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isuckatwritingsobenice · 4 months

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Infernal Shadows 03

Synopsis: Being one of the most powerful overlords in Hell, you like to keep up with colonies and overlord plans. Recently with the new extermination date out, you hold your annual gala sooner than usual. You hadn’t expected to get in the middle of the already heated feud between the Radio Demon and the head of Vox Tech.

Warnings: She/Her pronouns used for the reader, mentions of blood, voodoo?, Angel Dust being a horn-bag, Reader is referred too as Madame to the public. Vox and Alastor feud because I live for it. Carmilla and Velvet feud because I also live for that. I also really favor Zestial for some reason as a calm mediator.

Song for this chapter: Ludwig van Beethoven’s Violin Concerto in D major, Op. 61

A/N: Thank you all so much for your positive feedback & feedback in general on the last two posts!! I really didn’t think this would catch so much attention but I’m so glad people like it. For some reason Tumblr’s being weird and doesn’t want to let me tag certain people, I don’t know why but if anyone does please let me know because I really don’t like that ;/ But I hope you all enjoy this chapter!! Please note that some blogs cannot be tagged, so I recommend checking this post and to check your settings to make sure I can tag you! If anything I can always just message you when the next chapter comes out, and yes I am making this series longer :) it’ll also be posted on my Wattpad soon!

Word count: 3890

Taglist: @dollops-of-delusion @nebusokuxp @scrunchss @rosedasy @valluvz @chesstras @pishybowl @iaaeav @forgotten-blues @22carolina08 @roboticsuccubus83 @doflamingadonquixote @froggyferrets @frompeach @absurd-ash @sillysillyxinnabun @urdariingdoll @delectableworm @immahuman @justaproudslytherpuff @local-mr-frog @angeli-fucking-cat @coldsweetsenthusiast @jadekomaeda @iaaeav @coffeethoughtsandanxiety @lunalixya @pretty-puppy-stuffies @lemonrolls @asimplikeallyall @lunalixya

Navigation!! // Masterlist!!! // Serendipity Writes (event) // Part One. // Part two. // Part four.

Engaging with guests throughout the night had become an exhausting endeavor, and a part of you yearned for the solace of your absence. Nevertheless, you maintained the façade, acknowledging every sinner whose smile dripped with crimson mischief. Having greeted each guest, you discreetly slipped into a shadowed corner, your shadows enveloping your figure quickly, seamlessly disappearing from the expansive room in mere seconds and emerging into an intimate gazebo outside, meticulously arranged beneath the sweeping branches of a weeping willow, you marveled at its unique ambiance. Unlike the earthly counterparts that stood white, the willow in your realm bore a deep crimson hue, its leaves adorned with a subtle, luminous sheen. A gentle smile graced your lips as you leaned against the sturdy black iron railing, delicately cradling a piece of the weeping willow between your fingertips. In the distance, the grand mansion hosting the gala loomed, its opulence contrasting with the simplicity of your secluded retreat. Despite the awareness of etiquette dictating against leaving guests unattended, the need for a mental break led you to this haven, a safe space for you. Reflecting, you acknowledged a desire for better preparation and rehearsal with the shadows, realizing the repetitiveness of conversations with the familiar sinners had rendered the night somewhat lackluster. It almost felt like you had come out of hiding for nothing. Quite the disappointment.

You sigh, massaging your temples, the lace fabric on your fingertips only slightly soothing the growing headache. However, not too far behind, you hear the sound of soft grass. You straighten up and turn around, seeing none other than your long time friend Zestial, who just smiled, nodding at you.

“Why art thou out here all alone on this crimson night?” Zestial inquired, standing by your side with his back against the railing. You resumed your original position, taking a moment to appreciate his father. Mentally noting how much of your grandfather Zestial reminded you of, you kept the sentiment unspoken.

Tonight, Zestial adorned himself in an outfit resonant with his time period, preserving his distinctive color scheme. A dark, meticulously tailored coat with lime green accents draped over his slender frame, capturing the essence of his demonic class. The cloak, adorned with lime green spider webs, unveiled a mesmerizing display when unfurled—his lime green eyes radiating, the upper pair embellished with vivid red irises. Instead of the customary big top hat, Zestial selected a smaller, more appropriate hat with a touch of flair. Dark as the shadows you command, it featured a light grey patch at the front and was finished with a grey-colored skull and a lime green and red-striped feather on the right side, adding a distinctive touch that mirrored his nature.

“Why art thou out here all alone on this crimson night?” Zestial repeated, shifting toward you a bit. Yet you resumed your original position, savoring the quiet ambiance before finally answering him. “What shall we discourse upon during our repast this eventide?” Zestial asked. Though his wording occasionally posed a challenge for others, having grown up in a family of eloquent speakers, you easily deciphered his intent. Something he truly appreciated. Though he was learning to speak more ‘modern’, or as modern as he could be.

“Quite unsure of that. Everything is changing, and I fear I might be left behind,” you expressed bluntly. Zestial sighed in response, a mix of understanding and concern evident in his lime green eyes.

“Madame, thou art timeless,” Zestial said with a bow, his cup proofing into smoke. “I pray thee, vex not thyself o’er so trivial a matter,” he added, his words resonating with both reassurance and genuine care.

You nodded, handing him a card. His surprised expression upon finding two cards instead of one didn’t escape you. “What manner of thing is this?” Zestial inquired, prompting you to summon a shadow for yourself, knowing he would find his own means back to the Gala.

“Carmilla. I am no fool to the both of you,” you said, amusement coloring your words as Zestial shook his head.

“Thou dost astonish me on every occasion,” Zestial remarked, standing by your side as you walked into your portal. Two seats vanished, leaving four empty seats at your table and six occupied.

In your study, you floated scripts in front of you, checking off names on the table list for tonight. With a few overlords left to choose from, Alastor and Charlotte secured seats based on trust and connections. Vox, Zestial, and Carmilla, an unspoken but potent couple, promised intrigue. Reconsidering Velvet for her potential devolution, you weighed each decision with strategic acumen.

Valentino, the Von Eldritch twins, and other weaker options were dismissed, maintaining a careful balance of power and influence. As you weigh the option of inviting Rosie to the gathering, her unpredictable nature adds a layer of excitement and potential surprise to the upcoming discussions. However, this unpredictability could also introduce challenges, creating an air of uncertainty around her contributions. Hopefully with Alastor around, she’d feel more inclined to behave. You check her name off the list.

In considering Stolas, the Goetia prince, his personal issues and tarnished reputation pose significant hurdles. Divorcing from his wife, sleeping with an imp for fun, as well as losing control of his daughter on Earth, it all seemed too risky to get involved with. While his wisdom and influence could contribute positively, the shadows of his struggles may complicate the dynamics, stirring potential conflicts and requiring delicate handling. Someone might get out of line with a comment towards him. His power was incredibly useful, but not worth the risk.

Husk’s transformation from a former overlord to a bartender signals a decline in power and status. While his laid-back demeanor might bring a sense of unpredictability, his diminished influence raises questions about the relevance of his involvement in the current political landscape of hell. Though he was your friend, you needed to keep your reputation pristine.

As the you contemplate the overlords assets, a mix of excitement, caution, and uncertainty envelops the decision-making process. Each overlord’s potential positive contributions are balanced by the looming negatives.

“Madame?” One of your shadows materialized, prompting a nod for them to proceed. “There seems to be some trouble in the lobby between the guests. What would you like us to do?” it inquired. A grimace crossed your face, hoping the disturbance wouldn’t mar your night. “Let me handle it,” you declared, snapping your fingers, causing the script to vanish. The shadow nodded, blending back into a wall for you to step through.

Upon reappearing, you assumed the form of a taller shadow. The room surrounded by guests revealed Vox, Velvet, Alastor, and Carmilla standing in the middle. Zestial, seemingly composed, stood close behind Carmilla, observing the situation. Carmilla appeared visibly upset, with Velvet in proximity, a pointed finger dropping as soon as she noticed your arrival. Alastor maintained his usual wide smile, though it bordered on the eerie, revealing a glimpse of his gums. The scene unfolded, presenting a potential challenge to the serene atmosphere you aimed to maintain during the gala.

Everyone seemed to stop, slowly turning toward you to see your face. Except there was no expression, just the large shadow you had taken form of. In seconds the shadow disappeared, leaving you in the fog, the expression on your face anything but calm.

"Madame I-" Velvet began, but her words were halted by the sight of your lace glove, your hand rising to silence her. Approaching the overlords, you spoke with an air of cold authority.

"My quarters. Now," you commanded, and with a snap of your fingers, smoke enveloped your spot as you vanished. Shadows materialized around the overlords, guiding them to your quarters, leaving the stunned guests in the lobby.

"Well, that was interesting," Valentino remarked.

In your study, the overlords found you seated in your tall, black chair. Its ebony surface featured intricate carvings of black glass, elegant swirls, and patterns tailored to your essence, creating an atmosphere of undeniable authority and refinement.

"I hope you all had fun acting like children," you chided sternly. The overlords lined up, forming a unified front. Leaning against the right side of your chair, you crossed your legs, elbow on the armrest, pinching the bridge of your nose with a sigh. Annoyance laced your words as you questioned, "What did you feel the need to argue about now?" Before Velvet, Vox, and Carmilla could respond simultaneously, you halted them. "One at a time. I'd assume you all handle this like adults, if you even can." The tension in the room hung thick as the overlords awaited their turn to address your inquiry.

“She wants me at her table Vaggie! Me!” Charlotte said excitedly. Vagatha just smiled.

“That’s good! Now you can tell them about the hotel, and maybe someone will be interested.” Vagatha said, and Charlotte just nodded.

“Maybe they-“ Charlotte stopped, observing as people began to crowd around the center of the lobby. Charlotte and Vagatha stood from their spots at the bar to walk toward the center, where the overlords stood. Velvet and Vox were next to each other, while Carmilla, Alastor and Zestial were across. Carmilla and Velvet were face to face. “What’s going on?” Charlotte asked as Vagatha and her pushed their way through the crowds of people.

“Come on, Carmilla, always the mood-killer,” Velvet scoffed, a disrespectful tone tainting her words. Carmilla shot her a stern look, ready to assert her authority.

“Watch that tongue, Velvet. I will not let your insolence slide,” Carmilla retorted, attempting to rein in the escalating tension.

Vox, ever the smooth talker, chimed in, “Ladies, ladies, let’s not turn this into a drama fest. We’re all here for a reason.” Vox said, sternly giving a tight lipped smile to Velvet, silently telling her to keep her shit together.

Carmilla shot a glare at Velvet, who replied with a defiant smirk, “Drama or not, Vox, some of us aren’t here for the ballroom charm.”

Alastor, drawn to the brewing chaos, couldn’t resist adding his flair, “Well, well, a bit of spice never hurt a party, does it?”

Carmilla, unfazed by the chaos, spoke with a calm authority, “Velvet, your insolence is unnecessary. This is not a playground; it’s a gathering of overlords. Act accordingly.”

Velvet, seemingly undeterred, shot back with a dismissive laugh, “Poor Grandma, always trying to play the responsible one. Maybe loosen up a bit? Have a drink will you?”

Vox, ever the smooth talker, added with a slick comment, “Perhaps we can focus on the matters at hand. Save the theatrics for later ladies.”

Alastor, intrigued by the unfolding drama, simply grinned, “Oh the picture box has spoken! Quite intriguing.” The room continued to buzz with tension as each overlord, except Rosie, added their own flavor to the brewing turmoil. As the tension thickened, Vox, with a sly grin, couldn't resist adding his own slick comment to the mix.

"Ah, Alastor, the radio days were quaint, but it seems you're a bit outdated. Television is the future, perhaps you should tune in sometime," he quipped with a wink, the words delivered with a calculated smoothness. The room momentarily hung in a charged silence before the verbal sparring resumed, adding another layer to the complex interplay of personalities at the gala.

With Vox's comment about Alastor being outdated sinking in, the radio demon responded with a sly grin, sharp teeth on display, his eyes displays dials, as the rooms lights began to deepen, "Ah, Vox, your television endeavors are impressive, but remember, I'm not just audible; I'm unforgettable. A little screen time won't change that," he retorted, “This face was made for radio.” He said with a grin, tilting his head to the side, a sharp snap in his neck, his words carrying a mix of amusement and confidence. The verbal exchange between the two overlords added another layer to the already charged atmosphere, each comment becoming a piece in the intricate puzzle of conflicts and egos at the gala.

“See what you did grandma, now you’ve got the two of them fighting.” Velvet said, pointing a finger into Carmella’s chest. She scoffed, shoving her away.

“Don’t you dare get disrespectful on me you brat.” Carmilla said, beginning to heat up with anger.

That's when Madame stepped in, reappearing in the form of a taller shadow, casting a lengthened silhouette in the room brimming with guests. Vox, Velvet, Alastor, and Carmilla found themselves at the center of the unfolding tableau, and Zestial, seemingly composed, lingered just behind Carmilla, quietly observing the escalating drama. Carmilla's visage betrayed a hint of distress, her pointed finger lowering as she registered your reappearance. Alastor, with his trademark grin, bordered on eerie, revealing a glimpse of his gums. The unfolding scene disrupted the serene atmosphere you had meticulously aimed to maintain during the gala, presenting an unexpected challenge.

A hush fell over the room as everyone turned their gaze toward you, anticipating your reaction. However, your face remained expressionless, concealed within the depths of the large shadow you had taken form of. In mere seconds, the shadow dissipated, leaving you in a misty veil. Yet, beneath the calm exterior, a storm brewed, ready to challenge the delicate balance of the evening.

Now, here you all were, sitting in the study after Carmilla had explained the situation.

“Madame, with all due respect,” Carmilla spoke, looking down. “I truly do not believe Velvet is mature enough to be at our table tonight.” Carmilla said.

“Are you questioning my judgment?” You asked sharply, to which Carmilla stiffened quickly, shaking her head then.

”No Madame, I would never-“

“Then do not say foolish things.” You said. Sighing, you shut your eyes, feeling the weight of the situation. Tonight sensitive information would be revealed and Carmilla did have some point here. Velvet clearly could not hold her tongue.

”Vox, control your associate please, or you both will be cut from the dinner tonight.” You said finally, to which he nodded nervously.

“Of course Madame.” He said, nodding to you.

“I wasn’t finished.” You said, looking to Alastor.

“I want none of this technology talk either.” You spoke, staring at Alastor who just smiled with lidded eyes. You knew he was very much upset, but you had forbidden anyone to fight in your home, anyone but you of course. “You all will act like mature adults wether you like it or not. I am not your guardian, I should not be having this conversation with overlords who should know better.” You said, standing. ”Now, all of you, out.” You said, snapping your fingers. Quickly the shadows began to move, ushering everyone out of your study. Everyone except Carmilla. “Not you.” You said to her, Zestial nodding to you and her as he stepped out, giving you both privacy.

“Madame, I didn’t mean what I said-“ Carmilla said quickly. You waved her off, straightening yourself out.

“Nonsense Carmilla, I know you meant well.” You said with a stoic expression. You sit back down, crossing your legs and snapping your fingers to form a chair in front of your desk, ushering her to sit. “I wanted to speak to you about your weapons.” You stated. At this her eyes went wide, before dropping again.

“Oh, very well then. What would you like to know?” She asked. You grinned, before standing again.

“Well, how much would I need to give you for you to make me a personal bayonet?” You asked. She went silent for a moment, before answering.

“Nothing at all Madame.” She said, standing to look at you. “May I ask what for?” She questioned. You shook your head.

“No, just to have on display. I want a new one, the old one I have is quite out of style for me.” You replied. She just nodded, before you waved to her, sitting back down and summoning a script again. “You may go now, and please, do not argue with children.” You commented. She just smiled and nodded, leaving you to your own vices.

