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lola-writes · 1 month

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A Dragon's Lullaby

Pairing: Aemond Targaryen x wife!reader

Word Count: 7.1k

Synopsis: Aemond’s fury is a challenge to contain, but it withers beneath the touch of his wife.

Themes & Warnings: 18+ (MDNI), pov first person (reader), foul language, hotd s2 spoilers, s2x06 inspired, dark/soft Aemond, SMUT, titty sucking, angst, fingering, fluff, feet, p in v, bath sex, oral (fem receiving), orgasms, slight voyeurism

Song: Made of Gold - Ibeyi, Pa Salieu

a/n: Inspired by this. His expression in this scene is everythiiing

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Enjoy the read!

[gif @hoosbandewan]

[divider @targaryen-dynasty]

The chamber doors slammed shut, jarring me from my needlework.

Aemond erupted into the room, his voice a venomous hiss that chilled me to the bone.

“Cravens. Lickspittles.” The words ripped from his throat with a guttural growl, filling the apartment with lethal fury, instilling a deep sense of unease in my gut, as he paced the room like a caged beast, his hands clenching and unclenching at his sides. “A nest of fucking vipers.” His features were warped with hatred, his eye sparking rage and his scar appeared to burn hot red in his skin.

I set my needlework aside, bracing myself for the inevitable storm.

My husband had grown increasingly volatile of late. Temperamental. Volcanic, ever at the brink of eruption. Long convinced that his knowledge of history, swordsmanship, and his ancestral ties to Valyria of old – that was his dragon – destined him for the crown, he chafed under the regency. Yet, with the weight of governance upon him, I’d realized these qualities hardly made for a wise ruler.

Aemond was tyrannical, impulsive, and possessed a relentless thirst for vengeance I’d thought long sated, but now burned fiercer than ever.

I’d learned to tread carefully, supporting him rather than opposing him. Questions were rare, acquiescence plentiful, regardless of my true feelings.

“The Lannisters,” he snarled, hurling a crumpled piece of parchment into the fire. “Balls deep in their lions and their gold that they believe they can command me.” His eye blazed with ire. “Me!” His voice was a startling growl, and I schooled my racing heart.

Adopting my role as the submissive, doting wife, I folded my hands in my lap and eased reverence into my gaze, “That was their first mistake,” I offered, feigning confidence, as though I had the briefest idea of what they had done.

Crossing Aemond was a path none would willingly tread, though the Lannisters were hardly known to be the brightest of the noble houses in the realm.

“They mock me,” he snapped. “My word is law.”

“And they’d be wise to abide by them,” I replied.

“I tire of being compared with my father,” he spat. “The man was weak. Pliable.”

“You are his opposite, Your Grace.”

“Mother believes she can mind me like a puppet, as she did Aegon. She clings to what little power remains to her.” He stilled, his fingers fidgeting at his sides. “I sense her heart still lies with Rhaenyra.” All of his thoughts materialized into words like a surging flood. “I can no longer trust her counsel,” he said. “So, I dismissed her.”

A mistake, I feared. “I’m sure it was a wise decision, Your Grace.”

“Cole addles me,” Aemond proceeded. “The man, once so commanding and fierce, now carved out into a pitiful husk.” He started through the room again. “Aegon was a fool to name him Hand.”

“You are the Prince Regent, Your Grace,” I voiced softly. “You may name a new one as you wish.”

With his rant, his tempest began to subside. The honeyed tone I knew so well sank back into his voice and replaced his rage. His pacing ceased, and his anxious fingers relaxed at his sides, before he sank into his chair beside me.

“The Lannister coward wish me to fly out to the Tooth to secure their safe passage to Harrenhal,” he spat, his fingers twisting together, venom seeping back into his voice, “’With haste’, he says!”

I stood, my voice steady. “Your regency is green, Your Grace, and your subjects forgetful of their places.”

Aemond’s hands gripped the arm rests, his whole body contracting beneath his leathers in readied ambush.

“It is your duty to remind them,” I continued, rounding his chair, my hands settling on his shoulders. He was rigid beneath my touch, his muscles bulging with tension.

He glanced over his shoulder, his eye a mix of softness and lethal intent. “You are correct,” he said, his fingers tightening around the hilt of Blackfyre. “A public execution would persuade them.”

My heart hammered against my ribs, and my grip on his shoulders tightened instinctively.

“Perhaps a less bloodied approach, my love,” I suggested, coating my words in honey. “Escalating the mislike of the smallfolk would be unwise,” I said, willing my touch to send a calming current into his bones. “We cannot risk provoking the hungry masses.”

“I do not wish to be liked,” he hissed, his voice laced with malice. “I wish to be feared.”

Yet, when I leaned down over him, wrapping my arms over his chest, nuzzling my face into his cheek, he unraveled in my embrace, melting like wax exposed to flame.

A deep exhale of relief escaped his lips, as though my touch pulled the string of tension from his muscles like cloth, a deep satisfied hum reverberating in his chest. All of his anger disintegrated into dust, and he leaned into me, closing his eye, his face pressing against mine, his delicious heat seeping into my skin.

I breathed in the scent of him.

Musk and leather.

I filled my senses with it, a heady intoxication.

“Husband…?” I whispered against his skin.

“Wife,” he sighed with rapture, his arm reaching up, his fingers tangling into my hair, pulling me closer. He buried his nose in my neck and inhaled. He sighed once more with entrance, his breath warm against my ear. “You smell divine,” he whispered.

His fury was a tempest, his tenderness a balm. Once crossed, he was a force to be reckoned with.

But when he was soft… he was so very soft.

“Thank you, husband,” I smiled. The matter of the Lannister’s defiance was as good as wind. “My maids put lavender and rose in my bath earlier.”

“Hmm,” he hummed appreciatively. “I commend them.”

My heart swelled in my chest. In these moments, I felt a love that transcended fear. I could endure his tirades for hours if they always ended like this, with him so vulnerable, and soft, his fury crumbling under my touch, like a fortress breached.

His complexity was a bottomless well, an endless enigma, each layer revealing a new facet of his being. A mystery I could not begin to fathom, only sit back and enjoy. I was utterly captivated, desperate to remain in his favor. His trust in me was profound, and I knew the weight of my words carried uncommon power. My devotion and loyalty were absolute. Anything he’d ask of me would be his, a fact he understood completely.

My hair cascaded down his chest, mingling with his silver, a cosmic tapestry against the leather. I burrowed deeper into his skin, making him softer, my kisses trailing across his cheek until they met his lips, to which he groaned softly, deepening the union, his grip tightening around the back of my neck.

The kiss was a consuming inferno, leaving me breathless and light-headed.

“Hmm,” he hummed with delight. “Your lips alone could end this war.”

He possessed my whole heart in the palm of his hand.

“They are your servants, Your Grace,” I whispered against his cheek.

He chuckled low, a comforting melody, the muscles in his face plumping, his lips pursing to his contented smile.

But the looming threat of Rhaenyra’s forces intruded on my thoughts. Despite my misgivings about the way the succession had been handled, my husband’s victory was paramount. Many believed him consumed by darkness, a prisoner of his own demons. His mother, among others, shared this bleak view. Yet, here in my arms, I held undeniable proof to the contrary. I knew in my heart that he did not need to be feared, when he was capable of such profound love. So much more than he probably knew himself.

“Aemond,” I began, feeling his attention shift to me. “These weeks past I’ve been witnessing the plight of the smallfolk from our window-”

“You should not submit your eyes to such vile scenes,” he interrupted, snarling.

“Nevertheless,” I countered gently. “It has been impossible to turn a blind eye. Famine stalks the city. Sickness is surging. Blame is placed on those who rule over them.” His head rested heavier against me as he listened, his gaze flickering with thought. “Do not underestimate the influence of the common people,” I said.

His jaw clenched.

“Their numbers far outstrip ours. Capable of turning the tide if discontented,” I pressed on.

A silence filled our chambers, and I sent a silent prayer to the Mother that he would be malleable enough to receive my words in the way they were intended.

“What do you suggest?” he said finally.

I exhaled a silent breath.

“Open the gates. Spare them imprisonment,” I replied.

“They will spread their slanders across the Crownlands,” he countered, his voice like liquid.

“But you cannot control them. A good King does not earn the love of his people through fear. Neither does he command loyalty. He must earn it. Fear breeds nothing but resentment.”

He seemed to consider my words, his expression unreadable.

Then, he inhaled deeply, and took my hand, guiding me around his chair, pulling me into his lap.

“My wise counsellor,” he purred, his arms tightening around my waist. “You would make a formidable queen.” His lips brushed against my ear as his fingers began to trail a path down my neck, hooking into the laces of my dress, which he undid with expert grace, his arm pulling with long strokes as the laces fell out, and opened my bosom. A shiver ran down my spine and desire ignited in my blood. My breasts fell heavy, and he caught them in his hands, humming with delight. I shuddered beneath his touch, a pulse starting between my thighs.

“Aemond,” I whispered, my voice barely a breath.

“Hm?” he murmured absently, his fingers already slipping beneath the delicate fabric.

“Did you hear what I said?” I uttered, trembling.

He leaned in, his eye dark with desire. “Yes,” he rasped, his voice husky, his tongue darting out to taste the peak of my breast, softly grazing across my nipple in a hot, wet motion.

Fog infiltrated my mind faster than I dared to acknowledge.

He retreated slightly, and watched as my peak hardened under his subtle provocation. With practiced ease, he repeated the torment on the other breast, his gaze appraising, his eye a dark blue.

“You suggest I please the smallfolk,” he said, his voice low and sultry, lifting my heavy breast in his hand. “Though I’d much rather please my wife,” he groaned, and a sharp intake of breath escaped my lips as he took my nipple into the delicious heat of his mouth, a fierce pleasure igniting within me. I gasped, my hands instinctively cradling his head as I arched into him, keeping him latched. He released me with a wet pop, his eye gleaming with satisfaction at the pink swelling. He captured the other nipple in his mouth. A feverish heat pulsed through me, an insatiable craving consuming me.

This nightly ritual was a torment and a salvation. He could have his hands and mouth on me for hours, days, until I was raw and throbbing, and I would still yearn for his touch, his taste, his complete possession.

He was a poison and a cure, a fire that consumed me entirely. An addictive draught, coursing through my veins, blurring my reason.

His hands, the weapons of a killer, ravaged my body and tore at my dress, twisting it down until my torso was exposed to his predatory gaze. They delved beneath the fabric, their touch a fiery brand igniting my skin. Hungry fingers tore at me, exploring up my thighs, setting my nerves ablaze. With a swift movement, he claimed me, switching me in his lap until my back pressed against his hard chest, my legs propped up on the edge of his seat, cradled on either side of him. His hands swept the inner curve of my thighs, a path of fire, a delicate torment reaching higher, until they found the tender juncture. His face pressed against mine, ragged breaths fanning my face. A shiver coursed through me, a strange blend of warmth and dread from the volatile energy emanating from him. His hands remained right where they were, squeezing softly, tickling gently. My gown bunched around my hips, my exposed core throbbing for his touch, pulsing with eager longing, my body yearning for the release his touch promised.

My mind was immersed in an impossible fog, and I clawed for clarity. “Will you do me this one favor?” I panted, my breath mingling with his.

“What is this favor?” His growl was a low rumble as his tongue wet his fingers, a slow, erotic swipe as he held my gaze, a prelude to torment, setting my blood aflame. They found my clit, dampening it in a circular dance of fire. I whined and shuddered beneath his touch, and his eye sparked with gratification. My body bucked, a helpless rhythm to his masterful control.

Senses blurred. Words tangled. Yet, I clung to the fading remnants of reason, forcing myself while he was still open to receive counsel.

“To open the gates,” I pleaded, my voice trembling. “If we cannot feed them, let them leave.”

“Hmm.” His throaty hum, a low, primal sound, vibrated through me, promising both ecstasy and torment. Goosebumps erupted down my skin. I gasped as his fingers slid downward, parting my slick lips, until they delved into me, the invasion equal agony and pleasure. I gasped, my head tilting back.

He wrapped an arm around my chest, steadying me. “I’ll think on it,” he growled into the flesh of my neck, his teeth a fleeting brushfire on my skin.

“Name a-,” my words dissolved as he curled his fingers up into my sweet spot. “-new Hand.” I gripped the armrests, desperately anchoring myself to reality amidst the tempest of his touch, his fingers pumping me slowly. “He was never suited,” I managed between ragged breaths.

“No more politics, my love,” he groaned, salacious noises of my pleasure filling the room. His focus, a burning intensity, was solely on me, on the spectacle of my pleasure.

And with a ragged, throaty breath, he uttered, “I want to watch you come.”

Water cascaded into the tub, steam licking across the water’s surface. The intoxicating blend of lavender and rose filled the apartment, a scent I’d commissioned for my husband’s return from the morning’s small council meeting. As I inhaled the sweet, warming air, my mind sought tranquility amidst the looming war. Yet, the illusion of peace shattered with the abrupt crash of heavy footsteps and a violent wrenching of the chamber door.

Aemond stormed in, a frenzied tempest.

“Fucking eunuch,” he hissed, raging past me, barely acknowledging my presence.

The allure of the bath, once a soothing sanctuary, evaporated.

Once more, his turmoil was a tempest I yearned to calm.

My mind raced as I strained to decipher the subject of his rage.

“That toad, Larys Strong,” he growled.

That was all the confirmation I needed.

“Did he truly believe I would bestow the title of Hand upon a Strong cripple such as himself?” he spat, his eye ablaze with malice. “I didn’t like the way he fucking looked at me. I’ll have his eyes out.”

“Come, Your Grace, join me,” I invited softly, swishing my hand through the water.

Aemond snarled, as if the water was poison. “I have no time for such indulgences,” he said, and with a dismissive gesture, turned to his books, his one eye scanning the pages with fierce concentration.

“It’s still warm,” I coaxed, but he paid me no mind, his focus remaining on the text.

