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edgeray · 2 months

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Ray! 🍅 anon here, I said I wasn't going to request but there's one idea I've been really, REALLY itching at.

So you know how you reblogged "cold nights" by beiibeii? Yeah about that... I think I cooked an angst idea of this on a related tangent? (If you choose to write this, ofc)

How about Mother!Reader who is faced with the same scenario of Arle neglecting them to the point that she loses hope in their relationship? Think of the angst when the children constantly remind their Father of important dates but she's away or somehow missing most of them because of work. To the point reader just implies for them to stop trying and accepts the fact that they married Arlecchino but is now simply the Knave's wife? Like even the children can see them losing hope which is why they sometimes lowkey plead with their Father to actually pay more attention to Mother. Mother marrying Father means that Mother is strong but behind their strong facade you can see their sadness! You can feel their loneliness! And their sense of isolation and sorrowful acceptance of their new reality. And Arle does not pick up on the subtle signs until it's Too Late. Like. Reader in the coffin Late.

And as the Knave's wife Reader does need to undertake missions like in "I am Fine in Your Arms" but because reader has lost so much hope in living a wife outside of being the Knave's wife, reader does not make an effort to return alive. The angst of the burial, maybe the children blaming their Father etc. The really young ones aside, I don't think they would be actively angry with their Father, just very, VERY, disappointed. HotH would lose its warmth for a while before Lyney, Lynette and Freminet try their best to build it back (but of course, it never becomes as warm as it used to be)

Whether or not you choose to give this one a happy ending is up to you, but on my end the only happy ending that I cooked up for them is that Arle wakes up in the next Samsara with all these memories of losing Reader and prevents the relationship from going South in the first place. (Bonus points if Reader also has the memories and compares it to how they were treated by Arle previously, makes a comparison, and goes "How I wish this were my Arle" without knowing that it actually IS their Arle, just acknowledging she fucked up BIG time and is now making heavy amends for it. and Arle Knows because of that look that Reader gives her, sorrow and joy in a complex blend.)

...I think by now you can tell that I'm an angst writer too HAHSHHSHA Nobody leaves my fics without getting a knife and I promise it's just for the plot (like we always say).

I've still been keeping up with your writings (Beauty and The Beast actually fits, holy-) (Someone send Siren!Arle a whole farmhouse of ham for her consumption please) and yes I agree that you've been pumping out bangers after bangers. (I mean. Given that, you probably can afford to be a little indulgent? If writing this much quality about your muse doesn't give you the OK to put your hands all over them, abs and all, what does?)

As always, prioritise your sanity and schedule first, stay well rested and hydrated!

Lost Warmth

(Arlecchino x GN! Reader)

A/N - Link to my momma's (@beiibeiii) piece right here. If I see you read this before reading the masterpiece I just linked, know that I am a very disappointed axolotl. 😔 Anyways, you might be able to tell just how long this has been sitting in my inbox… haha… my bad guys. T^T. Thank you for giving me the opportunity to write more angst. :3 And thank you for the additional comments 🍅 anon. I do have quite a soft spot for siren! arle, seeing that she was my first request (and requested from my momma :3). Wanted this to be a little longer, but I do have to wake up earlier tomorrow, so this is what you get T^T. Hopefully it's still good. Content warnings / info - angst, character death (duh), reader is referred to as ‘Mother’ but is otherwise GN!, 1.4k words

Cold is a feeling you've long gotten used to. Cold is your husband's dismissal of your existence, with every interaction ending with her blunt words and back towards you, leaving you with a crumbling heart. Cold are the long nights as you anxiously wait for Arlecchino's appearance for a candlelit dinner you spent half the day preparing, only for her never to return until you fell to exhaustion on the couch, a flower bouquet that remains unreceived in your hands. Cold is the creeping loneliness in the late hours of the night, when you've finally grown tired of anticipating someone that will never come, and returned to bed alone. Cold is the way you shiver underneath the thickest of blankets, no one's body warmth to sink into, no one's softly whispered words into your ear to drift you to sleep. Cold is when instead of your husband, only dim stars, a bottle of liquor, and the tears that stream your face join you in bed.

When was the last time you had felt warmth?

You recall when the Knave first started courting you, how gentlemanly she was for such a rumored cruel Harbinger. You were first just a caretaker of the House of the Hearth, this small orphanage which you quickly found to be home for you. You couldn't help but adore the endearing children, watching as you slowly became a staple in this family. Despite your best efforts of hiding it, Arlecchino noticed when you snuck in the occasional pastry or cake from the town's most lavious bakery for the children, out of your own paycheck as well. It was then, your husband admitted, when she first fell for you. It had taken her months of encouragement from her ‘pestering’ children before she asked you out, and it was impossible to not fall for her charm.

How could you not? Not when she held you like you were her world. Not when she viewed you higher than the Tsaritsa herself. Not when her touch was heavenly, her words silky and sweet. When she proposed to you, your heart leapt with levity, and you thought your life was perfect now. A warm house, fitted with warm parents, that was what you had had, you had never felt so content.

Then came the long nights. Nights when she trudged home later than usual, where she fell asleep without a word but sunk into your arms still. Then she started forgetting, forgetting about the dates and birthdays, and anniversaries more and more. At first, you chalked it up to her demanding Harbinger duties, but as time grew and the excuses started to run out, the perfect life you knew was crumbling.

You became aware of this two years after your marriage when you had been preparing dinner for the two of you once she arrived home, slow cooking a steak since the early hours of the morning. Just as you exited the kitchen, you heard some children surrounding your husband before she left for another Harbinger meeting, telling her that you had a surprise for her once she came home and how excited you were for her to enjoy a new recipe you created. Your heart swelled with hope and appreciation for your children, especially when Arlecchino promised she would return in time.

You should have known better.

You ate your tear-ridden steak alone and went to bed, leaving the steak out for her for whenever she returned home. Just like how you fell asleep, you woke up without your husband's presence, and when you arrived at the kitchen, the meat and the note besides the plate were untouched.

You tried to eat the cold steak for lunch as well. You threw it away at the first bite. That day, you gathered your children, pleading them not to ‘pester’ Father with more reminders, as she was very busy. All that you gained back from the children was pitied expressions, and the agony in your chest worsened. Your children could pity you, but your husband couldn't? Even with your husband's coldness, you still carried out your Mother role, if only for the children. You cannot deny that the children's antics helped you forget the ever-present void inside you, caused by Arlecchino.

You never learned the reason for Arlecchino's behavior, why she had grown so cold towards you. Now, you suppose, you would never know.

Red fills your hazy vision as you lay on the ground, your entire body aching and fatigued, desperate gasps for air while your heart pounds in your eardrums. Your side was sliced, and the crimson liquid quickly poured out of the wound while you tried to stop the bleeding, but to no avail.

This is your end, you think to yourself as you weakly turn on your side, every nerve in your body protesting against the movement. Your bloodied hand comes into view, your engagement and wedding ring gleaming slightly underneath the blood. The rings bring your thoughts to Arlecchino–oh, how you imagine the common disappointment in her otherwise apathetic expression, disappointment at your mission's failure. Your eyes bubbled and blurred with tears, vivid memories of your wedding flashing through your mind. The wedding ring is beautiful, still polished with that bold scarlet, the same color of her eyes, the same eyes you could never stop drowning in.

Would she even know your absence? Would she ever acknowledge you, treat you properly like her partner even if you did return? You doubt it. Did you want to return a cold bed, to a husband that does not love you, to a house no longer warm?

It's warm.

Your body feels like fire courses through your veins as you feel inexplicably hot, yet it's a welcomed heat. It's the first time you've felt this, but it feels familiar, comforting, like a hearth, and you want nothing more than to surrender to it. It soothes your heartbeat and calms your breath, easing your body as if you were to sink into the most plush of beds, swallowed by the thickest of blankets. The warmth coils around you, wrapping you like a cozy embrace, evoking you to sleep. Your eyes flutter shutter, a faint smile plastered on your lips.

It feels just like Peruere's arms.

—

Arlecchino receives a letter addressed to her on the third day you've been sent on a mission. The contents make her drop the paper, and she rushes outside, without an additional word, leaving the House.

The children do not see her until she returns late into the night, a body wrapped in cloth in her arms. Arlecchino raised her children to be smart, to be attentive, to be logical. Whose body it is, they realize with little difficulty.

The children weep that night. Arlecchino does not. How can she, when her source of emotions is gone?

The burial takes place soon afterwards. As your body is placed into the ground, Arlecchino can feel the weight of her children's stare on her back. The charged tension between her and the children is palpable without words. She cannot discern which of the two reactions cut deeper. The seething fury underneath the oppressive grief for the young ones, having to lose another parent, or the crushing dismay inhabited by the older ones, specifically the twins and Freminet.

Their thoughts are clear, even when none of them speak out loud.

How could you fail Mother?

The House of the Hearth no longer suits the orphanage's name, not with your missing presence. There is no warmth, no matter how much the trio tries to fuel a lost flame. Even with Arlecchin's pyro vision, it is futile.

Arlecchino stands before your gravestone, a bouquet of your favorite flowers in her hand, and she rests it beside the other bouquets by your grave. Six bouquets in total, for each day after your burial.

“For all the flowers, I should have given you, my love,” she whispers as she addresses you, glancing up to the heavens. The last two words make her feel like a fraud, undeserving of calling you hers, when she had clearly never shown so.

Arlecchino, the Knave, the Fatui Harbinger, does not plead, does not beg, does not kneel. However, her knees drop to her dirt, and she grovels. “Please… wait for me one more time, my dear. Once I meet you again, I promise I'll never leave you alone, I'll never let you out of my arms again.”

There is no reply.

Arlecchino feels cold.

#arlecchino x reader #arlecchino x you #arlecchino #genshin impact x reader #genshin impact x you #genshin x reader #genshin x you #genshin impact fanfics #genshin impact fics #genshin fanfics #genshin fics #edgeray.writes #edgeray.requests #edgeray.🍅anon

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silkjade-archived · 1 year

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alhaitham x mermaid! reader (4)

⤀ warnings: fem!reader, no pronouns mentioned, reader has hair long enough to be pinned, a bit of angst but ends w fluff — ꒰ 3.9k wc ꒱ a/n: recommended to read the previous parts first, since this is a direct continuation. this ended up being way longer than intended lol next ﾉ series masterlist ⋆.ೃ࿔*:･𓇼

There are few things considered perfect, but this night spent among the treetops of sumeru city, certainly comes close. The cool breeze is a welcomed remedy for a day spent under the sun, and below, the warm glow of the city’s lanterns illuminate the street, alive and effervescent in the serenity of the night.

“I’ve never been so high up,” you muse, carelessly throwing a smile at alhaitham who stands a little ways behind you, leaning against a pillar.

Admittedly, razan garden isn’t very high up at all, but he bites back a smart remark, not realizing how his eyes soften as he watches you take in the sights with wonder. You’re radiant even under the low glow of the fireflies, and between the leaves and the padisarahs, even he can’t help but think you’ve walked right out of a children's storybook.

“I can do you one better,” he offers, jutting his chin upwards, higher up the divine tree.

Your eyes follow, but your voice wavers in your reply and you hesitate to take his outstretched hand. For one who normally dwells so deep beneath the sea, you think you’re already plenty high up the ground. Alhaitham easily reads into your reluctance, but with time, you too have learned to read the marginal variations in his expressions.

That tiny curve to his lips and the slight dip in his brow—he teases you when he says, “I promise to catch you if you fall.” But his eyes soften just a fraction, and you know his words are genuine.

“Well you shouldn’t let me fall in the first place,” you shoot back, ignoring the way he rolls his eyes, and taking his hand regardless.

“Hold onto me,” he says simply, and your breath hitches in surprise as he wraps an arm around your waist, pulling you flush against his chest; a stark reminder that he is indeed not a feeble scholar at all. You scramble to hold on, but within the next second you feel yourself flying through the air, clinging on to this vision wielder for dear life.

Alhaitham rationalizes that such an exceptionally rare visitor warrants an equally exceptional attraction—even if it’s only so that he might chance to see the way your eyes sparkle with delight. And it certainly doesn’t help that he quite enjoys the feel of you latching onto him, but he files the thought away for another time.

“You can open your eyes now.”

When you’re sure your feet are planted on solid ground, you loosen your grip, untangling your limbs from his.

“Next time, a warning would be nice.”

“And where would be the fun in that?” he smirks.

Nestled among the thick branches of the divine tree, is his personal haven: hidden far from prying eyes, and high enough to drown out the noises of the city. He supposes that an overarching view of the surrounding forests is an added plus as well.

“I often come here to be alone. It’s peaceful.”

“And it’s got quite the view. I’ve never seen anything like it.” You keep your tone hushed, as if it might somehow shatter the tranquility.

This place… it’s new and fascinating, just like everything else you’ve experienced since meeting alhaitham. Before you, vast forests spread as far as your eye can see, and below you, the vantage point makes it easy to people-watch.

Despite the nearly two weeks you’ve spent here on land, you still find humans so interesting. Maybe not humans specifically, but the workings of human intimacy are… certainly noteworthy. As you peer over the tangle of leaves and branches, a young couple embraces under a streetlamp. You sneak a glance at alhaitham beside you.

“The city talks about us often. They think we’re lovers.”

He clears his throat, hoping to catch his choked breath and rid himself of the faint blush that speckles his cheeks; he’s long foresaw this as one possible outcome of your relationship, but he hadn’t expected, much less intended, for your words to still affect him as much as it does. He’s well aware of the rumors and ignores them as he always does, but he wonders what sparked the topic—it’s not a conversation he hopes to delve into.

Following your line of sight, he too sees the couple below. “Well we’re clearly not, so no need to entertain idle gossip.”

"Would it be so terrible though if we were…?" It slips out before you even get the chance to reel yourself back in.

Lovers. The word tastes bittersweet on his tongue. Alhaitham keeps his heart lidded so that frivolous wishes cannot compromise his mind, but just the term itself is able to bring his emotions to a boil, threatening to spill over what he’s so carefully shoved down.

“I don't really see the point in dwelling on hypothetical situations.”

“You’re avoiding the question.” For a second, your brows knit together in worry. “Are you not attracted to me anymore?” Were humans so fickle that even after a night of–

"It’s not that,” he interrupts quickly, eyes raking you up and down as he turns to face you, the tips of his ears flushed pink as he attempts to fix his composure.