It was half-past eleven, five minutes till the midnight bells chime. Everyone in the lobby was beginning to get excited for the entertainment you had planned for the night. Oh, you knew you would not disappoint.

“Madame would like everyone to accompany her on a journey tonight. She has sent me to retrieve you all. She would like to formally welcome you to tonight’s entertainment.” The large shadow said, standing from the topic of the stairs. Behind it was a large portal. It stepped backwards, into the portal, and nodded for the guests to start coming through.

The custom-built coliseum stands as a testament to Madame's vision, a grand fusion of opulence and dark elegance. The circular structure boasts towering columns, but instead of conventional pillars, thick chains rise, intricately linked and serving as both ornamental decor and structural support. The arches, molded in black, curve gracefully around the circumference, evoking a Victorian Gothic aesthetic that permeates the entire venue.

Two larger-than-life statues of Madame herself flank the entrance, capturing her regal poise and adding a touch of imposing authority. The statues serve not only as decorative elements but as a representation of the gala's hostess, a constant presence overseeing the proceedings, she is always watching, all seeing, perfection.

The overall ambiance is one of grandeur and mystery, with the black molding on the arches casting shadows that play into the darker undertones. Every intricate detail, from the chains to the statues, contributes to the unique Victorian Gothic feel of the coliseum, matching Madame’s home perfectly, matching her perfectly. The venue, finally being unveiled to the guests, now welcomes them who are treated to an appetizer course, surrounded by the striking architecture and entertained within the darkly enchanting atmosphere Madame has meticulously crafted.

Numerous shadows, dark and formless, line the entrance walls, extending silent greetings to the arriving guests. Their presence adds an air of mystique and intrigue as they blend seamlessly with the Gothic architecture. As attendees make their way into the coliseum, these shadowy figures create an ethereal welcome, embodying the unique atmosphere of Madame's custom-built venue.

At a separate entrance reserved for the handpicked members of Madame's esteemed dinner table, a solitary shadow stands guard. This entrance, reserved for a select few, hints at the exclusivity and importance of those who will partake in the upcoming dinner. The shadowy sentinels serve not only as silent greeters but also as guardians of the event's secrets, casting an enigmatic allure over the gala.

A singular shadows escorts Charlotte, Alastor, and the rest of the overlords to the exclusive section, leading them to an elevator to bring them to the best seats in the coliseum. The elevator’s interior is a striking display of elegance, with white and black checkered flooring lending a timeless touch. The walls, enveloped in darkness, exude an air of mystery, while black, smokey glass engravings on the ceiling add intricate detailing that dances in the ambient light. Each number on the elevator, indicating the ascending levels, glows a vibrant red, creating a vivid contrast against the monochrome palette.

“Oh I’m so excited! What do you think we’re gonna see? Gladiators? Sinners fight? Oh actually I hope not, I don’t want people to die.” Charlotte said to Alastor. Carmilla just chuckled at her antics while Zestial eyed her with curiosity. Where did Alastor find such a girl and why the princess of all people?

The elevator stops at the top floor, revealing the opening in the middle, which was surprisingly covered with water.

“What is Madame playing at?” Carmilla questioned as the overlords sat in a row at the top. From there they could see everything and everyone.

“I am quite uncertain, yet my anticipation is stirred nonetheless.” Zestial said. The lights around began to dim, and shadows began to pour glasses of water in front of all the guests. Down in the middle of the coliseum was the tallest shadow, the one that seemed to be Madame’s favorite, since it always spoke for her.

“Greetings all. It is Madame’s pleasure to invite you all to the special entertainment tonight. Madame has put together some of hell’s finest performers for your entertainment tonight. I would like to present, preforming here tonight, The Vienna Philharmonic Orchestra preforming Ludwig van Beethoven’s Violin Concerto in D major, Op. 61.” The shadow said with a bow, before it vanished just as quick as it came. Then, other shadows appeared, but this time they were different. They were people, performers, with clear outlined silhouettes, faces and expressions, even clothes.

“Hey, Al?” Charlotte asked, leaning over in her seat to Alastor. He let out a ‘hm?’ In response.

“Does Madame own those souls down there?” Charlotte whispered, but before Alastor could answer, a shadow had already cut in.

“Yes. All the shadows here, even yours, Madame owns.” The shadow said quietly, filling Charlotte’s glass cup with water. Charlotte nervously, perked up, but said nothing as she shadow carried on with it’s catering.

The ethereal notes of the music filled the air as the performance unfolded. Around the musicians stood ballet dancers, their movements a delicate poetry in motion. Clad in all black, the performers created a stark contrast to the dancers, who emerged with an otherworldly grace akin to figures rising from the depths of water. The dancers moved with an angelic fluidity, their forms intertwining seamlessly with the haunting melody, creating a mesmerizing tableau that captivated the audience. The visual symphony of black-clad musicians and the whisky-hued ballet dancers painted a scene of enchantment and mystery within the grand coliseum. Even down to the dancers, this had Madame written all over it.

Velvet's keen eye captured the essence of the dancers' ethereal movements on paper. With each stroke of her sketch, she depicted the dancers as if emerging from a watery abyss, the fog enveloping their feet creating an illusion of water flowing upward. The intricate details on her sketch paper brought to life the dancers' graceful forms, their figures seemingly intertwined with the rising mist, evoking the enchantment of a waterspout captured in a moment of sublime artistry. Velvet's artistic interpretation added a layer of depth to the performance, transforming the ephemeral dance into a tangible and captivating visual narrative.

Water had begun to swirl, the dancers moving around it, the water getting taller and taller, similar to the way it had when you had first made your entrance at the beginning of the Gala. Now, it was water, and from Charlotte’s seat, she had struggled to make out what was going on. She turned to Alastor to see him holding a pair of opera glasses in his hand. Without you having to ask, he tapped the armrest of her seat. Charlotte turned to the side to see a pair tucked neatly against the front of the armrest. She grabbed them quickly, before looking through them and at the waterspout now forming in the middle. Her jaw flew open, as well as the loud screech of Alastor’s track playing. Vox had short circuited, and Carmilla gasped loudly. Velvet stood silent, but there was evident confusion on her face, while Zestial sunk into his seat, conflicting emotions flowing through him.

“Madame- she’s-“ Charlotte stuttered, and Alastor nodded, swallowing thickly.

“With an exorcist. I know.”

#hazbin hotel x reader #hazbin alastor #alastor x reader #hazbin charlie #hazbin angel dust #hazbin vaggie #hazbin demon #hazbin vox #hazbin hotel rosie #alastor #zestial hazbin hotel #yandere alastor x reader #yandere alastor #yandere vox #yandere vox x reader #hellaverse #isuckatwritingsobenice infernal shadows #isuckatwritingsobenice

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writing-fanics · 7 months

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strawberry lemonade

Sanji x LuffyOlderSister!Reader

the waiter walked over the table holding the plate of bread, "Hi, welcome to our shitty restaurant where the only thing worse than the ambience is the food." He said annoyed, his hand stuffed into his pockets as he placed the plate of bread onto the table

“My name is Sanji. What can I get for you?” Sanji said, looking at the table his hand in his pockets.

Luffy grabbed the bread plate. "One of everything, please," he said. [Y/n] shook her head, smiling at her always-hungry little brother who could eat a whole buffet and still ask for seconds.

The waiter approached the table with a friendly smile and a suggestion: "May I interest you in one of our signature cocktails to elevate your dining experience?" As he spoke, [Y/n] swiftly and deftly took one of the warm rolls from the basket in the center of the table. Luffy was taken aback and protested with a playful "Hey!" [Y/n] responded by sticking out her tongue, teasingly. She then tore off a piece of the warm, crusty bread and popped it into her mouth, savoring the flavor.

As she looked up, her gaze met the waiter's. Her heart skipped a beat as she noticed his flirtatious smile. "My apologies, madam. I didn't see you there. Would you like to start with an apéritif?" he asked, still smiling at her.

Her face turned bright red. "We have some rare Micqueot vintages in stock," he said, trying to impress her. "Or maybe you'd prefer a glass of Umeshu?" He continued to stare at her, captivated by her beauty.

The moment he flashed a flirtatious smile, her heart raced like a horse galloping on a race track. He leaned towards her and whispered, "You know, something sweet for someone sweet," causing her cheeks to flush with a bright red hue, reminiscent of a freshly picked ripe strawberry. She couldn't explain why she felt so nervous around him all of a sudden, her heart pounding relentlessly against her chest as if it wanted to break free.

He watched her intently, his gaze unwavering as she averted her eyes and looked down. Her cheeks turned a faint shade of pink as she fiddled with the gold Roger coin around her neck, a precious keepsake that Shanks had given her and Luffy when they were children.

He smiled at her and she looked up for a moment, smiling sheepishly as they locked eyes. Usopp clears his throat and says, "Waiter, can I get a beer and something for my friends?" He tells the waiter ordering the drinks, "Two beers. I usually have three, but…" He said,

"Water." Nami said looking at him.

„And a milk." Luffy interrupted, "Three beers and a milk. a water. And, uh, for madam?" Sanji asked, his gaze once again falling on [Y/n] looked up at him and blushed, "U-Um, I would strawberry lemonade and a cup of strawberries," she said, her voice tinged with a hint of shyness. He smiled at her and said, "Right away." just as he left to walk towards the kitchen.

[Y/n] hid her face in her shirt while the other crew members chuckled, Luffy looked towards his older sister playfully. "Y/n's gotta boyfriend," He teasingly said to her. "S-Shut up!" She whispered shouted, elbowing him in the arm before, as the Sanji brought out her drinks. He smiled, at her as he placed the strawberry lemonade in front of her, along with the side of strawberries. Sending her a wink as he did so, her heart almost seemed to stop and her soul could've left her body.

"Y/n's gotta boy-" [Y/n] grabbed some meat on a stick, and shoved it into her brother's mouth silencing him.

#opla!sanji x reader #opla!sanji x you #opla!sanji x y/n #vinsmoke sanji x reader #vinsmoke sanji x you #vinsmoke sanji x y/n #vinsmoke sanji reader insert #reader insert #sanji x reader #sanji x you #sanji x y/n #taz skylar x reader #taz skylar x you #taz skylar x y/n #one piece live action x reader #one piece live action fanfic

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seivsite · 9 months

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KITTY’S CHARM.

includes: lyney x fem!reader. lyney knows reader but reader doesn’t know lyney, he’s a cat like the one in his hat, soft kisses, fluff, lyney is a flirt & a tease, not proofread — wc: 570

“Ah, hello there, kitty,” you whispered softly, your fingers gently caressing the small cat’s fur.

“What brings you out here all alone?”You picked up the cat, feeling it nuzzle against your knee with a gentle lean.

“Meow〜”

“Alright, little one, I’ll take you home. Just remember, no wreaking havoc on my couch,” you playfully cautioned, cradling the cat tenderly as you made your way back home.

Upon arriving home, the cat gracefully hopped out of your arms, already making itself at ease in its newfound surroundings.

“Why so restless, huh? You’re already at home,” you teased, watching the ebony feline’s paw gently tap at your pants.

As night fell, you embarked on your customary routine—slipping into comfortable pajamas and placing a glass of water on your bedside table. The dark cat followed suit, sauntering into your room and settling onto your bed, finding a cozy spot as you nestled in.

“Come here, kitty,” you coaxed, spreading your arms and the blanket invitingly. The cat nestled in close, its content purrs of delight filling the air as you held it close.

“Goodnight, kitty,” you murmured, bestowing a tender kiss upon its nose before surrendering to a tranquil slumber.

Nestling closer to the warmth beside you, you sleepily enveloped it with your arms.

To your astonishment, you realised an arm in your grasp, and tracing further down, your fingers met another hand. As your eyes shot open in shock, you were met with the sight of an ash-blond man in your bed.

“WHO ARE YOU, AND WHY ARE YOU IN MY BED?!” you exclaimed, launching a pillow at the man, who adeptly evaded it.

“I’m Kitty, or you can call me Lyney," he replied, his innocent smile attempting to defuse the situation.

“The magician? How and why were you a cat?!” you persisted, only to be silenced by his finger pressing gently against your lips.

“Well, Madam, it appears I accidentally imbibed a potion and found myself transformed into a cat. Thankfully, you stumbled upon me and came to my rescue. So, might I offer you anything in return for your kindness?” he inquired playfully, conjuring a rainbow rose in his hand and extending it towards you.

“I’m not… quite sure,” you mused, holding the rose delicately in your hand. Suddenly, you felt his finger gently lifting your chin.

“How about bestowing me with another kiss?” he teased, leaning closer to you.

A rosy hue tinted your cheeks as his enchanting smile held you captive.

“That kiss was meant for the kitty, not you,” you stammered, nervously pressing your lips together.

“Hmm, but I’m still the kitty in human form, aren’t I?” he persisted, his playful tone lingering in the air.

“Come on, just one little kiss,” he pleaded, his eyes sparkling.

“Not a chance.”

“Not even on the cheek?” he pouted, his playful charm impossible to resist.

“Ugh, fine,” you relented, your exasperation evident in a soft groan. You leaned in to plant a swift peck on what you believed to be his cheek, only to find him moving his head, causing your lips to meet his in a surprising twist.

“Thank you for the sweet kiss, my lady,” he whispered, a playful wink accompanying his words.

He chuckled softly as he watched your cheeks turn a delicate shade of red. Your endearing display of shyness only deepened his affection for you, making him fall even more head over heels.

NOTES. he’s very writeable, i keep thinking about cat noir whenever i write about him

LIKES AND REBLOGS ARE APPRECIATED! ‹3

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prickly-paprikash · 6 months

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Something cool about Blue Eye Samurai is how sex is juxtaposed with the end-goals.

I really love how our three protagonists are all obsessed. And that obsession defines them, torments them, and are subsequently reborn through their obsessions.

Mizu, of course, is obsessed with the concept of revenge. It's not even about getting even or getting justice as some might use to justify the bloody road taken—it is simply about seeking satisfaction for Mizu. She cuts a bloody swathe across Japan because of what the Four White Devils did to her mother and herself. She does not concern herself with the ramifications of her wrath but merely charges forward, leaving behind a trail of viscera and gore behind her.

Like I said before, her vengeance and obsession with satisfaction is not painted by the show as wrong. It is how she allows it to affect others along the path. It's why the episode with Madame Kaji is so enlightening; Mizu should not tackle this quest as a vengeful revenant; an onryō. She has let the world define her as a monstrosity and so she embraced it, when Swordfather and Madame Kaji knew what the correct path was to satiate her need for vengeance. Treat her sword as the Artisan's tool it truly is. Treat her body the way an Artist would treat their canvas.

Madame Kaji and Swordfather are both outcasts, for being a woman and a blind man. Yet they found strength in their exclusion, becoming single-minded in their fields of art. Because sex is art and swordsmithing is art. It's what makes Mizu's body writing scene so fucking good.

Artistic vision becomes stagnant when one pulls from only one source. They become rigid and unbending when Mizu, like her namesake, must be fluid. She has shown fluidity in her use of her gender and her morals, but cannot apply that same flexibility towards her goal. Throughout season one, she was becoming an uninspired artist, merely painting the world in hues of scarlet. In a world that forces Women to be either Wives or Whores, Mizu chose to be a Warrior—but a warrior fights for a cause, whether it be just or otherwise. A soldier fights in an army. Mizu is neither of these things. She is an Artist first and foremost, and her medium is Death. Sex, something Mizu was at first hesitant before her failed marriage, and something she actively avoided afterwards, is what gives her a new perspective. Like an Illustrator studying life to better draw their intended worlds, taking inspiration from wherever one can find it.

Taigen and Akemi are also equally affected by the artistry of sex, as befitting of Mizu's fellow protagonists.