I was not foolish enough to press his boundaries. Even though he was susceptible to my words and counsel, I understood when his wall had grown impenetrable.

I left him to his studies, a certain comfort arising at the thought that perhaps this bath would be mine after all. I loosened my robe, letting it puddle at my feet before stepping into the inviting water. As I submerged myself, the heat seeped into my blood, tranquilizing my tense bones, and a soft sigh of pleasure escaped my lips. I tipped my head back and allowed the water to filter into my hair, prickling my scalp with its alluring fingers. As I straightened, coiling the water out of my hair, I stole a glance at Aemond, who devoured the pages with predatory intensity, my nakedness seeming to hold no allure at present.

I sat up, my breasts rising above the water’s surface. I grabbed the soapy sponge and began painting my body in foam. I moved slowly, the rich lather coating my arms, my collar bones, my neck, my chest, my breasts… They became slick with it, my nipples tightening under the stimulation.

Aemond’s gaze flickered.

As I cradled one breast, kneading and pinching the soft flesh, his nostrils flared and his eye narrowed, a predatory glint darkening its depths as if though I was his next kill, watching my cleansing ritual. Yet, he continued to feign indifference, his fingers turning the pages absently.

A surge of triumph coursed through me and nerves danced beneath my skin. I’d captured his attention, a prize hard won.

“Do you find something of interest?” I asked coyly, nodding towards his books.

His jaw ticked. “More than you can imagine,” he drawled, his gaze burning me, and I knew he was not referring to the histories.

I continued my provocative play, flicking my nipples, lathering them, until they ached with longing for his mouth.

His fingers twitched, a silent confession of his growing need. “Are you in need of assistance, my lady?” His voice, low and husky, was an enticing promise.

“I believe so,” I purred.

He shut the book and sauntered over, his approach slow and deliberate, sending the anticipation boiling within me. Kneeling behind me, he claimed the sponge, his touch a masterful blend of tenderness and command as he assumed his duties of cleansing me. Water beaded on the cloth before he inched it towards me, a cascade of soapy liquid descending upon my breasts at the clench of his delicate fingers. His hand followed, a caress that ignited a wildfire within.

A throaty sigh escaped him, which sent heat lower.

“What of your Hand?” I purred, my voice laced with invitation. “Who will assume the duties?”

“I need someone steadfast to advance my cause,” he murmured, his gaze dark and distant. “Someone unyielding in the face of dragonfire. Someone fiercely loyal,” he drawled, his voice drifting with shifted focus. His hand came up around my throat, squeezing gently, a playful threat that sent shivers prickling my spine. It descended then, down over my collarbones, tracing a fiery trail to my breasts, and a flick of his thumb over my hardened nipple sent me into orbit. A low whimper escaped my lips. His frame loomed over me, his scent, a heady mix of leather and desire, filled my senses, intoxicating me.

“Perhaps the candidate of choice is closer than we think,” he continued, his voice a low rumble.

I perked up through the fog. “Enlighten me,” I murmured, my voice barely a whisper. His lips came down to my ear, his hot breath setting my blood on fire. His hand slipped beneath the water until his leather sleeve was submerged above his elbow.

“You, wife,” he breathed, his voice a charged current that ignited my every nerve, further elevated by the caress of his fingers over my core.

I scoffed, the absurdity of the notion hitting me like a cold wave.

“Why do you laugh?” he asked, his voice velvet and steel.

“A woman as Hand?” I ridiculed. “Unheard of.”

“You are no ordinary woman,” he countered, his words a molten caress. “You are my wife. And you guide me better than anyone.”

His words washed over me, dissolving my resistance in a tide of desire.

“Perhaps in our chambers,” I said, a hint of amusement coloring my voice. “But around a council table? Holding the second most powerful position in the realm? It is laughable.”

A dangerous silence stretched between us as he considered my words. “Nothing about you is laughable,” he finally said, his voice low and intense.

I turned to face him, the water rippling around me. I stacked my arms on the edge of the tub, my head tilting as I studied his sharp features.

His fingers traced patterns along my jaw, his eye filling with shimmering emotion. I smiled, reveling in the raw intensity he displayed only around me.

“Won’t you join me, husband?” I invited.

A dangerous glint sparked in his eye, and without a word, he stood, unclasping his doublet from his center with slow, deliberate motions of his fingers. Heat rose within me with each layer that he shed. His body was a masterpiece of muscle and sinew.

He was all smooth lines and clean edges, that anything remotely carnal felt so much more unchaste with him.

His muscles rippled beneath taut skin, a living sculpture of power. Every part of him was so incredibly hard and defined, shadows playing around each tissue.

He sank into the water opposite me, his silver hair melting in the water like liquid moonlight.

I walked my feet up his taut stomach, up his chest, and wiggled my toes in his face playfully. He retaliated with mock ferocity, snapping at them with his teeth, his predatory gaze fixed on me, his eye alight with rare mischief. I giggled and retreated, but he captured one foot, his lips trailing soft kisses up my sole to my toes, sending a strangely pleasurable feeling through my core.

I scrunched my nose at him. “You’re filthy,” I complained with feigned revolt.

“Indeed,” he drawled, his fingers kneading tension from my foot. A wave of pleasure washed over me, and I leaned back, sighing in contentment. His gaze was intense, his eye a fathomless blue. He knew, as always, how to soothe my soul.

“If I asked it of you,” he began, and my breath grew shallow. “Would you take on the responsibility?”

The responsibility as Hand?

A wave of incredulity washed over me and I wanted to laugh again, though his features were etched with such seriousness that I felt as though I would be lynched if I as much as quirked the corners of my mouth.

Anything he’d ask of me, I would do with pleasure, though a sudden reservation coiled in my gut this time.

He had meant it in earnest. Dread sought its way around my throat.

I swallowed; my mind unable to even contemplate the weight of this looming task. I opened my mouth to respond, but no words formed.

He hummed with understanding, his eye softening and his mouth drawing up into a tender smile. “You needn’t give an answer now,” he said, placing a kiss to the bottom of my toe. “Consider it.”

Then, he tugged on me until I straddled his lap, the water splashing onto the floors from our shifting bodies. I steadied myself on his firm chest as his hand snaked around my back, the other around my neck, pulling me into him. His desire, already throbbing and insistent, was pressing eagerly against my opening.

“Imagining you,” he whispered against my lips. “Around the council table… At my side.” A shiver ran through me as I felt his dick pulse beneath me, and his breath shuddered on my skin. “It’s making me hard at the mere thought.” His grip tightened around the back of my neck, his fingers delving into my wet hair before he claimed my mouth, forcing my lips onto his in a clash of teeth and mess. I whimpered at the sudden collide, at the urgency of it, my body molding to his, while a heavy blend of lavender, rose, and dragon consumed my senses.

His hands came down and grabbed two handfuls of my ass and guided me onto his length. The water resisted our movements, making the intrusion slow and straining, and I sawed my bottom lip between my teeth. He filled me slowly, a throaty groan rumbling in his chest as I sank onto him, his eye locked onto the union, his lips parted in admiration.

He seized my hips, setting a relentless pace. His muscles rippled with exertion in the most attractive way imaginable, as he forced me to fuck him, the water spraying around us. The apartment echoed with the sounds of our passion, a lascivious ambiance of violent splashes, our breathless moans, and the primal growl in his throat.

The small council had convened hours hence when I was called upon from my chambers by the King’s Guard, my breakfast still steaming on the table.

“The Prince Regent requests an audience, my lady,” they announced.

The lords sat huddled around the council table upon my entry, engrossed in earnest discussion. My gaze flickered briefly over Alicent’s and Cole’s empty seats.

Aemond occupied the head of the table, his gaze distant and hostile, his fingers steepled beneath his chin.

“You called on me, Your Grace?” I inquired.

“Be seated,” he commanded, his voice carrying an unfamiliar chill that sent unease coursing through me.

I moved towards the table’s end with the intention to seat myself opposite him, but halted at his disapproving hum.

“Closer,” he insisted.

I hesitated, confusion washing through me and the rest of the council. A tense air descended, and I swallowed, before smoothing my dress and circumnavigated the table, the empty seats beside Aemond my only two options. His eye fixed me with a venomous intensity, as though I were a mere adversary, and not his good wife whom he was buried deep inside only last night.

Reluctantly, I claimed his mother’s old seat.

His displeasure was palpable, but unvoiced.

A tense silence filled the room before he broke it. “Lord Larys,” he began, with a challenging tilt to his head as his gaze ripped from me and pinned the crippled man at my side. “What has come of the summons of my grandsire back to court?”

Larys Strong shifted uneasily in his chair, the action of a man on the verge of delivering some bad tidings, and I noted that his eyes remained in their sockets.

“My messages have been to no avail, Your Grace,” he mumbled. “Ser Otto seems preoccupied in Old Town for the time being.”

A low, contemplative “hmm,” reverberated in Aemond’s chest. “Well then,” he mused. “It seems I must consider…” His visage softened into a strangely content expression, “…other candidates.” He leaned back, propping his foot up on the edge of his chair, idly turning the king’s marble between his fingers. His gaze flickered to me, carrying a weight of unspoken intent.

“Do you have someone in mind, Your Grace?” Jasper Wylde inquired, his voice laced with curiosity.

A slow, predatory smile crept across Aemond’s features. “As it happens, I do,” he lulled as he observed me.

Dread pulsed through me, and I shook my head at him; a silent plea for him to abandon this reckless idea died unspoken on my lips. Instead, a spark ignited in his eye, a dangerous glint promising a storm, his head nodding gently.

“There is only one here whose counsel I trust implicitly,” he declared, his voice carrying a conviction that both warmed and terrified me in equal measure.

Lord Larys, ever the opportunist, perked up beside me. “And who might that be, Your Grace?”

A flicker of annoyance crossed Aemond’s face. He sat up straight in his chair and pinned Lord Larys with such venom that the cripple must have abandoned all hope before Aemond even spoke. “My wife,” he pronounced, his tone final.

A stunned silence descended upon the council as the weight of his words sunk in, and an ominous shudder coiled up my spine.

“Go on,” Aemond urged, ice in his voice. “Voice your disputes.” He dared them, his fingers resting adroitly atop the hilt of the catspaw dagger at his waist.

“Your Grace is free to choose his Hand as he sees fit,” Maester Orwyle offered, his voice carefully neutral.

“There has never been a female Hand,” Lord Larys ventured, his tone hesitant and laced with poison.

“Then it’s high time there was one,” Aemond countered, leaning closer, his voice a velvet threat.

“In these times of war and turmoil, you need a strong Hand at your side, Your Grace.”

A venomous glint sparked in Aemond’s eye. “Like you?” he sneered. “Lord Strong.”

Larys recoiled. “I would never presume, Your Grace,” he stammered. “But if duty called, I would serve you without question.”

“Lady Y/N,” Aemond’s voice, cold and deliberate, jolted me from my thoughts, sending a gnawing chill up my spine. “Should I make Lord Strong my Hand in your stead?”

The question was a seismic shift, leaving me teetering on the precipice of disaster.

To deny Larys was to accept the mantle of Hand myself, a role I was woefully unprepared for to be sure. To elevate Larys was to gamble the stability of the realm on a man whose loyalty was as fickle as the tide.

The latter choice was a chasm of peril.

I straightened in the chair, meeting my husband’s gaze. “Lord Larys is a man of expedient measures, his loyalty as fleeting as the wind,” I declared, my eyes locking with cripple’s next to me. “To name him Hand would be to plunge the realm deeper into chaos.”

Larys returned my gaze with a venomous glare, and I understood the depth of Aemond’s earlier words.

The way he looked upon you when crossed demanded his eyes out.

A pleased smile curved Aemond’s lips. “Then it is decided,” he said, rising from his seat. He crossed the chamber to a central plinth and selected one of the smooth marbles. Returning to me, he placed it reverently in the hollow before me, his air lingering briefly. When he sat back down, he fixed Lord Larys with an unwavering glare, his eye narrowing and his nostrils flaring with contempt.

“You heard her, Lord Strong,” he hissed. “Off you limp.”

The cripple offered no further protest, rising with evident reluctance despite the provocation. He leaned heavily on his cane and hobbled from the room, as commanded.

“Now,” said Aemond, splaying his hands on top of the table. “Where were we?”

Remaining to Aemond’s small council were now Jasper Wylde, Maester Orwyle, and myself. This apparent oversight did not seem to trouble my husband. If given the choice, he would likely rule alone, with me as his sole companion, a prospect I would swiftly dispute.

Lord Wylde reported that Ser Criston had finally departed for Harrenhal with the Hightower army. Intelligence suggested Daemon’s position at Harrenhal appeared weakened, presenting a prime opportunity to strike. Moreover, Daeron, along with his dragon, was expected to join the fighting soon, and the Lannister fleet was closing in.

“King Aegon makes slow but steady progress, Your Grace,” Maester Orwyle reported. “He grows stronger each day. He even managed to stand up for a shirt time this morn’.”

Aemond hummed thoughtfully. “A long recovery lies ahead, Grand Maester.”

Maester Orwyle dipped his head in agreement.

“If there is nothing further, we will reconvene on the morrow, my Lords,” Aemond declared. “You are dismissed.”

We rose from our seats.

“Not you,” he said, halting me, knowing he was addressing me without having to look at him. Maester Orwyle and Lord Wylde placed their marbles back onto the platform before filing out, the heavy doors closing behind them.

I turned to him, his air exuding incontrovertible autocracy. There was something so unfamiliar about this man. He wasn’t my husband, but someone else entirely. A stranger inhabited his body, a man of iron will and cold fury. Someone that would let the world burn beneath the rage of his dragon and find it a triviality.

I wished to pacify him. To quell the fire and take my soft husband from the ashes. If this man in black leather and silver edges would deign to let me near him.

“I understand now the burdens you carry,” I said cautiously, making my careful approach. “Surrounded as you are by a council of deceitful lords with a reluctance to serve you fully.”

His jaw ticked, a tempest of emotions raging within his eye, fury and vulnerability warring with each other.