“And no, it wouldn’t be terrible at all but… it’d be highly irrational,” he pauses to gauge your reaction; a wrinkle in your brow paints your state of perplexity. “What kind of chance would we have under these circumstances? It’d only end in disappointment."

“What if it doesn’t?” There’s a sliver of hope that dances in your eyes, and it aches for him to accept that such are the unfortunate circumstances in which he finally experiences the longstanding debate between the head and the heart.

Making the rational choice is easy when he has little to no emotional investment in the matter, but even the brilliance of his mind dulls to the way you puppet him like a marionette, tugging at every one of his heartstrings and bending him to your will. A daring voice in his head urges him to just take the risk and deal with any future repercussions when they come, to just take the leap and let himself freely love you as he so desires.

But the grand scribe—famously aloof, cold, rational—sees the truth for what it is.

“The odds are heavily stacked against us. By the sheer law of probability, it could never work.”

To use a word as definitive as never, he’s not entirely sure who he’s trying to convince: you or himself. Regardless, he believes it'd be easier to just rip the bandage off. It would sting now, but it'd save a world of hurt for the both of you in the long run.

"And probability in itself is only a strong likelihood," you argue, before your voice falls into a quiet waver. "Are we… not even worth the chance?"

Alhaitham knows the definition of probability, knows that nothing is absolute, save for your obvious physiological differences. It's a calculated risk—one he doesn't believe to be worth taking, especially when pursuing you romantically would bring more than its fair share of obstacles. Inevitable obstacles that would no doubt grow more apparent in the face of these foolish fantasies. Perhaps this makes him a coward, but it’s better than to raise false hopes. He too has a heart to hurt.

"I'm sorry."

It’s easy to miss the way his eyes are more honest than his words, when your cheeks are burning and your heart is sinking. ‘Shameless mermaid,’ he had once said, so perhaps there is a lesson to learn in the human notions of shame and regret and heartache.

The following morning doesn’t fare much better. In the aftermath of the night’s events, you couldn’t bare, hadn’t wanted to bare, the sight of your tail in that saltwater bath. Yet despite the fact that you distinctly remember falling asleep on the living room divan, you wake up in the familiar comfort of his bed. If he were more cruel, perhaps your heart would hurt less.

You sit up as the sound of his roommate’s muffled voice seeps through the walls, followed by the heavy thud of what you can only assume to be the front door. ‘For the sake of the akademiya, I hope you work out whatever lovers’ quarrel you have going on.’ You wince at kaveh’s words, but the bedroom door creaks, jerking you from your thoughts, and opening to reveal none other than alhaitham himself.

“I…,” he hadn’t wished to disturb your slumber, but now his mouth runs dry trying to come up with something to say, other than a pathetic ‘sorry.’ For once, he’s at a loss for words, so he grabs his keys and retreats back out to the hallway.

You wait until you hear the front door click before flopping back into the pillows. While your kind doesn’t particularly revere the archons of teyvat, you nevertheless thank lesser lord kusanali simply for the fact that alhaitham returns to work today, leaving you with the freedom to roam the city. It’ll be a good chance to clear your head.

The air has been suffocatingly thick as of late, and even the sun seems to mock you, beating down hot and shining brighter than ever in your misery. It’s fair to say you don’t make it very far before growing increasingly fatigued, legs beginning to buckle as you walk.

Beneath the shade of a brightwood tree, you try to recall the amount of days you’ve spent on land. Under normal circumstances, your human body would have given out after a week, but the saltwater baths in alhaitham’s tub have about doubled your time on land.

Perhaps it’s good that all things must come to an end. While you can’t force him to love you, you can try to salvage whatever might be left of this relationship. Alhaitham… seemed to be faring fine. It’s you who should swallow your feelings, so for now, distance may just be the best step forward.

All rivers flow to the ocean, and while it’s too conspicuous to swim there in broad daylight—you scout the banks of yazadaha pool until you spot a few eremite mercenaries lounging around a small boat—you could definitely charter a ride.

“Please take me to the port.”

A gruff man crosses his arms. “You got the mora?”

Not a single one. In the time you’ve spent on land, alhaitham had readily purchased everything to your frivolous delight. You entertain the thought of talking your way into a free charter, though considering the circumstances, you’re not sure how much allure your voice can draw in this form.

“That’s a nice hairpin you’ve got though. Must be worth a pretty price.” Tensing, you frown as your hand flies to clutch the emerald pin sitting in your hair.

No. You couldn’t possibly give up something you so cherish. It was a gift from alhaitham; one you hadn’t asked for, but was instead given to you of his own accord. It was… consolation for reading over some random akademiya papers, you remember.

Your arm falls limp as you tug the piece from your hair. Perhaps now you realize that everything he felt for you was only worth the weight of this pin. Still, it’s difficult to control the tremble in your hands as you toss the ornament to the nearest mercenary.

With one last glance towards the akademiya, you wonder if he’d miss you in your absence, but you know alhaitham, and you know he values simplicity and comfort in his daily life—he’d breathe easier without the strained air.

As the sun begins to dip below the horizon, Alhaitham stalks towards the tavern. Others at the akademiya might describe him as difficult to work with today—even more so than usual. And maybe it would be hypocritical of him, considering all the times he’s scolded kaveh, but his back aches from a night spent on the divan, and his mind is unfocused, filled only with thoughts of you. It wasn’t right how he had left things with you, and despite his mask of apathy, it eats away at his insides. He needed a drink.

Just as he reaches for the doors, a sunray hits just right, sending a beam of refracted light into his eyes. He winces, passing an irritated glare to the source, before his eyes widen, freezing in his tracks. His stomach churns as he marches toward the group of eremites gathered at a table.

One of them twirls a hairpin in his hands—brilliant and gold, decorated with emerald gems. He demands to know its origins, and when he learns you had traded it for a ride to port ormos, he grits his teeth.

Knowing you, and based on past experience, he had expected you’d do the utmost to avoid him, but he had grossly underestimated how much his chest would ache in your absence, or how it terrifies his heart that he may lose you, should you choose to disappear forever. He must find you, but first...

“Name your price.”

The cold seawater is quite literally a breath of fresh air, revitalizing you in a way the sun and earth never could. Your head clears and your senses are sharpened, leaving much room for introspection as you sink down onto the ocean floor.

The heavy silence is a far cry from the liveliness you’ve grown accustomed to. Beneath the waves, the stars don’t shine and the moon's brilliant glow is scattered and diffused until it's dim and unrecognizable. It ripples with the water—distorted—like your perception.

'Clearly not lovers.' The words replay again and again in your mind. You've seen the way couples in sumeru city behaved, and based on your observations, you hadn’t thought the two of you were much different.

He had given you gifts, large and small, sheltered you in his own home, protected you when you were most vulnerable. You've kissed and you've lain together and he had whispered sweet words that called you his. It was a wonderful dream, painted in saccharine colors, but a dream nonetheless it seems. You are not who he wants. You’re not even what he wants. You are a mermaid.

'It could never work.' He’s given you every reason to believe there might be something more but deep down, you know he’s probably right. The word human has never felt more jarring, as it seems human intimacy is named as such, precisely because it's where the line is drawn. You spare a melancholy glance at your magnificent tail, but it has never looked more ordinary.

Overhead, a shadow blocks out the watery beams of the moon before a splash breaks the surface and a chunk of crystal ore sinks under the waves. After some time, another follows, and then another—too many to be a mere coincidence.

Every bone in your body screams to leave him be, that no, you shouldn’t come at his beck and call, especially if you hope to nurse your wounded heart. Still, a part of you is elated that he's come to chase after you, and against your better judgment, you swim up, just shy of the surface, hidden by the darkness of night. As long as you didn’t reveal yourself, although… maybe if he begs, you think.

Unfortunately, alhaitham has studied the water enough times to recognize the subtle movements that give you away. He peers closer, still only barely catching a faint flicker of light—the brilliant gleam of your tail. When you don’t surface, he takes to more drastic measures, hoping you’d forgive him for more than just the bait.

“If you really didn’t want to see me, you wouldn’t still be hanging around here.”

You scoff, slightly offended by his baseless assumption, yet irritated at the fact that he’s not particularly wrong either.

“Please, this has been my cove long since before you showed up.” Pulling yourself onto the nearby rocks, you sit opposite him, tail still swishing in vex beneath the surface. With your cover blown, you might as well indulge in your curiosity. “Why are you here.”

Between the moon and the sea, the pale light glows like a halo around you, like a figment of his dreams—ethereal and out of reach. But what matters now, is that you’re here, and real, and should you let him, he doesn’t intend to let you go again.

“These are for you,” he states simply, a bouquet of padisarahs in hand. You frown. He brings you flowers as you’ve seen lovers do, but you are clearly not lovers. Your heart can weather the storm of his rejection, but if he’s here to toy with you… then he must have forgotten who is vulnerable in these waters.

“With the way things ended, the thought that I might never see you again…”

As his voice trails off, his mask slips just a little, and you wonder if he can recognize the casual cruelty of his words. The dichotomy of being more than friends, yet less than lovers, how he does not wish to lose you, and yet he does not want you. If he was merciful, he’d let you go. Your eyes shift to the waters—it’d be easy to just dive in and disappear beneath the depths, spare yourself the humiliation of whatever might come next, but his gentle grasp on your arm begs you not to go.

"So give me a reason to stay."

“Because I want you to,” he whispers, but you shake your head.

"It's not enough."

He tries again. "Because I want you."

The air hangs heavy above your heads, the tension like a bow drawn taut. The silence seems to tick for forever before you finally respond, guarded.

“Why the change of heart.”

Alhaitham swallows, his kaleidoscope eyes boring into yours. “There was never anything to change.”

He’s always been apt with his words, but there's a twinge of fear and hurt and desperation in his voice that undermines his normally confident tone. It shakes your resolve to keep him at arm's length but if what he says is true, if there's an underlying message woven between the lines… then perhaps it’s worth the risk to lay bare before him once again.

“And how do you want me?” Your movements are hesitant when your hand smoothes over his cheek, but he relaxes under your touch—turning his face into your palm and letting out a breath as if soothed by your acknowledgment. "Because I want to be yours, haitham. I love-”

"Not like this," he interrupts. Gingerly, he wraps his fingers around your wrists, guiding your hands back down until his face is left cold without your touch, but he never lets go: not when your shoulders sink and your bottom lip trembles, and certainly not as he laces his fingers through yours.

If nothing else, he must remain sensible. Even if he's to make the most irrational decision in the world, he should at least do it right.

"I want a life that suits the both of us," he starts. You refuse to meet his gaze, waiting for the inevitable but. But it’s impossible. But it’s irrational.

But it never comes.

“Make another deal with me,” he continues as your brows furrow and confusion clouds your eyes. “Wait for me, and I’ll find a way.”

“You’re very confident for someone who doesn’t know if such a solution even exists.”

A love that hangs on the promise of another deal; how fitting for the two of you whose relationship had flourished on the merit of exchanging knowledge. But he’s confident in his abilities as a researcher and a scholar.

“Sumeru is the epicenter of knowledge. Our deserts hide many mysteries, even to this day.”

"And if one day I decide I’m tired of waiting…?" you ask, even though he’s promised to return, and you’ve long decided you’d wait.

“Then I’d come and find you so that my efforts aren’t wasted.”

“It’d be a waste of effort anyway if you can’t even make it through the currents. And the sea is quite vast, you know.”

You don’t know what point you’re trying to prove by arguing during an already fragile moment. Maybe it’s a subconscious countermeasure, a last line of defense against your traitor heart, but this back and forth with him shouldn’t come so easily.

“Then I can only pray that a beautiful mermaid might come and save me,” he murmurs, lightly squeezing your hand. “my beautiful mermaid.”

Your eyes follow as he brings your still-interlocked fingers to his lips, pressing a gentle kiss to your knuckles before glancing up from beneath the pieces of his fringe, "Do you trust me?"

It’s almost difficult to breathe with the way your heart pounds in your chest. Do you trust him enough to take this chance on such a near impossible task? Do you trust him as he calls you his, outside of the realm of pleasure and of his own volition…

You answer him in the same way he did, when you had asked the same of him not so long ago. Your hand once again reaches up to cup his face, this time bringing him in for a kiss, soft and tender, filled with the whispers of a promise.

His lips curve up just the slightest, the beginning of a sly grin breaking across his face. “I don’t think I got all of that just yet. Care to elaborate your answer?”

And so you kiss him again, the ebb and flow of your lips as smooth as the tides, with your arms draped over his neck, and his hands clasped around your waist, bringing you ever closer. It’s decadent and asphyxiating, you almost don’t care if you were to drown in this fit of passion.

“I do have feelings for you,” he murmurs, before finally breaking away for air. His chest heaves, but your face is only inches from his and he fights the urge to kiss you senseless again. “Just give me some time, and we can be together for real.”

Alhaitham turns to sift through his belt pouch and once again presents you with a hairpin—delicate and ornate, inlaid with nagadus emeralds. “I couldn’t stand to see it in someone else’s possession.”

“And why’s that?” You coax, deceitfully coy as you peek up from underneath your lashes, biting back a grin whilst tracing the gem on his chest, one that happens to shine in the same verdant shade of green. It’s a bit silly, but you want to hear him say it again.

Alhaitham rolls his eyes with a huff of exasperation, although the mirth in his eyes says otherwise. Sometimes you are ridiculously easy to read.

“Because it’s yours.” A small peck lands on your forehead. “And because the whole of sumeru should know you’re mine,” he finishes with a light kiss to your lips.

Your head falls to rest against his chest, picking out his heartbeat amongst the sound of the waves. You feel warm despite how the cool ocean air prickles against your wet skin. You’d be happy to let this moment last forever, but ingenuity is a virtue in the nation of wisdom—what is done completes what is thought—and you trust that alhaitham will keep his word, so you guide his fingers, curling them into a fist around the little ornament.

“It'd only get tarnished underwater so... keep it safe for me until you return. Deal?”

Alhaitham catches your lips again, grinning into the kiss. “Deal.”

a/n2: i rewrote this SO many times cus i was unsatisfied with it, so i hope you enjoyed :'D it was honestly kind of hard not weaving in anything from the bonus smutfic but also keeping it kinda coherent LOL but if u read that, there was like 1 ref that i thought was fun 'n i hope u caught it (๑>؂•̀๑) ANYWAYS we are almost at the end as the next part will be the last 'n it'll be a little epilogue ! as always, thank u so much for reading + reblogs/feedback are always vry much appreciated ♡

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artistsfuneral · 1 year

Text

Jaskier meets Death at a forked path. He has never seen them in person before, their face - although incredible kind looking - is not one he's familiar with and yet he instinctively knows who is in front of him.