Akemi is quite obviously Mizu's narrative foil. Mizu chases after revenge like a bloodhound whereas Akemi longs for freedom like a bird in a cage. Both are fierce women who are unsatisfied with their lot in life, with their sex and gender being used against them in their lives. Literally, the episode "The Tale of the Ronin and the Bride" is a fucking triple entendre:

Mizu is the Ronin as well as the Bride.

The play showcases the tale of the Ronin and the Bride.

It is also Mizu as the Ronin and Akemi as the Bride.

And when Mizu finds her center as she melts down her blade and engages in body writing, this scene of enlightenment is juxtaposed with Akemi laying with her new husband Takayoshi. Both, in this moment, are taking control of their lives through sex. They are both taking control of their futures through the ways Madame Kaji taught them. Mizu and Akemi are both rebels against this oppressive society, and are both talented artists with their body. Whether that be sex, politicking, or ass-kicking.

Taigen, like the two women before, finds freedom through it but in a more subtle manner.

Where Mizu and Akemi are narrative foils, both using sex as a form of art and escape, Taigen finds liberation through his awakening.

Like the closeted bisexual man he is, he begins his journey of self-realization when he first encounters Mizu at the Dojo.

Every single battle these two have is purposefully rife with sexual tension. All his life, Taigen has been taught that a man must live with honor. That he must take control of his life and his identity, or he will have failed and that he is better off dead than to live with such shame.

Taigen is just as much a victim of the Patriarchal society around him. Mizu rails against it violently. Akemi seeks to run away from it all. And Taigen, with the privilege given to him by his manhood, chooses to become a perpetrator, enabling the vicious wheel of society to keep moving forward.

His obsession with honor leads him to hunting down and even protecting Mizu. Mizu is no doubt the better warrior, but even she knows she owes so much to Taigen. The blockhead not only did everything to protect her in the valley, but also sealed his lips shut even under the duress of torture. His obsession with honor becomes an obsession with Mizu.

His regrets over tormenting her over her looks and ethnicity as a child. His shame in having lost so decisively in his own dojo. Taigen was a man born with nothing and climbed up to the top with every advantage he could muster, and suddenly it's all ripped away by this one vengeful spirit passing by.

Taigen learns to surrender control around Mizu. He begins to discover his own sexuality and purpose around Mizu, redefining what honor really means to him now that he, as a man, has a budding attraction towards the man who beat him.

Mizu's Vengeance. Akemi's Freedom. Taigen's Honor. In all three, Sex becomes a catalyst in redefining what each of these concepts truly mean to them all. It's not just sex of course, but it is undeniable how the writers keep juxtaposing sexual acts and thoughts with massive character moments.

It changes how Mizu chases after her Vengeance. It recontextualizes how Akemi can be Free. It showcases the absurdity of the Honor forced upon Taigen.

It's so fucking refreshing seeing Sex not used as fanservice or shoe-horned in just to further a stale, poorly written cis-heterosexual romance; but used as a plot point that cannot be ignored. An impetus that fuels the narrative.

Moving forward, I'm curious as to how sex will be used.

The next few ideas aren't as sound or organized because I'm neither Asexual nor Genderfluid, so please if anyone reads this who understands it better, feel free to point it out.

I think it'd be cool if Mizu met the inverse of Madame Kaji. A person who is apathetic to sex. Sure, Swordfather has shades of this, but I'm tired of the person with disabilities also being on the Asexual spectrum. And I'm not saying that Ace or Graysexual people with disabilities don't exist! But they always tend to be written as having some form of disability (Varys from ASOIAF) or a Robot.

Just as artists need a variety of sources to pull inspiration from, I hope in the next seasons we get to see different perspectives on sex and gender. In London, it feels like Mizu finding the other half of herself, and with that having a better way of tackling her own identity. Whether it be gender, sex, combat, etc.

Basically what this inane rambling amounts to is that Blue Eye Samurai tackles sex and violence and revenge and obsession in ways that most media has yet to truly do. So that was pretty cool.

#blue eye samurai #blue eye samurai spoilers #blue eye samurai season 2 #mizu #mizu blue eye samurai #akemi #taigen #metal #media analysis #character analysis #blue eye samurai meta #netflix are cowards for not announcing season 2 immediately #come on dickheads #the fans and the creators have been fighting for the green light #hand it over #you cocks #paprikash ramblings

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whydoeseveryonewanttobangchan · 1 year

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PART 1: 🚪 Whats wrong with a little privacy, huh? 🚪

✎ Pairing: Chan x fem!reader

✎ Genre: Slightly smutty fluff (?)

✎ Summary: Your boyfriend takes you out to a nice restaurant, but you end up eating something not on the menu.

✎ CW: Tbh kissing. I hope you like kissing.

✎ Word count: 2,118

✩ A/N: Spicy part 2 is live!✩

❥ ❥ ❥ ❥ ❥ ❥ ❥ ❥ ❥ ❥ ❥ ❥ ❥ ❥ ❥ ❥ ❥ ❥ ❥ ❥ ❥ ❥ ❥ ❥ ❥

“You look beautiful tonight, by the way,” Chan says, shooting you a quick smirk while he drives.

He always looks effortlessly sexy in the car: one hand on the steering wheel, one somewhere on your leg. Tonight, it’s high up on your thigh, squeezing and rubbing the bare skin just under the hem of your dress.

“Thanks, baby,” you reply. “You, too, of course.”

“Oh, stop,” he chides. “You’ll make me blush.”

But he does anyway. Even in the dark, you can see his cheeks take on a slightly pink hue. It’s so easy to make him flustered sometimes.

The way the moonlight hit his skin was enough to make you giddy, too. His umber eyes glancing back and forth between the road ahead and your thigh, the way his wide nose slopes down and curves just above his plump, pink lips, his silver hoops swinging back and forth in his earlobes when you hit a rough patch of pavement. He was like living art. And he was all yours.

“So….” he starts, trying to change the topic inside your brain to something less… him. “You excited for the seafood?”

“Mhhmmm,” you mumble, still entranced by the god next to you. He’s gonna have to try harder than that.

He catches your eyes for a second and giggles before squeezing your thigh.

“Stop looking at me like that,” he says sheepishly. “I can’t handle that look in your eyes.”

“What look?” you ask, fully aware of what look it is. But it’s always fun to hear him describe it.

“Like… like you’re…” he says between glances. “Like you love me. A ridiculous amount.”

“Like you’re the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen in my life?” you add.

“Yes, that,” he says with a laugh. “It’s making me nervous. And… excited. I have to focus on driving and you’re over there looking at me like that — it’s so distracting.”

“Fine, fine,” you surrender and smirk. “I’ll save my lovey-dovey eyes for when you’re not operating a murder machine.”

“Thank you, my love,” he says appreciatively, reaching for your hand to bring it to his lips. “So, as I was saying… seafood. What do you think you’re gonna eat?”

“I’m not sure,” you say, shifting your glance to the road. “Clams definitely. Oysters maybe? Do you wanna share something?”

“Yeah, that sounds good. I’d love to share with you,” he says, squeezing your hand he still holds between the two of you.

The rest of the drive isn’t long, but keeping your eyes on the road is agony. Every brush of his thumb on the back of your hand fills you with raw emotion you need to channel back to him, but you fight to keep your eyes to yourself for the sake of his sanity — and your lives, apparently.

The car pulls into the parking lot, and he finds a spot easily. Once it’s in park, Chan removes his seatbelt, shoots you a wink, and says, “hold tight.” He exits his side, shuts the door, and hustles over to the passenger side where he opens the door for you with a slight bow.

“We’ve arrived, my lady,” he says and holds his hand out for you.

“Oh, thank you, good sir,” you reply, placing your hand in his to help you out of the car. “What a lovely gentleman you are.”

He shut the door, places his hand at his waist and holds out his elbow for you to take.

“Shall we?”

“Of course.”

You walk arm in arm toward the entrance, both smiling wide as you ascend the stairs.

“Good evening, sir and madam,” the host greets in a similar — but less sarcastic — tone of voice. “Do we have a reservation this evening?”

“Yes, should be under Christopher,” Chan answers.

“Ah, yes. Mr. Bahng. We have you in the private room this evening.”

“Oohhh, the private room, huh?” you whisper in his ear. “Ok, rich ass.”

He holds back a smile but squeezes your arm as the host extends his arm and gestures to follow him.

You weave through tables and up stairs and around hallway corners until the man opens a tall door and steps to the side so you can enter. Inside is a table for 4, but with only two seats. A small chandelier hangs from the tall ceiling, and the windowless walls are nearly bare, except for a themed photo or two.

“Will this do, sir and madam?” the host asks politely.

“Of course, this is perfect, thank you,” Chan replies. “Will a waiter come to us, or…”

“Yes, sir, they’ll come by and knock before entering.”

Oh, you sly piece of shit.

“Sounds perfect, thank you so much again,” Chan says.

The waiter nods and steps out of the room, closing the heavy door behind him.

“You fucking…” you tease, slapping Chan’s toned arms lightly. “Private room? The waiter has to knock? So pretentious.”

“Listen, I didn’t know it was this private, but yeah,” he defends himself, but his face softens again when he pulls you into his chest. “What’s wrong with a little privacy, huh?”

“You better be good,” you warn, looking at him sternly.

“I will, I promise,” he smirks, but then he holds you tighter and kisses your neck just below your jawline, so you’re almost certain his fingers must be crossed.

“Yeah, ok, sure,” you say sarcastically and lift his head to plant a quick kiss on his nose before heading to your respective sides of the table and sitting in the outlandish chairs — they’re almost like mini thrones.

“Well, these are… a lot,” Chan scoffs and turns his attention to you. “But they do suit you well, my queen.”

“And you, my king,” you say, barely holding in a giggle.

A knock at the door ends the role play — for now — and a waiter enters with two glasses and a bottle of wine.

“Good evening, can I get you two anything else to drink or eat?” he says politely as he pours your first glasses.

Chan skillfully orders a bottle of champagne, a tray of oysters, clams and other shellfish, and a pasta dish. The waiter takes note and leaves almost as quickly as he came.

“Wow, ok,” you say in amazement.

“What? Not happy with the selections?” he replies with a grin.

“No it’s fine, that was just… quick,” you marvel and pick up your glass, taking a sip of the Malbec.

“Yeah, hopefully the food comes quickly, too,” he says, then his expression turns much more serious, seductive even.

“Until then… wanna come sit in my lap?”

“Hm?” you ask. “You want me to sit in your lap… in a fancy restaurant?”

“Well, it is a private room…” he muses and grabs his glass, taking a sip and pushing his chair back from the table. Even confident Channie can’t help but blush when he gets excited, and you can’t resist those rosy cheeks.

“Well… will you? Please?” he repeats the question.

“… just because you asked nicely.”

You stand from your chair and slowly round the table to his seat, standing above him for a few seconds before lifting your dress enough to straddle his legs.

“Hi,” you chirp once your faces are only inches apart. “How are you?”

“Better now,” he says with a grin as he placed his glass back on the table and snakes his arms around your waist, pulling you closer so your noses touch. “How are you, darling?”

“I’m ok, a little hungry,” you answer, wrapping your arms around his neck and rubbing your nose against his. “You smell amazing.”

“So do you,” he says softly, leaning forward to inhale your exhales. “So sweet… I want to taste you.”

His lips gently press against yours as his palm travels up your back and stops at the base of your neck. His fingers close around it just enough to keep you steady, to keep you close.

He opens his lips then, slipping his tongue out to run along your bottom lip. Your tongue meets his there before returning to its original position to let him explore.

Soft sighs and moans bounce back and forth between your mouths as the kiss deepens. Heads tilt to gain better access, and hands travel to necks, to hair, to cheeks… to hold, to stroke, to savor.

Both of your eyes are squeezed shut, too overwhelmed by your other senses to process anything else. And you don’t need to see to understand the map of his mouth. It’s a place you’ve been so many times before. A place that stays with you even when you’re away. A place that feels like home.

Your mouth tastes like wine, but as more of his saliva sits on your tongue, the flavors change. The acidity drops away almost entirely, letting notes of vanilla, dark chocolate and blackberries shine through.

“Mmm,” he hums, breaking the kiss for just a second. “This wine is delicious.”

“I was just thinking the same,” you say, amazed for the millionth time how in sync you are. “Want some more?”

He nods, and you turn to grab his glass from the table and hand it to him. But he holds his hand up,l and gestures for you to drink.

“No, you go ahead, baby,” he says. “But don’t swallow it.”

Your eyes narrow at him, but you do as he asks anyway, taking a sip and letting the liquid slosh around between your cheeks.

“Good girl,” he says. “Now, come here.”

He places his palms on either side of your neck, pulling your mouths together once again. He presses his bottom lip firmly beneath yours and uses his tongue to separate your lips, letting wine spill from your mouth into his.

Your bodies stay eerily still as the stream falls between his lips, onto his tongue. If a waiter walked in right now, he may think he stumbled upon an ancient stone fountain, lovingly crafted by skilled and passionate hands.

The last drop falls, and his hold on your neck disappears. He closes his lips and lets the wine sit on his tongue for what seems like hours, though it was only a few seconds. Then he swallows.

“Hmmm,” he hums, his face scrunching up. “Vanilla… berries?”

A smile spreads across your face.

“I got that, too. Blackberries,” you say excitedly.

“Oh, yeah, that’s it,” he confirms. “Blackberries.”

He looks up into your eyes and sends that same smile, that same expression of understanding and love, right back at you. And you’re so synchronized, you dive back in to taste his lips at the same time he does, roughly bumping foreheads and noses in the process.

“Ow! Fuck!” you exclaim, moving your hand to the bridge of your nose to assess the damage.

You clearly got the worst of the collision, though, because he just sits there smiling and giggling.

“Come here, dumbass,” he says softly, placing one big hand on the back of your neck to guide you safely back to his lips.

His lips are softer now. Maybe it’s the wine, maybe it’s the swelling. But it’s like closing silky pillows between your lips again and again and again. There’s something so comforting, so safe, about being trapped there.

“I love you,” he mumbles into your mouth, too entranced to bother breaking the kiss for three small words.

And you’re too lightheaded to even form words, so you settle for a soft moan in reply and let your fingers find his hair.

You run the soft strands through your fingers and lure sweet sounds from his mouth, like you’re playing with a marionette. Pull this strand, he moans. Pull that strand, he sighs. Rub his scalp…

The hand on your neck travels down slowly, between your shoulder blades, and follows your spine down to your ass. He grips one cheek and squeezes just enough to make you groan. He knows how to pull your strings, too.

That hand travels forward now, around your hip to the top of your thigh. It sits there for a few seconds, enough time for its owner to slide his tongue behind your teeth, feeling every ridge as he goes.

He must’ve found some confidence there, because he takes that big hand and slides it over and down, between your legs.

You stifle a moan at the same time a knock sounds from the door. The knob twists before he has time to lift his hand out from under your panties, let alone get you off his lap and back to your seat. As the door swings open, Chan whispers in your ear.

“Looks like somebody’s getting a big tip…”

…continued in part 2...

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doki-doki-imagines · 6 months

Text

Kisses

tw: some suggestive, nsfw (Johnny Cage one)

author note: another idea I needed to write out. Hope you'll enjoy reading those!

If there is something Raiden can’t stand is seeing you cry; tears and snot don’t suit you. Raiden’s warm hands cup your face, calloused hands against your soft cheeks, thumbs brushing the remaining tears “Come with me” he whispers, chocolate brown eyes looking at you with such passion they almost make you forget all your problems.

He takes you to the field where he spends most of his day “The stars here are brighter than anywhere else” he tells you, voice strong and reassuring before sitting on the ground next to you.

Words escape your mouth like a waterfall, no filter, brain shut, just the need to share, something you are not used to do.

Raiden listens to you, eyes never leaving your face, while you look at the starry sky, your eyes always elsewhere, too worried you’d lose the thread of the discourse if your eyes happened to meet.

