reach. The three of you, in some strange way, were bound together by fate, by choices made long before any of you had met.

"The game you both speak of," you said slowly, your voice softer now, yet steady. "It is not one of intellect or chance. It is a game of balance—of knowing when to yield, when to act, and when to let the threads of the universe guide us."

Ratio seemed to ponder this, a fleeting flicker of something like admiration crossing his face. Aventurine, ever the master of intrigue, tilted his head slightly, his smile now tempered with a rare seriousness.

"You speak as though you know," Aventurine mused, his voice quieter, almost vulnerable. "Do you?"

The weight of your words seemed to resonate between the three of you, and for a brief moment, the usual playful banter was replaced by a profound silence.

And then, as if on cue, both men shifted closer, drawn to the unspoken connection that had begun to thread itself between the three of you.

Perhaps fate was not something to be feared or resisted, you thought. Maybe, just maybe, it was something to embrace—together.

Aventurine reached out first, his fingers brushing against your own with an unexpected tenderness. Ratio followed suit, his presence more deliberate but equally potent. And as your hands touched, you felt the weight of centuries, of calculated risks and intellectual pursuits, all converging into a single, shared moment.

In the quiet, you realized that this was more than a game. This was the beginning of something much deeper, something that would transcend intellect, luck, and even fate itself.

It was the beginning of something bound by the threads of all that had come before—and everything that would come after.

And for the first time in ages, you allowed yourself to feel the stirrings of something you hadn't thought possible. Connection.

The rest of the world could wait. Tonight, the three of you would write your own fate.

[justbelievinginmagic]

hi! im haley. she/her. 26. a place to read fanfiction ♡, write fanfiction ♡, & reblog kpop men ♡. i'm trying to update like a waltz & im(mortal) monthly; all of my other fics are updated whenever i feel like it! i do not have a taglist fyi! all my reader fics are fem!reader! please be +18!

✦ . ⁺ about me. my art. my ao3. ⁺ . ✦

ATEEZ Like a Waltz Masterlist

OT8 x Reader | When 8 mysterious bachelors arrive to town and fall for your charms, will you be able to reach your goal to be prima ballerina or will you be dragged into a selfish waltz between love and obsession? Divergent-1900′s Mafia AU.

When Worlds Collide Masterlist

OT8 x Reader | What if Aniteez appeared on Ateez's ship after being sent through a Cromer wormhole? How would the two crews work and live in harmony when worlds collide? Slice of (Sky Pirate) Life AU.

Mirage Masterlist

OT8 x Reader | When a surprise attack by the emotionless Android Guardians strikes the airship, the Illusion, a shattering choice sends you back to a time before you met the crew of Ateez, before piracy, and before the rise of the Guardian's Initiative! Divergent Ateez Lore / Technopunk Pirates / Time Travel AU.

Bewitched Masterlist

Seonghwa x Reader | All your life you had been asked: would you be a good witch or a bad witch? You wanted to be a good witch. and, finally, you would be! the day arrived; you were going to Shiz University, the most-esteemed magical college in all of Oz! You were prepared to work hard and make your dreams come true. but when you stumble upon cold bullies and an even colder sorcerer-in-training named Park Seonghwa who seemed to captivate you at every turn, will you be able to achieve your magical goals or will you fall under his spell? Wicked AU.

The Captain & His Sea ; The Sea & Her Moon Drabbles

Davy Jones!Hongjoong x Calypso!Reader | When the goddess of the sea fell in love, a gift became a curse upon the lovers. Pirates of the Caribbean AU.

you can devour me whole; i dedicate to you my life

Seonghwa x Hongjoong x Reader | you've escaped your vampiric lovers at least... you thought you did. but at every turn you are haunted by them. will you ever feel like yourself again or are you simply theirs? Yandere Vampire AU.

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I Need U Masterlist

Taehyung x Original Female Character | This fic incorporates a female original character named Song Nari into the  Bangtan Universe (focusing primarily on HYYH storyline and Smeraldo lore while incorporating BU MVs) and explores her relationships with the boys throughout the years as things go wrong and right before their lives get forever changed by a wish made by not only Seokjin but Nari. Will her presence change what happens in the end? HYYH AU.

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Burrow Masterlist

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do you even lift, bro??

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Yeonjun x Reader x Kai | When the Ever-Lasting Star stops tick-tocking over a fantastical land, the very fabric of the world begins to change. A princess faces magical curses, mythical beasts, corrupt cults, and old friends in order to rewire the universe to find your true happily ever after. Fantasy AU.