It's quite the idyllic picture to be honest. The path Jaskier has been following for the past few hours is lined with rough stone walls, the ones that are keeping flocks of sheep from straying too far. The sun is out and shining through the tree's leaves, creating a kaleidoscope of dancing shadows on the fresh grass. Death sits under one such dancing shadow-patch, surrounded by napping sheep. Their left hand is idly petting the spotted fur of a guardian dog, with their right, they're waving Jaskier over to join them.

He silently wonders if he should be scared. Others certainly would be terrified upon seeing Death waiting for them, but Jaskier has always been easily intrigued. Besides, Death is hardly looming over him, it's more like they're waiting for him - like one may wait for an old friend. It could be a trick of course, he muses as he walks over to where Death is sitting, then again it feels like the two of them could have met many, many times before and in much worse situations than this. So who is Jaskier to question Death?

The closer he gets the more he is able to take in. They're tall - taller than anyone he's met before, Jaskier thinks - and incredibly pretty. Not in the perfectly manicured kind of pretty, like some of the most beautiful darlings at court tend to be. No, Death carries a natural loveliness that can only be found and never created, like a special constellation of freckles, an off-center nose, or a small gap between your teeth. Death is everyone Jaskier ever sung of combined in one person, which makes him wonder if they always look like this or if they changed their appearance to please Jaskier's eyes specifically. If the latter, he'd surely feel flattered.

"Come sit with me, sweetheart," Death says and Jaskier is delighted to hear their voice. It's a very nice voice. He wants to hear Death laugh, he realizes as he sinks down next to them on the grass. Their eyes meet his and Death sends him the kindest smile, "It's been a while since I've seen you, sweetheart, I'm glad to see you happy and healthy." Jaskier grins, because what a funny thing for Death to say, but he can hear the honesty in their words. "Oh you know, just the usual aches and pains of my slowly progressing age. Nothing you haven't heard a hundred times before, I'm sure," Jaskier happily chatters back in the same familiar tone. "It's a lovely day, isn't it?" He asks and reaches for his pack. Might as well take his lunch break now, while the fruit he bought earlier this day are still fresh. Death answers his question with an agreeing hum and oh yes, Jaskier might just fall in love with them right then and there.

He focuses on his lunch and wills his foolish heart to calm. "Would you like some?" he asks Death, because his Mama raised him well and eating alone is never quite as enjoyable as sharing a meal. Death looks at him with amusement in their eyes. "I can not eat, but I appreciate the gesture."

Jaskier sighs, "What a pity."

"A small price to pay for a life like mine."

"You're alive?"

"I am here, am I not?"

He looks at Death wide eyed, a hundred thoughts stumbling through his mind at the same time. "I have so many questions."

"And I have a favor to ask of you, sweetheart," Death retords not unkindly. Throughout their short conversation the amusement never quite left their eyes and while Jaskier would normally feel patronized by such a look he somehow knows that Death is simply enjoying his company.

"Are we doing this right? Doesn't this whole asking for a favor thing usually go the other way around?" Death laughs and Jaskier's heart does a little jump, his fingers itch to write a new song. "You read too much, sweetheart."

"I don't believe there's such a thing as reading too much."

"The words of a scholar and a poet."

"At your service."

"Of course. I always get what I want," Death says knowingly, shoving yet another metaphorical box of Pontar towards Jaskier. Lucky for him he has long since learned to not think about these kind of things too much. It does feel a little bit like Death tricked him, though he loves a good repartee. "I have to admit, I am curious indeed. What could I possibly offer to you?"

Death turns their head away from him, looking at the dog in deep consideration. "I need..." Death pauses and Jaskier almost wants to think of it in a hesitant way, "to win a bet." The bard's shoulders drop immediately. "Ah," he says, because the hesitation now starts to make sense. Surely Death must know this of him. "I don't do bets, I'm afraid. It never ends well for the poets caught in between."

"I know," Death agrees easily and not very reassuringly, as a matter of fact. "But I am in need of a song. A song to bring the gods to tears and neither can I write nor sing. What I can do, is offer you my protection."

Jaskier's mind floods with thoughts.

Protection from Death.

The two of them stare into each other's eyes, the world around them timeless, everlasting. Finally, it is Jaskier who breaks the contact and returns to his bundle of food. He bites into a fruit, it's sweet juices run down his chin and drip onto his chemise. "I will make the gods weep," he declares and watches Death smile full of warmth.

#the witcher #artistsfuneral about the witcher #jaskier #julian alfred pankratz #geraskier #witcher #mini fic

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clanwarrior-tumbly · 8 months

Note

oooh I got one! prompt 74 with any of the follower!bishops, where they get hurt on a crusade and reader, who is a healer finds them and helps them <333

74) "I think I broke my leg!"

.......

"I can't believe this...betrayed by my own-!!"

"Lord Kallamar?"

Surprised by the voice, Kallamar looked up at you, the figure dressed in white tattered robes, clean of any and all ichor. The metal halo behind your head reflected the sunlight from above Anchordeep, making it seem as though it were glowing.

Now he remembers.

You're one of the many nameless Healers in his former army of cultists and devotees. He thought most of them were culled by the Lamb at this point, yet you were somehow still alive.

"You have returned to us in such a miniscule form." You mused, to which you saw him tense up, trying to shuffle away.

So far, every creature here was trying to kill him during his crusade, and he wasn't sure if you were going to be any different.

He knew should've gone to the tailor first; at least they wouldn't attack him on-sight just because his red robes remind them of the Lamb..and that his defeat permanently shattered his image as a leader.

"Back away from me! I'm---ow!!!" Feeling a sudden sharp pain in one of his legs, Kallamar stopped moving and looked down, realizing it didn't look quite right. "Ah...a-ahaha...I-I think I broke my leg...!"

"Do not fear, my lord. I will make it all better." Floating down to the ground, you gently reached your hands out to him, green magic appearing from your fingertips. "How did this happen, if I may ask?"

"Well..I fell.." He mumbled quietly, and you looked at him, mishearing him.

"What happened?"

"I-I fell while fleeing from one of those sea creatures..." Red dusted his face as he averted his gaze, embarrassed to be seen like this--especially by someone he used to rule over.

But you seemed to show absolutely no bias nor resentment towards him, even though he now wore the same robes of the enemy cult.

Part of him was afraid you'd refuse and leave him to suffer on his own, although he remembers that your singular job is to be a healer. And despite knowing that he wasn't some all-powerful god anymore and allowed himself to be beaten by Lamb into submission...you wanted to help him anyways. You didn't huff or laugh or show any indication that you thought of him as pathetic for breaking his leg over a simple fall.

Instead, you quietly allowed your magic to go to work, mending the broken done and repairing the torn flesh. Soon it set itself back into place without causing him further pain, making it good as new.

Like nothing even happened.

"You should be good now, my lord. Do be careful with your new mortal vessel." Bowing your head, you rose to your feet and watched as Kallamar slowly got up.

"Only now I see how fragile this body is..damned Lamb.." He grunted, checking out his leg before picking up his backpack. Then he gazed up at you. "What's your name?"

You blinked. "My name..?"

"Yes, that's what I said. I never knew your name, but I wanna know it now."

"I see, then...I'm [y/n]." You answered, surprised and flattered that he asked.

It's been so long since you've said your name to anyone, that you've almost forgotten it entirely.

"Well, [y/n]..would you care to accompany me for the remainder of my crusade? I was sent to retrieve as many crystal shards as I could carry...but I keep running into dead ends, and death traps.." Kallamar shuddered. "And I-"

"You needn't worry, my lord. I would be happy to join you." Although he couldn't see your smile under your hood, he could hear the delight in your voice, and chuffed.

Why were you so kind to him? Why did you treat him as though he was still your ruler?

"None of this bothers you at all?" He vaguely gestured to himself. "You don't see me as your "enemy"?"

"I only see the injured and the sick, and I heal them." You assured him, chuckling softly. "Do not fret. It matters not what form you take or how limited it is, my lord-"

"Okay, I'm not your "lord" anymore. Just Kallamar is fine."

"...very well, Kallamar. Then let us go. I know a safe path."

#clanask #anonymous #cult of the lamb x reader #cotl x reader #cotl kallamar #kallamar x reader #cotl kallamar x reader #follower kallamar #platonic #angst/horror prompt

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milflewis · 5 months

Note

Soulmate AU

When Sebastian first meets Nico Rosberg — and his hair more specifically — again after the crash, he nearly pisses his pants laughing.

“I see you have a type, eh?” He asks Lewis. He runs a hand through his own blond hair.

“Tell me,” he starts, leaning forward over Lewis’s left shoulder. Bono is saying something in the seat beside Lewis. Lewis’s face is relaxed and calm.

“Did you jerk off to Michael too? Blond, German, very fast. He’d fit in your collection.”

Lewis’s face doesn’t even flicker. When he asks a question about whatever Bono is saying, his voice is steady and quiet. They could be back in their regular driver briefings. Something in Sebastian’s chest swells up, pushing at his heart and lungs, mean and sour.

“Don’t worry,” he tells Lewis. “We all did. Can’t have you thinking you are special, hmm?”

There are stories — old ones — that one hears over the years.

Stories of those who don’t meet their soulmates properly in life, and so join them in death.

Sebastian used to love stories.

When he opens his eyes after going into the wall too fast and too hard, he is standing beside Lewis Hamilton.

Lewis is talking to Ted, the camera on. His eyes are shadowed and his shoulders are curved slightly inwards.

When he sees Sebastian next to him, he startles, mouth falling open. “I — You.”

“Lewis?” Ted is frowning, concerned. “Are you alright?” He has a hand up as if to tell the cameraman to get ready to stop rolling. Or to zoom in on Lewis’s face. Sebastian isn’t sure.

“Um.” Lewis blinks, swallowing. He glances at Ted and then back at Sebastian.

Never let it be said that Sebastian isn’t ever helpful.

“He can’t see me, I think,” Sebastian says, and then mimes a blowjob with his hand and mouth, tongue in cheek, in front of Ted, who doesn’t stop staring at Lewis.

“Right, yeah,” Lewis says, as shakey as Sebastian has ever heard him. “Um.”

“Funny story,” Sebastian says, furious. He wants his dad. He stays looking into Lewis’s tired shocked face. He thinks if he sees his mom, he will never be able to stop crying “Turns out we are soulmates.”

“Lewis, you okay? Do you need a minute?”

Lewis inhales. Sebastian can see him visibly remember there is a camera on him. When he smiles, it is a thin slight of a thing.

“Sorry, man, what was your question again?”

Lewis gets more curled in on himself as the year goes on, face thin. Quieter too. Him and Nico snap and snap at each other’s heels. Toto nearly has a stroke keeping them from biting.

Sebastian is self aware enough to know that he is not helping. That his commentary — one sided that it is as no one other than Lewis can hear him and Lewis rarely responds, not through words nor expressions — is only making things worse for him.

He can’t bring himself to care.

It drives the cold away a little. That short spark of satisfaction and victory when he pokes and pokes and pokes and Lewis keeps a straight face through it all.

Sometimes, if Lewis breaks, either in a flinch or an aborted eye roll, or god forbid, a laugh, then Sebastian can even make himself pretend that he is still alive.

“I have a question,” Sebastian declares. He is standing over by the window, looking out at the paddock.

Lewis ignores him.

Nico is saying something in response to James Allison. He looks tense. The entire room looks tense. Sebastian rolls his shoulders.

“Did you stop fucking Nico before I died, or do you only not like exhibitionism? I could leave if you want privacy.”

This makes Lewis look at him. It is a quick glance, cutting and sarcastic, eyebrows slightly raised. He somehow manages to look pissed and amused and embarrassed, all at the same time.

Sebastian smiles sunnily at him. It is often exhausting to be around Lewis, especially when he is like this. Lewis might be quiet, packed in tightly, but he spills over most of the time. No one can ever accuse him of being small.

“You are right, I guess,” Sebastian muses thoughtfully. “I would not leave you alone. I would be too bored.”

Nico wins. Nico retires. Lewis disappears home for the break. Sebastian follows his brother around for a few months, chattering at him, even though Fabian doesn’t ever respond. It’s not that different from before if he is being honest.

There is a Lewis light in his chest, always pulling. It’s not that bad of a sore, Sebastian reasons. Only a little achey.

Formula One has started back up again when Sebastian follows the tug back to Lewis.

Lewis doesn’t say anything at Sebastian’s sudden appearance in the garage. His shoulders relax slightly though when Sebastian makes a quick quip about Valtteri’s blond — Seriously, Lewis, Sebastian thinks, half fond — hair.

He looks less like a scrunched up tissue someone used to blow their nose with. Sebastian tells him this. He catches Lewis’s badly smothered eye roll in the sleek reflective black of Mercedes’ desks.

He even makes Lewis laugh, startled, when he asks him if he managed to get laid while Sebastian was gone.

“So,” Niki says, sitting down beside Lewis in his motorhome. Lewis hums, pulling out his earbuds. Sebastian is slumped on the floor, back against the opposite wall. They’re waiting to be called for the post practise debrief.

“So.”

The half grin, all teeth and eyes squishing up, that Lewis sends Niki reminds Sebastian of Formula Three. His fingers itch for a steering wheel.

“Are you going to introduce me to your soulmate anytime before I die?”

Lewis goes very still. Stupidly, damningly, his eyes dart to Sebastian before he looks back at Niki.

Niki raises his eyebrows. He, eerily, manages to look Sebastian directly in the eyes. Sebastian waves. Just in case.

Niki’s expression doesn’t change.

Sebastian’s exhale could be a laugh.

“Well?” Niki nudges. “I am not getting older, you know?”

“Jesus, Nik,” Lewis says, automatically, like it’s rote. “I’ve told you. Stop making those jokes.”

“You’re the one who calls me ‘old man’.”

“It’s a term of endearment!”

Niki stares at him down. For the first time in Sebastian’s life — and death — he watches as Lewis Hamilton gives in.

“I don’t need to introduce you. You already know him.”

“Knew him,” Sebastian corrects. Lewis ignores him.

Niki watches Lewis for a moment longer. Lewis, resolutely, refuses to look away.

“This is ridiculous,” Sebastian informs him.