“If I know something is that everything other than death has a solution.“ His forefinger push behind your ear a strand of your hair, the action makes you jerk, eyes widening and finally, you look at him.

There isn’t much light, but the moon frames his face perfectly. You can see a reddish hue coloring his cheeks, and a smile full of hope that makes your heart thump with joy “I’m sorry I can’t offer you a better answer, but-“ his hands grip your arms, strong, but without hurting, his strength perfectly stable “Never let yourself down, life will get better believe me.” You bite your tongue “It never does Raiden” you’d like to reply, but his words carry so much hope that you can only nod at him.

He lifts himself up from the ground and extends his hand out to help you.

“Thanks” You say after minutes of silence, your steps on the ground the only sound, not even cicadas try to interrupt.

“For the hand? It really is no-“

“For the company, for your words.” You look at him, now standing in front of your room. You kiss his cheek and wish him goodnight, a shy smile appears on his face as he waves at you.

The newfound warmness spreading from your heart is a new problem you’ll have to learn how to deal with in the next few months, for now, you can only rest and wait for a new day to start.

“You finally woke up, you idiot.” Tomas could recognize that voice between millions of others, so sweet and so caring even if they just called him an idiot.

Grey eyes scan the room, he’s in the infirmary bed, at Madame Bo restaurant. He and Kuai Liang got ambushed not that far and he remembers getting hit at the back of his head; that stung a lot.

“Do you know who I am?” Your voice trembles and Tomas has the urge to coo at you; obviously, he knows who you are, his heart keeps thrumming mercilessly against his ribcage the moment he opened his eyes.

“Yeah, I know, who do you think I am? A simple knock on the head won’t either kill me or make me lose my memory.” He half teases, but the scowl is still stuck on your face.

“Tomas-“ Your voice is serious and he can only look at you, at your trembling lips and shiny eyes “I seriously thought I lost you.” Your arms envelop his figure, your face hidden resting on top of his right shoulder, new warmth adding to Tomas one.

He is stuck in place, but his mind is running wild. His left hand pats your head and he feels the corner of his lips twitching.

You must care about him a lot.

You lift your head up, your teary eyes locking into his gray ones, pupils wide, so deep he may lose himself in them. Tomas feels the time slowing down, almost stopping, your lips inching closer and closer ‘till they finally touch.

He reciprocates, not a single second lost, your lips dancing and searching for each other, breath mingling, tongue fighting in a battle of supremacy, both wanting to feel more of each other. Tomas pulls you towards him and your body falls onto his, chest against chest, heart beating at the same rhythm, divided by the layers of your clothing. Limbs tangle, hands everywhere, caressing and groping; from an outside view, it wouldn’t be able to tell where one starts and the other one ends.

This ‘till your hand pulls Tomas’ hair. He breaks the kiss and flinch, maybe that was more than a little hit on the head. He can see you try to pull off from him, eyes full of worry, but his hands keep you in place, on his lap, fingers leaving indent on your hips that will for sure bruise.

“I-I shouldn’t have, sorry Tomas.” Your hands, so tiny and soft in contrast to his ones, push against his chest, like you are trying to distance yourself from him, head turned to the side not looking at him.

Your hair messy, your lips still red and bruised, and that worried expression, fuck, Tomas would like to frame his moment, your cuteness overwhelming all his senses.

Then you both hear a voice, it’s Madame Bo telling you to go back to work, the signal that he has to let you go. You remove yourself, Tomas’ hands finally loosening up. You brush your clothes in place and rush towards the exit.

“See you later” Tomas rasps out.

You nod.

Later you’ll have more time to talk about your feelings.

“Johnny-“ A breathy moan escapes your mouth.

The atmosphere is humid, the heat of your two bodies entangled is almost suffocating.

You missed Johnny, this new project he has been working on keeps him away from home for months. You are a supportive partner, you love him and you want to see him happy but, fuck, you missed him so much.

You are lucky he is on your same wavelength. He opens the door and your lips are already locked, hands unbuttoning shirts and pants being thrown somewhere.

“I missed you so much, Johnny.” You gasp in between kisses, your hand on the back of his neck to keep him impossibly close to you.

He groans, his hands now on your lower back lifting you up from the ground.

Everything else is a blur in your mind, you soon find yourself lying on the bed, legs open and Johnny working his tongue southward, your warm sex as inviting as water in the desert.

“Fuck-“ Your hand lay on his head, trying not to grip to harshly his dirty blonde locks.

“Yeah baby, tell me how good I am.” You look down to see his hips grind against the mattress, so desperate for you.

A wave of pleasure licks down your spine, your eyes roll back, throat exposed while you bit your bottom lip trying to keep a louder moan.

How good it is to be desired.

“J-Johnny you are so go-“ Your phrase gets interrupted by a gasp, a particular flick of his tongue makes you see stars, your legs reflexively close, but Johnny’s strong hands keep your thighs apart, fingers circling the inner side and you don’t know if it is done to calm you or him.

One of his hand leave your legs to play with your sex, his face now squeezed between your soft thighs, but your mind is too fogged to worry about crushing him, not that he minded his motions only getting faster and uncoordinated.

An orgasm soon permeates your body, Johnny lifts up, his lips drenched with your essence, his pupils blown wide, your heartbeat impossibly fast, a different kind of heat enveloping your limbs.

Your lips meet again, you taste your flavor on his tongue, lips locking, his hands now resting on your waist, pushing your chests impossibly close, but not enough, never enough.

“I love you.”

The night ahead is still long.

Bi-Han is awake, sitting on your bedding, naked, but the covers hide everything under the navel. The moon shines bright in the sky, the light and shades framing his lover's body sleeping soundly next to him.

Bi-Han is a man eaten by greed, by pride, a man made more of scars than flesh.

But you love him and he loves you. It’s a feeling he never knew, it isn’t the kind of warmth he got from his mother's compliments, or from his brother's support, it is something much more exhilarating, that makes his eyes soften and his hardened core melt more than he’d like to admit.

His eyes land on your body, so soft, so sweet, he wants to defend you from all the ugliness of this world.

Maybe from him too.

He looks outside the window, the night is still long, but there is no sign of tiredness in his eyes.

“Bi-Han, it is late you should sleep.” Bi-Han breaths, he didn’t even notice how long he had been keeping his breath in, mind so busy and heart uneasy.

Your arms wrap around his neck, naked body laying on his back, your lips kissing his neck, where arteries and veins flow.

“Worried about something?” Your eyes look at his face, he doesn’t look back but he knows, searching for any telltale sign of his emotions.

“Nothing you should worry about sparrow.” He breathes out, voice raspy as always.

You don’t believe him, he knows it. Your hand starts to trace the scars painting his skin, your lips barely caressing the newborn scratches on his back.

“Tell me your worries, my heart.” Your arms hug his frame and push him down together with you.

Bi-Han doesn’t struggle against your hold, his head now in the crook of your neck, free hair tickling you.

“Don’t worry about me, tomorrow is a busy day and you need to rest.” He kisses the tip of your nose, his calloused hand caresses your cheek, thick fingers drawing circles on your skin.

You kiss him, in a slow liplock. Eyes closed, hands holding.

Bi-Han bites your bottom lips before breaking the kiss and you groan, the only kind he likes.

He looks into your eyes and he only finds love, sweet and blissful. A new fire starts inside his heart.

Bi-Han still doesn’t know how to protect you from this accursed world, for now, he’ll have to settle for showing how much he loves you.

#mk1 x reader #mk1 imagine #mk1 x you #mk1 2023 #mortal kombat x reader #mk1 smoke #mk1 raiden #mk1 johnny cage #mk1 bi han #mk1 sub zero #obvs the first smutty fic for mk is for Johnny #me and my disease of liking my men dumb LMAO

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halfvalid · 7 months

Text

the blade daughter, pt. 2

ABOUT

pt. 1 | pt. 2 | pt. 3

alternate title: dracule mihawk cures your daddy issues!

rating: mature

characters: live action!roronoa zoro | fem!reader | live action!dracule mihawk | live action!straw hat ensemble

pairing: live action!roronoa zoro x fem!reader

word count: 23.6k total | 8k this part

description: after joining the straw hats on board the going merry, you're confused as to what to do with your life from now—and you can't help but get closer to zoro.

tags: mihawk's daughter!reader, female reader, canon-typical violence, cursing, no use of 'y/n', pet names per mihawk ('dear', 'darling', 'sweetheart', 'little hawk'), emotional hurt/comfort, slow burn, patching of wounds

author’s note: second chapter! i hope you like it <3 out of the three this one's probably my favorite personally, i really like the wound-stitching scene & i think it's one of the best scenes ive ever written. i'm suchhh a slut for the patching up of wounds trope.

You rose before the sun, careful to pack your belongings all in one sack. Considering the very little amount you’d brought, it was a relatively easy task—leaving the sloop would be fine, too, as you paid for the slip for a few months longer at least. Your father had so many ships across so many seas it hardly mattered much anymore.

You double-checked that you had all of your things before shutting down and leaving the sloop, consulting some of the dock men to transfer a boat lift under the berth. You moved carefully across the east port, making quick time as you returned to the Straw Hats’ ship in slip fifty-two.

There were apparent signs of life when you reached the ship, even with the sky cast over in dark hues of navy. All of the dead bodies had been removed, for one, and dock men were loading barrels up on the deck while Sanji watched over them. His expression brightened as his gaze fell across you.

“Lady Dracule!” he called out, slipping off from the barrel on which he’d been perched to meet you at the pier. You gave him an unimpressed look.

“I have a name, you know.”

“Oh, I wasn’t aware of that,” Sanji answered, a lopsided grin pulling up the side of his face. You rolled his eyes and introduced yourself, which only prompted a brighter smile and a steady pat of his hand on your back. “A fine name, for a fine woman.”

“Sanji, stop flirting with the crew.” You glanced up to see Nami, one hip cocked to the side with her hand on her waist, staring down with an exasperated glint in her eye. “Welcome aboard the Going Merry. Sorry I was a little grouchy last night. I don’t like having my sleep interrupted.” She leaned down to offer you her hand, and you took it, climbing aboard the ship.

“The Going Merry?”

“Fits it, don’t you think?” Sanji asked from behind you. Nami eyed him again, volume dropping as she tilted her head towards yours.

“He’ll quit with the sweet talk eventually. I’ll give you a tour once we’ve cast off. We’re just waiting for Zoro to get back from town, and then we’re all set.” She turned to bark out another few orders to Sanji— “Finish up with the crates already!”

“Anything you want, madam,” Sanji said with a little bow. Nami let out a long-suffering sigh.

“Luffy already prepared a room for you. I’ll show you to it.” She led you below deck, back towards the ship’s aft. There was a collection of rooms all crammed together, one beside the other. “These are the women’s quarters. Men’s’ are all the way at the front of the ship.” She nodded behind her. “You get this one here. Sorry, it’s small.”

She opened the door to the very last room, and you stepped inside, surveying your surroundings. It wasn’t much; the cabin barely scraped by as a room, consisting of only a wardrobe, a hanging bed, and a small table and chair stuck in the corner. A round window at the very edge of the room revealed the water just a mere few feet below.

“It’ll do fine, thank you,” you said. Your room back at home was far more ornate, but you’d never been picky.

“You can sleep for a few more hours,” Nami said, lingering by the cabin mouth. “Come find me when you’re ready for a tour. We should be setting off in a few moments, if Zoro’s back.”

You gave her a smile, and she left, the patter of her footsteps dying off as she walked further and further away.

It didn’t take you long to get arranged, and afterwards, you gingerly sat down on the bed, the rope tied to the ceiling causing it to sway under you. You were still uncertain about boarding the ship, but you couldn't exactly return to your sloop now. And it wasn’t the worst idea in the world, you tried to convince yourself.

You felt the ship start moving just a few moments later, and you stood up, walking across the rocking ship to get up to the deck. You were making fast time, Loguetown’s silhouette rapidly getting swallowed in the gulp of the horizon.

Nami was bickering with Zoro and Luffy when you found her. “What even took you so long? We were due to leave a half-hour ago.”

“I was getting new swords,” Zoro said calmly. Nami eyed him, then yanked something out of his hand. A wallet, it looked like, stuffed with bills of berry. “You can’t be mad at me. I spent less than half of your budget.”

“They scammed you,” Nami scoffed, eyeing the katanas at Zoro’s hip. Zoro simply shrugged. “A sword for free? It’s probably made of plastic.”

Zoro snorted. “I’d be able to tell.”

Nami cast him a look, gaze unimpressed under the line of her eyelashes. “You can’t tell the difference between a ship mast and a tree.”

“Yeah, but I know swords.”

“Oh, hey!” Luffy, who’d seemed tuned out of his crewmates’ conversation, said as he spotted you. “Glad to see you here. Officially part of the crew.”

“Oh, well…” you hesitated. “Not so sure if I’ll be joining you forever.” Luffy looked confused by that, but not particularly offended—Nami and Zoro had turned to watch you, too, argument dying on trembling legs. “Right now the plan is to help you get to the Grand Line. From there you can drop me home. And then we’ll part ways.”

“If you change your mind…” Luffy trailed off, then patted you on the shoulder. “Nami, were you going to show her around?”

“I was, but I’ve got some mapping to do.” Nami glanced over at Zoro. “Hey. Make yourself useful.”

“I hate you,” Zoro muttered. He brushed past you, just barely motioning with his head for you to follow. “Afterdeck.”

You stepped into the small space. It was easily the most secluded place on the ship deck, decorated with three young tangerine trees in white boxy planters. “I like your trees.”

“They’re Nami’s trees.” Zoro gestured with his head again, and you followed him. The tour was brief; Zoro didn’t have much to say, generally just showing you a room before telling you what it was and departing for the next area.

You were about halfway through the tour when Zoro spoke again, the words abrupt in his throat. He spat them out rather than spoke them, and you got the impression he’d been mulling over talking for a while— “You ever beat your dad in combat?”

You snorted. “No.”

Zoro didn’t look at you, opting instead to push through the next doorway and gesture vaguely around him to show you the surroundings. “Gotten close?”

“Never.” You shrugged. “He taught me the basics, but I wasn’t the best student. He’d try to be strict and everything, but… sword fighting isn’t really my thing. You’re probably better than me.”

Zoro gazed at you skeptically. “He taught you.”

“Yeah.”

“Do you—” He paused, mouth open for a moment before resuming his sentence. He didn’t sound particularly hesitant, but the pause had you stifling a smile anyway, knowing he was at least a little bit flustered. “We should train together.”

“Was that a question?”

“Not really.” Zoro’s lip quirked, one side of his mouth tugging upwards in an odd semblance of a smile. He didn’t seem the type to smile often, though, so it didn’t look out of ordinary on his face. “Have you seen enough of the ship yet, or do you want me to show you the bilge too?”

“I’m good, thanks,” you answered primly. “Now did you want to fight me or not?”

Zoro actually smiled at that.

You decided to train on the main deck, in an area wide enough to not bump into anyone else. You shed your jacket, pulling Hiru out of its scabbard. Zoro winced as the sun hit the silver blade, reflecting a blinding gleam off its surface. “That a stylistic choice?”

“I polish things when I get anxious,” you answered. “So not really.”

“Right.” Zoro untied a black bandana from where it was fixed on his bicep, fingers working fluidly against the knot. Once he got it untied, he wrapped it around his head, tying it carefully around his head. Afterwards, he slid one of his swords out of its scabbard, holding it with his fingers to follow with the other. “How low should my expectations be?”

“I don’t know, you tell me,” you answered. Zoro let a soft sound out through his mouth, but he said no more, transferring one sword to each hand. He moved carefully, arms arching over his head to lower to each of his sides. You lifted Hiru up, more casual in your movements than Zoro was.