(fyi: i cross-post all my works on ao3 under the same username!)

divider credit @anitalenia!!

[r0-boat]

Rain Storm

Gamigin x Gn! reader x Leraye

Smut

Cw: sex in the rain, in an alleyway, sex in wet clothes.

How did you get here? Your back presses up against Gamigin's chest, his hand underneath your wet clothes, his hands feeling all over your body, his wet, cool fingertips making you shudder, as Leraye's mouth nips and sucks at your neck, marking you as his. Your clothes are soaked and tightly clinging to each other.

Oh yeah...

It started to rain...

It was Gamigin's first time in Gehenna, and you were happy to show him around, while Lucifer and Satan deal with important things involving their Kingdoms.

Gamigin's eyes were wide with wonder looking at the tall white buildings in the pristine limestone pathways. His staff jingling loud, despite much of Gehenna being in the process of being rebuilt because of the war. He still thought it was a beautiful place and he was happy to lend a hand with the injured devils

Gamigin was happy that his loud bells kept the other devils away from you. Call him selfish, but he rather have this alone time to spend with you. That alone time was cut short by your name being called, followed by loud gasping and coughing. Leraye slowly running up to you to wrap his arms around you, The way this devil was holding you, His arms around your waist, pulling you closer as he nuzzled his nose into your neck. Gamigin couldn't help but growl, The Dragon inside him feeling possessive. He was usually happy to meet anyone, but there was something about this devil; he didn't like.

Leraye felt the same. Glaring at the dragon heir holding you a little tighter. You were none the wiser as your two best friends in the same area your face lit up with a bright smile that made their hearts pound in their chest calling a truce for now.

Sneakily fighting for your attention like two jealous puppies. Until

A drop of water hit your nose. You rub cold water off your nose sticking your hand out.

"looks like rain,"

Gamigin felt heat rushed to his face. Normally he would be happy to be in the rain with you but right now?? When another devil is here?

Boom!

Leraye shuddered, eye darkening of the lust He didn't even hide his moan which got the dragon's attention.

His eyes widen Only for his thoughts to be cut short when he felt the a few more raindrops hit his shoulders and horn, His breath shakes. Leraye and Gamigin look at each other instead of a look of jealousy hatred it was a look of surprise and awe something seemed to connect to with the both of them. You were silent, You knew full well what is happening. The realization hitting you like a train. The two devils slowly turned toward you with a look of hunger in their eyes.

As the rain begins slowly pick up they grab you with each arm dragging you into an alleyway. Gamigin was getting harder and harder as his clothes get soaked by the rainwater, his white polo shirt becoming see-through as you can see his chest and his abs before you get pressed up against his chest your legs getting picked up by Leraye.

"ooh, good slut, You know exactly what's going to happen." Leraye smirked that earlier cute soft boy personality gone.

"we will make you feel so good" Gamigin purred, His fingers threading through your damp hair cuz he tilts your head to kiss you.

Another sound of thunder rumbles in the sky Leraye shutters he could feel his cock hardening. Your pants sticking to your legs, he struggles to pull them off. He cusses underneath his breath before ripping it off of you; giving you a reminder that despite Leraye being out of shape, despite the fact that to you He starts crying when you don't give him a hug, he is still a devil, he is much stronger than you. Forcefully tugging at your underwear to pull it to the side before his fingers play with your opening. You moan against Gamigin lips just fingers playing with your heart and nipples as they rub against your wet cloth.

"So good, You feel so good wet and against me," Gamigin babbles, his pants not quite as wet as yours yet but still tight with his bulge bucking against your ass. Grinding his cloth-hard cock against your wet, now bare ass.

Leraye murmurs something about tasting you before he dives his head between your legs, Gamigin holding your ass, his bangs sinking into your neck as he grinds harder. Loving have you squirm against his chest.

Hearing the thunder again Leraye moans while he darts his tongue inside you His hand sliding underneath his pants vigorously stroking to your taste and the sound of rolling thunder. His own whimpering was music to your ears has he edges himself so he could cum inside you later.

Your hands move backward, trying to take off Gamigin pants, as much as you love the feeling of getting humped by a horny dragon. You want dick, and one devil is already distracted. Luckily Gamigin gets the message he groans and disappointment but he wants you as well He slides off his wet pants as long with his boxers two of his dicks spring free You take one of them in your hand stroking as much as you can. Gamigin can't control himself trying to hump against your palm. Being drenched in water and gliding against your skin with ease he was losing himself to pleasure His nails digging into your hips has he holds you in place. He wants to be inside you but Leraye already beat him to it when thunder rolls over again. He finally removed his mouth from your now slick hole he bites and sucks at your chest and nipples while he slides inside you. Gamigin can no longer wait.