“Hello, Sebastian,” Niki says, and for the second time in not even five minutes, Sebastian wonders if Niki can see him. He doesn’t bother waving this time but it is a little freaky.

“I hate you,” Lewis tells him, sulkily.

“Yes,” Niki says, patting him on the shoulder. “I know.”

“How did you know?”

Sebastian isn’t sure if Lewis is asking how Niki knew that Lewis had a dead soulmate or how he knew that dead soulmate was Sebastian.

“Hmm, last year, you were weird. Weirder after Sebastian. Not how Nigel was, with Elio, or Michael, with Aryton.” Niki doesn’t take his eyes off of Lewis. His voice and face is softer than Sebastian has ever heard or seen. “Just. Weird. And still too, after Nico left.”

Lewis swallows thickly. “Right.”

“Some of me hoped.” Niki stops. He looks over at where Lewis looked earlier, when he is steadily refusing to look now. “When James died, I looked out for him.”

He shrugs. There is something hanging heavy in his face. “We knew each other too well in life, maybe. Or that was all the time we were given. More than most.”

“Yeah.”

Lewis meets Sebastian’s eyes. Sebastian looks back at him.

“And,” Niki says. He reaches a hand behind them and raps on the wall. “These are a bit thin too. I heard you talking to someone, once or twice.”

“Fuck off,” Lewis laughs. He scrubs an open palm down his face.

Niki reaches over to pat his cheek firmly. “You are sleeping better, this is good. Keep it up.”

“Aye, cap’n,” Lewis says dryly.

Jenson: you cheatying slag

Jenson: i knoiw 4 a FACT that you dont know all the wdcs off by heart

Jenson: usinh seb as your own fuckinh wiki is wrong

Jenson: always knew you were a cheater aty your core. fernando warned me about you LOL

Jenson: also. tell seb hes a nerd

#ok so. major character death. but like. also not bc ghosts are a thing here #i’ll tag it anyway just in case #tw major character death #sewis #five head cannons ask game #little fics #anon tag #niamh.asks

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wolvesandshine · 3 months

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Time passed differently in Azkaban.

Or maybe that was just Barty losing his last remaining brain cells. Either way, he was beyond caring.

Evan was dead. Dorcas was dead. Regulus was dead. Pandora was forever lost to him - locked up as he was in Azkaban.

So really, Barty doesn’t bother to acknowledge his new cell mate.

Whatever he’d done, he was no threat to Barty.

“Oh you’ve got to be fucking kidding me.”

Barty blinks. That voice. It sounded so similar but it couldn’t be -

Barty turned to see the new comer, seeing black hair and grey eyes, his heart beat picking up.

He was alive, he was alive - and -

Oh. Barty slumped, as he realised the person in front of him was not in fact, Regulus arising from the dead.

Sirius, the objectively worse brother, was still ranting. “He’s a fucking death eater and - “ Suddenly he cuts himself off and then starts laughing mumbling something about how he’d join the club. As if Sirius Black would ever become a death eater.

He sounded deranged, unstable, even to Barty’s ears.

The auror seems horrified and without much more effort dumps Sirius in the cell and hightails it out of there.

“If I had known all I had to do to get them to leave was laugh I would have done it ages ago.” Barty muses and Sirius suddenly stops laughing, turning to him.

“You.”

Barty simply stares back.“Yes. Me.”

Sirius ignores him. “What did you lot do to Regulus.”

The name turns Barty cold. “Why would you care? I thought you didn’t have a brother.”

At this, Sirius visibly flinches and Barty stares, shocked. The Sirius Black he knew never displayed any emotions, especially with regards to Regulus that wasn’t blatant disinterest.

Sirius stares at him. “I.. Look.I need to know. I just.. I need to know.”

Barty hears it the familiar heartbreak. That’s the thing isn’t it? He didn’t know either. He had assumed that the order had somehow got their hands on Regulus but well, it was foolish to assume so anyways. Regulus was much too smart to be caught.

“I don’t know.”

At that Sirius intakes a quick breath, “So he’s alive then? There was no body so he could have run away- “

“Regulus was many things but he wasn’t a coward.” Barty cuts in coldly. Regulus wouldn’t just leave them. At least not without informing first.

Sirius just slumps, tears filling his eyes. Good. Barty thinks. Sirius had caused Regulus enough pain. Maybe it was sadistic but it felt good to know that Sirius was also hurt by Regulus.

Finally when Barty thinks that’s it Sirius adds. “He was always one to keep things close to him.”

Barty couldn’t help but bark out a laugh. He had been Regulus’s friend for 7 years and at most he could say he knew 5 facts about him. “Understatement of the century.”

And then they both look at each other and laugh, a harsh sound that comes from grief for the boy they both loved but couldn’t save.

#idk where this came from #lmk your thoughts #might make a part 2 of barty being like wtf you’re a death eater #peak comedy ngl #regulus black #marauders era #jegulus #marauders era funny #marauders era textpost #harry potter #marauders #james potter #rosekiller #evan rosier #barty crouch jr #wolfstar #remus lupin #peter pettigrew

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abilouwrites · 4 months

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BIRDS OF A FEATHER

I. Midoriya

I’ve loved him my entire life, from the day we met to the day I die I’ll love him. I loved him even when he confessed he was quirkless. I loved him when we both somehow became hero’s. When he confided that he’d taken All Mights’s quirk. That he would become the last user of it.

I believe he loved me, loved me when I went to his dorm door at two in the morning. Crying through the nightmares, he’d hold me in his arms and rock me back and forth until he felt me relax in his arms. Collapsing into him, “are they back?” He references the nightmares I’ve been plagued with. The ones that keep me from sleep. The ones that make me shoot up and pace.

A feeble nod is all he needs before we lay next to each other. Holding hands as we talk about life. Where we want to intern or work for. Who we want to be.

Im not surprised I ended up here. Laying in his arms. Back against his legs as he holds my hands. Applying pressure against my wounds. Careful at every hiss and wheeze I emit from my cracked and split lips. Looking at the metal rod sticking through my stomach. His eyes are wide, tears messily stick to his cheek and eyelashes. Soft hiccups make me wince as I cry too.

“Just hold on. Just stay with me” he pleads silently as I look up at him, “we have so much to do. So much to live for” he cries out. Hunching over me. Wiping wet tears from my cheeks, “comon.. don’t you wanna work with me one day?”

I smile weakly at him, my body hurts. Pain hasn’t ever felt so raw before. Nothings hurt like this, nothings hurt like being fucking stabbed by a metal pipe. I cough a little as he shakes my head, “comon.. comonnn. Remember what you said when we were little? ‘Birds of a feather? We’re sticking together? No matter what?’ Something like that?” He’s a little frantic trying to remember what I used to talk about.

“Do you love me?” The question spurs, hiding in the back of my mind until it sprouts to my lips. I watch his eyes soften. Green hues that look back into mine. He smiles weakly and my heart lurches.

“Of course I do. How could I not love you?” He says that like it would be stupid of me to think he didn’t, “you’re the love of my life. You have to stay alive for me. Because I want to marry you one day. And grow old with you” he starts talking but I can’t hear him anymore.

All I see is a mouth moving but I can’t hear anything. Just a faint ringing. Like a ping pong ball bouncing off my earlobes. I don’t know what dying feels like. I’ve been surrounded by death my entire life and somehow I don’t know what it feels like.

Maybe it’s different for everyone, “I’m sorry” I apologize, I don’t know if he can hear me. If anyone can. But I feel him. I feel him shift underneath me to support my body, to tug me more into his arms as he rocks me. Slow and gentle. I creep a hand up to his face, feeling at the freckles on his face as light creeps from my eyes.

I’m glad that when I am dying, it’s his face I see. The one I love to look at. The one I’d be happy waking up to in the mornings. Surrounded by our kids. By happiness.

I didn’t want to die like this, but at least im dying in his arms.

I muse a weak smile as he bends down. A soft kiss on my lips as the world leaves me. At least I kept true to my words. I loved him till the day I died.

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amplifyme · 15 days

Text

Reposting because the muse said so. You can read it here, too.

Third Time's a Charm

He rolls over onto his side and finds her looking back at him in a mirrored position. They’re both still struggling to catch a deep breath. His bedroom smells of sheets a week past needing changed and just concluded sex. How does one describe that particular aroma? He thinks about it for a second and decides that mutual insanity fits pretty well right now. Folie au deux.

“Do we…” he hesitates, not sure how to put it. She is solemnly studying him with eyes that shouldn’t be as dazzling as they are, since his bedroom is illuminated only by the streetlights leaking their dim and hazy light through his open blinds. Far-off thunder rumbles quietly in the distance. “Should we… do we talk about this?”

Because Mulder thinks that falling into bed with Scully once is an anomaly. But twice is deliberate. And this third time is… what? A commitment? A habit? Maybe a declaration that this is no longer just a thing they do when under extreme stress? That perhaps now it’s something they engage in simply because they want to?

After all, it’s just a weeknight, and like many others before it. Living room well-lit as they go over files, sharing decent take-out and maybe a beer. No stress other than the low simmer of anxiety that’s always there. Everything just like it's always been before. And yet, somehow, they've found their way out of their clothes and into his bed. For the third time.

“What’s to talk about?” she lazily counters, drawing a damp palm across his collarbone and down his chest. “It is what it is.”

This is not the sort of remark Scully makes. She considers everything very carefully. Disassembles a thing and studies each separate part before she begins to reassemble the disparate segments into something she can explain in lengthy and often incomprehensible language. Her laissez faire attitude unsettles him.

“Well,” he begins, “because this isn’t.. it’s not. I mean, this is not what we do.” He takes in a deep breath. “Normally.”

“Apparently it is now,” she rejoins.

“And what do you think about that?”

“Do we need to discuss this?”

“I think so, Scully. You know how important you are to me, right? I mean, you do know. Don’t you?”

She’s still stroking him, up and down his body where she can reach, slow and precise, and it makes it hard for him to think. He’s thirty-seven years old and should require a bit of time between rounds of the horizontal mambo, but apparently his body is dialed into eighteen and perpetually horny. He’s flabbergasted by the ability of his penis to take a licking and come back ticking so quickly. Or maybe it’s just because it’s Scully.

“I know how you make me feel,” she declares.

“How’s that?” He’s honestly curious. Because the tone of her voice leads him to believe it’s something good. But nothing comes easily with Scully. She makes him work for almost everything.

It’s quiet long enough that he decides she's going to ignore his query. But if it’s reticence, she hasn’t informed her hands of that. They’re still busy speaking their own language against him. Her legs have become tangled in his, dragging the satin of her skin across his. He can’t help it: he has to reciprocate. It’s too tempting to keep touching her in all the places he hasn’t been able to before.

He pulls her closer and gets busy with her mouth for a minute. They break their wet kiss and she breathes, “Desired,” against his lips. “Necessary,” she whispers across his chin. “Alive.” The word brushes the line of his cheek. She pulls back and cups his jaw in her talented and capable hands. Her swimming pool eyes threaten to swallow him whole. “Safe,” she proclaims.

His eyes slip shut at that. He wishes it were so. More than anything. She says it a second time, softly upon his face, and kisses his closed eyelids.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

#txf #msr #fanfic #third time's a charm #mine

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fizzigigsimmer · 29 days

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Moonwood : Part 7

| PART ONE |

Billy comes down off his perch on the stump and his boots land heavy in the dirt. It’s impossible but it kinda feels like the ground shakes a little with his steps as he walks toward Steve. The crowd parts for him, dozens of eyes watching them hungrily, until Billy stops just in front of him. Looming.There is no other word for it. Billy casts a long shadow over him. His broad shoulders completely block out the firelight and Steve’s view of everything beyond them. That shouldn’t be hot. But it is. Like, Steve has never been this much shorter than a partner before or wanted to feel like they could just obliterate him without much effort. Maybe Billy being his soulmate has broken Steve’s brain a little.

Wordlessly Billy makes a gesture for Steve to follow and begins to walk away. Steve locks eyes briefly for a moment with Sasha who flashes him a tooth filled grin. It feels a little threatening somehow, but it might just be the way the firelight gleams in her eyes. Steve shrugs off the uneasy feeling, swallows back his fears and follows after Billy with his head high.

Billy leads Steve down a small crooked path, away from the fire pit and the crowd of young people around the chopped off tree, toward a line of naked looking ones strung with lanterns. Beyond them the forest thickens into a shroud of darkness, reminding Steve that despite the festival vibes, that these are wild woods. Danger lies inside them from bears and wolves… and maybe something worse than either of those.

He shivers a little, and then flicks a nervous glance toward Billy but Billy’s face is an icy mask of indifference as he walks with his shoulders squared and a wide swinging gate, like he’s used to wearing a tool belt around his waist. Maybe he is, Steve’s unhelpful mind happily supplies him with a vivid picture of Billy bare chested, in nothing but a holy pair of blue jeans and a utility belt and his mouth actually waters.

"Aren’t you worried about where I’m taking you?" Billy asks abruptly in a low, growly tone, and Steve jerks. The faint light from the lanterns casts dancing shadows over Billy’s features as his eyes bore into Steve. All around them the trees rustle in the night breeze - they sound like whispers.

"No," Steve shoots back defiantly, cocking an incredulous eyebrow. “I mean should I be? Everybody saw us leave together. If you murder me it’ll be the easiest case in the world to solve.”

Billy huffs. His lip curls in dissatisfaction. His laugh is a low rumble in his chest, more felt than heard.

"Murder is not on the menu tonight, Harrington." He leans closer, and the faint hint of his earthy, musky cologne makes Steve's heart pound just a bit faster. “But maybe something else is,” he adds, his voice dropping to something sultry and low.

Steve feels a thrill shoot up his spine. It’s not fear—no, definitely not fear—even if it should be. He realizes suddenly that this is the closest he and Billy have ever been. There’s always been at least a school desk if not more between them, but now Billy is close enough that Steve can count each of his eyelashes - and fuck they’re long. Hargrove keeps staring at him and licking his teeth like he’s looking at dinner, and it gives Steve goosebumps. Because he knows what came after ‘my what big teeth you have’.

The woods around them feel alive, and there is something about being this close to Billy that makes Steve’s blood sing. He tries to remind himself all of the valid reasons he has to be pissed with Billy, and why he should be a lot more weirded out by how horny he is for the guy, but he just can’t muster it. The air is crisp, filled with the tang of pine and the distant scent of sea spray from the coast. And Steve wants answers.