His father was dead, his mother ridden with guilt and misplaced allegiances, his brother burnt and broken, and his sister consumed by grief.

He was a Targaryen, left to face the horrors of this war alone. A most terrible fate. The weight of his house rested solely on his shoulders, and violence had become his banner.

“I have it under control,” he growled, though his dancing fingers upon the stone betrayed his words. The burden upon him was a festering wound, threatening to consume him.

“I’m sure you do,” I replied, looming over him. “But that does not mean you must stand alone.”

His eye pinned me with pure venom, sending a sharp chill coursing through my veins. But I willed myself to touch him, as I had so many times before to quiet his rage. My hand instinctively came up to his cheek, my thumb tracing the familiar scar on his cheek, and as I’d thought – this time were no different. He surrendered to my touch like a storm subsiding, his eye a deep pool, welling with the shimmer of unspoken emotion.

“I’m always at your side,” I promised, and his hand came up to cup mine, squeezing lightly with subtle desperation, a silent acceptance of my solace. “Whatever happens,” I assured him.

He averted his gaze, as if holding mine would cause the pool to flood.

“Sometimes,” he began, pursing his lips to the side, considering his next words for a moment. “It feels like you’re the only one who is.”

“I don’t believe that’s true,” I said.

“Even so,” he said. “It would be enough for me.”

A smile crept up the corners of my lips

My sweet Aemond.

I straddled him in his chair, and he took me into his arms, burying his chin in the crook of my neck. Once weapons of war, his hands now cradled me with a desperate tenderness. That’s how we remained for a while, his hands splaying across my back, gripping me with a possessive ferocity, as if he’d never known touch.

He yearned to be seen, accepted, loved, flaws and all.

I returned his embrace with equal fervor, our bodies igniting in a conflagration of warmth and desire. I held him so tightly that my arms began to ache, and the heat radiating from our fusion made me perspire.

But it was more than his body which heated me. A potent warmth radiated from him, igniting a fire deep within me. The desperation in his embrace had softened into something gentler. His hands rubbed me tenderly, his breath grew shallower, and his lips began to place soft kisses along my neck, which sent want pulsing through me.

He had solidified beneath me, his arousal pressing against my groin, demanding adjustment. Meeting his gaze, his features were no longer etched with heartbreaking peril, but had instead darkened with lust.

I pressed myself against his erection, and he let out a rough breath, watching me with languid appreciation as my hands roamed his chest, ran up his neck, into his thick hair, and then delved into the rich fabric of his doublet. I was infatuated with every inch of him. A heady warmth emanated from him, and I was utterly consumed.

A slick heat pooled between my thighs. The insistent pressure of his arousal against my dampened undergarment, a wave of lust blurring my vision. I couldn’t resist the urge to grind against him. Our eyes met, hazy, heavy-lidded, urgent. His thumb traced my lower lip, and I didn’t hesitate to press my mouth to his. I surrendered to him, his kiss, sweet and lazy at first, then deepened into a demanding exploration of my mouth. His hand searched beneath the pool of my dress. It fisted the fabric of my undergarment and I gasped as he tore it from my hip, revealing my wetness. A low growl rumbled in his chest as he deepened the kiss, his tongue plundering my mouth.

My palm caressed his arousal, a reckless abandon consumed me as I stroked him. He drew in a sharp breath, his gaze fixed on my ministrations as I moved my hand up and down his length. His body throbbed beneath my hand, his breathing growing shallow and ragged.

“Perhaps we should retire to our chambers?” I whispered, a shiver of apprehension running through me as the precariousness of our position struck me with a chilling clarity.

I was sitting astride him in the council chambers where anyone could enter.

“What for?” he demanded, his voice a rough growl. His hands claimed my body, swiping up my abdomen, kneading and bruising with a primal force. They squeezed my breasts, his eye admiring them nearly bulging out of my dress. His mouth devoured the valley between them, his tongue and teeth an exhilarating assault.

My breath shuddered as I watched him devour my skin with hungry kisses. Words suddenly failed me, and I was unable to articulate a reason.

“I am the prince regent,” he growled, his words muffled against my skin. “I will fuck my wife wherever I please.” With that, he rose, sweeping his hands beneath my thighs to place me on top of the council table.

“Spread your legs,” he commanded, his tone icy and menacing.

Lust constricted my breath as I obeyed.

His palms caressed my legs upward, his thumbs pressing into my inner thighs with a brutal intensity that unraveled me. As my legs parted, a cold draft swept across my core, and I became acutely aware of my dampness. His gaze lingered there, a mix of heat and corruption that electrified me.

He yanked me closer, his grip on the back of my neck forcing my breasts against his chest as his lips grazed my ear.

“The Hand is dripping all over the council table,” he growled and nipped my neck.

The sharp pain lanced my neck as his teeth grazed it. I gasped, but the discomfort transformed into a moan when his thumb found my clit. His hold tightened in my hair, pulling my head back as he lowered my dress, exposing my breasts. His mouth closed over my nipple, sucking on it, igniting a wildfire of desire that consumed me.

His thumb traced delicate patterns over my clit, a cadent dance that sent shivers through me. His grip on my hair tightened. A deep groan reverberated in his chest and his attention shifted to my other breast, his tongue and teeth teasing and tormenting me.

I leaned back on my hands and arched into his touch, my hips involuntarily bucking under the dance of his fingers. His mouth was a fiery brand on my skin, and I felt as though I were drowning in sensation.

When his hands left me, I was left aching for their return.

His gaze, dark and intense, held me captive as he grabbed my hips and jerked me to the edge of the table. My legs parted instinctively, and I was lost in a world of heightened senses. His eye followed the curve of my body, falling between my thighs, my core completely exposed to him, and he shook his head in disbelief, running his hands down my calves.

“Fuck,” the single word, uttered with raw desire, escaped his lips. His strong arms cradled my thighs, before his mouth descended between them.

The first hot, wet swipe of his tongue sent a violent shiver through me. A storm of sensation erupted within me as his tongue explored every inch of my damp folds. I was consumed by a primal urge, a reckless abandon that clouded my judgement. A rush of pleasure flooded me, the waves rolling stronger and stronger at every slow lap of his tongue.

My fingers tangled in his thick hair as he licked me from entrance to clit. “Oh, Gods,” I moaned, digging my hands into his silver, my blunt nails tugging at his scalp.

My gaze skittered toward the chamber doors and my mind surged with anxiety at the prospect of someone coming through them, but I found the thought slipping from my mind when Aemond swirled his tongue over my clit before sucking gently. My eyes rolled back in my head and my hips wound beneath his mouth.

The introduction of his fingers was a spark that ignited a conflagration, a feeling of fullness descending a hazy veil over my mind and body, oil torching through my bloodstream.

A tremor convulsed and a shuddering gasp escaped me as his tongue flicked my clit, a cadenced dance foregrounded by the insistent thrust of his fingers. Each of his strokes were a calculated torment, deep, guttural noises of satisfaction escaping him as the sweet nectar of my pleasure ran down his chin. He teased the precipice, slowing when the pressure built, igniting a desperate plea within me.

“Please,” I breathed desperately. His fingers deepened their invasion, intensifying the fire within me. When he slowed again, panic seized me, and I clawed at his hair. Words failed me, reduced to a desperate repetition of a single syllable. “Please, please, please,” I begged.

Finally, he answered my silent demands. His digits quickened and curled, his laps ran steady and drenched my core, until a relentless, hot pressure built.

His gaze locked onto mine, his blue eye transformed into a storm-laden ocean. As the world narrowed to a blinding white, I cried out my final plea, his name, obscenities; before the tempest of release engulfed me, my whole body clenching and shuddering beneath him.

In its aftermath, a languorous warmth spread through me. I trembled against the table, a puppet on invisible strings as his fingers continued their soothing rhythm.

My body, spent and quivering, collapsed onto the cold table, my chest heaving, my eyes closing as the last waves of ecstasy rolled through me.

As the fog began to lift, I opened my eyes to find Aemond reclined in his chair, his face flushed, his lips parted from exertion, his chin glistening from my slick desire.

He was a sight, to be sure.

His gaze, dark and rapacious, held me captive. A flicker of hunger danced in his eye, as though he was ready to eat me whole.

“Welcome to the small council, my love,” he smirked.

Tag list: @plovas69 @quinquinwuincy @lumerstar

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roseddraws · 20 days

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Oh my god wait. What if the blessings of the gods manifested physically? Like if a god takes an interest in you, EVERYONE is going to see it, for better or worse. And if you lose their favour? Everyone can see that, too

Jason with a peacock tail and feather-crest, both of which go faded and limp when he turns on Medea, so that they drag on the floor and get in the way

Pollux with eagle wings instead of arms, so Castor acts as his hands and that’s why they’re inseparable. When Castor dies and Pollux splits his immortality with him, they each get one arm and one wing, so one can’t fly without the other

Odysseus with a forked tongue and fangs—a subtle feature that he can hide when he needs to. When Athena feels like being helpful (like when she disguises him as a beggar) she’ll cast an illusion over it, but Penelope immediately recognises him by his lisp

When Athena gives Diomedes the blessing of seeing through the gods’ disguises, he also gets owl eyes and the ability to turn his head 180 degrees. This helps when Odysseus tries to stab him in the back on the Palladium heist

HERACLES WITH BULL HORNS. I have nothing to add I just think that sounds sick as hell

Helen grows beautiful golden feathers instead of hair. Nothing useful, just an obvious sign of her heritage that adds to her appeal to the suitors: whoever wins her hand gets to walk around with a physical symbol of Zeus’s favour

Atalanta with antlers that snap when she gets married, leaving jagged shards behind that won’t go blunt and can’t be sharpened down. She can have her husband, but he can’t touch her head without risking badly cutting himself. This can either be one final blessing or a curse depending on how consensual you interpret the marriage

Hector has pristine white raven wings, making him even more terrifying to the Achaeans, flying into battle like divine intervention, and a symbol of hope for the Trojans. Achilles plucks the feathers off his corpse, but they won’t stop growing back. Still, Achilles has a cloak made from them and wears it into battle, turning Troy’s symbol against them

Paris gets dove wings, but he tells everyone they’re too small to fly with because he’s a coward and doesn’t want to have the same responsibilities as Hector. Then he flies away from the duel with Menelaus in front of the entire army, and that’s when Troy finally loses what’s left of their respect for him

#Greek mythology #greek myths #greek gods #the iliad #the odyssey #tagamemnon #castor and pollux #dioscuri #odysseus #diomedes #heracles #helen of troy #Atalanta #hector of troy #paris of troy #rosedtalks

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beneathashadytree · 2 months

Text

THREE CONFESSIONS - RAFAYEL QI X READER

Warnings : spoilers for his date from the last event, references to his Lemurian nature & myths, reader is gender-neutral!

Genre : so much tooth-rotting fluff <3

Word count : 1.5K words (oops)

Additional notes : This was a combination of 3 lovely suggestions I received for Rafayel. Writer’s block sucks sometimes☹️ But I’m actually quite proud of this!! Hope you guys like it🫶🏽🫶🏽

Tip jar!

Masterlist

Rafayel’s tongue wasn’t used to the saccharine sweetness that they made him want to spout.

He was a fighter; a man—who wasn’t a man, not really—who bled for his people and burned like a flame that would never be put out. He lashed out, like a beast that couldn’t be tamed, and struck true, like a blade that never rusted. Though objectively he knew he was beautiful, he always saw himself as having that sort of fierce beauty; a contradictory sharpness and roughness lying in his soft siren-like features.

But somehow, those edges of his were rounded to a gentleness he’d never known himself to possess. All for one person, the very same person who’d managed to tame him first had laid claim to his heart—or what’s left of it. It made him want to do the unthinkable; made him want to speak the words he’d never thought he’d even want to say.

It wasn’t easy to go against your very nature, though. Sparkling daggers didn’t turn into smooth silk over night. So maybe it was the coward’s way out, but he thought the best way to ease himself into it was to devise a new plan, based on 3 things he’d learnt through simple observation and his keen eyes.

1- The way to one’s heart is through their stomach.

“C’mon, let me have it,” Rafayel whined, trying to pry their hands off the bowl that they seemed to have glued to their fingertips. He had not accounted for them being this strong (not that he had it in him to fight harder and potentially hurt them, anyways), nor had he accounted for them joining him as he was baking for them.

Gritting their teeth, they pushed back against him, protectively covering the bowl. “No. I will not let you eat raw cookie dough when you just got food poisoning last week.”

“Oh, but you would’ve let me have it if I had been perfectly fine?” he asked, a challenge in his voice as he arched his eyebrow. “So it’s not on principle of looking out for me then. Some bodyguard you are.” He dramatically waved them off, earning a roll of their eyes.

Unable to help himself, he smiled a little. Maybe every single one of their micro-reactions stung his torn and fractured heart, and maybe he liked it. Maybe the idea of spending the rest of his days bickering like this made his face flush, forcing him to turn to the fridge to hide it.

Maybe.

“You’ve got bonito flakes?” he asked, beginning to dig through their drawers.

“Figured you’d wanna snack,” they snorted, and he heard them set aside the bowl and rummage through their cupboard. “You always get hungry while baking.”

“Hey, are you saying I’m gaining weight?” Rafayel furrowed his eyebrows and turned back around to them. “For your information, I just wanted to add them to the cookie dough. Brand new flavor, it’s gonna be incredible. Trust me on this.”

Horror washed over their features at that, and their hands caught his arms in a vice like grip, an almost wild look in their eyes. “Don’t you even dare, you baking heathen.”

2- Sincere gifts speak volumes from the heart.

“Are we getting any closer?” they asked, shuffling slowly after him on the sand. Though Rafayel was tempted to do anything they asked of him (one of his baser instincts, he supposed, though this had nothing to do with being Lemurian), he still kept them blindfolded and tugged them along the beach.

And so what if a not-so-small part of him was just looking for an excuse to keep holding their hand? He wasn’t embarrassed about that—even if his blush said otherwise.