"I-Ah! W-wanna breed- want to be inside you too."sadly you cannot fit three cocks inside you at once instead Gamigin fills you up with only one with Leraye deep inside you. A feeling all three of you never felt before You felt so full, being stretched to almost your limit, It was pleasurable being stuffed by a devil and a dragon. Leraye and Gamigin didn't last long however being surrounded by rain and thunder they were already so close to filling you up. They urged you to cum with they're demanding growls and groans as they order you to cum on their cocks.

Leraye was the first to go The thunder allowed as lightning lit overhead at the same time as you squeeze and milk his cock made him burst. You feel yourself drench and squirt your juices all over both their cocks filling your juices drenches his dragon dick Gamigin lost it He bit into the back of your neck, as he stiffens inside you pushing his cum and Leraye cum deep inside.

It took a while for all three of you to calm down basking in the afterglow. The rain beginning to slowly stop.

Since your clothes are now long gone ripped into pieces onto the floor of the alleyway Leraye and Gamigin lend you their clothes like perfect little gentleman as if they didn't just tear you apart just minutes prior.

Gamigin with that toothy grin you knew and love held out his hand too Leraye "Gamigin." Leraye smiled back taking it shaking it firm. "Leraye." The start of a beautiful friendship.

Gamigin held you in his arms as they walked back to Satan's castle. Your legs felt like jelly. The devil and the Dragon share stories about each other and chat lively while you while you fall asleep in his arms

[yes-these-obsessions-are-healthy]

The revelations given to us by the writers in the Reddit AMA are my 14th - 19th reasons why. It has single-handedly squashed any naive hopes that Bioware is still the storytelling powerhouse it used to be. Every single answer John Epler gave in the AMA is like an individual Game of Thrones S8 nuke. The contempt and disregard he has for the Dragon Age setting is palpable enough to taste.

I can only speculate: Were these the original sentiments and the intentions of the writers dating back to the game’s first round of development (dear God I hope not doubtful)? Is John Epler a Solas/Dragon Age hater that had been kept in check by a team of somewhat competent creative minds until the ill-fated exodus of much of the remaining core Bioware team? Is this simply a matter of retroactively adopting this worse storyline as the canon and running defense for a game that they know deep in their hearts is shittily written but must rationalize for the sake of keeping sweet with their EA overlords? Or, the absolute worst thing imaginable: Do these employed writers, in their absolute heart of hearts—no bullshit, no self-delusion, no fake-smiling at the camera to keep their job safe—think that they’ve written a decent story?

Because whether you like Veilguard or not, Epler’s answers show a callous, vindictive, spiteful disregard for the Dragon Age IP. Every magical, creative, cerebral, thoughtful, engaging thread, every distinct, unique, ambiguous, promising plot beat laid with earnest (even if messy) care, ultimately amounted to nothing but unremarkable, unimaginative, lethally disappointing shibboleth.

This AMA to me proves that the love for Dragon Age is dead. Writers may love it, Weekes may love it, but there is no love left in that building. A good Dragon Age game died when EA killed the initial dev cycle. They killed it again when nearly all the writers were laid off/left Bioware in the 2015-2017 window. There was no hope. The story you love, the Dragon Age you love, effectively ended at the conclusion of Trespasser.

Veilguard is not a game that was grown with love, but rather with scarcity, desperation, instability, confusion, corporate and in-studio mismanagement, and resentment.

That is not the game the fans deserve. That is not the game those who birthed the Dragon Age IP deserved to have inflicted on their brainchild. That is not the game that anyone deserves to have worked on—a Frankenstein of failed resurrections cobbled together to form a mediocre milquetoast abomination that fulfills no one but dilettantes and tourists.

It’s been a whole month since the game dropped. I’ve gone from hope to unease to bewilderment to disappointment to annoyance to frustration to sadness to scorn to contempt to grudging sympathy to cold antipathy.

I watched Angry Joe’s Angry Review of Veilguard and he said he was afraid that he now likes the IP less after having played Veilguard (he very much enjoyed Inquisition for all its flaws), and I’m afraid if I’m in the same boat.