You paid more attention to Zoro than the actual fight when you started moving. You figured you’d have time to genuinely practice later—you hadn’t kept a close eye on the swordsman in the battle against the pirate hunters, and your curiosity was eating at you. Zoro was all angles when he fought, elbows lifted and limbs pin-straight. That wasn’t to say there was no flexibility in his movements, though—he dodged your oncoming attacks easily, sidestepping with a light twist of the torso so your blade cut air instead of flesh.

Just a few seconds in you could tell Zoro was far, far better than you. You parried one of his attacks, gasp ripping from your throat as you just barely managed to block off a slash from his katana with Hiru. He spun towards you, careful not to actually cut as his blade came for the throat. You managed to dodge just in time, moving backwards with a quick patter of your feet against the wooden deck.

There was barely anything skewed in his motions, you were soon to realize. He was perfect in every sense of the word. Your styles were vastly different, of course—Zoro mainly relied on his blades, and his physicality was carefully practiced, no curves or bends apparent in the straight lines and slants of his body. In comparison, you were much more slippery, focusing mainly on your agility to carry you throughout a fight rather than your strength.

“Your elbow,” Zoro said. You barely managed to respond, letting out a grunt of effort as you blocked Zoro’s oncoming attack.

“Hm?”

Zoro’s katana came from the left. He used the other one to knock your arm up, nearly gentle in his movements, and you were reminded of how Mihawk used to train you—stopping mid-fight to reposition your limbs, using his sword to carefully push your hands in the right places. “You’re dropping it.”

“I don’t care much for angles,” you answered, ducking under Zoro’s incoming blade and sliding off to the side instead of trying to shove against it. Zoro seemed startled by that, struck off-balance as he stumbled, turning to face you.

You jerked your sword towards him, one leg coming up to shove against his torso whilst doing so. You managed to knock him fully off-balance then, and he staggered against his feet, teetering precariously backwards. “Your center of gravity is screwed.”

“You dad kept flinging me around the pier,” Zoro said. You raised your brows, the phrase nonsensical to your ears. But it did sound like Mihawk. “It run in the family?”

“Very funny.” You dodged another slash of Zoro’s swords. “The only thing I picked up well in our lessons was about keeping balance.”

“And dodging, apparently.” You snickered at that, parrying another one of Zoro’s attacks—but it was getting harder and harder, what with the immense strength of his body you simply couldn’t keep up with. As flexible as you were, you weren’t quick enough this time, and Zoro swept you off your feet so you fell to the ground, wind bursting out of your chest all in one rush. Hiru clattered a few feet away, your fingers unfolding from their grip and letting it move freely.

Zoro slid his swords back in their sheaths, letting them close with a satisfying click. “You fight too defensively.”

You lay there for a moment, trying to gather air back into your lungs. “Never found a point in attacking others, really.” You got up, straightening your shirt before bending over to pick Hiru up from the floor. “Good fight.”

“Yeah,” Zoro said, but his voice was weak, tapering off to blend in with the wind. He had an uncertain look on his face, big brown eyes all fuzzy around the edges, like there was some cloudlike film covering him from seeing properly. You frowned at him.

“Is that because I’m worse or better than you expected?” you asked, gesturing vaguely up at his expression. Zoro blinked, the fog over his eyes clearing as he glanced down to meet your gaze. You waited expectantly, but he didn’t say anything. “Zoro?” you prompted.

“Sorry,” Zoro said. “I’m—I’m going to go to my cabin.”

You watched him leave, growing more quizzical by the second. Well, you’d gotten what you’d come there for, anyway. Roronoa Zoro was a great swordsman. And he certainly had the potential to be the greatest in the world, too—a realization that shook you a little, heart trembling from where it was fixed in your chest cavity. You swallowed hard, mind replaying the firm motions of his body from the fight. He’d been confident, sure of himself. You had even forgotten he still hosted Yoru’s slash along his torso from just a week or so prior, he’d been so… perfect.

“He’s good, huh?”

You startled, turning to see Usopp sitting atop a pile of crates like a king on a throne. He was picking at his fingernails. “Zoro,” he clarified. “Best swordsman in the East Blue.”

“Yeah,” you said, glancing over at where Zoro had left. “He is.”

Usopp eyed you for a moment. “Your shell phone is ringing.”

You startled, patting down your figure before finally unearthing your phone from where it was tucked safely away in your pocket. You opened it, pushing the den den mushi in your ear as it vibrated, little mouth making soft rumbling sounds to catch your attention. Usopp clearly didn’t know a thing about privacy, though, because he kept watching even as you picked up— “Hello?”

“Back home yet, darling?” Mihawk asked over the line, and you relaxed, your entire body going slack with comfort as you heard the familiar low hum of your father’s voice. “I figured you’d go back as quickly as possible.”

“No, actually,” you said. “Luffy roped me into coming aboard his ship.”

You could practically see Mihawk’s brows lift up in surprise. “You joined the Straw Hat pirate’s crew?”

“No. They’re bringing me home. I’m helping them get to the Grand Line,” you corrected. Mihawk hummed, the sound a crackle of monotony through the den den mushi’s mouth.

“And why, pray tell, would you do that?”

You chewed at your bottom lip, glancing off the side of the Going Merry to the East Blue. The sun had risen fully, fixing itself in a warm beam in the sky. “I was curious about Roronoa Zoro. You never told me why you left him alive. Or why you let Luffy go.” You could still feel Usopp’s gaze on you while you spoke, and you just knew he’d be telling the rest of his crew this after your conversation finished. “So I wanted to figure out your reasoning.”

“Ah,” Mihawk said. “Has he healed from Yoru’s wound yet?”

“It’s not like I tore off his shirt to check, dad,” you muttered. Mihawk barked out a laugh, and you startled at the sound before settling down again. “He walks fine. I saw bandages.”

Mihawk seemed pleased by that. “Wonderful. He’s a hardy one. You should fight him.”

“Already did,” you answered. “He beat me.”

Mihawk considered that for a moment. “Eh, I saw that coming.”

You scoffed. “You have no faith in me. Where are you now?”

“South Blue, still,” Mihawk replied. “Are you at least enjoying yourself there? It’ll be good for you to make friends, sweetheart. You don’t get much social interaction other than me and the villagers, after all.”

“I’m not here to make friends, I’m here to get a ride home,” you said insistently, but your voice was weak, and Mihawk clearly didn’t believe you. Your mind wandered back to Zoro—the firm muscle of his body, the hushed tone he spoke in, and you found your face pinkening. “One of them—one of them wants to kill you. That’s his entire life’s purpose. To murder you.”

“I think you’re being a tad bit broad, darling,” Mihawk said with a click of his tongue. “You seem rather enamored with this particular young swordsman. Something to say?”

“I—” your words fumbled in your mouth, and you were certain you were entirely pink now, the sun’s glowing rays only making your face warmer than it was rapidly turning. “Stop. I’m hanging up now.”

Mihawk’s voice was tastefully dry when he responded. “I’m sure.”

“Shut up, old man,” you grumbled.

“Right. Remember the rule, dear,” Mihawk trilled, and despite his voice being as monotone as ever, you could still identify the undertones of it—laced with syrupy mocking, all teasing and dramatic. “No dating unless he can beat you in combat!”

You actually did hang up this time, practically tearing the den den mushi out of your ear. You huffed out an irritated breath, rubbing a circle into the shell of your snail as an apology just a moment later. “Sorry,” you murmured. “My dad’s a bitch.”

The snail just let out a little grumble in response. You tucked it back into its case and snapped the phone shut.

“Aw, we’re not allowed to say hi?” You spun around at the new voice, glaring upon seeing Sanji and Luffy having joined Usopp in his eavesdropping. Sanji bore a gigantic grin on his face. “Sounded like an interesting conversation.”

“None of you know what boundaries are,” you muttered, but it was light-hearted.

You didn’t see Zoro until suppertime, a fact that rang odd in your head. It seemed like he’d completely evaporated from the ship, disappearing around every corner as you spent the rest of the day getting to know the rest of the crew better. Something had happened, but you weren’t exactly sure what—and you weren’t exactly sure if you were close enough to him to even ask, yet.

Sanji had cooked up a dinner so fine you doubted it could even quality as ship food. From your time traveling with your father, rations on-board hadn’t been much of anything—a few scraps of bread or dried meat, old apples, perhaps some fish if you were lucky. Mihawk hadn’t the biggest priority on eating well, but the Straw Hat crew seemed to have the exact opposite opinion. You were served a bowl of miso soup along with a bowl of rice, and dishes of tofu and oyster sauce stir-fried vegetables were carefully laid out all across the table.

“Bon appétit,” Sanji said, taking a half-bow before slipping into the last seat around the table. “I hope it’s to your liking. Yours especially, Lady Dracule.” He gave you a little wink at that. You just stared at him.

“I thought I told you my name.”

“Well, you did, but I thought Lady Dracule had a nice ring to it.”

“It doesn’t,” you said. Nami stifled a snort, the hand not holding her chopsticks coming up to cover her mouth. Sanji didn’t look the slightest bit dissuaded. You turned your attention on Zoro, who hadn’t spoken a word throughout the whole meal. He was rather studiously focused on his bowl, eyes picking apart the grains of rice like they’d reveal the world’s greatest secrets.

Carefully, you leaned towards Nami, voice coming out in a hushed whisper. “Is he okay?”

“He gets like that sometimes,” Nami answered, her words drowned out by Usopp and Luffy’s cheerful conversation. “Nobody can crack him except for Luffy. I’d just leave him be.”

“You don’t know why?”

Nami just shrugged. “Hell, we’re all depressed sometimes. Not within my rights to question him.”

You nodded, but your gaze didn’t move away from Zoro’s figure. There was a particular squeezing sensation deep in your chest—a little flip-flop thing, a sort of panging you couldn’t quite place. He glanced up, dark eyes meeting yours for just a fraction of a second. But he didn’t flinch away. He just returned your gaze, strong and unblinking.

To your surprise, Zoro was the first to look away, craning his neck to study his bowl again and continuing on like your extended bout of eye contact hadn’t even happened. You watched him, dumbstruck, until Nami nudged you in the shoulder. The rest of the group’s idle chatter had died down, and Usopp and Sanji were staring at you, low murmurs falling out of their mouths. You cleared your throat, finally dropping your gaze from the green-haired swordsman and attempting to ignore the fact everyone had caught you staring.

You didn’t do much of anything after supper—you just returned to your cabin, carefully walking across the creaking boards of the ship. Luffy assigned you mid watch, so you had a few hours to sleep before waking up at midnight to look out for any enemies.

You couldn’t find yourself falling asleep even after you’d slipped into bed. You’d changed, a loose blouse light against your skin, black silk shorts grazing your thighs. It was cold out, so you shrugged on a robe as you headed out into the darkness of the Going Merry. You emerged out on the deck, taking in a breath of the night air as you glanced to see who had the night watch.

Just your luck. It was Zoro.

He seemed tranquil, lounging across a hammock with his white sword—the Wado Ichimonji—cradled in his arms. In the dim light you couldn’t see if his eyes were open or closed, but as you got closer, he cracked one of them open, a gleam reflecting off his right iris. “Hi,” you said, moving over to the side of the ship to watch the waves on the water.

Zoro didn’t deign to respond, so you just stood there, watching the sea lap at the side of the ship until eventually the hour struck twelve. Zoro left soundlessly. You stayed awake all throughout your watch until Usopp came to relieve you of your duties.

Zoro was avoiding you.

A few days had passed since you first boarded the Going Merry. They hadn’t been of much interest—just days of practicing with your sword and chatting with the crew, for the most part. You helped around the ship, completing various tasks apparently none of the members knew or cared enough to do. You were just emerging from the bilge, having done basic maintenance to ensure everything was working properly, when you bumped into him. The man was apparently taking a nap, though you couldn’t figure out why the storage area was a very good place to sleep. Still, he seemed comfortable enough, long body splayed along a grouping of crates.

“Hi,” you said, for what seemed like the hundredth time over a few days. Zoro just averted his gaze and let out a little grunt in response. You stared at him for a moment. The realization had dawned on you ever since the first day, but it was growing more and more apparent, and you were baffled as to what you’d done to incur the silent treatment.

“Hi,” you repeated, more purposefully this time.

“Hey,” Zoro said, though the word was clearly bitter in his mouth. You propped your hands on your hips and stared down at him.

“You’re avoiding me.”

Zoro closed his eyes, expression not even changing. “You’re not that special.”

“Ever since we fought that one time, you’ve been ignoring me,” you barreled on, entirely ignoring his quip. Zoro cocked a brow, eyes still closed, and you glared down at it. “I’d like to know why.”

“Why do you care? We’re not friends.”

“Isn’t it natural to want to know why someone is mad at you?” you demanded, perplexed. Zoro sighed then, shifting around on his boxes.

“I’m not mad at you.” You heaved out a sigh even more irritated than Zoro’s. Your experience in the realm of dealing with close-lipped men’s personal issues was, unfortunately, rather well-seasoned. You’d had to coax situations out of your father, one hand pressed against Yoru’s hilt to prevent Mihawk from lashing out his frustrations rather than explaining them. But that didn’t mean you were all too fond of it.

“Okay, well, why else would you be ignoring me then?”

Zoro’s response was annoyingly frank. “It’s not really any of your business.”

You pursed your lips, trying to suppress the irritated noise that threatened to burst from your throat. “I don’t like being on bad terms with people,” you started. “If I did something to piss you off, I’d very much like it if you—”

The floor slipped out from underneath you before you could finish your sentence. You fell with a graceless clatter, lurching forward into the stack of crates Zoro was leaning on, words dying on your tongue. The entire boat trembled, quivering from side to side as if the ocean waves had suddenly propelled a thousand more ripples at its surface.

Zoro sat immediately up, one hand pushing you off of him as he scrambled off the crates. “What was that?”

“I don’t—” Just a moment after regaining your balance, there was another dull thud and a row of quivers. You remained steady this time, glancing carefully around you before you and Zoro were both hurrying up towards the ship deck. The Going Merry was in chaos when you emerged, Nami at the helm while Sanji was firing up a cannon beside her.

“What’s going on?” you demanded, the tails of your coat lapping around your calves as you hurried up besides Luffy.

“Pirates,” Luffy said grimly, nodding towards a ship that was quickly gaining on you. “They blew through the stern railing. Do any of you recognize the jolly roger?”

You glanced up, taking in the billowing sail boasting a pure-white jolly roger with a top hat and mustache. “Nope. These things are getting more and more ridiculous,” you muttered.

“Yeah,” Luffy agreed, affronted. “Ours is way better.”

You turned your gaze up at the Straw Hat crew’s aforementioned jolly roger. “...No comment.”

“We can’t outrun them!” Nami shouted from her place at the helm. Sanji had successfully nailed a cannonball into the railing of the oncoming ship, but they had a dozen more men. “I’m going to try to get closer. Best chance we have is one-on-one combat.” She turned to fix the small grouping with a glare. “Don’t just stand there. Get to it!”

You launched into action, hurrying to climb up the rigging to get a better view as Nami veered hard to starboard. The enemy ship had dropped their cannons, and you could see them preparing to board the Merry, grabbing onto loose ropes of rigging. “They’re going to swing over,” you reported, watching as the ship tilted in your direction, gaining on you. “I see maybe two or three dozen men.”

You hesitated, glancing around at the rather stationary crew around you. Your lip tugged between your teeth, and you stood there for a moment, unspoken words heavy on your tongue. You could see the captain yelling out orders on the ship across from you, and you turned abruptly, fixing Sanji with a look.

“Sanji, trade with Usopp. I want you to nail a cannon at their port stern.”

“W—What? Me?” Usopp stuttered. You nodded.

“I want Sanji on the frontlines. That should be close enough now.” You gazed out at the rapidly thinning gap between the two ships. One final cannonball whizzed towards, and you ducked, watching as it just brushed the side of the Merry. The ship rocked, and you tightened your grip on the rigging, satisfied to see it’d barely left a mark.