“I’m not scared of you,” he says again, his voice steadier than he feels. There's an edge to it now, a challenge that Billy hears and he looks at Steve for a long moment and then smiles—a slow, dangerous curve of his lips.

“That right?” Billy muses, stepping back to appraise him. His gaze travels over Steve slowly, stripping him, and Steve tries not to squirm.”We could really test that theory and leave the circle.”

The words linger in the air between them and Steve’s breath catches. He stands taller, shoulders back, meeting Billy’s intense stare head-on.

“You’re talking about the lanterns right?” he replies with a spark of defiance. Billy licks his lips, his smile growing wider. His teeth look bigger somehow, and Steve wants to believe it’s just because of how much closer they’re standing but he doesn’t think that’s it.

“Yep,” Billy says softly. “I dare you to go beyond this circle of lanterns.” He gestures around them where small lights glimmer faintly like stars fallen to earth, encircling them in a protective halo of light laced with wolfsbane— the herb Steve’s mom had said weakend a werewolf's strength.

She said it was for humans. Presumably it’s what is keeping Billy and the other Moonwood folks from wolfing out on their neighbors. Despite his initial trepidation, Steve does feel safe here. But beyond this circle anything could happen.

“You can stay if you want. We can go back to how it was, you minding your place and me minding mine.” Billy says, like he read Steve’s mind. “But past these lanterns, I’m not just a guy from school anymore.”

“Is that who you are?” Steve blurts before he can stop himself. “Just a guy from school?”

“You want to know who I am? Is that it?” Billy asks and Steve swallows hard but nods slowly.

He knows what Billy is offering—more like threatening—is no small thing. To step outside the light means stepping into Billy’s world fully and it’s a dangerous world.

Steve can’t help but feel very small in it. He hesitates, his heart hammering against his ribs like a frantic drumbeat. Billy sees it and the light dims in his eyes, his lip curling.

“Not so brave now, are you?” He scoffs, muttering how Steve should be scared, because it’s crazy to knowingly leave safety and walk into the dark with a werewolf; but Steve thinks he looks disappointed - like maybe there was a part of him that had hoped Steve was crazy.

Taking a deep breath, Steve steps forward—one step closer to Billy and one step away from the ring of safety provided by the lanterns.

“Okay,” he says, his voice barely above a whisper but determined. “But if I do, you have to answer a question.”

“That’s it? One measly little question?” Billy asks and Steve adds.

“And you have to answer it honestly.”

Billy’s lips curve into a half-smile, a hint of victory mixed with something else—perhaps respect—flickering in his eyes. Steve gets the feeling that Billy already knows what he’s going to ask, that maybe all of this was some kind of attempt at scaring him off. But it’s not working, and Billy didn’t expect that.

The night seems to hold its breath as he nods slowly, his gaze never breaking from Steve's. "Deal," Billy finally murmurs.

With a deep breath to steel his nerves, Steve walks under the protective circle of lanterns and into the darkness where the shadows sway. He could always find his way around pretty well in the dark, but under the thick canopy it’s too black for Steve to see much of anything.

But Billy doesn’t seem to have the same worries, and puts his hand on Steve’s shoulder to guide him. Steve jolts a little at the touch and the fission of heat it sends down his spine but says nothing. Their feet crunch on fallen leaves and crickets chirp all around them. As they venture deeper into the forest, the canopy above thickens, weaving a tapestry of darkness and scattered starlight.

Finally they reach another break in the trees. Ahead, standing in a small circle of bare earth and illuminated by a sliver of moonlight, stands an ancient tree—towering, its branches gnarled and bare. The trunk is wide, twisted and old, its paper thin bark marked with carved symbols that Steve can barely make out in the dark. Hanging from the limbs are strands of feathers and beads; they sway gently in the night breeze, making soft clinking sounds.

“Whoa.” Steve steps closer to the tree, fascinated by it. He knows somehow that the tree is magic. There is something about it that draws him, pulls at him like gravity. Somewhere in the darkness a voice whispers and he turns his head sharply to try and catch them. It sounds like a woman he thinks… but it also sounds like wind, and either way it’s not as important as what’s in front of him. The tree calls to him.

His fingers stretch out, yearning to trace the grooves of the carvings, but just as his fingertips are about to brush against the bark, Billy’s hand snaps out and catches his wrist.

“Don’t,” he says, sharp and urgent in a way that makes Steve’s blood go cold.

“What? Why?”

“That’s witch magic!” Billy answers, his grip on Steve’s wrist tight as he pulls Steve back, easy as pulling a child. “It’s left over from the war, but that doesn’t mean it isn’t working. Why do you think nothing’s growing around it? Don’t you know anything?”

“About witches? Of course not!” Steve tries to protest only for Billy to shout over him, grip so tight now that Steve feels the bones twist in his wrist.

“I know you can’t feel it, but Christ Harrington can’t you see it? Open your eyes!” Billy practically screams. Steve wants to tell him that he had felt something, that was the entire reason he’d tried to touch it in the first place, but Billy’s too worked up now. Yelling, “you’ve got the survival instincts of fucking baby deer!”

“What is your problem? Dude - let go! It hurts!”

“Oh I’m hurting you? You went into the woods alone with a werewolf Steve, what did you-”

“Stop!” Steve finally pulls his hand free from Billy’s grip, cradling his throbbing wrist and gasping a little at the pain and Billy looks horrified. He pales, reaching for Steve again but falters when Steve flinches away from him.

“Shit. It’s not broken is it?”

“I’m fine!” Steve grits out in defiance, because Billy is looking at him now like he’s tragic, and breakable, and he liked it better when Billy was losing his shit on him for no reason.

“You brought me out here asshole.” He reminds them both. “You literally dared me.”

“It was a test.” Billy confirms, only a touch calmer than before but it’s something.

“A test? For what: to see if I would back down?" Steve sneers to hide the hurt from the thought that Billy Hargrove is probably his soulmate, but obviously doesn’t think he’s good enough. Steve��s soulmate thinks he has to test him for worthiness. He tries hard to drown out the voice that thinks that sounds just about right.

He flexes his hand a few more times to release the tension in it before letting it rest at his side. He looks up at Billy, squaring his shoulders, planting his feet in the dirt, and stares him dead in the eye.

“I’m not going anywhere until you answer whether or not you’re my soulmate.”

Steve feels a chill ripple down his spine—a mix of fear and exhilaration as the words hang between them.

For the longest time, Billy doesn’t answer. And then finally, he does.

“Yes. Why do you think I’ve been going so easy on you?” He says, like he hasn’t been giving Steve hell for two weeks at school, when they’re supposed to be each other's everything. Like he didn’t drag Steve into the woods away from help and scream at him for being stupid, just to test him.

“You’re also a pip. A runt. A half breed.” Billy adds, oblivious to the anger building up inside of Steve. “You should never have been born.”

Steve stumbles back a step. He can’t help it, Billy’s words cut at a deep insecurity he’s carried all his life. His dad never said those words. Not in that exact way, but the sentiment was still felt. He’d regretted marrying Steve’s mother and getting saddled with the disappointment that was the one child her body could stand to give him.

Billy to his credit looks extremely uncomfortable with the words coming out of his mouth.

“Look, that’s not what I think. That’s just what people used to say, alright? And there are a lot who still think that way.”

“Why?” Steve asks, voice cracking thinking - why aren’t I good enough?

“Cause you’re like the size of a gnat.” Billy’s hand gestures over him as if Steve’s five feet and ten inches is miniscule. But when you’re built like Billy Steve supposes maybe it is. “You wouldn’t last three seconds in a territory battle. You can’t shape shift and you don’t have our strength. You bleed like a human and you’re slow to heal. But honestly, the most damning thing is you don’t have soulmates.” Billy finishes helplessly.

Steve sort of gets it now. Why Billy’s elders would say people like him should not be born, if they’re born alone, weak, and without magic. It would sound awful to him… if he hadn’t been born amongst humans. And that’s the limit to Steve’s understanding because he doesn’t for the life of him understand what is supposed to be so terrible about basically being human.

That’s the heart of the issue here isn’t it. Billy is a werewolf and Steve might as well not be. All of this werewolf stuff is alien and terrifying to him, but he’s being pretty open minded about it. So why on earth would he apologize to anyone for being human?

“The only reason your kind exists is because some idiots don’t have enough self respect to wait for their true mate.” Billy yammers on, and Steve finally snaps.

“Hey!” Steve finally snaps, rushing to push Billy with both hands. Billy is taller. Billy is stronger. But he staggers back a step, looking down at his chest in surprise. Steve’s palms tingle where they touched Billy’s bare skin through his open shirt, but he ignores the sensation, too pissed to even be horny anymore. He is seething. It hurts, hearing how lowly Billy thinks of him, but he isn’t going to let anyone talk down about his mother.

“Harrington -” Billy starts, like he means to explain himself but Steve doesn’t want to hear it.

“Don’t talk about my mom. Ever.” he warns, something hot buzzing under his skin and Billy’s pupils widen, silvery light dancing over his irises.

Slowly. Billy smiles.

“Noted. You’ve got some fight in you after all huh pretty boy?”

“Don’t call me that either.”

“Why not?” Billy challenges immediately. “It’s true. The thing about your mom, maybe not. I don’t know her story. But I know yours. Pretty boy, charmed life, destined to end up behind some boring picket fence in suburbia with your boring little wifey and two point five brats.”

The words sting even though Steve has no idea why they should. He knew Hargrove wasn’t exactly his biggest fan, but he never thought the reason why would be something like the way he was born.

“You don’t know shit about me Hargrove and you just said we’re mates.”

“Yeah!” Billy snaps back, “and that shouldn’t be possible! You don’t have any magic so you should just be some boring little nobody, not my soulmate!”

Steve has never felt total rejection like this. Like he just wants to scream curses at Billy and throw punches until Billy’s face is as bruised as Steve’s feelings; but there’s something about the way Billy says it that holds him back. Anger and disgust would make sense, but that’s not the thread humming through Billy’s words. It’s fear.

But fear of what? He can’t possibly be afraid of Steve can he? But thinking he’d be afraid for Steve is somehow even harder for him to believe.

“Why not ‘your’ soulmate?” Steve asks, because he just can’t leave well enough alone.

Billy’s jaw clenches, eyes flashing in the moonlight. The turmoil in them is more profound than Steve could have imagined the other teen was capable of feeling.

It’s enough to drain all the anger from Steve’s chest and have him trying to hold on. He doesn’t know what is pulling Billy away from him but he’s not giving in to it. Not without a fight.

“You don’t understand,” Billy begins, his voice barely above a whisper.

“Then tell me. Tell me what I don’t understand.” Steve pleads.

“There's... there's more at stake. My parents... both sides of my family, they led the clan through the persecution and the witch wars before we settled here. The alpha’s heir is always selected from the same three families, and with my parents being from two of the strongest I was the obvious choice." Billy continues, each word seeming to cost him. "As the heir, everything I do reflects on my parents and the future of the pack, Steve.”

Steve's eyes widen slightly as pieces of the puzzle that is Billy Hargrove fall into place with painful realization.

“So you being top dog at school, and the way everyone treats you like some sort of king, that’s because you’re gonna be the next alpha?”

Billy nods slowly.

“I’ve known it all my life. Been looking forward to finding my mate and not being alone in it.” Billy adds, his voice roughening to a growl with emotion. “But with you…” His words trail off as if he’s afraid to finish the sentence.

“With me what?” Steve pushes bitterly, not willing to let him hide. “With me everyone will pity you, while you’re stuck carrying dead weight?”

Billy frowns. Shakes his head hard and snaps his teeth together with a click before grunting, “No. I didn’t say that!”

“You’re not saying much of anything! Except that humans are weak and I’m basically human so -”

“So what, you want me to say sorry?” Billy interjects with a snarl of frustration. “Sorry I offended your delicate sensibilities pointing out how frail humans are, but it won’t change shit. You get with me and there will be a target on your back. I can’t lead if I have to worry about protecting you!”

“Then don’t!” Steve shouts, beyond caring anymore that it’s probably not the best idea to get into a shouting match with a werewolf. “Don’t worry about protecting me!”

“I can’t help it, Steve!” Billy shouts right back, throwing his arms wide. “If I could quit it I would, but I think about you every minute of every day and I don’t know how to stop.”

For a moment they’re both frozen, staring at each other with wild eyes. Steve’s heart drums in his chest. Then he’s stepping forward, closing the gap between them. His hands are trembling as he reaches up to cup Billy's face between his hands. Billy’s breath hitches, his eyes locked on Steve, a turbulent sea of emotions swirling within them.

“Steve…” Billy whispers hoarsely, his voice breaking. But when Steve pushes himself up onto his toes he leans in, pressing his lips against Steve’s in a kiss that sears with intensity. It’s as though a dam breaks, days of pent-up longing and desire finally flowing free. And the truth long denied is, Steve has never wanted to fuck someone as badly as he wants to fuck Billy Hargrove.

Steve gasps into the kiss, taken aback by the powerful shock but unable to resist the addictive pleasure of it. Billy’s lips sting his, little electric shocks that send heat through his body and make Steve’s knees weak and his head dizzy. He wraps his arms around Billy's neck and holds on tight, demanding more with his mouth.

The world around them blurs into nothingness as the kiss deepens. Billy slides his hand up Steve's thigh, fingertips ghosting over the bulge in his jeans before resting just above his belt. Two fingers hook in his waistband and Steve moans softly.

Billy devours the sound, claiming Steve’s mouth like he’s trying to swallow him whole; but as the kiss grows more fervent, Steve can feel when Billy starts to change. Beneath his hands, Billy’s body begins to tense unnaturally, the skin rippling like disturbed water. The kiss ends abruptly as Billy groans, his brow creasing in pain.

“Billy?” Steve asks, concerned. Billy shudders.

“I—I have to stop…” he manages between gritted teeth. Billy breaks away suddenly from their embrace and steps back. His body is shaking now—but not just from desire. It’s something else. Something more primal.

“Billy? Billy what’s wrong?”

“I—I don’t know. This isn’t supposed to happen!”

Steve watches in confusion and then alarm as coarse hair begins to sprout along Billy’s forearm where his sleeves are rolled up.

“Holy shit.” He breathes in horrified realization. Because Billy is turning. Billy Hargrove is turning into a werewolf right now, and Steve is all alone. He has one split second to think that maybe things are okay. That just because Billy is turning doesn’t mean he has to be afraid. Billy will still be Billy, and the guy who just kissed him till he was hard in his jeans wasn’t about to turn around and slaughter him.