In the end this is all fiction. It’s a video game franchise. It’s just a video game. It’s just entertainment. But damn it, hours were invested into this. Hours and sappy tears I will never get back. Emotional investment that will never be repaid. I feel like I’ve been swindled, like my creativity and imagination and energies that I devoted years into cultivating have amounted to absolutely nothing.

[novaursa]

I can’t get this idea out of my head and thought you’d be the right person to come to 😅I have this idea of reader being a targ/velaryon with a dragon. She is betrothed to a lord/prince/king who she has fallen in love with, but she is betrayed by them. maybe they wanted to steal readers dragon for themselves and only pretended to love them to gain the advantage of having a dragon.

I’ll let you decide how the ending is, if reader goes full on mad Targaryen or sorts it another way

Fire and Salt

- Summary: Euron pays the price of fire for his ambitions.

- Pairing: targ!reader/Euron Greyjoy

- Note: The reader is the twin sister of Daenerys, and is bonded with Rhaegel.

- Rating: Mature 16+

- Tag(s): @sachaa-ff @alyssa-dayne @oxymakestheworldgoround

- A/N: I had to switch this to ASOIAF universe, because this man is only one I can think of who would play with his life like that. 🤣

The marriage had been a spectacle of fire and shadow, a union born of necessity and ambition. The Iron Islands’ winds, sharp and cold, whipped against your face as you stood beside Euron Greyjoy on the deck of the Silence. The sea roared beneath you, and in the distance, your dragon, Rhaegal, circled the skies, a green shadow against the storm-darkened clouds. You glanced at Euron, his smile like a blade glinting in the sun, his hand tightening around yours in a possessive grip.

“Your sister is pleased, I hope,” he murmured, his voice a purr of satisfaction. “Our marriage seals her alliance with the Ironborn. And I gain the most beautiful dragon rider in the world.” He leaned closer, his breath warm against your ear. “Tell me, my wife, do you find our arrangement to your liking?”

You tilted your head, meeting his gaze. There was something wild in his eyes, a madness that both repelled and fascinated you. “The arrangement suits Daenerys,” you replied, your voice steady. “And it suits me well enough.”

Euron chuckled, his fingers brushing the hilt of his axe as if testing its edge. “Well enough?” he echoed, his grin widening. “I think I can do better than that.” He gestured expansively to the Ironborn gathered below, their cheers a cacophony of loyalty and ferocity. “See, my love, they scream your name now as they scream mine. We are one, you and I. Rhaegal is mine as much as he is yours.”

Your dragon’s roar split the sky, and the cheers of the Ironborn faltered, their faces turning upward with awe and fear. You felt the heat of Rhaegal’s presence, the bond between you thrumming like a living thing. He was yours, and only yours, despite Euron’s delusions.

“You will never command him,” you said softly, a warning threaded through your words. “Rhaegal answers to no one but me.”

Euron’s eyes narrowed, the charm in his expression hardening to something more dangerous. “We shall see,” he said, his voice low and cold. “We shall see.”

The days that followed were filled with uneasy peace. You played your part as the dutiful wife, attending to your duties, speaking with the captains, and even sharing Euron’s bed. He was a tempest, a force of nature, and while you despised his arrogance and cruelty, there was something else there, something darker and more complex. You found yourself drawn to him, to the storm that raged within him.

But Euron had his own plans. You sensed it in his whispers to his priests, in the way his gaze lingered on you when he thought you weren’t watching. And then, one night, it happened.

He called you to the deck, the moon high and full above the sea, the air thick with salt and the promise of violence. The crew watched in silence as Euron stood beside the massive iron chains that held Rhaegal, your dragon’s bronze eyes glowing like distant stars in the dark.

“I have gifts, my love,” Euron announced, his voice carrying across the ship. “Gifts for you and for your dragon.” He gestured to the men at his side, who dragged forward a writhing, terrified figure. A priest of the Drowned God, his face twisted in fear and pain.

You stepped forward, your heart pounding. “Euron, what are you doing?”

“Making a bond, Y/N,” he said, his voice almost gentle. “Between myself and your beast. Blood magic, they say. The blood of a priest, the blood of the sea. It will bind Rhaegal to me, and to us.”

Rhaegal growled, his teeth bared, smoke curling from his nostrils. You felt his rage, his defiance. He was not some beast to be tamed. He was fire and fury, and he was yours.

“Stop this madness,” you said, your voice shaking with anger. “You will die if you try.”

Euron laughed, a wild, reckless sound. “Die? No, my love. I will become a god.”