“Almost… two more steps actua—yeah, right here.” Much to his own disappointment, he was forced to let go of them in order to unveil his surprise for them. Maybe his hands shook a little as he removed the sheet and stabilized it, and maybe he was grateful for the fact that they couldn’t see how nervous he was.

But now that he’d taken their blindfold off and stood to the side, he’d never been more terrified to present his work in his entire life. There he was, baring his heart on a canvas, and there they were—

With a gasp, their hands flew to their mouth, and he could swear that there were no prettier jewels in the world than their teary eyes as they stared at his painting against the backdrop of the sunset reflecting on the ocean.

A vibrant painting of them in all the most passionate hues; the essence of their very soul captured in that breathtaking way of his and immortalized on a canvas. In a way, he’d breathed new life into them, gifting them some of his own years and they possessed all of his.

Nervously rubbing the back of his neck, he looked away. “You deserved something for your last mission. Something more than just empty praise.” Their silence only encouraged more of his rambling. “It’s not an exact portrait, of course, more of an interpretation. Just the way I—”

He didn’t get the time to spiral, because they threw themself into his arms before he could even continue his sentence, squeezing him tightly in their embrace.

“It’s stunning. Thank you, Raf.”

3- Words carry weight.

“If I used your name, would you do whatever I asked of you?” they quietly asked, the gentle breeze fluttering through their clothes.

For a few moments, Rafayel was silent. What was there to say, when someone asked you if they had full control over you? Dare you admit it and risk being hurt by them? Or would you hide the truth out of self-preservation?

“Yes.” The former. He tried to lighten the somberness of the moment by weakly joking. “But it doesn’t mean I’ll go down without a fight.”

Another silence. This time, he couldn’t tell what they were thinking. It scared him; Gods, it did. Then—

“Hold my hand, Rafayel.”

How foolish of them, to ask for something he’d so readily give them for no reason. Did they have no idea how his heart always roared to life everytime their hands were entwined? Hadn’t they noticed how reluctant he always was to let them slip through his fingers?

“You’re silly,” he tried to admonish them, though there was no malice whatsoever behind his words. Instead, immense fondness filled his eyes as he gently obeyed, every brush of his skin against theirs deliberate and careful. His thumb stroked the back of their hand, and soon it felt like everything were right in this world, right then and there.

He couldn’t walk away from their gaze. Not when they looked at him as though he was the most heavenly creature of the ocean.

“Now come closer.” For some reason, they sounded as though they were begging with a desperation that even words couldn’t conceal. “Let me really see you, Rafayel.”

And he did nothing, except inch forward a little. After all, what was there to do, when he’d already stood naked before them, his heart bare and his entire being open? There wasn’t anything else left for him to do to show just how vulnerable he made himself for them.

“You already do,” he softly smiled, an aching tenderness filling up his chest as he gazed at them. Gods, he’d never get enough of them, no matter how much time had passed. Amidst the sweet scent of the blooming flowers of the garden, and the gentle sunrays kissing every inch of their beautiful face, they were truly a vision straight out of his most wishful dreams.

Not looking away, not even for a second, they gripped his hand tighter. “Rafayel, just… tell me you—”

A finger against the plush of their lips silenced them, and he met their confused gaze with a shake of his head. Affection brimmed through his touch and overflowed, unable to keep it hidden any longer. “Don’t. You shouldn’t use my name to ask me to do something I want to do myself.”

Rafayel could feel their shaky breath leave them, and he couldn’t help but chuckle to himself, impossible fondness lacing his voice and entwining with every single syllable he devoted to them; always them, only ever them. “I love you. With every part of me.”

Yearning seared through his blood, and he could almost sigh in relief as they leaned further into him. “I—Rafayel…” Rendered speechless, their eyelashes fluttered slowly, heavy gaze flitting between his intense eyes and his lips. Two breaths mingling with each other, hearts entwined like clambering vines—somehow, nature had made them so in-sync that they fell into a familiar beat engraved in their souls.

If he could stay like this forever with them, he’d immortalize the unadulterated, peaceful happiness he felt surging inside of him. For the first time in his life, Rafayel felt that he was made to love; made to rest his weary bones, and finally retract his sharp nails and let himself grow soft in their hands.

For once, both his Lemurian blood and his human soul burned for the very same thing—the person who owned him completely, and someone he willingly gave himself over to.

He couldn’t stand the little distance between them any longer. “Let me show you that for the rest of our lives,” he mumbled against their lips, before letting his all-consuming adoration engulf them both.

Taglist: @vash-yuu @angry-and-yandere @nxx-jordiepord @honestlyjustablog @dawnbreakersgaze @tartartagliaboo @lucis-noctiana @riinari-sa @reika-desu @tikitsune @roll-of-royces @lemonsupernova @loveyoutodeep @belovedof @obiwanmcprobie @kalatipunan @eurekazz @bifedebruxa @thescribeswife @mysticangel123 @xenasolos @jvnluvr @dann-acalle @rin-sv14 @yololesgo @an-ever-angry-bi @semi-orangeapple @lavanderbliss @myturnwhen @winterlvod @carsonology @respitable @stellisangelicus-world @kvsqkiii @bitchynightmarepost @snoozeflare @spotted-salamander @cindywasneverhere @ladyparamount @sncrly0urs @huntersmoon1 @musiclover2119 @girl-who-lives-in-delusion @milktsukii @fromdeepspace-withlove @flavoredhappy @ay-chuu @granddearduck @skriblobz @honeyshoney149 @thatbaepizzalover @imhere2dosomething @saerotonins @cantescapethevoid @teewritessmth @lovra974 @straykidz143 @reishuus @xinnn6 @vyntagei (more in replies!)

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ellecdc · 8 months

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hear me out - a remus fic but set in come back be here, like maybe a muggle and remus is instantly smitten but has no idea how to navigate but everyone is pushing for him to actually go for it and it’s just chaos but in the best way possible… regardless come back be here was AMAZING

CBBH Remus x muggle!barista gn!reader

(Pretend they have phones for this okay? Thank you lol)

CW: just fluff, swearing, self deprecation, making a fool of oneself - you know, the remus lupin special

Remus would describe himself as many things.

He was a wizard. He was a werewolf. He was a business owner. He was an uncle. He was a friend. He was a war hero.

He was also, apparently, a coward.

He knows this to be true because he’s sat in the same spot that he’s been haunting all week – a chair in the far back corner of the café – pretending to look over ledgers in his notebook while he actually watches you work.

It’s fucking pathetic, is what it was.

He watched as you smiled politely at every customer in line – even the ones who weren’t as polite to you as Remus thought they ought to be.

He felt silly, really, watching you like a creep. He shouldn’t be here to begin with. He had stumbled upon this café completely by accident two weeks ago whilst in the city to pick up more muggle literature to add to his bookstore on Diagon Alley.

It was here he saw you, as if you were a siren calling him to this sodding caffeinated inlet to damn him to hell.

What a willing victim he was.

But he shouldn’t, couldn’t, wouldn’t get caught up with you. It was unthinkable. Most witches and wizards would have a hard time coming to terms with someone like, well, someone like him.

He was a burden. A risk.

It was selfish to think he could entertain the thought of you.

Suddenly, as if she’d known he was talking poorly of himself, his phone buzzed.

Remus tried to steal himself as he took a deep breath.

Right Lupin, you’ve done scarier things before. He thought to himself. You’ve run with wolves, you’ve gone undercover into enemy bases, you’ve deceived the dark lord right in front of his slimy fucking face, and you’ve even told Sirius once you thought his hair looked weird. By all means, you can talk to a barista.

Except...well...he really kind of couldn’t talk to a barista. He had made it all the way to the counter, even smiled politely at you as he stepped up to the cash register and...

And then words left him. Failed him. Completely abandoned him. He even thinks there may be a little stickie note in his brain that says ‘resignation effective immediately’ where words should be because he’s staring right at you with your gorgeous eyes and lovely hair and perfect features and for fuck sakes why isn’t he saying anything!?!?!

“Is there something I can get for you?” You asked so sweetly like this bloke wasn’t standing with his mouth agape at your cash register making a sure and utter fool of himself; like you had all the time in the world for the poor bastard.

“Uhm, uh...” He tried finally as if only now realizing he had functioning vocal chords.

“Uhm, fuck, I’m so sorry uhm...”

You chuckled at him. Holy shit you chuckled at him. It was the most beautiful sound Remus thinks he may have ever heard. He hoped you’d do it again, though, at the rate he’s going it was really very likely.

“I’m so sorry. I swear I’m not usually like this. Uh,” He apologized awkwardly as he scratched the back of his neck.

“I hope this isn’t too forward, but I think you’re lovely and would, uh, like to get to know you. You don’t have to say anything now!” He interrupted as you began to interject. “In fact, for my pride's sake, I’d prefer if you didn’t. But I’d like to leave my number here for you, in case you’d like to text me some time.”

He offered you the kindest smile he could muster as you took the now crumpled and sort-of-damp-from-his-sweaty-palms note in your hand with a smile of your own.

Now, Remus wouldn’t say he ran out of the café, per se. He would describe it as more of a jaunt, or perhaps a brisk walk. But he did nearly take out a woman with a pram as he all but flung the door open in his haste to get away.

You stupid ridiculous bastard. He scolded himself as he made his way to the closest apparition point. If Sirius could see you know, you’d never hear the end of it.

His phone buzzed and Remus nearly dropped it in his haste thinking it might be Sirius having somehow actually seen what just took place.

Then he nearly dropped it again as he saw a new text from an unknown number.

Perhaps Remus wasn’t such a coward after all.

#marauders come back be here #come back be here one shot #remus lupin imagine #remus lupin x reader #remus lupin x you #remus lupin #moony #remus lupin drabble #remus lupin fanfiction #Remus Lupin ficlet #marauders au #marauders fanfiction #marauders era #reader insert #self insert #ellecdc fics

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attyrocious · 8 months

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cross posting yesterday's rambling thread for posterity and because tumblr lets me edit things. anyway this is a sorta long thing and i might add things i forgot to mention in the twt thread

i tend to draw on-model canon because im a coward + just personal preferences. but the way i convert the canon designs into my artstyle is that i take the distinct features oda gives them and then combine it with personal headcanons to complete what should look like a unique human. Starting with Trafalgar Law, who is unfortunately a bland-ass conventionally pretty boy

someone commented a while ago the law hat drawing tutorial i made a while ago didn't make much sense and i realize its bc of the specific way i draw law's face: heart shaped (ba-dum-tss). That meaning, a narrow chin widening into a mild defined jaw, wide cheekbones, and up to his know-it-all brain dome.

given that, the pudgy guitar pick shape of his head i mentioned here should make a lot more sense.

i don't think this design point is unique to me, as most conventional pretty anime boy gets given jaws like this. a lot of law artists tend to veer into this head shape. just how life be sometimes. other points: flat, thick eyebrows is bc im a hairy gal and i need to feel better about myself.

Killer gets to be more interesting, because he shouldn't be considered conventionally attractive. my idea behind killer's is that those individual features is smth he would be insecure with enough to hide himself in a helmet but i draw him with all the love in the world actually. i'd like to think its how kid sees him or yknow, law, bc he's my kin assigned blorbo and maybe you ship lawkill as a guilty pleasure too i mentioned before (and ruined people's days) when i said whenever i draw killer he looks like griffith before i put on his goatee. the upper half of his face is distinctly feminine, with the lower half kinda over compensating. other than that uhh...idk. stan killer

Kidd is the bane of my existence, i feel like i can never draw his face consistently. yet at the same time he's so damn fun to draw everyone gotta try it.

my problem with kidd is that this mf does have eyelids. most kidd painters out there interpret this as him having deep set eyes (think Matt Smith or jeffrey star) . and yeh skill issue on me i should practice that. other notes, i try to make him younger than canon makes him look. he is my babygirl and he deserves to look cuddly. my band au kidd version has the honor of being allowed some chubs. he's just tries to look older and more menacing with edgy makeup. also i try to give him dimples when i can because, well i can.

Rosinante last bc i lost steam after kidd. the thing abt cora is that aside from not having eyebrows, everything is structured with the generic one piece man template. which means i gotta do everything myself doffy is there bc the way to figure out how to draw these two is to give them minor differences from each other, that being doffy gets slightly sharper features. in canon, these two are also rly wide boys (more of an oda style feat tbh) but i make them long. though bigger brained donquixote artists know that of these two brothers, doffy should be the wiry-er built. anyway that's it. in conclusion, i need to draw more girls actually i feel like im becoming misogynistic by osmosis from oda's style and now i draw girls all looking the same too.

#one piece #trafalgar law #eustass kid #eustass kidd #op killer #massacre soldier killer #donquixote rosinante #donquixote corazon #donquixote doflamingo #was gonna do robin and perona too at least but like...i have a job and stuff

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haveyouseenthisskeleton · 5 months

Note

S/O bought a Roomba,

taped a knife to it,

gave it a name tag with the name ‘Mr Stabby’,

and set it loose.

(main boys, please)

Love your stories!

Undertale Sans - One day you don't find your Roomba and discover Sans took it for a walk only to get a reaction out of the people in the street. He can't get over Mr Stabby. It's his new pet and his best friend.

Undertale Papyrus - He adds googly eyes on the Roomba so it looks even more ridiculous doing its task. It makes his brain happy to watch it clean the house while carrying its little knife. And it prevents him from doing chores he doesn't want to do. His ADHD is satisfied.

Underswap Sans - He's not sure what to think of Mr Stabby. First of all, he never saw a Roomba before and it scared the hell out of him the first time he saw it. But now? Now this poor thing looks ridiculous. It's small with a knife bigger than him. Who is it going to scare? If you wanted a guard dog... Adopt a guard dog???

Underswap Papyrus - He replaces the knife with a flower every time he sees it and now it's a daily battle between you two over Mr Stabby or Mr Flower. Come on, the Roomba is clearly cuter with a little flower, why would you tape a knife on it? The battle became so intense you're both using super strong tape to discourage the other now.