“They’re coming over,” Sanji reported, and you nodded, sliding Hiru out from your scabbard as enemy pirates started swinging over on ropes. Luffy was the first to react, an arching, rubbery limb catching one of them midair and yanking them down into the ocean. Boots thudded on the ground as the enemy pirates landed aboard the Going Merry.

“Time for a fight,” Zoro murmured, barely audible from your left. You jumped down from the rigging, sword coming down to crash against one of the enemy pirates. He reacted slowly, pistol cocking towards your chest—but you just brushed it to the side with Hiru, cutting it straight out his hand and following up with a flurry of sword thrusts.

Besides you, you saw Sanji sliding into battle, spinning on his palms to deliver a mean right hook to someone’s jawbone. An audible crack pierced the air, and you winced, breezing backwards on your feet as two pirates closed in on you.

Luffy seemed to have engaged in a one-on-one with the enemy captain, who was easily identifiable due to the gigantic top hat perched upon his head. He had thick black hair tied neatly back in a ponytail, and a mustache and beard to match. A thick cutlass was tightened in one fist, thrusted towards Luffy—but every sweep was dodged with unbelievable bends of the torso.

You turned your attention away, whipping your sword at the pirates that surrounded you. Hiru clashed with their blades, gleaming silver scraping against theirs. You leaned forward, and the blade before you broke with the pressure, sword snapping under Hiru’s will.

The sword dropped out of the pirate’s hand, and you took the opportunity to pull your leg up, kicking him squarely in the jaw. The other lunged for you, and your fist dug into their torso, hands gripping tight to their belt. You bent over, twisting into his body to push him over your shoulder in a sweeping throw.

He fell to the floor all in one, and you landed a kick to his chest just to ensure he wouldn’t get up again. Another man—bigger, this time, probably half your width and inches taller—gunned for you.

You sidestepped him easily, agility tilting in your favor as you escaped his grasp. It was harder to take this one down—while you could dodge him well enough, and parry his oncoming attacks, he was simply too strong to compete with. Strength isn’t everything, little hawk, Mihawk would always tell you. Everyone has a weakness. Get them off balance. Use your points.

The man delivered a stinging left hook to your torso, and you gasped. He took the opportunity to grab onto your wrist, grip so tight you couldn’t move your hand. Hiru clattered out from between your fingers. You directed a hit with your elbow towards the pirate’s sternum, but it was oddly-placed, and he just sneered down at you.

One of his large fists rose to thud against your skull, and you braced for impact, but the blow never landed. A warm squishing sound of a sword against skin made your entire body shudder, and you turned to stare as your assailant’s head slid cleanly off of his neck.

Zoro was behind him when his body collapsed, sword slick with blood as he spun it lazily around in a hand. “Careful,” he said.

You gaped up at him for merely a second more before you realized your jaw was ajar. You flushed, bending over to fish Hiru up from the floor. “I was fine.”

Zoro just thrust his sword cleanly into the torso of an incoming pirate, eyes not breaking away from yours. He slid it out with a sickening sound, flicking the blood off the blade with a motion of his hand. “A thank you might be nice.”

“Behind you,” you said instead, but Zoro was already reacting. You watched him, an incurable sigh perched on the tip of your tongue. He was good. He was really, really good, and you didn’t know how to feel about it. “Is that most of them?”

“I think—” Zoro cut himself off, glancing over his shoulder as you both hear the familiar yell of Luffy’s voice screaming out one of his final moves. You both watched, soundless, as his foot smashed into the top hat pirate’s face, flinging him all the way across the water straight into the mast of his own ship. Only mere seconds later did the mast crack, the wooden pole falling down in a glorious, wooden heap.

“...Yeah, we’re fine.” Zoro said. He leaned down, grabbing the shirt of one of the fallen pirates to wipe his blade with before sliding it back in its scabbard. “Let’s get out of here.”

“On it.” Nami snapped her bo staff closed—when she’d jumped down into the battle, you were unsure, but she was already returning to her place at the helm. “Toss these bodies off our boat, would you, Zoro?”

“Right.” Zoro bent over, easily picking up the fallen pirate and chucking the corpse overboard without another thought. You watched him the entire time, the strain of his biceps against his skin forming solid ridges up his arms.

“I can clean your swords,” you said, words a bit too late out of your mouth. Zoro glanced up, brow creased. “While you’re doing that.”

Zoro looked uncertain, but he unstrapped the scabbards from his hip, handing the twin katanas to you. You took them, glancing over his figure again. He moved with difficulty, and while you’d originally thought that was because of the bodies’ weight, you now saw the real reason. Lines of crimson were seeping through his shirt, a pool by the left side of his lower abdomen the biggest injured site. You took an involuntary step forward. “You’re hurt.”

“I can treat them later,” Zoro said dismissively. “Gotta clean up the Merry first.”

“No, mosshead, the lady is right,” Sanji said. You startled, not having noticed him slip up beside you. “Usopp and I can manage with waste control, eh?” He winked. “Go clean up.”

Zoro glared at him, the look dripping with malice, but he didn’t argue past that. “Fine,” he said, chucking another body—this one alive—off the side of the ship before straightening. You heard the hitch in his breath as he spoke, along with the near-imperceptible wince of his face. “You good, Luffy?”

“A little hungry,” Luffy responded truthfully. He was still watching the other ship. Fire had started aboard it, and soft billows of black smoke drifted in the air. “Can you cook something up later, Sanji?”

“Got it,” Sanji said. “Tell your first mate to patch up his wound before he bleeds out all over our beautiful deck.”

“The deck isn’t beautiful, it’s got blood and guts all over it,” Zoro muttered.

“Well, have a little respect and don’t add to the mess.” Sanji fixed him with a stern look. Zoro bared his teeth at him in a grimace, extracting a sharp little laugh out of your throat. His eyes brushed over yours, a glimmer of surprise dancing in his irises, before he ducked inside.

“Why are you following me?” Zoro asked flatly, as you entered the cabin he’d gone into. You’d hastened to keep up with him, only a few steps behind before finding the room he’d gone into. Zoro had propped himself up on the hanging bed, loosening the ties of his wrap shirt to expose his bare chest.

“I was wondering if you needed any help with your wounds.” You deposited Zoro’s swords, along with Hiru, on the table in the room, moving closer to him to survey the scene. “If you wanted it.”

Zoro’s gaze met yours, and he said nothing for a moment. “First aid kit’s over there,” he finally said, nodding to the table. You moved towards it, opening up the small box to expose supplies of bandages, needles, stitch string, and disinfectant inside. You carried the box over to the bed, sanitizing your hands before carefully parting the folds of Zoro’s shirt. The cloth stuck to skin, coagulating blood making the shirt peel rather than move. Now that his entire torso was bared, though, you could fully inspect his wounds. There were still bandages from Yoru’s cut, all dirtied up now from his other injuries—you’d have to take them off and re-dress them, so he’d be in the bed for thirty minutes at least.

You turned your attention to the cut by Zoro’s abdomen, deciding it was the most important thing to focus on. The cut wasn’t too deep, but it was gushing a steady flow of blood, and you picked up a towel to press against the wound. “Hold,” you instructed, and Zoro’s fingers brushed against yours as he took a hold of the cloth. “Thanks. I’ve got to take your bandages off, then I’ll clean and dress all the wounds. That one down there might need stitches.”

“How do you know how to do this?” Zoro asked, watching as you unwrapped the previous bandages from around his chest. You were careful to touch his skin as little as possible, distracting yourself with the blood and gauze.

“My dad,” you answered. You’d spent too many late nights patching up a wound Mihawk had brushed off as unimportant, only to wind up bleeding out on your couch. Zoro raised a brow.

“Dracule Mihawk gets injured?”

“Of course he does,” you said with a huff. “Don’t be stupid. He’s a man, just like the rest of you.” The gash from Yoru had fully scabbed over, revealing a long, trembling crust of dark ochre. You finished peeling off all the bandages, and cast them to the side.

“You know a lot.”

“Jack of all trades, master of none,” you quipped. You moved away from the desk to fill a bucket with warm water, dipping a cloth into it and squeezing out the excess. You dabbed around Yoru’s scab with the cloth, careful not to break the shell while still cleaning it of any extra gunk. Then you focused on flushing out the other wounds, wiping across his skin and getting all the little nicks on his chest and arms. Zoro didn’t say a word, but you could feel his eyes boring into your skull, watching you with a hardened intensity that made your insides churn.

You nudged his hand away, examining the big cut. The rag he was holding had filled up with blood, white cotton dyed red and sodden with liquid. Thankfully, the bleeding seemed to have lessened. You wiped up all the last of it with your towel, swiping it against the pills of blood that had caught along the waistband of his trousers. Zoro hissed as you came into contact with the wound. “Sorry,” you murmured.

“Why are you apologizing?”

You frowned at that. “Because it hurt?”

“I thought you were mad at me,” Zoro said stiffly. You raised your brows. “Since… you thought I was annoyed at you, or whatever.”

“Just because you feel a certain kind of way towards me doesn’t mean I reciprocate the same feelings,” you answered, setting aside your towel after deciding everything had been cleaned out well enough. You picked up another cloth, dabbing this one with some alcohol to disinfect the wound. “This is going to sting,” you warned.

Zoro’s jaw clenched, teeth grinding against each other as you flushed out the wound. His torso clenched, and your eyes fell across his exposed midriff, watching the tight skin that was seemingly sculpted into muscles. You glanced away just a moment later, a dusting of warmth brushing over your cheeks. “On that topic,” you hastened to say, trying to distract yourself from the half-naked man in front of you, “Why were you avoiding me?”

Zoro let out a sigh, the sound stuttered as he clenched his jaw again when you brushed your towel against his wound. You waited, taking out a fresh cloth to dab at the other nicks on his body. You examined the wound near his left side again. “Stitches.”

“Great,” Zoro muttered. You ignored him, searching in the kit for some needle and thread. “Can you take the stitches out from your dad’s yet?”

“Ha ha. You’re going to need those for a few more weeks,” you said, without even looking at the scab to check. “Ask me again later. Yoru cuts are deadly.”

Zoro let his eyes flutter closed. “It’s a great sword.”

“Yeah, it is,” you said. You paused from where you were threading the needle, glancing up at Zoro’s face now that you knew he couldn’t catch you staring. He looked so peaceful in this state, eyelashes splayed along his cheeks, dark umber freckles that you hadn’t noticed before splattered across his face. There were dozens of them, skin sun-worn and bearing the marks as proof—constellations of dark brown stars, so similar to his warm, glowing skin it was easy to miss. A five-o’-clock shadow traced around his mouth, and at his left ear, his golden earrings gleamed bright.

“I don’t feel anything,” Zoro said, and you snapped out of your reverie, fingers fumbling to finish threading your needle.

“Patience is a virtue, you know,” you hissed. Zoro snorted.

“Yeah, one I don’t have.” You rolled your eyes, tying off the string and bending down to examine the cut again. It wasn’t too wide—maybe five or six stitches at most. You gave Zoro no warning except for the light brush of your fingers against the wound, and he hissed again.

You glanced up. “Do you want something to bite on?”

“I’m not a toddler,” Zoro sneered. You mouthed his words mockingly, though you didn’t actually speak them, not wanting him to catch you doing such an immature action. You fixed your gaze back on the wound, free hand resting flat against Zoro’s abdomen to steady you—his skin was warm under your palm, and you expected him to say something, but to your surprise, he didn’t even flinch.

The first puncture came carefully. Zoro hissed, the sound of a low rumble in his throat as you felt his abdomen clench under your palm. You forced yourself to continue, pulling the thread fully through the skin before moving onto the other side of the wound. You did it again, carefully to keep the string untangled as it ran through Zoro’s flesh.

“It wasn’t because I was mad at you,” Zoro said abruptly, and you paused, glancing up to look at Zoro’s face. His eyes were still closed, brows contorted tight and mouth bared down into a grimace. “Don’t stop. I wasn’t avoiding you because I was angry. Or because of anything you did.”

“Why, then?” you asked, lowering your head to continue with your stitches. Zoro took in a sharp breath at the next one, the edges of a scream cutting into his breath but not fully escaping from his throat. You were rubbing a comforting circle into his stomach before you could stop yourself—muscle memory from patching up your dad’s wounds. You swallowed hard, but didn’t stop the motions—Zoro didn’t seem offended by them.

His voice was raggedy when he spoke again. “Fighting against you. It reminded me of—my friend, from back then. I told you about her.”

Your lips pursed, but you didn’t stall your actions, running the thread through the hole you’d pricked. “The one you made the promise to?”

“Yeah,” Zoro said, the word falling out all in one breath. You fixed the string tight along the wound, fingers splayed across his stomach warning him for the next puncture. He continued speaking despite it, and your needle hovered over his skin. “We were training together—fuck.”

“Sorry,” you said again, still running your thread through his skin as he heaved out a long, ragged groan from low in his throat.

“We were training together,” he repeated. “Haven’t done that in a while with a girl. So it—” His voice tapered off in another breathy groan. “Reminded me of her. I got bitchy.”

“Yeah, I noticed,” you said. You were getting close to the end of the wound now, but your actions slowed, just to keep him talking—the words came out all harsh and hesitant, and you got the feeling speaking about his past was a laborious task. Might as well let him have the safety of avoiding your eyes like this while he spoke. “Do I look like her or something?”

Zoro huffed out a laugh. “Ha. No.”

“Okay,” you said. You pierced his skin again—he took this one better, muscles clenching as he sucked in hard. You waited until you finished the stitch to speak again. “Are you going to keep avoiding me?”

“No,” Zoro said. His words pierced the air, weighed heavy with a gasp of pain and a hiss, but it still rang sharp in your ears. He eased out a breath, long and soft. “It was unfair. Can’t help it sometimes, that’s all.”

“That’s fine,” you answered carefully. You threaded one last stitch, both of you mute as you tightened the wound closed with the suture and tied it off. You snipped the string with a pocketknife, using another damp towel to clean up any of the excess blood. “I’m going to dress everything with bandages now. Almost done.”

“Okay,” Zoro said. You reorganized your supplies, tucking away your stitching things to replace with bandages and dressing pads. You washed your hands again, then returned to bend over Zoro’s torso. When you did, you were surprised to see Zoro’s eyes had opened, soft brown irises boring into yours. You swallowed, feeling the burn of his gaze into your skin as you stared at the skin of his midsection.

“I’ll do the big one first, then everything else,” you said carefully. You worked in silence, pressing a dressing pad along the wound and tying it off with some gauze to fix it in place. You moved around his body, bandaging up any cuts you deemed worthy until you finally were left with Yoru’s cut.

It stretched the entire expanse of his torso, from shoulder to hip. It’d been well done, the cut deep but not deep enough to kill as long as someone was fast enough with treatment. You recognized the shape of the cut, the very tip of it thin before Yoru’s mouth caught the skin with the center of his blade. “He did it like this on purpose?” Zoro asked.

“Yeah,” you said. “He’s methodical with most things.” You wrapped gauze around the scab, tightening it up and then finally tying it off by his hip. “I’d keep that on for a few days before replacing it. Keep dressing it for another two weeks or so. It’ll probably start swelling soon, so I can help you drain whatever fluid develops.”

“I’ll let you know,” Zoro said. He was still watching you with those big brown eyes, and a soft shiver traced down your spine. “Thank you.”

“Thank you for saving me from that pirate earlier,” you said. You surveyed him again, though you were careful not to meet his eyes. A long silence filled the space, heavy with something you couldn’t quite place. You ducked your head, busying yourself with putting away the first aid kit. The words fell from your mouth before you could stop them— “I like your earrings.”

“Oh,” Zoro said. Nothing else.