He raised the axe, and the priest screamed. But before he could strike, Rhaegal lunged forward, breaking the chains as if they were threads of silk. His jaws closed around Euron’s arm, and the Ironborn lord cried out in shock and pain.

“Mercy!” he screamed, his face twisted in agony as Rhaegal’s teeth sank deeper, tearing through flesh and bone. “Mercy, Y/N, please!”

You stood still, your heart a stone in your chest. This man had sought to use you, to control you and your dragon. He had thought he could bind fire to his will, that he could take what was yours.

Rhaegal’s orange-yellow flames erupted, engulfing Euron in a blazing inferno. His screams echoed across the sea, and the Ironborn watched in horrified silence as their king burned. You watched, your face impassive, as the flames consumed him, as his body crumbled to ash.

When the fire died, there was nothing left of Euron Greyjoy but a blackened smear on the deck. The crew stared at you, their eyes wide with fear and awe. You turned to Rhaegal, your hand resting gently on his scaled neck. He rumbled, his breath hot against your skin, and you felt his anger recede, replaced by a fierce, unbreakable bond.

“Burn it all,” you commanded softly, your voice carrying in the stillness. “Burn the Silence. Burn every ship.”

Rhaegal roared, his wings spreading wide as he took to the sky. His flames rained down upon the fleet, yellow fire licking across the decks, devouring sails and masts. The screams of the Ironborn rose as the ships burned, the sea boiling with heat and fury.

You watched from the deck of the Silence, your face lit by the flames. This was the end of Euron Greyjoy’s ambitions, the end of his dreams of conquest and power. He had tried to bind you, to use you, and he had paid the price.

When the last ship sank beneath the waves, the fire hissing as it met the water, you turned away. Rhaegal descended, landing beside you with a thud that shook the deck. You mounted him, your hand resting on his neck as he spread his wings.

“Fly,” you whispered, your voice barely audible over the roar of the flames. “Take us home.”

Rhaegal launched into the air, the wind whipping around you as you rose above the burning fleet, above the wreckage of Euron’s ambitions. Below, the sea churned, the flames reflecting in its dark depths like a vision of hell.

You looked back once, at the ruins of the Ironborn fleet, at the shattered dreams of the man who had thought he could control you. And then you turned your gaze forward, to the horizon, to the future that awaited you.

You had come for power, for vengeance, and for love. You had found one, tasted another, and destroyed the last. But you were a Targaryen, and you would not be used. Not by Euron, not by anyone.

The sea stretched out before you, vast and unending, and you felt a thrill of freedom, of power, as Rhaegal soared higher, his wings beating against the sky.

You were fire, and blood, and vengeance. And the world would know your name.

[kaizzz]

Author’s Note

What started as a slow-burn Snotlout x Reader romance has quietly grown into something more layered — something a little messier, a little more human.

This story was always about fire: the fire of memory, the fire of identity, and the fire that sparks between people when they least expect it. While Snotlout remains the heart of the romantic thread, don’t be surprised if the story tugs at more than one bond — because love isn’t always clear, and neither is the heart when it’s trying to heal.

So is this just a Snotlout x Reader romance?

Maybe.

Maybe not.

But one thing’s for sure — no one’s walking out of this storm unchanged.

Thanks for reading, and keep flying with me.

— Kai

Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3

———-

Title: Edge of Memory

Chapter 1: Washed Ashore

The first sensation you registered was cold—deep and clinging, down to the marrow of your bones.

Then pain. Dull, throbbing, pulsing in time with the rise and fall of the ocean crashing behind you.

You opened your eyes slowly. Blinding white light.

The sun.

Sky, wide and clear.

And then—sand. Everywhere. Stuck to your face, caught in your hair, shoved down the back of your shirt.

Your body ached as if you'd been tossed from a dragon mid-flight. Every limb protested as you slowly rolled onto your side, coughing saltwater from your lungs. You didn't remember what happened—just vague sensations: cold water, a storm maybe, shouting... or was that just the sea?

You sat up shakily, head spinning. The beach stretched out around you like some foreign land, and when you looked behind you, all you saw was open water.

No memory. No name. Just instinct.

You pressed a hand to your chest. Still breathing. Good enough for now.

⸻

"Guys! Over here!"

Voices. Footsteps pounding on wooden planks and sand. You squinted at the figures approaching—young, armed, riding dragons.

Definitely not just beachgoers.

The first one to reach you was a tall, wiry boy with tousled brown hair and concerned green eyes. A black dragon landed behind him, sleek and alert, tail swaying protectively.