Underfell Sans - The thing is staring at him. Menacingly. Red hates it. Somehow, the Roomba cornered him and now he's shooting distressed glances towards his S/O. Help? The hell is this thing? He doesn't want it inside his house, get rid of it! He's going to have quite a few jumpscares in the next few days. He really doesn't like it.

Underfell Papyrus - He calls it Hellbringer. Now he has two weapons of massive destruction by his side. You cringe as he starts to laugh maniacally like an epic villain, carrying both his cat and the Roomba above his head. Ok....

Horrortale Sans - He's in a corner, growling at the Roomba. The thing surprised him while he was napping and now he distrusts it completely. Still, the Roomba refuses to hear his warning and comes closer. So Oak picks up the Roomba and explodes it in the wall lol. Rip Roomba.

Horrortale Papyrus - He didn't pay attention and accidentally walked on the Roomba... And on the knife. Now he's looking at you with sad offended eyes. You did that to him, feel guilty now! He's too tall to always watch where his feet are going!

Swapfell Sans - He refuses to get down the couch. This is witchcraft. He didn't touch the Roomba and it still activated on its own. This is some supernatural shit. Every time the Roomba gets close, he hisses angrily and tries to jump higher on the couch out of fear the thing will attack him. It's not funny! You still wonder how that coward is somehow the general of the royal guard.

Swapfell Papyrus - It's hilarious! He quickly understands the power of the Roomba on his brother and he keeps using it to traumatize him. His favorite thing is to hide it under Nox's bed, waiting for his brother to come in, and then activate it just to hear Nox's screams of panic as he tries to escape the evil robot. He will never get tired of this. His dream is to send Evil Roomba on live TV during a meeting with Toriel to see his brother freak out and the Queen completely panic over the reaction of her main counselor.

Fellswap Gold Sans - He's not impressed. He simply glares at you in a silent "Are you serious?" way. This thing looks ridiculous. The next day, he tells you he fix it. Mr Stabby is now covered with barbed wire and has a chainsaw. He even added an autodestruction device so he could explode in the face of the enemy. Uh. You're not sure about that feature honestly.

Fellswap Gold Papyrus - He met Mr Stabby for ten seconds but if something happens to him, he's going to kill everyone in the room and then himself. He insists Mr Stabby sleeps with you two in bed as it's obvious it's your adopted child. You never knew the Roomba was that big before you had to sleep with it. Coffee is very happy though.

#undertale #underswap #underfell #horrortale #swapfell #fellswap gold #sans #papyrus #undertale ask blog #undertale asks #undertale imagines #undertale headcanons

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jade-of-mourning · 9 months

Text

Tenzin stares down at the scowling, scrawny kid. He's dressed in a patched grey shirt bound hastily at the forearms, equally-patched trousers hanging off his frame despite the long length of his skinny legs, and his feet are currently bare aside from some more dirty wrappings around the arch and heel. A shockingly red scarf loops around his neck, several times too-big and frayed at the ends. He's maybe fourteen or fifteen despite the heavy grey lines underscoring his features, because there's a familiar despair written in the recurring story — prominent cheekbones sticking out of his thin, pointy face, lips chapped and pale from the freezing winter nights of Republic City, gold-flecked brown eyes glaring back at him defiantly.

And he's in a pair of handcuffs.

"So this is the one, you say," he addresses to the woman standing next to him. Her arms are crossed against her chest, a glare plastered across her face — precisely mirroring that of the scrappy boy handcuffed to the table in front of them. They're having an intense stare-down.

If he didn't know any better, he'd almost think this was her kid.

(But he knows all too well that he's not.)

Lin Beifong scowls. "Fucker tried to hit Jian with lightning after spotting her during a stakeout on a Triple Threats warehouse. He then managed to single-handedly fight off three officers while the rest of the gang bailed, looking like a feral, lightning-happy pyromaniac while at it —" The feral, lightning-happy pyromaniac looks pleased for a moment, before promptly dropping back into a glower "— and when I sent a cable at him from the back, he shot a pillar out of the concrete ground to block it."

"How do you know it was him?" Tenzin asks.

"I know the motions. I am an earthbender, in case you forgot."

"Perhaps there was another man waiting behind to assist his escape, who earthbent the ground upon seeing his comrade in danger."

Lin grunts. "The team split when the cowards scrammed, and managed to capture a few of the accomplices. None of those fleeing were in the vicinity by the time the incident occurred."

"There could have been more of them involved than just the ones you saw fleeing the scene," Tenzin suggests.

"We were in the middle of a stakeout, Tenzin. If you need a definition, a stakeout is a period of time where the police conduct surveillance on —"

Tenzin cuts her off, conceding before she can keep going on at him. "Understood. But how can you know for certain that there weren't other members coincidentally passing through who elected to lend a hand?"

Lin acknowledges the point; the outside world doesn't come to a standstill when there's a fight inside. "One of the captured men said that the kid is Zolt's protege, which adds up with the frequency of which I see him in the aftermath of incursions. They're shamelessly bitter about him being the boss' favorite, and they clearly don't hold any well-regards towards him, so they don't have reason to offer assistance, aside from attempting to curry favor from a fourteen year old — and no faces were shown to that point, so that's out of question. Besides, they're gangsters. What sense of loyalty to each other do you really think they have?"

"More than you've got to the city." Both Tenzin and Lin whip their heads around in surprise at the low, raspy voice, having forgotten of the boy's presence during their back-and-forth. He looks almost like he wants to curl inwards on himself, but instead raises his chin higher up and manages to glare at them with even more force, if possible. "You police ain't done shit for us. You're all the same purposefully ignorant bastards. That's how we get here, but you knew that." The subject of we goes unsaid; all three of them in the closed metal room know precisely what he's talking about.

"So are you saying that one of your loyal friends stayed behind and bent that earth for you?" Lin demands, ignoring the jab at her dignity. Tenzin knows she's retracted the heel of her uniform, searching for a heartbeat.

The boy leans back in the chair flippantly. "Nah," he says curtly. "They're smart enough. None of 'em would stick 'round for me." It's contrary to the earlier claim of mutual loyalty, but unsurprising.

"So it was you," Tenzin concludes.

"I never said it was."

"Then who else could it have been?" The frustration is bubbling up in him, the way it always has since he was a kid; Dad had always laughed and said that he must've gotten it from his mother, quick to anger and full in force, but Tenzin has never been able to quell the feeling down despite his best efforts to be more like his father.

"Bet it was one of your cop cronies." There's something intense and unhinged and wild in the kid's half-pyrite eyes, almost glowing in the gleeful challenge. "Pro'ly got bored of the metal rod permanently stuck up your ass n' thought it'd be funny if —"

"Young man! You will not speak of —"

"I'm jus' sayin' —"

"Enough." Lin slams her fist down on the table, and the light in the boy's eyes dims in an instant. "I've had enough of your hog-monkey shit. Either you be straight with me and we can settle this quickly, or I'm holding you here as long as I deem necessary."

Which can be a very long time, goes unsaid.

Tenzin inspects the kid carefully, sees the minute way his shoulders slump down, and suddenly, all he can see in front of him is Jinora, hunching in on herself as her parents lecture her about not feeding her dinner to the sky bison. He doesn't know why — after all, this is a lightning-bending gangster, almost certainly raised by the streets in poverty and desperation; he couldn't be further from Tenzin's family.

But.

He's still just a kid.

Beneath all that bravado, those bitter, biting words, the degenerate behaviour that brought him here in the first place, the skin stretched too-thin over bones jutting out of his face — the harsh exterior is made to protect a kid who's seen too much. Tenzin knows that for certain.

And Tenzin is suddenly tired, because the boy is right. There's a reason that kids like him run with gangs, learn to fight dirty and low and vicious, and he's not naive enough to believe that it's not in-part due to their own failure as adults in power. He places a hand on Lin's shoulder — a silent request for her to step back and trust him. She looks over at him, green eyes meeting blue, and he's struck by how beaten down she looks by this conversation despite her infallible presence. Despite their time away from each other, despite the inevitable fallout that halved their world together like a splintering ravine and left no chance of reprieve, she knows him.

She steps back.

Tenzin seats himself at the table as Lin moves to the corner of the room. Takes a deep breath to steady himself, tries to channel the way his father always made people feel like everything would be alright. "Young man," he says in a reasonable tone, "please, let's try again. Would you be willing to tell me your name?"

"It's —"

"Mako," the boy interjects before Lin can finish for him, take his autonomy, eyes dropping to the table. There's an unmistakable air of defeat around him, one at total odds of the snapping, feral boy described and seen from before. "My… My name's Mako. Why's it matter to you?"

Tenzin nods resolutely, ignoring the question. "Well, Mako. I have a proposal for you — one that should keep you out of the police station."

A raised eyebrow.

Once it's out of his mouth, he can't retract it. He knows that there will be consequences for speaking without consulting Pema, Lin, his kids.

But his heart is telling him that this is right. Not just that it's the right thing to do, but also that the kid sitting handcuffed to the table in front of him is the Avatar. He can see it in his eyes, hard and resentful and gold-brown and so different from his father's, yet still the same in some inexplicable way. Reconciling the idea of this lightning-bending gangster of a street kid with the man who co-founded this city is… overwhelming, and Tenzin would almost rather blow this situation off and let himself live in remembering his father for who he is, not for whoever Mako turns out to be. But Tenzin has a duty to the world, and a duty to his father, and so he will ensure that he does the new Avatar right.

"I would like to invite you to stay on Air Temple Island for the time being. We can discuss the objective after I am able to gather the resources necessary to run an evaluating test. Do you accept?"

Mako glances over at Lin; Tenzin resists the urge to do the same. He doesn't need her approval for this — it's his home, and he knows what he's doing. He can't read the thoughts behind the boy's eyes as they flick between the two adults who hold an infinite amount of power over him, can't follow what internal strife might be occurring in his head.

Then Mako shrugs, an abrupt, jerky motion. "Sure."

Lin Beifong throws her hands up in the air, and leaves the interrogation room. She can't be bothered to deal with this; it's five in the morning. She needs some fucking sleep.

my ao3 (but it's not posted there)

sorry this was a crack idea i had while practicing piano and i had to crank it out. i Might write a series of oneshots on this if i get too inspired lol (similar to what empty shores was supposed to be)

yes bolin is alive in this au, yes i have an unfortunate amount of ideas, yes i'm still writing my normal conceivable-to-complete fics.

if tenzin thought korra was hard to work with, he is going to have a blast with mako, who comes pre-packaged with fifty times more trauma that korra had when she pulled up to air temple island. (and is also prone to stealing, and running away, and murder as necessary, probably.) (this is going to be so terrible on all sides until it gets better!)

#lychee's word trash #mako lok #mako tlok #don't ask about the logic i don't want to think too hard about it #just a silly au that i thought up while reading some fic #feel free to ask me questions about it lolll #also!! finally started my lok rewatch!#i genuinely love korra so much she's so cute and sweet and batshit insane aughgdzhzchzcj #snowglobes don't shake on their own

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justmeinatree · 10 months

Text

01 - Astoria : Ripplin On By

Summary : you find yourself trapped on a pirate ship, desperate to be saved. or is the pirate that needs saving …

feels far from home close to the veil, goodbye mother’s fairytale

TW : murder, talks of sexual assault

Word Count : 5k

A/N : we can all thank @niallthebadboi for reminding me of the niall/james corden halloween music video 🤐

“oi, mate. mate, come here,” he whispers, his index finger in a come hither motion.

niall’s ears perk up, the quietness of the lower deck echoing even the faintest of sounds. he looks behind him, spotting one of the crew members, furrowing his eyebrows, “what is it ? m’a little busy.”

with his boots sludging through the thick waters on the bottom deck of the boat, the smell of the salt water mixed in with mould due to the slowly rotting wood, niall was filtering through boxes upon boxes. he knows he can find what he’s looking for, if he’s just given enough uninterrupted time. christ, there’s a lot of shit down here.

“did you hear ? there’s supposedly a lass on board.”

and well that, makes niall laugh, shaking his head, “don’t tell me you’ve fallen for that rumour. no way there’s a lady on this ship. not a single lass, in her right mind, would board onto a boat with a bunch of pirates. bloody death wish if she does,” he adds, muttering to himself.

“nah, s’not a rumour lad. can’t you feel it ?” he hums, smirking, dirty brown teeth poking through his chapped lips. “we can all tell. the energy’s different. oh what i would do to get my hands on a sweet young lady.”

“bloody disgusting you,” niall laughs, shaking his head. although he can’t help but fantasize about a woman from time to time. spending the majority of his adult life on a ship full of men, and maybe, just maybe, he can feel some sort of shift in the air. but that could simply be all the idiots up on deck getting themselves worked up for nothing. it’s not like it’s the first time niall hears about rumours like this one.

“can’t tell if i’d rather have a little taste, or pray for her wellbeing when she’s found,” he hums, shaking the thoughts out of his head, making his way back up, calling down to niall, “whoever finds her first gets first dibs.”

niall huffs, turning around and getting back to his task at hand. there was obviously nothing to get worked up about. because there was obviously no girl on the ship. they haven’t ported in almost a week now, no way a lady would have made it this long. pirate ships aren’t exactly anything close to nice accommodations.

but for now, he searches through crate upon crate, why they had so much crap stuffed away down here, he’ll never know. no one ever comes down here anyway, it’s too sludgy and too rotten. it’s not until he rounds a corner that he hears the small squeak. he’s no stranger to rats and mice, but this, well this wasn’t quite it.

peering over, he spots someone.

you were terrified. fear stricken over your features, back pressed against a wall ? some boxes ? you weren’t sure. it felt like your breath had caught into your throat, fingertips going slightly numb, unable to move an inch, as you stare back at him, panic settling into every bone in your body.