You were pretty sure you liked more than the earrings. You liked the way he fought, even if it scared you sometimes—even if you knew one day he’d probably be able to beat your father. You liked his face; those big brown eyes, soulless at times but holding the world in those glistening irises at others. Those freckles, adorned with the entire galaxy, stars and planets and constellations dotting his cheeks like a mural of life. The way he talked, soft-spoken but utterly real, voice low in his throat, words disturbingly honest.

You didn’t say so, though. You stuck with the earrings, because those were safer.

pt. 1 | pt. 2 | pt. 3

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ranbitteeth · 3 months

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hiii i love ur art and ur fics!!🫶🏽

im desperateee for a reader rails mizu w strap fic😭😭 all the smut i see are of reader bottoming and that makes me hella dysphoric sigh

so so like reader stretching mizu out, lots of whimpering, mizu being nervous, mizu feeling full and claimed, just messy subby mizu taking big strap for the first time plssss😭😭😭😭 maybe some pussy eating foreplay idk, whatever u find best and fun to write. i just need mizu to be a subby bottom its plaguing my mind😵‍💫

A/N: Your wish is my command, dearest! Hhmmm I can never really tell if you guys want a modern/cannon compliant setting— but I find my words flowing easier for the latter. If this isn’t to your liking, I can always write another one! More modern and fluffy

Tags: Possessive!Reader, GN!Reader, Reader is besties w Madame Kaji, DomTop! Reader, Jealous! Reader, Straps, Tried to be historically accurate but one can only do so much research on ancient japanese dildos, takes place sometime before Mizu hops in the boat, Goodbye Sex, Misery.

About 3.8k word count, so I’ll highlight the beginning of the actual smut in red and a star! *

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Parting Ways— To London You Go

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You despised him.

The Blue Eyed Beast of Japan. The onryo. The bastard half-breed that killed the Four Fangs and cut through the Shindo Dojo. Now that was a man that deserved a dog’s death. A humiliating, painful, wretched thing— so much so that pity would spread like disease among even the most hardened of men. A white man had no business in your country. Much less some impure dog, chasing ghosts of white men who had long since fled the island paradise. You believed this yourself, once. The village gossip and fantasies of his approaching death entertained you, excited you. You’d hear of his dishonorable death one evening and you’d think —‘good riddance’.

But no one told you just how much of a darling he was.

You remembered that night to picture clear, the image of his slumped body in the snow so clear in your eyes and memory. His face was twisted into a pained grimace, eyes screwed shut beneath the colored lenses of his glasses— he reeked of blood even in the snowstorm.

Unbeknownst to your family, you brought him inside, ordered your guards to gently place his body in your quarters. The servants made no protest when they saw your insistence on saving this stranger. The wound was seeping a crimson poison onto your floor, red and hot and stinking of blood.

The two of you were alone when his eyelids fluttered open, pained grunts and whimpered muffled by his own teeth against his bottom lip. And you saw it. Blue eyes— unnatural, wrong, and positively lovely. You’ve seen oceans and ponds and skies with less of a dazzling hue. It disgusted you, initially, as the realization of who he was suddenly and violently appeared in your mind.

You hadn’t expected someone so…normal looking.

He did not have a pig’s nose or clammy, sun-abused skin. He was not a beast, giant and ugly— but a man. An injured man, you recalled once his blood stained your palm. Stained your floor, your bed and his clothes. You distantly realized your hands were moving on their own as they undid the binds of his old kimono, and there, beneath the worn, filthy fabric were binds. Not of injury, not of a warrior— but of shame.

Alone in your chambers on a cold winter night amidst the worst storm you’ve ever seen— you knew. The blue-eyed, vicious animal that had earned all of Kyoto’s scorn was in fact a woman.

You adored her.

Your home grew to be a sanctuary to her of sorts. For a being so well despised by the nation, the comforts you provided were scarce luxuries. A bed. A roof. Some semblance of protection. You cared after her like one would a feral pet, a feat which did not go unnoticed. With a blade to your neck and blood painting her hands, she demanded your silence— a vow to never break. As if you’d risk losing such a treasure to the hands of bounty hunters of white men.

The two of you danced with hate for months.

She was a silent spirit, a brewing storm on the distant horizon. At times, you’d catch her eyes on you, other times, she’d notice you doing the same. At times, you’d reach your hand forward and caress the scars on her skin. At times, she’d allow you to– going so far as to present herself.

At times, you’d make love to her. Your depravity was no secret to anyone with ears and working eyes— but your status and wealth made you untouchable. No one but your servants would hear her cries echo from your chambers, and no one but you would see her in the throes of pleasure, head tossed back, expression screwed into one of hesitant bliss and ecstasy.

Or so you thought.

She often returns to you like a dog would weeks after leaving. Loyal, endearing and silent. Whether it was out of some misplaced desire of courtesy or a genuine attachment, you did not know. You’d tell yourself you did not care, but Man would never be born without sin. Madame Kaji, the wonderful hag, would bewitch you in letters with tales of her ladies in the delights her brothel would offer. She mentioned a certain blue-eyed beast in her company in her most previous message. Her letter was pointed, concise, and utterly enraging. By its contents, you would piece together your Mizu’s night with a princess– of all wretched things. After months of silence, alone in your palace with no one but the one and off prostitutes you’d hire and the servants you paid deftly for their loyalty, and the samurai goes off to bed and abandone a lady princess of the Tokunobu clan.

Mizu would not show her face to you until spring. By then, your anger had solidified and festered into an untamable typhoon. As your servants led her to your chambers, Mizu would be standing dead-center in the eye of your storm. Something in her was different. Stronger, yet weaker. Kinder, yet crueler.

“You show your face here again?” You ask cooly, and at least she had the decency to look ashamed, removing her hat. Like this, you could see her properly. (You’d never admit to your anger cooling, but it did.) She does not harden her voice in your presence, but it is quiet, timid, shameful. Before she could open her mouth to speak, one of your servant men approach, head bowed deeply.

“[Title and Name]”, he’d say. Your eyes glance over to him, humming as you granted permission to speak.

“There is a white man inside, bound and immobilized.” He says quickly, bowing his head deeper.

“I only wished for you to be aware.”

Your cold, steely eyes turn to fix Mizu with a chilling stare. She only looks at you head on, taking the challenge. Oh…

“Leave us.” You say, but not before giving an order to boil water over a fire. The door is smoothly slid shut, and the two of you are under the illusion of solitude once more.

“I am to depart for London soon.” Mizu says bluntly, abruptly. You couldn’t have expected anything less. You give no reaction save for a short sigh and two fingers against your temple.

“I am closer to my mission than ever before. I have an informant, I have a boat, I have names.” She talks as if to explain herself, stepping closer in light footsteps, hesitant. “I may not survive through this. I only wished to say goodbye before I leave.”

For a moment, you say nothing. Your mouth is rendered useless as your mind rushes with curses. To the world, to the white men, to Japan, to Mizu, to the hellsite that was London itself. The poisonous concoction of rage and envy that had been brewing for months was bubbling and prickling beneath your skin– only now with the addition of grief.

“This would have been much more convenient in scripture,” you say, voice like hot iron. Mizu’s surprise is tangible, eyes flickering around your features, searching for answers to her questions.

“I adore letters. You know this.” You begin to say, moving from your initial position and circling the room, retrieving several items and placing them on the large expanse of your sleeping bed. You open a box, massive with weight. Inside is parchment, pounds of it. “I collect them.”

You suddenly and harshly shove the box onto the floor, a flurry of parchment and ink spilling at your feet. Mizu seems to shrink, but refuses to cower. Gingerly, you retrieve one excerpt sent just a few months ago from Madame Kaji. You hand it to Mizu, surrounding her. You wait until you are certain she understands what she is reading before you begin to speak.

“Never took you as the brothel-dwelling type.” You say, watching as those demonic, off-putting, oh-so-lovely eyes scan the characters on paper. Your eyes stick to her lips before you remind yourself why you are angry. You imagined those lips entangled with another, and your blood goes cold.

“Nothing happened between me and the princess.” Mizu says, turning to face you. The genuine confusion in her expression is almost insulting. “She meant to kill me that night. Our duel meant nothing. Madame Kaji knows nothing that is true.”

“Not every conflict between you and a stranger is a duel and Madame Kaji is a dear friend of mine.” You reply easily. The hurt in your voice was becoming clearer with each passing syllable.

“You truly believe sailing the seas will come so easy? Do you know how many men I’ve lost in my trades on those voyages? Do you even know what awaits you in London?” You begin to demand these answers, losing the control you pride yourself in as you continue to speak. As a man and a woman, Mizu was nothing but a stupid, lost soul, wandering the earth without an object to attach to. You then gently cup her face in both hands, watching in delight as she melts into your touch.

*“Do you even know how much I’ve wanted you these past months?”

Mizu cannot answer. Her hands raise over yours, fingers brushing against your warmer ones.

“I meant no harm in my absence.” She concedes, round eyes rising to meet with yours. Just like that, the room had shifted. Your eyes darken as they raked along her face and figure, recalling what lay beneath the layers upon layers of fabric she’d use to protect herself.

“You can’t imagine…” You whine, gently undoing the bandages around her neck to expose the delectable skin that lay beneath. Untouched, unseen by all but few. You bury your nose into the crook of her neck before your tongue darts out just to taste flesh and the blood that pumped beneath. Mizu sighs, noticeably relaxing into you. Her arms move to wrap around your neck in a gentle embrace, a position you’ve grown to love and grieve for.

“Gods, how I’ve missed you…” you say, assisting Mizu’s hands and hurriedly undoing her kimono before your hands run hungrily along her skin. Scars, so many more than you remember. A different rage boiled inside of you, protective and not directed to Mizu in the slightest. The two of you move in sync of tangled limbs and warm breaths against open lips. You push her onto your cot, the rage you had felt previously spilling out in the form of hunger. You attack her neck with the teeth in your mouth, suckling and biting down on her white-man skin until cherry-red marks bloom across her neck. She whimpers, coyly craning her neck and exposing herself further– presenting herself. Begging for it. Gods.

“You were away so long I’d almost forgotten what a whore you are…” you coo, undressing her wholly, spreading her legs around either side of your hips. As a surprise to no one, you noticed the particular shininess to the downy hairs on her wet cunt, groaning softly at the sight. Her smell, her taste, her color– you’d spend innumerable nights recalling these things in exquisite detail, going so far as to seek her in other women and finding not one suitable substitution. Your hunger had been building up for months, and now here she was, just as enticing as you remember her. Her teeth nibble down on her finger as she groans into the air.

“[Reader], I haven’t..” she starts, but you shush her before she can continue. Her loyalty only endeared you to her further, and you wanted to remain somewhat angry.

“I know, puppy. You already know who you belong to, don’t you?” You murmured, practically salivating at the sight of her glistening pussy. A whine catches in her throat, allowing you to see in real time her strength and tenacity fail her beneath you. The demon man was nowhere to be found here. You tamed that spirit and contained her in your chambers. You reduced it from a spirit to a man to a moaning, wanton little tart.

“Keep your legs spread and I’ll give you what you came here for.” You order swiftly, to which she nods and complies, spreading her legs further apart. You eagerly adjust your position so that you are resting on your stomach, Mizu’s thighs on either side of your head and your mouth just above her wet cunt. With only an aroused groan as a warning, your tongue descends onto her slick folds, eagerly lapping up the wetness that coated her lovely skin. It was positively obscene, the color and taste of her, the slurping sounds across the room and her whimpering cries as months of stress and anger fell away under your tongue. The poor thing couldn’t even keep her thighs from squeezing around your head, effectively trapping you against her pussy— but it was no matter. Your tongue swirled and massaged what it could reach while the tip of your nose rutted against her clit. Slowly, surely, readily— her raspy, hoarse voice bloomed into something far sweeter, and you could feel the ice around your heart melting. This was the Mizu you knew, without the clothes and glasses and false identity. This Mizu was the one you owned.

You feel her getting close, as it was always obvious with her. You felt her thighs squeezing around your head, felt them shake and tense while her hips bucked against you and her breathing grew more desperate. You feel it, she feels it— she wants it so bad she sobs into her palm. You both know better.

You pull away with a wet, obscene sound, ignoring Mizu’s frustrated groan into her fist. Your lips and chin are wet with her taste and both of your bodies are shining with sweat.

“What? Were you close?” You ask huskily, readjusting yourself so that your body hovers over hers, your fingers pushing in and out of her gushing warmth. You start with two, massaging her insides into relaxation, molding her to your desires. She impatiently pushes her hips against you, holding you in a desperate embrace. You do not hurry, you don’t even respond as you take her lips in yours, letting her taste herself coating your tongue. It was a messy, depraved display— one that made her noticeably wetter around your fingers. Her nails claw into the fabric over your body, tugging it off.

“Take yours off too…” she says in between breaths, eyes half lidded and watery with want.

“You think you can take it already?” You ask slowly, dead serious. Mizu nods, a slow and deliberate thing. Who are you to argue now?

“It’s bigger than the other one. You sure?” You ask again, making slow, hard motions against her wet clit.

“[Reader]…” she gasps, carrying a note of exasperation, her hands now trembling against you. “Please…!”

You laugh, breathless, exhilarated. Your lips gently press against her forehead, a soft ‘wait here’ and a quick trip to the corner of your bedroom later, you retrieve it.

You commissioned this piece long before you knew Mizu would return. Your very own harigata, hard as a tortoise shell, ribbed and heavy in size and weight. You expressed your desire to be able to attach it to yourself to please your lovers and so the artist complied. You held it up with one hand, allowing Mizu to gauge at the weight and size before stuffing it with warm cotton dipped in the previously boiled water at your side. Mizu hasn’t even noticed the servant come in, far too immersed in watching you align the phallus to her soaking cunt. She feels the heat through the tortoise shell and whimpers, hips trembling before she spreads her legs further apart. The head was already pushing against her hole, oh so ready to slip inside. Just as you mean to push yourself in, Mizu makes a strangled little noise and you cease in your tracks.

“Yes?” You ask, already breathless.

“It’s big…” she says, repeating the words you said earlier. You laugh, endeared.

“Yes. You want it smaller?” You ask again, but she shakes her head no.

She licks her dried lips before she swallows. “Don’t hold back.”

Unable to control yourself, you laugh, head falling beneath your shoulders and against her collarbone. Fuck.

“Tell me when you’re ready.”

You feel her nervousness in the tension of her body. As aroused as she was, it had been some time since she’s seen you. You begin with slow, shallow thrusts to get her accustomed to the feel, not going halfway until you hear her get noticeably impatient.

“Hold on, puppy. I don’t want to hurt you…” you say, but you push yourself in deeper to quiet her whimpers. The ribbed surface rutting in and out of her wet heat had its obvious effects. Her knees shake where they are around your hips and her head arches back as she moans, voice breaking. The harigata was doing everything it was designed to do and more. Mizu was falling apart so beautifully and you weren’t even fully inside.

Slower thrusts, still quick but less shallow, and she moves her arms to wrap around your neck in a tender embrace, holding your back to keep herself present. With you.

Some time passes, and you push yourself in further. You feel some natural resistance, Mizu’s breath hitching. You pause and pull away somewhat to check for her expression, finding her eyes wet with tears dripping down flushed cheeks. Her chest is rising and falling in ragged breaths as she struggles to compose herself long enough to get a sentence out.

“No! No, don’t stop. [Reader], please don’t stop,” she whines, cradling your face. You obliged and continued, though far slower than the pace you were going before. Mizu openly whimpers at this loss before she intertwines her legs around your hips by her ankles, keeping you close.

“Could that princess give you what I can?” You say suddenly, still feeling that burst of envy possess you as you rut your hips forward with a precision that only hours of fantasies and failed attempts to recreate Mizu’s body could give you. A shuddering, wanton moan later, Mizu’s hand flies over her mouth. You take that hand by her wrist and pin it to the floor, still thrusting your hips against hers with purpose and vigor. Not all the way in, not yet. “Well?” You ask. You demand.