"Are you okay?" the boy asked, crouching down beside you. "You're—um—you're on Dragon's Edge. I'm Hiccup. We're the Dragon Riders. Do you remember anything? Your name? Where you came from?"

You blinked slowly. Hiccup. The name didn't ring a bell—but something about his face felt trustworthy.

"No," you rasped. "I... I don't remember anything. Just the beach. The water. That's it."

Hiccup nodded, not pushing. "Alright. That's okay. You're safe now."

Behind him, a chorus of voices burst into life:

"Do you think she's a spy?"

"She doesn't look like one."

"She totally looks like one—look at her boots!"

"She's literally barely standing, Tuffnut—how is she a spy?!"

You winced as the noise closed in. Hiccup raised his hand to calm the others. "Let's get her inside first. She's exhausted. We can ask questions later."

And for now, you were too tired to do anything but let them help you.

⸻

A Few Days Later

They didn't lock you up, which was a surprise. You half expected suspicion or cold stares, but instead you got hot soup, warm blankets, and a place to sleep near the fire.

Dragon's Edge was a strange place—half village, half fortress, perched on a rocky island constantly buffeted by sea winds. Dragons flew freely above the cliffs. It was chaotic, loud, and far too full of energy for your taste.

But it was safe. And for now, that was enough.

You stayed quiet, mostly. You watched. You listened. Hiccup seemed to be the leader. Astrid—the blonde with the sharp eyes and even sharper axe—was clearly second-in-command. The twins, Ruffnut and Tuffnut, were... chaos incarnate. Fishlegs was kind, if a bit eager to info-dump. And then—

"Hey there, mystery girl,"

—there was him.

Snotlout Jorgenson.

Arrogant, dramatic, and about as subtle as a flaming zippleback, he made it a personal mission to flirt with you daily, each attempt more ridiculous than the last.

He strolled up to you now, dragon-hook axe casually swung over one shoulder. His dragon, Hookfang, loomed nearby, lazily stretching his wings in the sun.

"You know," he said, flashing a grin like it was a weapon, "for someone who washed up like driftwood, you clean up pretty well."

You didn't look up from the basket you were weaving. "Is that your way of saying I look good, or that I still smell like seaweed?"

He blinked. "Uh—both?"

You raised a brow. "Wow. What a charmer."

Snotlout tilted his head. "Okay, see, I like this. The whole mysterious, wounded-warrior vibe you've got going? With just a little bit of sass? It's kind of hot."

You finally looked at him then, expression flat. "I'd rather wrestle a changewing."

"Ouch." He clutched his heart dramatically, staggering a step back. "Feisty and heartless. Be still, my beating chest muscles."

You turned away to hide the smirk tugging at your lips. You didn't talk much—but whenever Snotlout was near, you found your words easier to locate. Especially if they were the kind that made him squirm.

Behind you, Astrid snorted. "Don't encourage him. He's been insufferable since the day he learned what flirting was."

"I invented flirting," Snotlout shot back.

You raised a hand without turning. "I sincerely apologize to the world on your behalf."

That earned a whoop of laughter from Ruffnut somewhere up on the watchtower.

⸻

That Night

The dragons settled in first. Hookfang curled near the edge of the cliff, wings tight against his body. Toothless perched beside Hiccup, head resting against the boy's shoulder. The air smelled like woodsmoke and sea salt, and the wind carried the distant roar of waves crashing against rocks.

You sat by the fire, legs drawn close to your chest, fingers tracing the stitching on the blanket Astrid had given you. No one was asking questions tonight. They'd learned quickly that forcing memories didn't work—and that you preferred silence over sympathy.

Still, you could feel eyes on you sometimes. Curious, cautious, kind. No one accused you of lying. No one assumed the worst.

Which was almost worse, in a strange way. You didn't deserve this level of trust.

You didn't even know your name.

Snotlout dropped down beside you suddenly, a bit closer than necessary, but not uncomfortably so.

"Hey," he said, unusually quiet for once. "I, uh, brought you this."

He held out a small chunk of fried fish wrapped in cloth. You took it with a nod.

"Thanks."

Silence stretched for a moment. Then—

"I bet you were a warrior," he said. "Before all this."

You looked at him, unsure how to respond.

"You've got that look," he added. "Like someone who's seen stuff. Fought stuff. Probably punched someone in the throat once."

You let out a small huff. "Just once?"

Snotlout grinned wide. "See? I knew I liked you"

———