But then he actually looks at Billy again, sees the way his features have contorted and his eyes glow an unnatural yellow, and every instinct he has says it before Billy can.

“Run,” Billy growls out forcefully, already stumbling back further into the shadows under the trees where the moonlight doesn't reach. “Get back to the circle—now!”

Panic seizes Steve and without wasting another second he turns and runs back the way they came, toward the safety of his pack and the lanterns. Behind him, he hears a low growl dissolve into a long pained howl.

The sound tears at him and in his mind he sees Billy again, hunched over in pain, trying to hold himself together, the fear and apology in his eyes making human what could only be described as beastly. It’s crazy, but he wants to turn around and go back. Do something to ease the pain Billy is in. But another hair raising howl from somewhere behind him pushes him forward. Something tells him it would be a mistake to go back now.

Steve runs like his life depends on it, because it probably does.

Friendly tags for those who have asked in the past:

@darleenjade @sweetwaterangel @dragonflylady77 @natchula @tip-tap-tired @sparklingsprinkles @adelacreations @bluetree76 @deadfromtheneckdown @heavensfinest @marklee-blackmore @slightlydepressedmelon @percabeth-trashcan @a-lovely-craziness

#harringrove #billy hargrove #steve harrington #Moonwood #Moonwood series #MWS #soulmates #Soulmate fic #Soulmate au #billy hargrove is a werewolf #werewolf au #werewolves #Steve Harrington is a halfling #moon #werewolf #fizzi writes fic #size difference #size kink

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giorno-plays-piano · 1 year

Text

House of Chains

Part VI

Pairing: Aemond Targaryen x mage!reader

Warnings: noncon, yandere, obsession, canon-typical violence, chase scenes, death of minor characters.

Words: 1.4k

Summary: In return for help to come back to your home world, you have been faithfully supporting the Greens to put Aegon on the throne. But when your promise is fulfilled, neither Otto nor Aemond are keen on letting you go.

Part I | Part II | Part III | Part IV | Part V

P.S. Finally, the long-awaited twist!

_________

At first, Daemon's face betrays nothing as if he hadn't heard you. You think he might consider it a joke as anyone else probably would: you don't look like a lunatic, asking to be burnt by a dragon. Hell, you went as far as travel to Dragonstone, to the lair of your worst enemy, for this, somehow evading soldiers and Rhaenyra's supporters on your way. Daemon surely thinks there is some catch.

"So dramatic," he muses, making an imperative sign with his hand to make Caraxes quiet, the dragon restless behind his back, eager to have you between its teeth. "There are enough dragons in the Red Keep. Why mine?"

You feel yourself trembling, droplets of sweat sliding down your back from fear and pressure. No, no, you can't. You must stay firm, or it'll all go to Hell. Daemon should believe your lies.

"I am pregnant with Aemond's child," you declare, loud, the sound multiplying and echoing deep in the cavern, and Daemon's face finally changes, eyebrows raising. "He forced himself on me. His payment for all I've done for him and his brother, I suppose. And I better die in flames than work for him again."

Luce whimpers softly against you, a bit of blood staining his grey collar.

Before Daemon can ask you questions and ruin your story, you continue, "Why should you care? Because you don't want me alive. You know I'm not truly a Hightower, don't you?"

There's a recognition in his eyes, and Daemon bows his head mockingly as you draw a deep breath, griping the blade harder so it won't escape your sweaty palms.

"I am behind the murder of the White Worm and most of her spies," you smile, baring your teeth at him like an animal. "I killed Ser Harrold Westerling when I found out he supported Rhaenyra's claim, and many others who thought they could fake their promises to King Aegon II. I've been spying, torturing, and killing your wife's friends in the Red Keep for more than 2 years. But Hightower betrayed me, and I'd rather die than give birth to Aemond's child."

The more you talk, the more Daemon's face twists in cold fury, his hand clenching a torch like it was a sword. Does he believe you? It is, perhaps, difficult to trust a word of a woman who looked too young and too feeble to do any of those things, but you have arrived to the Dragonstone undetected and even took Lucerys hostage despite the castle being full of guards, lords, and servants. It isn't a coincidence, and Daemon has always been too suspicious of you, a girl appearing out of nowhere and serving the Queen with too much vigor.

The anger and a thousand of other emotions in his eyes give you some hope.

"Burn me, Daemon Targaryen." You exclaim loudly, trying to make him act, your hand trembling. "Send my charred remains to Aemond as a gift. I'm sure it is a fair price for the sins I've committed."

"Why going such a long way?" The man suddenly asks, and you freeze, afraid you won't answer his question. "You could have jumped from the balcony and killed yourself instantly."

You lick your lips nervously. "I could, and Aemond would grieve me. But when he knows I prefer to go to his greatest enemy and have my body burnt rather than marry him, he'll be enraged."

Finally, you see a ghost of a smile on the Rouge Prince's lips. Yes, this is violent, resentful enough, a good reason for him to believe you. Mysaria's murderer wouldn't want to die like a faint lady-in-waiting. She'd want revenge. She'd want her betrayer to hate, not mourn her.

Daemon makes a move with his hand, and Caraxes crawls closer. There isn't much for him to lose.

"Let the boy go, and I'll burn you," he simply says, and you are ready to burst from the surge of adrenaline, your heart beating wildly.

He said yes. Daemon said yes, and you'll be going home.

"But please, burn me for long!" You almost cried out, too excited to keep calm and almost releasing your grip on the boy. "Burn me till there are only bones left."

Lucerys weeps in your grasp, but you don't hear him. You don't even feel the handle of the dagger in your own hand, eyes on Daemon as he smirks, recognizing a fellow monster he thinks you are, a daring creature dressed in white cloaks's robes and armor that don't even fit you. It is impossible to not recognize a woman in men's clothes, and yet no one asked questions when you boarded the ship. No one saw anything suspicious when you landed. No one demanded an explanation why a woman was marching in the Dragonstone castle among the Kingsguard. No one saw you kidnapping Rhaenyra's son.

Perhaps it is true you murdered Misariya and her spies. He knew somebody did. You are sure he thought of Larys, the slippery bastard, but tracking down so many spies in such a short time seemed very unlikely for him without someone's intervention.

Someone who could point at the right people as if by magic.

Truly, you are a creature he would never understand, but Daemon is not a fool. Leaving a dark horse like you alive is too much of a luxury when you are conveniently asking for death right in front of him.

The man nods, and you gigle like a madwoman.

"I'll let Lucerys go on the count of three," you announce, and Caraxes steps closer, his monstrous, clawed feet leaving giant imprints on the ground, and you feel the earth tremble a little. "Shoot the flames then."

It's a horrifying feeling, but you are electrified, every part of your body filled with magic you saved for the last incantation. You are going home. You will be back to the Tower, free to join your teacher and family. No more gloomy stone castles with their ice-cold chambers and pesky kings. No more swords, heavy armor, pretentious dresses, and silly jewels. No more spying and murder.

No more Hightowers and Targaryens.

"I'm sorry, kid," you whisper to the boy before you start counting. "One. Two."

Luce stills against you, color drained from his face.

"Three."

You drop your dagger, and he dashes to the side, holding his neck as if it bleeds profusely, but you don't look at him. Your eyes are on Caraxes and how it unclenches its massive jaw, fire building up inside its throat like in a forge of a blacksmith. It should be enough. Caraxes is not a young dragon, and his strength might rival Vhagar's. It will be enough.

When it unleashes its flames, the words of the incantation are ready on your tongue, and you feel the glow filling you up like hot air fills a giant balloon. It's working. Caraxes' fire is enough.

You chant, and you chant, and you chant until the world starts spinning around you, and the cave, the dragon, and the men finally blend into the great nothing.

________

Subtle wind plays with your hair.

You stand in the midst of the dead gardens of Babylon, surrounded by hollow grey trees that had dried up a thousand years before you were born. Their crooked forms don't scare you: you are far too familiar with the view, wandering here after each of your trips to the other worlds. On the contrary, if anything, it is comforting.

You have arrived safely back to the world of the Tower. You can even see it from here, its tall, proud form making you tranquil and nostalgic.

Unbelievable. You are home.

You have to wipe away the tears with your dirty hands before you can take a step towards it. You've made it. Soon, you'll be sitting on the red and yellow pillows in the great hall, listening to your teacher berating you for such a dangerous journey, eating barley soop and garlic bread, and wearing a long embroidered tunic and your many necklaces and rings. You will never see Westeros again. You won't even step out of the Tower before you feel whole again, pulling your old self back piece by piece before you remember nothing of the stupid, cruel world you have been a prisoner for two long years.

You are free to do as you like.

But when you make a step towards the Tower, you hear someone's sigh behind your back. And when you turn your head, you see a man dressed in black leather who sits on the trunk of a fallen tree.

__________

Aemond Targaryen stares back at you, a crooked smile spread over his face.

Part VII

Tags: @heavenly1927 @yazzzmints @devils-blackrose @lost-and-founds @kennafild

#aemond targaryen x reader #aemond x reader #aemond targaryen #aemond #hotd #house of the dragon #the house of the dragon #ewan nation #yandere

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ofoceansandtombsanew · 2 years

Text

tags: f!reader (afab), spoilers for anime onlys

a/n: after some very popular demand, here is another makima piece (more specifically a sequel to my last fic). this is not one of those standalone sequels however, it would be best to read the prequel to best understand this one.

man is the breast, heaven is the playground (prequel)

織姫 (sequel)

AO3

i. ハッピーエンド

“So, how’s the married life treating you?” Himeno deviated completely from what you were initially discussing.

Perhaps ‘marriage’ wasn’t too far off from what your relationship actually was. A life-binding contract was marriage in its own right. Despite your musings, however, the truth of Makima’s identity as the Control Devil was a secret. Even if it was Himeno, you wouldn’t let that fact slip. “It’s not the married life,” you replied instead. “But yes, things are going great. Does everyone still hate me for taking away their queen?” It was quite the uproar when you both announced your departure from the Devil Hunters. Makima received more flowers than you could carry on your last day. It had been several years since then and now you were nestled in Takamatsu in Kagawa Prefecture.

You managed to find work in translation, much to the joy of your family back home. “We have to meet this girl who got you to quit,” your mother insisted, she’d hear no objections. She might have wanted you to come home to your country in general, but she was happy nonetheless you were no longer hunting devils for a living.

Himeno’s snort told you as much. “I don’t think Nanaka will ever be over it.” Himeno snickered.

“I’m glad to hear she’s still alive and kicking regardless,” you replied honestly with a chuckle of your own. Even if you had never seen eye to eye, you wished the brunette the best as Himeno mentioned setting Nanaka up on a blind date. “How’s your new partner?”

Himeno’s voice was a mixture of satisfaction and melancholy. “Aki’s great, he’s still alive after all this time. I wish he’d just settle down now. I’m hoping this new division helps with that.”

Right, Himeno mentioned something about it before. A Division composed of tamed devils and fiends, though it would be terminated should there not be any good results. “Any new additions?”

“Since last time, the Blood Fiend actually. Other than that, there’s still just the Spider Devil with the Violence and Shark Fiends.”

“Any other blessings I should know about?” What about that Angel Devil you talked about? You still keeping his discovery secret?

“None for now.” Still my best kept secret in the village I found him in.

“I see.” Good for him.

It wasn’t too long ago Himeno had sent you a coded message detailing her orders. She requested that if things about him ever came to light, you and Makima would help somehow. The redhead didn’t seem too interested in this request, but she agreed when you asked. The Angel Devil is a peaceful one, Himeno detailed in her script. He doesn’t have what it takes to kill, so I just want him to stay with the humans that brought him up. The little guy even has a girlfriend. Humans and devils living in peace might be a reality one day, I’m just not naive enough to think that’ll happen overnight. Maybe that’s what won you over now that you thought about it.

“Well,” Himeno pulled you away from your thoughts and back into your conversation. “There is a Zombie Devil I’ll be snuffing out tomorrow morning, maybe that’ll be our new member.”

You grimaced at the thought of a zombifying-devil. “Even I think that’s a terrible idea and I’m the one who decided to become a devil hunter just so I could travel.”

“You think every idea I have is terrible.” Himeno whined.

“Not every idea,” you corrected with a teasing tone. “Only most of them.” Upon turning a corner, you viewed the welcoming sight of your apartment door. “But look, I’m just getting home so I’ll talk to you later. Try not to get yourself killed tomorrow.”

“Say ‘hi’ to the missus for me.” Himeno drawled before hanging up.

Still a maelstrom. It would always be a relief to hear from the playful devil hunter in spite of that maelstrom though. You sighed in satisfaction, reaching for your keys when the door opened on its own.

The breeze must have drifted your scent under the door, you figured, as you welcomed the comforting sight of your girlfriend. “Welcome home, [First].” Makima greeted you warmly as you walked into her embrace. “How was your day at work?”

“Peaceful,” you pecked her cheek before kissing her lips. “How about you? Busy day again?” You weren’t the only one to find new work after your resignation from the Devil Hunters. Makima took to working at a small but popular café in the neighborhood, preparing tea and crafting baked goods. She told you before baking was merely an activity she took up to alleviate her boredom, but it had since become something she enjoyed. It was beneficial to your being as well as you happily indulged in testing prospective new items on the menu for her.

“The choux crème has been a really popular item, more people are coming in for it.” Makima replied, satisfied. You blanched at the emphasis of the dessert name and the hounding sound of heavy paws heading your way. Your reaction, sadly, was too slow as Makima’s many dogs came to greet you like clockwork.

“Maki- nooo!” You sputtered as Makima laughed gleefully at the onslaught of wet tongues and wagging tails. “Tell them to get down!”

Makima’s expression was teasing, “but they’re so happy to see you come home, see?”

You dodged another lick from Macaron with expertise. “You’re not funny, I hope you know this,” yet the grin on your face said otherwise as Makima finally got her pups to relax. I guess I’ll be washing up sooner than expected.

“Someone looks like she’s in a good mood today,” you noted as you massaged lotion onto your freshly washed face. Bagheera and Tora welcomed you home, brushing against your legs now that their larger canid roommates finished their turn. Makima moved about the kitchen, making tea. “Did something good happen while you were out?”