“hey,” niall hums, confusion etched on his face, because fuck, there really was a girl on this ship.

you coward back at the sound of his voice, small whimper leaving your chest, barely heard over the creaking of the old wood. your eyes squeezed shut, ready for the worst. it was hard to see his face, only small cracks of daylight filtering through the old wood to illuminate the dampened space. and with his hat perched upon his head, the specks of clarity weren’t quite reaching his face.

“no, no, s’alright,” niall murmurs, hand darting out for you, quickly retreating it when he notices you flinch away.

“please dont hurt me,” you hiccup, tears filling your eyes.

“m’not gonna hurt you, it’s okay,” he coos, trying to muster up as much calm as he can. although he can’t say he’s felt much of anything remotely close to calm since joining this crew.

“no,” you hiccup again, bottom lip starting to tremble, pressing yourself impossibly further back. “i- i heard yo-you talking,” you stutter. “i know you’re gonna-a hurt me.”

“no, no,” niall coos, shaking his head. “that’s not-. you heard the othe-.” he sighs, biting his lip and starting over. “m’niall, what’s your name, love ?”

“dont call me that,” you huff, the tiniest bit of bite to your voice.

that pulls a smile from niall, a slight breathy chuckle, “alright, m’sorry. how about you tell me your name so i know what to call you.”

“y/n,” you murmur around a few deep breaths, trying to regulate your heart as your brain determines if there’s any imminent threat or not.

“y/n,” he hums, tasting it out on his tongue. “what are you doing on this ship ? s’not safe for you.”

“i messed up,” you peep quietly, fresh tears gathering in your eyes. “everyone was gone, and i just picked a boat. didn’t think there were pirates ported at the docks.”

niall bites back a laugh, not wanting to upset you, but still, what were the odds really. he doesn’t think he’s ever met someone with such bad luck. “we have to eat too,” he chuckles, “gotta reach port sometimes. have ya seriously been here all week ?”

you nod softly, sighing, “when they started coming back onto the ship, i ran down. just kept running. v’been hiding out here. you’re the first one to come down this far below deck.”

“you’ve been down here all week ?” he asks, shocked, eyes grown wide. “fuck, you can’t stay down here that long, you’ll get sick. there’s too much mould for you to breathe in.”

“i’ll take my chances,” you murmur, biting your lip, looking up at him with desperation, “s’better than going up there with the crew.”

and well, niall cannot disagree there. thinks he’d rather live down here with the rot and the sludge if the alternative was to head up to the crew and have every shred of his being ripped apart. so he nods, looking sadly at you, because you’re right, there’s no denying it. “must be hungry then. how about i get you some food ? try to track down some fresh water,” he suggests.

at that, you perk up, eyes shining with some level of hope for the first time, in a week, apparently. you nod, looking hopeful at niall, asking curiously, “when’s the next time we dock ?”

“not for at least another week, m’afraid,” he sighs, adding a bit more enthusiastically, “don’t think about that right now, just sit tight, i’ll be right back.”

and with that niall was off, bounding up the steps, loud wooden creaks echoing under each of his boots. he makes a bit of small talk with a few other crew mates as he passes them, fishing through crates and flour sacks full of beans, biscuits, and salted dried meats, grabbing a good handful of each, tucking them into his satchel.

unfortunately, he doesn’t remember a single day as a pirate where he’s actually had access to water. it’s always been beers and ales and rums. at least that’s what’s made readily available.

if he was going to find water, he’s going to have to sneak around, and sneaking around takes time. time he doesn’t think he has. for some reason, he fears for your safety. you were so innocent, so fragile, so full of fear when he found you gazing back at him. he can’t even begin to imagine what the others would do if they found you. doesn’t think he’ll be able to live with himself if he has to watch that innocence get wiped off your pretty porcelain face. he may be a pirate, but his mam raised a good man.

and although the crew typically never hits the lowest deck, one of them is bound to discover you. especially with the flying rumour of a young lass on board.

so he decides, for now, that some ale is the best he can do in terms of beverage, figuring he’ll have more time to sneak around once all the lads are passed out drunk for the night.

when he returns to the lowest deck, he finds you sitting on one of the large crates, feet tucked up to give your poor skin a break from the constant saturation. he feels his heart grow heavy. a now foreign feeling to him, as he’s learned to grow a thick callous around his emotions. if he spends too much time contemplating his life decisions over the last decade, he’ll throw himself overboard. there are countless moments for which he’s significantly less than proud of. murder being a number of them. he’s just had to do what he’s had to do.

but with you, being dealt a really bad hand, stuck on a pirate ship, condemned to a level that the pirates themselves don’t really come to, he feels real sadness, and real fear, and real protectiveness. he wants to help you. he’s not sure why, he’s never felt the need to help anyone. but seeing that desperation in your eyes, and the sheer willpower you’ve held onto for this long, he empathizes with you in ways he’s not even sure he fully understands.

niall trudges over to you, placing his satchel down on the crate next to you, opening it up to show you its contents. “sorry it’s nothing better. s’really all that survives the long trips.”

“don’t worry about it, please. it’s food,” you smile, reaching in and taking a handful of beans.

“i couldn’t find any water,” he sighs, “that one’s going to be a bit harder to come by. i’ll go lurking later tonight, when they’re all passed out,” he nods towards the upper deck, where the crew are currently working. “for now though, i hope ale’s okay ? at least it’ll fix the thirst for a bit, yeah ?” he hums hopefully.

your smile only grows wider, swallowing down a bite of the biscuit you had reached for, “niall, don’t make a fuss,” you murmur softly. “you’ve gotten me a meal, and you’ve been nothing but kind to me. i really appreciate all of it,” you hum, taking a sip and another bite, finding yourself hungrier than you thought. the slowly waning adrenaline causing your body to need a refuel.

“it’s no problem,” niall smiles, “really. just want you to stay safe, and to make it off this ship unharmed.”

you feel heat rise to your cheeks, your eyes trained down on the food he’s provided. you could not have a crush on a pirate. you. could. not. you had to get off this ship and never, ever, look back. fuck.

you take a deep breath, looking over at him, “you seem too nice to be a pirate.”

niall’s mouth quirks up in a smirky smile, breathy chuckle rumbling from his chest, he shakes his head, “there’s a lot of nice lads here. but pirate mentality tends to take over and the next thing you know, you’re doing something you’d never ever thought of doing.”

your eyes lock with his, reading him for a moment, a silent moment, as you both exchange a sad, knowing gaze, “would it have been different if you weren’t alone when you found me ?”

at that, niall sighs, shoulders deflating. he reaches up on his head, gripping his hat and taking it off, resting it on the crate, behind you. it’s the first time you see him without it, expecting to finally get a glace at his hair, you’re only slightly disappointed to see a tattered, muted green bandana wrapped around his head. although you do note peaks of brown tousles poking through behind his ears and by his neck. small hoops pierced through his lobes.

without his hat, more light hits his eyes, which you note are a deep blue. his skin was tanned, darkened from long days in the blistering sun. he’s gorgeous. you cannot. cannot. have a crush on a pirate.

“i’d like to believe that i would have stood up for you,” niall murmurs. “like to believe that when i saw that look in your eyes, i’d be getting them away from you. can’t even begin to imagine the alternative, to be honest, darling.”

you let the pet name slide, too caught up with the fact that he keeps saying he’d like to believe. it’s not quite as reassuring as you’d hoped. you aren’t completely sure how much you can trust him yet. after all, a bit of food is a nice peace offering, but he hasn’t proven himself just yet.

it’s a few hours after that, before you see niall again. he does need to spend some time, enough time, with the crew, working. he can’t let anyone notice that he’s gone too long. or at least, where he’s going. if any of the lads find out that he’s spending time down there, they’ll suspect something. he needs to do this very delicately. needs to be smart about this.

as he returns, he smiles wide at you, waving a pair of boots around. “smallest ones i could find, keep your feet dry.”

your eyebrows furrow squinting your eyes, the darkness of early evening settling, less and less daylight filtering through the small cracks in the wood.

“s’hard to see innit ?” niall hums, patting his pants, fingers finding some matches in one of the pockets, striking one against a crate to light it, the dim flame just enough to illuminate his face and the pair of boots he’s holding up.

“you got me some boots ?” you look up at him, a burst of warmth spreading through your chest, biting your lip softly as you reach for them, slipping them on. “these are perfect,” you hum, clicking your feet together.

niall searches the walls and ceiling, finding a small gas lamp, unhooking it from its perch, and lighting it. a small corner of space sees proper lighting for the first time in a long time. taking a look around, he thinks he prefers it when it’s dark.

but upon looking over at your feet, he sees you were exaggerating quite a bit. the boots were far from perfect, much too big on you. “you seem to be handling all of this really well for someone as prim and proper as you are.”

you laugh, a true laugh, your first one in god knows how long, shaking your head. “didn’t grow up like this,” you explain, hands waving up and down to display your expensive dress. “one of the richest men in town, for some reason, had his sights set on me.”

“make that sound like a bad thing,” niall hums, hoisting himself up on the crate across from you, setting his hat down again.

“i hate him,” you murmur vehemently. and again, you both lock eyes in a silent moment, the flame flickering a dim glow over both of your features, intensifying the connection.

niall snaps out of it first, “wanted to bring you the boots, and check in on ya. it’s gotten pretty dark out, the crew’ll be out cold in a bit. i’ll try to find you some water. i’ll be back. keep that light, makes it a little less glum.”

and again, he’s off, just as quickly as he came. you were forever grateful for the bits of company. and the little things he’d bring you every time he dropped on by. in the meantime though, you were lonely. tucked away in the depths of despair, longing and awaiting for your gorgeous pirate’s return.

christ, stop. you did not have a crush. you did not. however, you could admit to yourself that having a place of escape, in your mind that is, helped pass the time a little bit. a place where you and niall were on a grand adventure at sea, wind billowing in your hair, fresh salty air, nothing but beautiful sunsets on the horizon.

how you longed for a breath of fresh air. to feel the wind on your skin. it was getting increasingly hard to be held up like you were. you had no idea that rot and severe lack of sunlight could affect someone so quickly.

you were growing increasingly desperate. and thinking back, niall had mentioned countless times that the crew pass out cold at night. maybe you could sneak around too ? just enough to make it a bit higher up.

this was foolish, you kept telling yourself as you take slow steps towards the stairs, and yet, you couldn’t stop yourself. it’s like if your body could feel its impending death if it stayed put. your sheer will to have some clean air seemingly taking over the fear for a split moment.

you were two floors up before you started noticing signs of life. sticking to the empty staircase, peering over quietly to notice breathing lumps of men, tucked into hammocks slung around randomly.

continuing on your way, you stop a few steps from the very top, sitting on it, not risking being seen on the wide open deck. you breathe in deeply, crisp nighttime air filling your lungs. tilting your head back, eyes blinking up, you notice the vast array of stars. smiling to yourself, you enjoy a moment of calm.

that is, until you hear some sounds from below you. what seems to be a conversation. and by the rumbling, tumbling steps, and the slurring, cackling voices, you’d best believe they were drunk. with the sounds getting louder, they were heading up to the top deck.

panic rising in your chest, your eyes dart from side to side, figuring there was nowhere to go but up. you climb the rest of the stairs, finding the large expanse of the ship to be empty. rushing, you look around to find a hiding spot, just about to take your first step towards a barrel, when a bone chilling sentence hits your brain.

“well, well, well. look at what we have here.”

“hmm, pretty young lady. looks like we get to have some fun tonight.”

you whimper, frozen in fear, hearing the loud chuckle from behind you, “i get her first !” one of them shouts, surging forward and gripping your shoulder. he walks you forward towards the very barrel you were planning to dash for, just moments ago, pressing on your upper back, between your shoulder blades, bending you over.

you can feel him lean over you, pressed up against you, murmuring against your ear, “such a little treat aren’t you ?”

“what the-“ you hear from further behind you, the man no longer pressed against you, as he looks behind himself.

“fuck- what are you-“ just as you look behind yourself, curiously panicked, worried that you may have an even worse imminent future ahead.

instead you’re met with the sight of your attacker, pulled back into niall’s chest, held down by his mouth to muffle any sounds, watching niall glide a blade through your attacker’s throat.

you feel as if your heart was about to beat out of your throat, eyes bulging wide, trying to take in the scene in front of you. two men, in a heap on the floor, throats gushing blood. you were gasping for breath, slowly backing away, until your back hit the barrel.

“what in god’s name are you doing ?” niall snaps, looking around to make sure no one’s seen anything. “why would you do something so fucking stupid ?”

he was furious. and you could tell. instantly regretting your decision to try and reach some upper floors. “i-“ you sigh, looking down, unable to look him in the eye. you felt like a small child, being scolded. and truthfully, you deserved it. what you did was stupid. and if niall hadn’t found you right then and there, you’re not sure what would be happening right now.

your gaze tentatively flicks up towards his, shame plastered on your features, as you do something you never imagined doing. you lunge forward, wrapping your arms around niall, the force of it all making him take a few steps back.

he was shocked. he hadn’t been privy to a hug in over a decade. his eyes blink rapidly a few times, before slowly wrapping his arms around your waist, holding you to him, hearing a faint, “thank you for saving me,” puff out from your lips, warm breath hitting his neck.

niall’s eyes flutter closed, his head resting against yours, taking in a breath. the fresh cleanliness of the soap you used in your hair was still clinging on, under the scent of the sea, a welcomed change his nostrils revelled in.

he found himself relaxing into your arms, the protective anger he was feeling over you fading, murmuring, “please tell me what the fuck you were doing.”

you slowly pull away from the hug, sighing, “i was desperate for some fresh air. you kept talking about the crew passing out at night, figured it’d be my best shot,” you shrug.

“christ, darling, let me in on your plans next time yeah ? let me keep you safe. d’ya have any idea how bad that could have been if i wasn’t here ?” he shakes his head. “fuck, lets not think about that. need to take care of my mess. then m’gonna find you a change of clothes. can’t have ya sneaking around in that dress. s’too obvious.”

he turns around, hoisting the bodies one at a time, rolling them over the edge of the ship, to crash into the frigid waters below.