“Your mother called today,” Makima answered with a small but satisfied smile. You couldn’t hold back a small grin of your own at those words. That action alone would probably give your girlfriend enough happiness to last several days. To earnestly earn the love of your family and feel as if she were part of it herself, it meant more to Makima than she could ever express. “She wanted to practice her Japanese before she came here.”

“My mom called and she just wanted to practice her Japanese with you?” You implored in disbelief once you settled on the couch, Makima sitting between your legs as she drank a hot cup of chai.

Your girlfriend’s smile was an uncanny replica of the Mona Lisa. “She asked why you haven’t proposed yet.”

“Now that sounds like my mother.”

Makima took a long sip of her tea before saying anything else. “Maybe we should be married in the human sense as well.” She set her cup down on the coffee table. “It’s the ultimate contract for humans.”

Your expression was curious. “You like the idea of marriage?”

“The idea of weddings was something I was always drawn to.” Her golden eyes had a distant look in them, her mind far beyond your comfortable living room with your many pets. Makima never went into the specifics of her childhood, but she told you enough to get the picture. She was simply one of the best kept secrets of the government; a young devil whisked off the streets of Tokyo to become a necessary evil. Concepts such as love, family and friendship were ones she learned from film and books. “The idea of binding yourself to another person for an eternity, it’s a concept I’m fond of. I wanted a big wedding.”

“I’m not opposed to a wedding,” you smiled. Marriage hadn’t been something you thought about prior to Makima. Your contract with her practically was one, all a wedding would make Makima’s integration into your family official. “I’m not sure if we have enough people in our lives to have the wedding size you’re thinking of, though.”

“I have plenty of people at the headquarters in Tokyo that would come if I asked.” Makima’s lips curved into a smile primal in nature while amusement danced in the rings of her irises. “Nanaka would for certain, she wouldn’t want to do anything to make me sad. If she’s still alive, we could extend her a personal invitation. What do you think?” At your dry look in response, your girlfriend chuckled lightly before pressing herself against your chest. “It’s a joke, I’m joking.” You decided to take her word for it. You always wondered to what extent it would be possible for Makima’s view of those who had fallen victim to her abilities as her equal. Perhaps it was one of those questions best left unanswered. “Weddings are one of those things that feel best when those in attendance truly care about the couple. I only want those people to come to our wedding.”

There was a lot of moral ambiguity that came with dating the Control Devil. Any devil really. You wondered if you were the only person in the world to do so, but you wanted to believe in the one you fell in love with.

Makima no longer relied on the fake relationships she manufactured with her abilities since your move to Takamatsu. Not for the interpersonal parodies she made to fill the loneliness inside her. She wasn’t perfect. Her first few weeks of generating business at her café were completely reliant on absolute control’s influence to bring customers in directly and through word of mouth. You were quite sure that power was how she obtained her job in the first place.

But you’re still trying your best. “There’ll be people like that,” you cradled Makima gently as you kissed her forehead. “My family loved you before even coming over to meet you properly. More of your regulars are just normal people you just happen to talk to daily. When the time comes, lots of people will be there just because they’re your friend.”

ii. 「純愛だよ」

There would be many people that would come to the wedding for Makima’s sake, that you were sure of. Kishibe of the Devil Hunters, however, would not be one of them. This you were certain of as you recalled the day you encountered him only a month after your resignation. If not for the way he intercepted you outside of your apartment building on your way home, definitely because of his cold but calculating stare.

When the man made no move to explain what he wanted, you decided to move your piece first. Nothing about the encounter felt coincidental as you were led to a place with as few people as possible. “So what do you want?” You had seen from the ground level that Makima had opened the window and you wondered if she knew of this sudden arrival. “I’ve been busy planning a move and I want to go home, it’s my turn to cook dinner tonight.” You dangled your small bag of groceries, a few ingredients required for the dish you planned to cook.

“You can’t spare a moment to talk to an old work buddy?” In spite of his words, there was no nostalgia or yearning in his tone. Kishibe held out his box of cigarettes to which you declined before he lit a cigarette of his own. “It’s been a while after all, we haven’t talked in so long.”

“We barely talked in the first place,” you replied tersely. Besides introducing you and Makima to one another, you seldom saw the man held as one of the strongest in the Bureau. He was an enigma, a drunk enigma who still managed to do his job well. You were doubtful you’d be able to hold your own against him for long. “Hit me with that line after it’s been a few years.”

“How is Makima?” Your eyes narrowed at the sudden question. “It was quite the surprise to everyone that she resigned. I’m surprised the higher ups weren’t more insistent that she stay.”

“Cut the crap and tell me why you’re here,” you crossed your arms and you shared a knowing look. Whatever it was, you were on the same pageー both of you knew more than what you initially assumed. “What is it that you need to know so you can get out of our hair?”

“I suppose we can drop the pleasantries then,” Kishibe put out his cigarette as quickly as he lit it. “I’ve never been fond of Makima, but I could always tolerate her. Whatever inhumane deeds she committed, as long as I knew she was on humanity’s side, I could always turn the other cheek.” Tired black eyes that knew too much glanced at you piercingly. “I just find it strange that she decided to leave the Bureau to play house with a new toy.”

Your eyebrow twitched, but you held back your anger. “Because she’s the Control Devil, you mean,” you chuckled humorlessly. “Were you the one that brought her to officials? You worried that your dog got off its leash? Or is it because that dog turned on its masters?”

Infuriatingly but unsurprisingly, the man didn’t answer any of your questions. “I was worried that the Control Devil forced you into making a contract with her.”

“Makima can’t force me to do anything,” you scowled.

“Did she make you make a contract with her?” Kishibe queried.

“That’s none of your business.” After a strong silence between you both, sighed. “It’s part of our contract,” you answered begrudgingly. It would be better to cooperate lest he decide to take action due to your insubordination. “Makima can’t use her powers on me. She couldn’t force me to do anything before anyway. I’m not sure about the specifics, neither is she. We just know she hasn’t been able to order me successfully.”

“And what does she gain from a contract like that?”

“We stay together forever,” a soft voice cut through the conversation before you could answer. Makima stood behind you in an accompaniment of caws and frantic wingbeats as crows dispersed from where she stood. You sighed in relief at her appearance, at the very least Kishibe was the only devil hunter that had come to inspect the motivations of the Control Devil. “Hello, Kishibe,” a cold smile spread across her lips as she softly nuzzled the crow perched on her forearm. “had I known you were coming, I would have made tea.”

“You don’t need to keep up appearances on my account,” the older man insisted gruffly as Makima sent her corvid on its way. “You’ve been listening since we left the apartment. You left the window open.”

The redhead seemed to take a dark thrill in this moment, “yes I suppose we don’t have to keep up those things,” she agreed fluidly. “I wanted to keep a listen out for [First] so I could greet her at the door when she came home. Anyone would worry about their beloved when a strange man intercepts them.”

I do not need a fight breaking out. Makima versus Kishibe, you worried less about the physical outcome. No, you were fearful of what the long-term consequences of this fight would be. “Makima,” you stepped between the devil and the hunter. “we finished talking, let’s go home. He got the answers he was looking for.”

Makima’s smile shifted into one warmer for you, “yes, let’s go home.” You held her hand with the one not holding groceries and gave it a squeeze, Makima squeezed back.

You glanced at Kishibe over your shoulder, “you have the answers you’re looking for,” you repeated.

It’s-

iii. ごめんな

Your wet cough tore you away from your memories. It hurt, it hurt, everything hurt. It all hurt, yet you couldn’t react beyond a weak gasp as you laid on the ground, crushed under debris. Ah, this sucks.

You get off hours early from work, and a devil decides to attack. Perhaps it was muscle memory from your devil hunting days as you absently reached for a weapon that was no longer there. It had long since been confiscated after you resigned, civilians had no need for such weapons. Yet the horrifying realization that your sword was gone, was all the devil needed before gleefully thrusting its hand through your stomach. This all sucking was truly the understatement. Where were the devil hunters patrolling the area supposed to be, stopping to get lunch?

Today was supposed to be a good day, you lamented.

Your half-day at work aligned perfectly with Makima’s off-day. You were supposed to swing by and change into something comfortable, then you’d hit the town. You recalled the dress she said she would wear. It was gonna be that white sundress she got last year, she looks so good in that.

She was waiting for you.

That was what hurt you the most. Makima and the makeshift home you made for yourself. The two cats that slept anywhere that inconvenienced you and the seven dogs that welcomed you home rambunctiously everyday yet you were somehow still surprised when it happened. Makimaー

Your phone rang in the distance for the fifth time in the past six minutes.

I’m a terrible girlfriend, you berated yourself. You couldn’t crawl to it and your arms refused to move no matter how much you willed for your adrenaline to make a miracle happen. I’m sorry, you weeped quietly as your phone fell silent before the sharp trill of your ringtone started all over again. I’m so sorry.

You weren’t particularly religious, nor were you sure if there was a god that they would stop to listen to hear prayers for the sake of a devil. Still, you prayed. please let her be okay. I’m okay with dying as long as she’ll be okay. Don’t let this be what makes her lose hope in everything. I want her to be loved for the rest of her life.

Whether it was by your family that survived you, whether it was by the friends, whether it was by someone else who loved her beyond the controls of her abilities. Anything would be better than her being alone again.

Please.

The continuous trill of your cell phone accompanied you until your eyes closed, and your chest stopped heaving.

iv. 彦星と織姫の物語

At five years of age, you dreamed of a prince on a magnificent horse saving you from a life of despair.

The world was unimaginable without your parents.

And you were sure you were born for a special purpose, a belief amplified by the strong feeling something was missing in your life and you needed to find it.

At thirteen years of age, you understood how the world truly worked.

The world continued despite the loss of your parents.

There were no princes riding on magnificent horses and there wasn’t anybody who would save you from the despair-filled life you were living.

And no one was born with a special purpose in life, not even you.

One… two… three… four… You held yourself tightly, forehead pressed against your knees as you waited for the sound of rushing footsteps to fade. It was just your luck that you ran into cops that found it more than a little suspicious that a preteen was wandering around instead of at school. They were unconvinced when you told them you were homeschooled and a kick to the shin later, you were hiding in an alley. Just a little while longer, you whispered, hugging yourself tighter. There was no prince that was going to come and save you, you realized this the moment your parents died and you were left alone in the streets of Beijing to fend for yourself. You became your own prince.

That was why you stole from merchants, that was why you picked pockets of anyone gullible enough to let their guard down.

You stood up from your crouch when you were sure the police officers were gone. You’d earned enough cash that day and something for dinner to boot. It was time to go home before you got too cocky and landed yourself in trouble. You patted your pocket with the squished meat buns in them. That would be enough to get through today.

You just needed to save. You were unsure of the amount you needed to save, but once you had enough, you would be able to get out of this place. That belief reassured you more than anything, it certainly reassured you more than the dead magpie your right foot nearly touched. Ew gross! You nearly touched another in your attempt to avoid the first. The cats would be in heaven later when they found this spot you grimly thought.

You glanced to your right, wondering if this would be a decent alley to leave into the main street when you saw a girl your age sitting with her knees bunched to her chest. You couldn’t see her face from how she was hunched over, nor did you trust her. It didn’t look like she was with anyone else, though it crossed your mind that maybe she was a decoy so you could get jumped.

You glanced over your shoulder without turning, relieved no one was standing behind you. You’d seen it happen more than once, you weren’t going to be another victim. Promptly, you turned around, more than willing to pretend you never saw the girl in the first place and exit in the opposite direction when-

Growl.

No, you told yourself sharply as you paused midstep. Giving someone else your food would be a terrible idea. She can find something for herself.

That was what you told yourself; it was what you told yourself and you still begrudgingly turned around, stomping your feet all the while when there was no one to be mad at but yourself.

“Here,” you grumbled without looking at the girl, holding your misshapen haul over her. “take it before I change my mind.” When she made no move to take the buns from your hand, you dropped them in front of her. The wrapping would keep the dirt off of them. “You’re welcome,” you sighed as you finally took your leave. Your only consolation was that she wasn’t a decoy that would lead to your ass getting kicked. There goes dinner.

When you felt a gentle tug on your sleeve, instinctively you jerked away.

You glared at the girl, ready for a fight. “Hey get off of m-,” You. Your words halted as soon as you saw her wide-eyed stare and tears. There was nothing familiar about this girl, you had never seen her before in your life. There was nothing familiar about her black hair, nor the mole under her left eye. You were sure you couldn’t say you’d ever met anyone with golden eyes with red rings in them either. There was no reason to feel like your senses had been set ablaze and the universe shifted.

You didn’t know this girl.

This girl was a stranger.

You knew this and yet you still fell to your knees as warm tears flooded your eyes without your permission. Your mind had gone blank, unable to conjure a single thought and even if you could, you doubted you would be able to voice them. So you followed instinct as it screamed at you to hold this stranger in your arms, welcomed the way she threw her arms over your shoulders in return.

An indeterminable amount of time passed while you cried in the arms of a stranger before you stood up again.

As you wordlessly led her to your home, it vaguely crossed your mind how strange this was. It was strange that you held this girl’s hand while you crossed the street. It was strange that you led her into the abandoned apartment building you called home. It was even stranger that despite only meeting a few hours prior, you were laying with this girl on your tattered bed, holding each other like you were scared you’d disappear if you let go.

It was all strange, but something told you it would be even stranger had you ignored her in that alleyway. “By the way,” you yawned, as it dawned on you that you never once asked for your new companion’s name. “what’s your name?”

When there was no immediate response, you thought the girl fell asleep. “Nayuta,” you finally heard the feathery light reply. Nayuta pressed herself closely to your chest, listening to your heartbeat.

“I’m [First],” you squeezed.

Nayuta squeezed back.

v.「行かないで！行かないで！行かないで！どこにもいけないで！離れないで！あたしのそばにずっといて！」支配の悪魔が叫んだ。魂が叫んだ。

You discovered Nayuta was a devil less than a month after you started living together. She did a terrible job hiding it. Considering how airheaded she could be, though, you doubted Nayuta was truly trying to keep it a secret. Still, the truth of her nature eluded you for a few weeks as you initially accepted that perhaps these things were simple coincidences.

Her eyes were unlike anyone else’s eyes you’d ever seen. (You wondered for a while if they were special contacts, but if they were, they were beyond dried and damaged considering she never took them out.)

Animals listened to her way too easily. (There was no longer any need to fight off the crows when they got too close to your meal. A simple “go away” from your companion, and they would fly off just as she commanded.)

There was the time you bore witness to something you wouldn’t have believed had you not seen it yourself. Nayuta walked up to an older woman, held out her hand and plainly demanded, “give me all your money.” Promptly, all the yuan in the woman’s wallet was placed in Nayuta’s hand.

(“That old lady just gave you all her money?” You gawked in disbelief, eyes bulging out of their sockets. “How?!”

“I told her to give it to me,” Nayuta told you plainly, like she was telling you the sky was blue. Then she told you she wanted soup dumplings and jianbing for lunch.)

As such, it was no wonder why you found yourself thinking that she was a devil. It never crossed your mind that perhaps she had another sort of trick up her sleeve. Devil was the first thing that came to your mind and the only answer you felt was right.

“Hey, Nayuta,” you asked after much contemplation, watching as she drew a dog on the dirty hardwood floor of your home. Your belly was full from eating roujiamo and candied hawthorns, purchased with money Nayuta got from a mean teenager. “are you a devil?”

Nayuta paused her ministrations, staring at her rough sketch before she nodded, “yeah.” Her revelation wasn’t a surprise in the slightest. Gold eyes stared into yours as you thought over your next question. Were you scared of her now? No, you answered your internal pondering quickly. Being scared of Nayuta felt like an inherent rejection of what made you ‘you’. You’d never be scared of her, there was nothing intimidating about a devil who wanted a large dog so she could ride atop it like it was a horse. Instead you asked, “what kind of devil are you?”

“The Control Devil,” she answered truthfully.

“Have you ever used your powers on me?”

It was like a dam suddenly broke as Nayuta’s expression suddenly changed from blasé to fearful. “I haven’t!” When did she even get in front of you? It felt like you had only blinked once before she was standing right in front of you, grabbing your hands tightly as she shook her head frantically. “I haven’t!” She repeated desperately and you almost took a step back in bewilderment. You hadn’t seen Nayuta cry since the day you first met but you could tell these tears were different.

Her tears from your first meeting were inexplicable. A visceral reaction to whatever emotion took over the both of you that day. These tears were based on fright and distress.

“Na-,” you tried consoling the girl, but panic had overtaken her completely.

“I didn’t, [First], please believe me!” Nayuta begged hysterically, her grip on your hands somehow tighter. “Don’t leave me!”

“I believe you!” Your heart felt like it was beating a million kilometers a second, but you had to convey how you felt. Nayuta looked as if she was going to cry once more, scared but hopeful.“I believe you,” you repeated softly. “I’m not gonna leave you.”

vi. 誓いの言葉

Nayuta wasn’t much of a talker.

That wasn’t to say she was timid, nor was she diffident. It was more like she was an airhead who skipped to the beat of her own drum. She did as she pleased and she said what was on her mind as it came to her mind. That was how you often ended up spending hours of your day looking for her if she suddenly ran off to find something that piqued her interest or keen sense of smell.

This time thankfully, she’d only been drawn to the display TV in front of a store. That was leagues better than the time she’d wanted to see why two cats were fighting in an alley.

You shot the girl an incredulous look, hands on your hips. “I keep telling you not to let go of my hand when we walk, you always get lost,” you scolded, more concerned than annoyed. The last thing you wanted was for Nayuta to run into devil hunters while you were separated. It was your worst fear that she would be taken from you and killed. Despite your worries, however, it didn’t always prevent instances when something would catch Nayuta’s eye and she’d let go of your hand in favor of checking out.

“[First],” Nayuta pointed at the television, completely ignoring your worry. “[First], I want one of these.”

You pursed your lips in annoyance knowing Nayuta had moved well beyond the matter at hand. At the excited look in her ringed eyes, however, you felt your annoyance fading faster than you’d like. “You want what?” You looked at the TV, wondering what grabbed her attention so much. It was a wedding, you realized after a few seconds. The wedding was western style, the bride donning a beautiful white dress. “Do you want the dress?” There was absolutely no way you’d be able to finesse a wedding dress no matter how hard you tried.

“I want the wedding.” That made you look at her even more wide-eyed than before.

“We can’t afford something like that!” You held up your hand before she could make her ridiculous suggestion. “And they won’t let two kids get married anyway, we’d have to wait until…” you honestly weren’t sure, now that you thought about it. You shook your head and Nayuta’s brow furrowed with a disgruntled pout, “anyways, we can’t have a wedding like that, it costs too much money.” When Nayuta didn’t reply, you poked her cheek. “You okay?”

Nayuta’s following grunt was neither in agreement or disagreement. When she didn’t object to you holding her hand, you held back a snort of amusement as you led the way home. It became apparent later on, when Nayuta approached you with your off-white bed sheet, however, that she had not gotten over the topic of weddings.

“It’s my veil,” Nayuta said as much when you asked why she was wearing your sheet. “I want the wedding now.”

“If you don’t put the sheet back on the bed, it’s the only one we have!” Laughter slipped through your words at the ridiculous display. But she’s still really cute. A total dork, but cute. Your hands moved to adjust her ‘veil’ more evenly on her head. You wanted to marry Nayuta when you grew up; when you had your house and weren’t living off scraps. Then her veil wouldn’t be the dirty sheet you laid on and she could wear the princess-style gown that you saw in the movie, not the dirty clothes you wore everyday. That was a long day away, you knew. It was hard enough imagining that you’d ever be somewhere better than this. “Okay,” you said warmly. “let’s have a wedding.”

Nayuta beamed, holding her head high, before she noticed the sheet slipping. You couldn’t hold back another snicker at that, “we have to say the vows first,” you instructed. “It’s where we promise each other the things we’ll do for each other once we’re married.” Your mother was fond of movies where weddings were the center of the plot, but you couldn’t recall any of the vows expressed in them. “I promise…” you began, pondering what you would say. I promise that first, I’ll get you a big house. One that has lots of dogs, well, as long as they’re cats too. We’ll have food from all over the world because we’ll have some fancy butler make it for us, and when we feel like it, we’ll go to any amusement park we want. And I’ll protect you from any devil hunter we come across.”

“I promise that I’ll be with you forever,” Nayuta followed seamlessly in your exchanging of vows. “I won’t use my powers on you. I won’t let go of your hand when we go out, because you get upset when I get lost. And I promise I’ll protect you too.”

You grinned, content. “Now we have to kiss too.” It was a quick kiss, a simple peck on the lips before you rested your forehead on hers. “And I now pronounce us wife and wife.” The imaginary audience applauded, welcoming your union in open arms.

“The people in the movie were dancing too afterwards,” Nayuta chirped after a moment.

“That’s because we’re supposed to have our first dance as a married couple afterwards,” you replied. The sheet, unfortunately, could not keep up with your dancing even if it was a slow waltz to an unknown melody you made on the spot.

“I want a real wedding this time.”

I do too. “We can get married for real when we grow up,” you vowed once more as you clumsily led each other in your dance.

Nayuta’s smile was saccharin, “promise?”

“Promise,” you repeated joyously. “it’ll be in a fancy hall with lots of people.” Not that either of you knew enough people to have even a small number of guests at your wedding. But that could change by the time you are grownups.

vii. 旧友

The day the devil hunters came was a blur.

You weren’t sure what it was that led to their discovery of Nayuta. You could only guess in the future that it was because of the trail of people who complained that their money had been stolen and they couldn’t remember how. At the time, guessing wasn’t going to get you out of the situation you landed yourselves in.

They didn’t buy your usual excuses.

There wasn’t anywhere to run in the corner they expertly trapped you in as you ran away, believing you had been making progress in losing the one following you.

You held your arms out between, knowing full well you were a flimsy shield to someone trained to kill devils.

Nayuta fingers dug into the back of your shirt, body tense. Her abilities required she believe one was lesser than her for her to order them, that was impossible when you were both scared out of your wits cornered with nowhere to go.

The woman kept an eye on you both, weapon drawn in one hand, phone in the other. “I found the C-” were the only words she managed to get out when she suddenly collapsed, revealing the scarred old man behind her. You learned later he called himself Kishibe.

You weren’t sure if you should have felt relieved when you saw the old man, suited up as any other devil hunter would be. You didn’t like him, that much you had decided in your silent stare down.

He released a raspy sigh, humming thoughtfully as he crushed the unconscious woman’s phone. “I came here expecting to only find one of you,” the man scratched the side of his head sluggishly. He eyed you carefully with a sense of recognition you couldn’t quite place before his eyes drifted to Nayuta beside you. “The Control Devil really is a selfish one.”

viii. マキマとナユタ

“You’re starting to look like me, Himeno.” It had been years since he’d last seen the woman and she seemed tired beyond her years. If Life played favorites, it was more than apparent Himeno was not one of that group. Aki died, succumbing to his final two years to live. The Chainsaw kid took off before then in the aftermath of the brief but chaotic attack of the Bomb Devil. Perhaps she’d been driven mad, perhaps she craved being the country mouse of Aesop’s fable. It was all the woman could do to run off with sister and the Blood Fiend, nestled in the quiet coastal town of Shonai in Yamagata Prefecture.

“It’s rude to point out a lady’s age, sir.” Himeno accepted the cigarette regardless. A large portion of her bangs were white and gray, her eye showing signs of crow’s feet. “What are you doing in little ole Shonai?” Smoke wafted from her mouth with a soft exhale.

“I started my own delivery service,” Kishibe gestured his cigarette to his car. “and you’re my first and only customer.”

Himeno’s smile was amused, but her one visible eye was anything but. “Funny, I don’t recall me or my sister ordering anything.”

“Consider this your lucky day then, it’s the delivery of a lifetime.” Kishibe didn’t miss a beat. “It’s a two-for-one deal.”

“I’ve had enough once-in-a-lifetime deals.” Himeno crushed her cigarette on the bottom of her foot before flicking it to the wayside. With more than a hint of finality, she waved and walked in the opposite direction of his vehicle. “Whatever it is, you should keep it to-”

“It’s the new Control Devil.” Those words made Himeno stop in her tracks. “They discovered her in China, but I managed to nick her.” Just in time to thwart disaster. Makima had been a ticking time bomb that had been staved off successfully when ー appeared in her life. That timer began once again when ー was killed in an attack by the Rat Devil. If the Chinese government had disposed of your current incarnation in front of the new Control Devil, Kishibe knew that there would have been no preventing the hell that would be unleashed upon the world.

Still, it would be best for the two of you to be protected til you could properly fend for yourselves.

Himeno’s shoulder shook for a few moments, it wasn’t hard to imagine the thoughts going through her head. I can keep on walking, she possibly thought. I can pretend I didn’t hear anything. Yet human nature got the better of her, Himeno sighing shakily, “why’d you bring her to me?”

“I’m not fit to raise children and out of all my old contacts, you’re the one I trust the most to do a good job handling her.” Kishibe answered truthfully. Not even Quanxi could be relied on for such a task. As much as he trusted his unrequited love, he knew the woman would have less of an interest in raising children than she did his old advances.

“What’s the second part of the deal?”

“Take a look in the car.”

Warily, the former devil hunter turned around, taking slow steps towards the car and leaned close to the window.

Himeno said nothing for a while as Kishibe watched her back, knowing that she was likely experiencing a strong wave of emotion. Everything likely clicked the moment she saw you. The same skin tone, the same hair texture, everything exactly the same as she remembered. “ー always knew about Makima, didn’t she.” Despite her phrasing, it was not a question. It was a soft, emotional observation.

“This new one shouldn’t have any of Makima’s old memories, but it seems this is one attachment she can’t shake.” Perhaps this was part of their contract. Leave it to Makima to make the implausible possible. The life of a devil may have been cyclical in nature, but reincarnation among humans was unproven. Yet here you were in all your similarities to ー. Kishibe didn’t ponder what this meant for humanity. If this meant his old buddies were somewhere walking around earth as new beings. Perhaps you were simply an exception, a product of the contract ー made with Makima. Makima did say you’d stay together forever.

Kishibe doubted he would ever receive an answer. All he was certain was that if you were the one thing keeping the Control Devil from wreaking havoc on the world, you were a necessary piece of the puzzle.

“This one isn’t ー either, she’s [First]. She doesn’t have any memories from before.” Kishibe warned, lightly tapping Himeno’s shoulder. He didn’t need the woman to get any false hopes. ー was dead, there was no doubt about it. The age separating Himeno and yourself was succinct proof. You weren’t the friend she lost more than a decade prior. “If you really can’t handle it, I’ll figure things out.”

Himeno’s one blue eye shone with more fire he’d seen since the last time he’d seen her. “I’m glad you feel that way,” the man tipped his proverbial hat to her. “I’ll be back when they’re old enough for defense training.”

“Hey, Gramps, where are we?” You demanded once you had woken up, rubbing your eyes tiredly. He might have saved your life, but he had kept you in the dark long enough.

Nayuta ungraciously yawned,“I have to pee.”

The wizened man took a hard look at the pack of cigarettes in his hand before shoving it in his pocket, sighing heavily. “We’re in Shonai over in Japan.” At last, he introduced the woman next to him. “This is Himeno, she’ll be taking care of you both from now on.”

You shared a look with Nayuta, wondering if this place would really be the best for you. It beats living where we were though, you were forced to admit. A part of you would miss the room you and Nayuta called home for the longest time, where you had your wedding and where you drew on the floor when you got bored. But you planned to leave that building someday, hoping you’d be leading a better life by then. ‘Someday’ simply came faster than you expected.

Thanks, old man, you doubted you would see much of him again though as you saw his car become smaller and smaller in the distance.

“Do either of you like cartoons?” Himeno asked when it was just the three of you. “What do you like watching?” When neither of you could come up with a response, Himeno cheerily made the decision for you. “We have the complete Ashita no Nadja set at home, we can watch that when we get there. But since we’re celebrating your arrival, you have to pick dinner.”

Nayuta wasted no time in answering that question, “I want pancakes.”

You rolled your eyes, bemused. “What if I want burgers though?”

Nayuta looked at you carefully, as if she hadn’t considered the possibility. “We want burgers and pancakes,” she told Himeno a second later.

“Burgers and pancakes,” Himeno said more to herself than anyone else. “Alright, I can work with that.”

translation notes:

i. happy end ii. it’s pure love iii. sorry iv. the story of hikoboshi and orihime v. “don’t go, don’t go, don’t go! don’t go anywhere! don’t go away! stay with me forever!” the control devil shouted. her soul shouted. vi. word of oath vii. old friend viii. makima and nayuta

#look she's writing #csm x reader #chainsaw man x reader #makima x reader #nayuta

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