“niall, you-“ you take a deep breath, your shoulders slugging, “you killed two people. for me. i- fuck, i can’t believe i-“

“shh,” he hums, shaking his head, pressing his index finger against your lips when he notices you about to speak again. “don’t have ta say it. m’honestly so fucking glad i was here.”

your breath catches as his finger makes contact with your mouth, a tingle of warmth spreading through your entire body, leaving your fingers and toes slightly numb. for a moment you find yourself wanting nothing more than to kiss him. with the sweat on his brow and the dirt on his skin, and fuck even the blood on his hands, you were so attracted to him. you cannot have a crush on a bloody pirate.

he slowly pulls his finger away, eyes locked on yours, feeling the erratic beating in his chest, because my god, he’s never felt such soft lips. doesn’t remember wanting to kiss anyone so bad in so long. not that there’s been even remotely close to a kissing prospect. “c’mon, that’s gotta be enough fresh air for today. can’t risk it any longer. lets get you back down there, darling. i’ll go sleuthing for some clothes.”

“niall,” you rush out, gripping into his arm just as he was trying to walk away, “thank you. for everything.”

a small smile tugs at his lips, blush rising to his cheeks, turning away again and setting off with you, making sure the coast is clear every step of the way, until you’re back to the safety of the bottom deck.

it had been days since your little adventure to the outside. and as much as you were craving a trip back up, you were slightly petrified.

niall had brought you some clothes, and even though you could fairly blend in with the crew, you weren’t quite ready to test it for real.

in the meantime, niall’s been your source of friendship, coming to check on you regularly, whenever he could sneak away, bringing you food and drinks. he even tracked down some water for you a couple of times.

tonight, however, you couldn’t hold out anymore. so when niall comes by for his late evening visit, you hop down from the crate you’d made yourself comfortable on, bounding over to him, “can we go up tonight ?”

he looks over you, eyes wide, “you really want to try that again ?” he asks quietly, out of fear for you. fear of what could happen to you, to him for hiding you.

but with the large puppy eyes you were feeding him and the severe level of empathy he has for you, he ends up giving in pretty quickly, nodding his approval, “yeah, alright. suppose it’s something you need. please stay close. and do whatever i say.”

“yes sir,” you smirk, saluting him. as soon as your hand left your forehead, you felt like a complete fool. embarrassing yourself in front of the man whom you’ve grown more and more affection towards.

he giggles though, a real giggle, shaking his head at you, “m’a pirate, not in the fuckin navy, darling.”

you laugh along with him, ever grateful for him. you’re unsure of how you’ll ever be able to thank him for all that he’s done for you. including murder for fuck sake. you have to come up with something before leaving the ship.

you stay quiet, following him up the stairs, niall checking each floor as he goes, confirming that everyone is rightfully asleep. once he makes it to the top deck, he takes one look around, finding the entirety of the space, completely abandoned. niall’s hand reaches out for yours, helping you up the last few steps.

taking a deep breath, your eyes close momentarily, enjoying the feeling of whipping wind against your skin, tiny droplets of sea water spraying you from time to time. it was so refreshing, so incredibly needed after the time down below.

walking over to the edge, hands gripped into the side of the ship, looking at the vast expanse of pure, pitch, darkness. there was nothing but stars as far as the eye could see.

niall coming over to stand next to you, he hums softly, “what’s got you so focused ? s’nothing but black out there.”

“kinda nice innit ?” you ask quietly, “the stars, the open sea, how tiny we really are in the grand scheme of things.”

“you think that’s nice ?” he asks, slightly confused. “isn’t that a bit scary ? what’s the point of it all ? we wont really make a difference anyway.”

at that, you hum, your head resting against niall’s shoulder, his arm instinctively wrapping itself around your shoulders. you never thought you’d be over the moon to be cuddled up with a pirate, but he actually made you feel comfortable, safe, a feeling that was fairly foreign for you at this point. and you were revelling in it.

“you think you won’t make a difference ?” you ask softly, turning yourself a bit more into him, “you’ve already made a huge one,” you explain. “you’ve saved me. saved my life.”

“but-“ niall furrows his eyebrows, “that’s just how my mam raised me. to be kind. s’not really making a difference in the world.”

you shake your head, humming a protest, “one person can’t change the entire world, that would be a bit of a pompous thought,” you chuckle, adding quietly, “but you’ve made a difference in my world.”

niall feels his heart burst, prickling heat shooting from his chest throughout his entire body. he buries his face in your hair, pulling you closer to him, “think you’ve made an even bigger difference in mine.”

moments before he was about to turn your face towards his, he hears it, a deep chuckle coming from behind, “looks like nialler found a treasure. gonna share with your brothers ?”

he feels you go stiff as a board next to him, feels the moment the air leaves your body, feels the panic encompassing every fibre of your being. he looks down at you, trying to convey any form of safety in his gaze, mouthing to you, “run,” before pushing you off towards the stairs.

instantly, the other man is taking off after you, bounding down the stairs two at a time, niall quickly in toe.

you just make it back to your dark and dingy secluded hideout, when a large, rough hand presses you into one of the crates in front of you, making your forehead smack down hard on the wood.

you whimper, the man’s hands closing on your hips, squeezing roughly, painfully. and just like the last time, a moment later, he’s lifted off of you, niall’s blade slicing through his neck.

niall’s catching his breath, trying to calm his nerves, as he looks down at the scene, taking the moment in for the first time, because fuck, this is not good.

he looks up at you, noting the gash on your forehead, “christ, darling, you alright ?” he asks, fingertip darting out to gently touch the wound.

you flinch back, bottom lip trembling, as you feel yourself giving out, niall quick to catch you before you fall into the sludge water, leaning heavily on him, face tucked into his neck, “i can’t do this anymore,” you cry softly. “i can’t, i can’t. i need air, i need sun, fuck,” you tremble. “m’always so scared. i just can’t anymore niall.”

he holds you tightly, heart shattering for you. you hadn’t asked for this. you were a good person. you didn’t deserve any of this. mind reeling after the events of just moments ago, niall comes up with a plan, “we’re getting off this ship.”

“what ?” you ask exhaustedly, peering up at him, every ounce of your being, drained.

“you can’t stay here anymore. s’too dangerous. and you need air. we’ll take one of the lifeboats,” he explains, before nodding towards the body, “s’the first mate. someone’s going to notice he’s missing. and m’not about to lug him all the way up to throw him overboard, someone’ll see.”

“niall, i can’t make you do that,” you sigh. “can’t make you leave the safety of the ship for me.”

he cups your neck in his large hand, his thumb stroking your jaw, eyes peering into your own, conviction in his tone, “can’t go alone, darling. i told you i’d keep you safe. couldn’t live with myself if you were out there all alone. we’re leaving. tonight.”

Part 2

……

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yukidragon · 8 months

Note

I love to hear more of your headcanons on Bo in Mafia AU! Also what would happen if Bo's puppy doesn't want to be his in that AU?

It's been a while since I touched on the Mafia AU hasn't it? And that was before I created my version of Bo's puppy, Barbie too. This ask does make me wonder how their interaction might go in this AU.

In the main universe, Barbie's attraction towards Bo, at least at the start, was pretty shallow, all things considered. He was more like a fun adult toy that she grew fond of until eventually that fondness grew into genuine love. It's hard to blame her though, since he quite literally is a toy. She pretty much treated him like many people treat AI bots - a fun diversion, but nothing to take seriously. It was only when he forced her to realize that his feelings are just as real as hers that she truly saw him as a person.

Barbie is a self-proclaimed misanthrope. She's not fond of humanity in general. She can't stand noisy places or being in crowds. It takes a while for her to warm up to people, which leaves her with few people she cares about outside of her immediate family. It's also why she's very fierce if someone hurts her family. Fictional relationships were the closest thing she was interested in when it came to romantic or sexual pursuits.

In the Mafia AU, Bo is an actual human being, even if he's got some pretty distinct canine features. More than that, he's a wise guy working for a mafia boss (Jack); not really someone who is safe for normal people to get involved with. Add in Barbie's default mistrust of people, and Bo in this universe is going to have a steep uphill battle to overcome in order to win his puppy's heart.

Since I've started fleshing out the King family more, it would be good to reexamine their roles in this Aphrodesia-influenced AU, don't you think? It'll be especially interesting to consider how they'll react to Alice being kidnapped by a human trafficking ring, and the scars that incident left behind on her when she finally sees them again.

Content warnings: this post will contain mentions of violence, torture, human trafficking, SA, drugs, and sex. Overall I'll try to keep any uncomfortable descriptions to a minimum, and ramp up the spice where I can. Remember, Something's Wrong with Sunny Day Jack, DachaBo, and Aphrodesia are all stories for Adults Only. NSFW elements will be touched on!

Traffic Stop

The broad strokes of the AU are basically the same as from the first post. Alice and her family originally lived a normal, happy life, far and away from the crime-invested city of St. Valen's. She and Ian grew up as childhood friends. Things seemed to be going down the same route it did in the regular universe, with puppy love developing between them that might turn into something more.

The divergence happened when they were both still in high school. There was a person going around their school, looking for acting talent. It was somewhat shady. Alice wasn't sure about going, but Ian wanted, no, needed to seize the opportunity to achieve his dream. The talent scout remarked that he had a nice face, both of them did. They would go far. They just had to audition.

It was flattery that Ian couldn't resist.

Of course Ian's mom wasn't going to let him do such a thing, so they had to sneak out. Ian didn't want to risk his mom finding out from her parents, so he convinced Alice to lie to her parents that they'd be out with friends.

As you might suspect already, this audition was a trap sprung by human traffickers. They pick young and vulnerable people who look like they can't fight back, lure them someplace isolated, nab them, and ship them off someplace to be sold for, well, less than savory purposes. While initially both of them were caught in the trap, Alice managed to help Ian escape.

Ian's greatest regret was that he ran away, that he didn't stay to rescue Alice like she did him. Even though she told him to run, to get help, Ian still felt like a coward. It was made worse when by the time he returned with authorities, the traffickers were already gone.

Needless to say, this incident still haunts Ian to the present day, crushing him under the weight of his guilt.

This incident replaces the cheating Ian does in the main universe, and Alice being trafficked replaces the SA incident she went through. While Alice mercifully didn't get SA'd during the trafficking, she was a victim of a "red room" after being taken and sold in St. Valen's. A "red room," for those unaware, is a type of livestream on the dark web, where innocent victims are tortured according to an audience's bids.

I won't go into detail about all the horrors Alice experienced, since the scars speak for themselves. Fortunately, she managed to be clever and lucky enough to escape. Luckier still, she managed to stumble into a member of the Sunny Family, and said family just happened to have a vendetta against the gang that was behind the trafficking.

St. Valens is full of people who showed up out of nowhere, and others who don't ask or care where they came from. There's plenty of corruption, people looking the other way, and shady deals going on. The Sunny Family might be relatively better than most crime families, but at the end of the day, they're pretty shady. They helped her out by rescuing her, even paying her hospital bills and taking her under their wing, so now she owed them.

Alice could contact her family, have them pay back her hefty debt... or she, now an 18 year old adult, could do some favors for the family. Her medical bills were insane - St. Valen's isn't exactly kind to the less fortunate when it comes to medical care - it would bankrupt her family.

It was a classic hustle, presenting a vulnerable person like Alice with potentially devastating consequences, or an out by someone who is wearing a kind and smiling face. I'm inclined to have that representative of kindness from the family be Mama Shine, who was so kind and empathetic, just wanting to help Alice after she went through so much. Working for them wouldn't be that big a deal, especially since they were the ones who rescued her and all the other trafficking victims...

That's the classic Sunny Family con. They smile, act kind, extend their gloved hands to help, offering salvation to poor souls down on their luck. They are then indebted to the family. They need the family. Alice needed a prescription of drugs that they could give to her regularly for all her pain, far cheaper than the healthcare system would.

Shine had taken an interest in Alice, helping her while she was rehabilitated in the hospital. She could've been the one who Alice ran into that night when bloody and desperate for help. Shine is so caring, just like Alice's mother, having that same warm motherly aura. So trustworthy and kind...

It was a far less violent trap that ensnared Alice a second time into this world of crime, but this time she didn't realize the cage was around her, or that she couldn't leave it, until she was in far, far too deep. Her vulnerability was exploited, and she signed a contract that she shouldn't.

The King family were so relieved when Alice finally contacted them... but confused when she told them she couldn't go home. She was receiving medical treatment and needed to stay in the city, and she had debts to pay...

Naturally, her family isn't going to take this without a fight. The King family immediately took a road trip to St. Valen's to see Alice at the hospital.

Lycoris is a fierce mama bear, and she was enraged when Alice was kidnapped, doing everything in her power to find her baby. So despite Shine acting kind and friendly, she was ready to throw down from the word go. Lycoris is a small lady, but she can be very scary, though, sadly, not as scary as an entire crime family.

None of the King family were happy with what had happened to Alice, the debt she had to repay, or that she had already signed a deceptively scary contract. However, the Sunny Family is the most dangerous crime family in the city for a reason, and the King family were in over their heads.

Not that the King family knew they were facing a crime family. The Sunny Family has a reputation to uphold after all. They're a family-run business. Many details were left out or unspoken, all to hide what was really going on behind their squeaky clean image.

The King family did involve the legal system, but that was a failure. The Sunny Family owns the police in St. Valen's. The police just informed them that everything was legal, Alice is an adult who can make her own choices, and there's no better family to work for than the Sunny Family. Plus, Alice was going to need the drug they provided for the rest of her life, so wasn't this a sweet deal anyway? They should just feel grateful that she was rescued. Not a lot of trafficked teens are...

In the end, the King family was powerless, and Alice became a member of the Sunny Family with a debt that seemed never ending.

Barbie vs the World

Needless to say, Barbie was pretty much spitting nails about the whole thing. Even if the Sunny Family was putting on a smiling face and rescued her older sister, so generously providing Alice with needed medical treatment for the foreseeable future, she raged against the entire situation. Unfortunately, being a teen younger than 18 at the time, she was left with a feeling helpless and frustrated. She raged at her parents for "giving up" on bringing Alice home safely even though they didn't have a choice.

Naturally, with Barbie not being the biggest fan of the Sunny Family, she's going to be wary of anyone working for them. Bo has quite the reputation in the city of St. Valens as their enforcer, so he's got quite a steep uphill climb to take if he wants to earn his puppy's love.

Barbie was already the type to play fast and loose with laws, and this entire affair killed all faith she had in the justice system. In the main universe, she's a programmer and hacker. In this universe, she focused more on the hacking aspect. She snuck behind her parents' back, doing very illegal things online to get more money to pay back the debt to the Sunny Family and free her big sister.

So, years later, while Alice gained experience in the Sunny Family as a sniper, Barbie became a skilled hacker, going by many aliases online. By her early/mid-twenties, she used a particular handle when making things difficult for the Sunny Family - Clown Killer. She became quite notorious among the Sunny Family, and a thorn in their side online.

Of course, Barbie had to prioritize not getting caught above any victory. If the Sunny Family knew that she was the one making things hard for them, it would put Alice in danger. Her primary focus with her hacking and other shady dealings online was to get money to repay the debt, but whenever they would just miss repaying the full amount, or something else tacked onto it to keep Alice in that debt, Barbie couldn't help but want to vent her frustrations as Clown Killer.

Barbie has learned quite a lot about the members of the Sunny Family, but could never quite gather enough evidence that would convict any of its bigger members. Their reputation was so squeaky clean. She especially had an axe to grind against Shine, who never once lost that "sweet and gentle" motherly aura while making it clear to her all those years ago that Alice wouldn't be coming home. She knew behind that sweet smile was a ruthless criminal, but she could never peel back that smiling mask to expose the truth.

The King parents are trying all they can to help Alice, saving up money on their side. They visit the city as often as they can to see her and offer support. If one of them could've taken her place, they would, but with Alice needing regular medical treatment from the city, and Shine taking a shine to her in particular... she was going to be stuck in the city no matter what.

Plus, there are other children in the King family who needed their parents too, Coraline especially. She also needed medical treatments... treatment that the Sunny Family offered to provide. In spite of the protests of her parents about adding to the debt, Alice wanted to help her little sister. Besides, the Sunny Family were treating her well... right?

Well, Alice insisted they did. Her family was already worried enough without knowing how how her job's "duties" slowly became a bit more involved over time, a bit more violent, and a lot more bloody.

Barbie did learn of some of the things Alice was hiding from them because of her hacking, and it infuriated her that her big sis was hiding secrets now too. Their parents told her to not worry about the debt, that it wasn't her responsibility, but fuck that! It's not Alice's responsibility either! She was the victim in all of this! The Sunny Family aren't a wholesome family running businesses, they're manipulative criminals, and Barbie is going to destroy them!

Although Barbie spends much of her time as a recluse, she does visit Alice in St. Valen's from time to time. It's how she crossed paths with a certain dog that the Sunny Family keeps on a tight leash.

The Sunny Family's Hunting Dog

As mentioned before, Bo is working for the Sunny Family as Jack's right hand man. He's an enforcer who enjoys his job. He especially enjoys the thrill of the chase, hunting down a target before brutalizing them up close and personal with his fists and fangs. Of course, he also knows how to handle a gun as well as a few other weapons. He also knows some unconventional means to torture someone if need be.

Bo has excellent hacking skills of his own, as a nod to his AI counterpart in the main universe, but he prefers to get hands on with his target whenever possible. He's aware of the hacker Clown Killer that's giving the Sunny Family some headaches, but they always evade his attempts to catch them in cyberspace, much to his frustration. They become something of a rival, his white whale that he's eager to conquer once and for all.

Not only does Bo have a lust for violence, he's also a very, very horny dog. He has slept around quite a lot, though his relationships never last. He never quite connects with anyone. He gets mistaken for only having a talent for senseless violence, the dumb muscle of the gang who is also is some good eye candy, when he's a lot smarter than his wild behavior might imply. There's a reason why he's Jack's second in command after all...

Alice intrigues Bo, simply because of how Jack is practically obsessed with her. In many ways, Jack is a rival of Bo's, being his "master" who he wants to one day be free of. Seeing Jack bend over backwards to win the heart of just some random sucker who got sweet talked into debt confuses the hell out of him. He wants to know what it is about Alice that draws Jack in... and if he can use that to his advantage.

Alice isn't a fan of Bo's constant teasing, and she hates the nickname of "squeaky toy" that he uses for her. It's in reference to how he loves to sneak up on her and startle her, causing her to squeak in surprise. Bo is really good at sneaking up on his prey, so her reaction is pretty fun.

Still, no matter how many times Bo pops in on Alice unexpectedly, he doesn't quite see what draws Jack in. Sure, she's surprisingly soft despite this hard life of crime, which is a novelty, but it's not something special. She's attractive, sure, but there's plenty just as attractive as her, if not more. He wants to dig deeper, interrogate her more, maybe even seduce her, but whenever he pushes just a little too far, Jack pulls on his metaphorical leash. Hard.

The intrigue keeps Bo coming back to ruffle Alice's feathers despite the risk. It's also why he suddenly pops up at Alice's place while Barbie is visiting one day.

Barbie is surprisingly tall compared to Alice, but Bo can see and smell the family blood between them. She's got these eyes that stand out - both of them blue and brown at the same time. She also has this cutting stare like she wants to carve open his guts. It's actually hilarious that a powderpuff from the suburbs could think she has a chance at even leaving a scratch on an alpha like him. It intrigues him enough to have a little fun teasing her as well.

Barbie shuts down Bo's flirting instantly. It trips him up a bit, as Bo knows he's a good looking guy. He's not used to being turned down in such a harsh manner, especially by someone as powerless as a puppy. He'd be offended if it wasn't so ridiculous.

When Barbie learns that Bo works with Alice, and as such is part of the Sunny Family, her dislike turns into outright hostility. She's not even hiding it either, though Alice rushes in to keep the conversation more or less civil.

After leaving the apartment, Bo decided to case the place until Barbie left. He wanted to tease her a little, scare this spoiled little pampered suburban pet before she barks at someone big and nasty who is more than ready to bite back. Despite his attempts to intimidate her, Barbie didn't even flinch, even when he made a subtle threat, just to see how she would react. Not even that shook her resolve. In fact, she warned him that if he hurt Alice, hell would feel like a sunny vacation spot compared to what she would do to Bo and the rest of the damned Sunny Family.

The threat tickled Bo instead of intimidating him, and Barbie fumed at the way he laughed her off.

It was in that exchange that Bo found himself a new toy to tease. He called Barbie puppy whenever he encountered her. She barked big, but she had no idea just how tiny and helpless she really was compared to him in his eyes. It was cute really, and he found great delight in teasing her.

However, though Bo was amused by their banter, Barbie was anything but. His teasing just made her hate him all the more.

A Hungry Dog

Over time Bo's attraction towards Barbie grows. He stops flirting with Alice, though he still teases her, mostly to learn more about Barbie and how he might win Barbie over. He feels less satisfied with the people he sleeps around with, thinking of Barbie more. He even starts imagining that it's her he's sleeping with, which kills the moment for him and leaves him feeling unfulfilled and horny.

At some point during this, Bo finds out the identity of the infamous Clown Killer. It's surprising, but so fitting that he can't help but laugh when he realizes it's none other than his puppy. My, my, such a naughty puppy too, getting up to so much mischief. It'd be a shame to let anyone else know. Then he wouldn't be able to play with her more.

It's that realization that his greatest rival is the woman who has been intriguing him that turns his attraction into downright obsession. Bo wants to conquer Barbie in every sense of the word, tame this wild puppy and make her whimper and beg for his loving touch.

Bo has obscene fantasies about the various ways he can conquer and tame Barbie. It's the more extreme side of the lines from the game, where he wants her on his leash, to be at his beck and call, ready for him whenever he wants her. (Which quickly becomes all the time, really. The man is so horny he makes Jack seem reserved.) He wants her always by his side, in his lap, hot and whining for him, begging him to take her in every one of her pretty little holes like the dirty puppy he knows that she really is. He wants to make her see that she's powerless before him and beg him to take her, to protect her. Only he can have her.

Unfortunately for Bo, Barbie isn't someone who is turned on by a self-proclaimed alpha asshole who teases her just because he's good looking and desires her. Every time he tries to proposition her or seduce her, he gets rejected, much to his increasing frustration.

It brings out Bo's yandere side more and more. He tries different schemes to win Barbie over. He would use his power and influence to impress her, make her see how much he can provide for her. He tries to show off how good looking he is, entice her to at least want his body if nothing else.

Barbie doesn't want any of it. She knows there are strings attached to anything Bo offers her. The only thing she wants is for the Sunny Family to let Alice go and never, ever bother her or the rest of their family ever again.

Sadly, that's the one thing Bo can't influence with his pull, even if he was willing to let Barbie go. Jack isn't ever going to let Alice go. Worse, he can't even pretend he's going to try and separate them, not when Alice starts dating Jack.

Barbie doesn't buy that Alice is happy with Jack. She doesn't buy Jack's super nice and generous millionaire sweetheart from a sappy romance novel schtick. After everything she's gone through to save her sister from that damn Sunny Family, there's no way Barbie is just letting Alice stay with them.

Jack is just another smiling liar, just like his mother Shine who talked Alice into signing that contract in the first place.

Bo can use this hatred for Jack though. He can try to show Barbie that he's on her side, that while he works for Jack, that doesn't mean he wants to stay a part of the Sunny Family.

In spite of Barbie's hatred, she did have encounters with Bo where he showed his softer side. St. Valen's is a dangerous place, especially for someone who has never killed before. Barbie resents being in Bo's debt even as she's grateful when he saves her life. Bo had Barbie squares away this debt with dates, which she very reluctantly accepted with the stipulation that he never touches her unless she explicitly gives him permission.

On these dates, Bo tries taking a play from Jack's book and acting more polite, more gentle with Barbie. It doesn't win her over, since she doesn't trust it, but she's not as openly hostile. Barbie also uses these dates as an attempt to sneak info on the sly that she could use against the family. It's kind of cute to Bo, that she thinks she's so slick, but she's a lot better at hiding her real motives online than she is in person. She has such a lousy poker face.

But it's cute too that she doesn't hide her real feelings. The more time Bo spends with Barbie, the more he wants her. Her scent is so appealing, so delicious. He wants to nibble on her skin, or at least get just a little lick. It's almost like she was made to drive him crazy. She's so fierce, so loyal to her family, and so in over his head. The small moments that he gets in past her walls where she softens to him, just a little, oh that makes his hope burn brighter, hotter.

Still, for every step closer he takes, something seems to pull them apart again. Usually that something is Bo and the criminal life he lives with the Sunny Family.

Puppy Love

Before Bo realizes it, he is helplessly in love, completely obsessed. It's Jack who infuriatingly points out to him that Barbie has become his weakness. Despite Bo insistence on being a lone wolf that doesn't need anybody, he is desperate to make Barbie, that grumpy barking puppy, his mate.

Which works in Jack's favor. After all, if Alice's family gets closer to his family, then she won't ever want to leave. He can also have Bo indebted to him for helping Bo win over the untamed heart of Barbie.

Barbie isn't going to make it easy for Bo, even with Jack's help. Like Alice, Barbie is on the aroace spectrum. She has to trust Bo in order to start developing real feelings for him, and it's going to take a lot of effort to get her to trust him.

Also, Barbie is the type to take charge. In the main universe, she's the one who holds Bo's leash. He might be the alpha dog, but he bows down at her feet. I imagine until she can feel secure in her dominance over Bo and trust that his love for her is stronger than his allegiance to the Sunny Family, she's not going to feel anything remotely close to attraction when it comes to him.

Still, Barbie and Bo are one of my ships, and it'd be a shame if they didn't eventually sail, even in this darker AU. It's just going to be a very slow burn.

It'll burn even slower if Bo gives in to his frustration and yandere impulses to force his puppy to stay with him. Only by rolling over and showing his soft belly will he stand a chance of seeing Barbie's softer side as well.

A bad end to their storyline would no doubt be Bo forcing Barbie to be his, through blackmail, debt, or both. Even in that situation, she wouldn't simply just submit. Trying to overpower her isn't going to win Barbie's love. Instead it'll just make her bear her fangs and fight back even more. The harder he forces her, the more desperately she fights, and the closer he pushes them both to their mutual destruction.

Of course, I'm a sucker for happy endings. So while Barbie isn't going to make it easy for Bo, I do like the idea that in spite of everything, Bo manages to slowly show her there's more to him than a blood-thirsty, horny killer. He's someone who loves deeply, is loyal, and would do anything to please her. His love for her is more real and pure than anything else he found in the city of St. Valen's, and despite all his dreams of becoming top dog, there's nothing he wants more than to be loved by his puppy.

Bo might hate to be on a leash, but he'll find it's not so bad when Barbie is the one holding onto it instead of Jack. In fact, when she's confidently in charge, she'll be a lot more inclined to reward her big bad alpha dog with some treats.

Oh, and naturally, Bo wouldn't be Bo without his breeding/seeding fetish. Once he and Barbie finally get together, he's going to want to knock her up immediately with his pups. He never gave serious thought about having kids before, but that's only because he never found someone he wanted as his mate before. He really hopes the pups his puppy gives him will have her pretty heterochromatic eyes.

I think we can wrap things up there for now. I hope you enjoyed another visit to this multi-crossover mafia AU. Let me know if you want to hear even more about this AU or any of my other story ideas and characters.

@channydraws @earthgirlaesthetic @sai-of-the-7-stars @cheriihoney @illary-kore @okamiliqueur @kurokrisps

#Sunny Day Jack #Something's Wrong With Sunny Day Jack #SunnyDayJack #DachaBo #Aphrodesia #sdj #swwsdj #Headcanon Ramblings #My Art #Mafia AU

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