“N-no…no she can’t…” Mizu damn near sobs, and possession coils in your gut as you push the harigata to reach new depths. Her moans are pitched and broken, you feel and see her falling apart. The poor thing felt so full, unsure what to even make of the delicious stretch your phallus provided or the hot arousal that being beneath you gave her. To some degree, she was yours, and you both knew it.

Feeling pleased with her state as she answered, you finally and gently push yourself in entirely, making her back arch and moans echo across your chambers like they did so long ago. The harigata’s other end pushes against you, makes you groan at the pressure. You look down at her whorish expression, her inky black hair spread like a halo around her head. You see her flushed skin shining with sweat, you see the tremble in her body and think about how much longer you’ll have to go without it.

“You don’t even know what you do to me…” You begin to ramble without thinking, words flowing like water from your tongue while Mizu moans beneath you.

You can’t help the way your hips begin to plow against hers, you can’t help the strength and ferocity that possesses you when you think of the distance that will be between the two of you. When you think of who she could meet and compare you to. When you think of yourself in the future, in bed, alone, aching for a body that will not be there. You cannot control the desire in your body when your hips move in a way that can only be described as primal, and she takes it all. Mizu has always taken what you give her so well, and it wasn’t long before you were both panting each other’s name against your skins, the room now hot and stuffy and reeking of sex. Her voice reaches a certain pitch, her nails claw into the silken fabric of your kimono, and you can tell she’s closer than ever.

A warm flower of pride bloomed in your chest as you realized that one day, if all went well, you could keep her for yourself. You’d no longer spend the lonely nights in your palace inviting women of the night to give you company. You’d no longer need to bear the crushing loneliness in your bed — not when Mizu’s mission would fail and she’d realize her rightful place at your side. Safe and warm. Protected. Yours.

You imagine fucking her day and night when she returns until she’s sore and trembling, unable to stand without your assistance. The mental image and the emotions it ignites inside of you make you openly and shakily moan in sync with her, and the two of you cum in each other's embrace. She’s damn near bitten through the silk of your kimono by now, drool coating the luxurious fabric. By now, she’s hardly the image of dignified, and you wouldn’t have it any other way.

You pull yourself off of her with nothing but a smooth roll of your hips and a near-violent shudder from the body beneath you. By then, it had all blurred together into a hazy memory of warm candlelight, golden skin, and warm, damp towels running along Mizu’s body and freshly fetched water poured into her waiting mouth. You only remember the rest you won for yourself that night, the two of you wrapped in a tangle of limbs and half torn fabric, warm.

But you wake up cold, and you recall why she came by in the first place.

“Would it be too burdensome to stay?” You implore, voice breaking with sleep and heartache. That worn, raggedy kimono is once again wrapped around her figure, her bandages back on. Her very aura is cold and distanced, and the weight of her decision truly settles into your skin.

“We can be happy, you know.” You say, almost pleading but with far too much pride to let it show. “I am in the mountains, far from the city. No white man could find you here,” You can’t being yourself to stand. You watch as her expression morphs from one of sorrow and pity to one of distrust, distaste, and near-resentment. Whether it is directed to you or her father, you cannot be sure.

With her back to you and her voice in the tone of a man’s, she bids you goodbye.

You find that— more than anyone— you want her quest of revenge to fail.

How you despised her.

And oh, how you missed her.

#blue eye samurai #bes #bes mizu #mizu x you #mizu x reader #blue eye samurai fanfic #blue eye samurai smut #mizu x y/n #lIGHTTT very light akemi x mizu #if you squint

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decayedgloria · 6 months

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Madame Neuvillette: Part One

Decadent Collision

Suggestive themes ahead, no outright nsfw just yet.

3.6k words, not very proofread.

December 17th, XX74

"And are you sure you have everything you need, my love?" Tender, gloved hands smoothed over your winter coat as cargo loaders walked around you, hauling your belongings into one of the train carts. Workers and passengers hustled around you and your husband, the sounds of train horns and shouts from announcing conductors relegated to nothing but background noise amidst the both of you.

The man in front of you, tall and handsome, looked at you with such tender eyes- a loving gaze that filled you with such warmth that not even the winter storm around you could get through your skin. Though the fur coat helped as well, you supposed.

You smiled up at your husband, taking his hands into yours and brushing your fingers against his knuckles. "No need to worry, I'm all set. Besides, it'd be quite a waste for you to go back to the manor when you went out of your way to see me off."

"I just wanted to make sure, mon ange." Neuvillette took your hand and raised it up to his lips, placing a gentle kiss over your leather-clad fingers, "I do not wish my wife any discomfort on this trip." His tone, while stoic in the way it always was, was much softer with you. Rarely did you hear him raise his tone at you, no matter what may be on his mind.

Monsieur Neuvillette was perhaps the greatest husband in all of Fontaine. Well-respected he was, as the country's Chief Justice, and he possessed wealth comparable to that of the Imperial Family. Popular among both the common folk and high society, it was no surprise that he was quite the catch in spite of his older age. But that meant nothing to you, since the man you fell in love with was not the one that the public saw, but rather it was the man that stood before you; fixing your coat and never managing to take his lovestruck gaze off your face.

Many whispered among themselves that the wife the Iudex had taken was much too young for him, and how much of a shame it was that such a young woman was tied down by a man nearly twelve years her senior. But those were just whispers, were they not? Whispers that meant nothing when your lips connected with his own soft ones, feeling yourself smile in content when his gentle hands found their way to your waist.

The ringing of a bell and the raucous shouting of the conductor caused you to pull away, looking over to the source of the noise, "Train en route to the Court of Fontaine set to leave in fifteen minutes! All passengers aboard!"

"My, it seems time does pass by faster when with you dear." Giving him one last peck on his cheek, you start to gather your thick skirts in your hand, preparing to walk towards the train door. "I'll be off then. Tell Sigewinne that I'll be back before she knows it, and that I love her very much." At the mention of your daughter, Neuvillette's expression broke out into a grin.

"Why of course. Though, she may ask for something in return for inconveniencing her." With a chuckle he followed your hurried steps, hands lingering after her presence as his eyes scanned your surroundings before giving you a final smile. Albeit, a somewhat sad one.

"I shall miss you terribly, mon ange. Send Ajax my regards." Cheekily, you blew him a kiss, relishing in the pink hue that spread across his sharp features. Entering the train, you sit yourself on one of the comfortable seats, settling yourself before waving at your husband through the frosted window.

Before long, the rest of the passengers began to fill the train compartment, taking their seats and settling amongst themselves as they begin to put away their belongings. In a matter of moments, the final whistle of the train permeated the air as the vehicle finally moved, the silhouette of your husband slowly getting smaller and smaller, though his smile certainly didn't.

The reason for your trip to the capital were simple enough. Your brother, the pleasure-loving baron Ajax had gotten himself into trouble with his wife; an affair between him and their children's governess was unveiled and, well, you really can't blame the baroness for nearly trying to kill him. However, in a panic the poor man had sent you a letter urgently telling you to come to their lavish home in the capital city to mitigate their lover's quarrel, and a part of you thinks it's likely because if it weren't for the children he'd be dead by now.

So here you were, on the earliest train to the Court of Fontaine, a place that you had vague memory of. Once you married Neuvillette, he found it fitting to settle and start a family away from the scandal and glamour of the capital, moving your household to the Marcotte region of Fontaine. In a way, you were glad; Sigewinne has never failed to mention how much she preferred your current life as opposed to the "paranoia-inducing" society of the capital. You thought yourself sharing the same opinion as well, loving the peaceful atmosphere of the rural city.

You were promptly snapped out of your thoughts when someone's voice reaches your ears. Snapping your head towards the direction of the voice, you were greeted by a tall woman dressed in winter clothing, barely a smile on her slim face, "Is it any trouble if I sit here?" Her gloved hand gestured to the empty seat in front of you.

"Oh, not at all! Feel free to take it; it gets quite lonely riding a train by lonesome." You tell her with your signature charming grin. The lady was no doubt of Fontainian high society, her expensive winter coat and luxurious silk garments practically screamed the fact. Her long black tresses were tucked neatly into her fashionable hat, and her purple eyes seemed distant as she gazed at the moving scenery in the window.

It was also the way she carried herself, you noticed- an air of dignity and elegance present in her manner. Hands folded neatly in her lap, a mutual silence was brought upon the both of you, idling as the time passed. The trip to the capital was set to be three hours long if no issues arose, and as the minutes ticked by you could feel yourself getting antsy from sitting in the same place for far too long.

Your fingers dug through the pockets of your coat before fishing out a silver locket, chained to the ornate belt you had donned. Opening it, you smiled softly at the images within; a portrait of your darling daughter Sigewinne on one side, taken on her fourteenth birthday just months before. On the other, a photo of the three of you from a few years ago, smiling serenely at the camera.

You're filled with warmth as you see your little family. While not as big as your brother's, it was no doubt all that you would need. They were both very precious to you, and you couldn't imagine living in a world without the both of them.

"So what brings you to the Court of Fontaine?" The woman in front of you asks, likely in an effort to stifle the silence. You glanced at her, a little surprised, but shared the same sentiment nonetheless.

"My brother is in need of my assistance. Something along the lines of making sure his wife doesn't kill him." You jest, earning a chuckle from her. "And you?"

"Visiting a cousin of mine. He has just arrived back home after being stationed in Chenyu Vale." With a small smile, her stare lingers at you for quite a while, observing you as a doctor would a cadaver. "My name is Clorinde, Marchioness de Champion." She extended her gloved hand for you to take, which you did in earnest.

"Pleasure to meet you, Marchioness."

"I don't think I have ever seen you around high society before. You're a pretty little thing, it's surprising." At the compliment you blushed, shyly grinning before thanking her. It didn't surprise you; in fact, you were expecting it almost. Living in Marcotte meant that you were never in the spotlight, at parties or balls, so it made sense for someone as prominent in high society as the marchioness to be a stranger to your existence.

"Ah, I don't really have the time to do so. My husband and I live quite far from any social circles in the capital." She cocked her brow at you as if to say 'Husband?' In response, you take the locket previously in your hands and showed her the portraits within. "Here is my husband and my daughter, Sigewinne. Though I'm sure you're already fairly acquainted with my husband. He's quite popular amongst high society, I heard."

"Hm, I see…" Her words carry an undertone of understanding, realizing just exactly who your husband was. She gave you a polite smile. "Apologies. I did not realize that you were Madame Neuvillette."

You shook your head, closing the locket and placing it back into your coat. "The apology is on me, marchioness. It was my mistake to forget to introduce myself to you." Both of you shared a hushed laughter, trying not to disturb other passengers as they rode. You both shared a conversation for a few minutes, mostly small talk to pass the time by as the train moved closer and closer to the capital city.

"I must say, I did not expect Monsieur Neuvillette's wife to be as young as you are." Marchioness Clorinde remarked, sipping on the tea provided by the train's staff. She was not one for idle gossip, you've come to realize, but she was gaining an interest in you and your life.

"I get that a lot. Some say that i've wasted my youth marrying a man his age but, in the end, youth isn't really something permanent is it?" You let out a small huff, remembering the words of those who opposed the idea of your husband courting you years ago. "I prefer having the stability of a loving husband, not an adulterating one. I don't quite care if he's twelve years my senior."

Marchioness Clorinde chuckled, "That sentiment I agree with. Though, you would be surprised how many ladies in Fontainian society would beg to differ. It's quite confounding." The laugh you both shared was enough to distract you from your lingering thoughts. On one hand, yes, you were content with the life you lived now. Peaceful and serene, not a problem in sight.

However, you'd be lying if you said there wasn't a part of you gnawing at the chance to love as other ladies did. Your youth was cut short when you promised yourself to Neuvillette at the ripe age of twenty-one, and Sigewinne was born not long after that. Though you loved them very much, there was always a buried envied for your former friends, who still lived the lavish and exciting lives of noble heiresses until their late twenties. On many occasions, you'd wondered how happy you would be if you said no, and married a bachelor your age years ago…

You shook your head. Such silly thoughts were unbecoming of you- you were married to the sweetest man in Fontaine, a diamond in the rough among other noble men, whose debauchery and aggravation resulted in the humiliation of their wives. No, you were fortunate that a man as gentle as Neuvillette had come into your life as your husband.

Before you knew it, the train had slowed it's pace into the Court of Fontaine, finally arriving at the station. Talking with the marchioness definitely helped pass the time, heavens knew how bored you would feel had she not initiated the conversation. As passengers flowed out of the compartment and into the station, you could hardly contain your elation as you look through the frosted windows for a familiar mop of orange hair.

"Marchioness, excuse me- I'll come right back for my belongings." You hastily nodded an apology to the raven-haired woman before excitedly swinging around the corner to exit the train. As you rounded the corner, you felt a another person passing you by, and for a moment you turned your head back towards the figure, meeting the piercing gray eyes of a tall man dressed in a garde's winter uniform. Your eyes linger on each other for just a second, before resuming your path.

You land on the floor of the station much less gracefully than you had intended, trying to avoid bumping into the crowd of passengers near the door as your eyes finally caught sight of your brother. "Ajax!" He whirled around, his lean figure pausing before his freckled face broke out in a contagious grin.

"Pcholka!" Your brother yelled right back, arms wide open for you to practically launch yourself at him. He held you tightly, lifting you off the ground as you both squealed in excitement. It had been so long since the both of you had gotten together, a number of years you were sure. And yet he was still the same, boyish baron you knew as a child.

Inside the train compartment, Marchioness Clorinde sat still, taking note of the way her cousin watched the two siblings through the window. "Charming, isn't she Wriothesley?" She gave him a wry grin, yet he said nothing as he gaze still continued to linger on the woman adorned with fur.

Though he remained silent, Clorinde could see his thoughts very clearly. His jaw tightened, and his eyes never left the window. She shook her head, amusing at the fact that he truly was acting like a soldier who hadn't seen a woman in months. Was the Madame Neuvillette really that striking?

Outside, Ajax broke your embrace to pick up your luggage, two hefty suitcases which he had easily held in both of his hands. In spite of you insisting that he let his coachmen do it, he shook his head vehemently and gave you a boyish smile.

"I still remember when you told me I wasn't strong enough. So, here is me proving that you're wrong." You rolled your eyes, unable to contain your own smile.

"Wait here- I'll be right back." Turning around, you made your way the train once more to collect the remainder of your belongings. In your haste to enter the train, you nearly bumped into one of the train workers- a man covered in black soot, only his tired green eyes seeming to bear down on your soul.

Something heavy began twisting itself in your stomach. Your eyes wanted to tear themselves away from the man's grisly appearance and yet, you couldn't. It confused you, why was it so hard for you to move away? A few seconds passed and all you could do was stare and stare at each other. You gasped, turning your head away from such an unfamiliar sight, before clearing your throat and muttering an apology as you both finally stepped away from each other.

Inside the train, you beamed at the marchioness, who was chatting with the handsome gentleman you had passed by earlier. Upon noticing your presence, the two turned their gazes towards you- though his was exceptionally… piercing. The feeling of discomfort you had before was now replaced with one you can't quite put your finger on, but it felt almost pleasant.

"My brother is here already, so I do apologize for cutting our time short marchioness. I enjoyed your company very much." Despite your pleasant demeanor, you could feel the hairs on the back of your neck stand slightly from the man's unwavering gaze. He was silent and indifferent the whole time, watching you both with indeterminate motives behind his eyes.

"I quite enjoyed our chat as well." The marchioness stood up and made her way to towards you, leaning in to kiss you on both cheeks as customary for high society women. "My cousin here has also come to pick me up personally. This is Wriothesley, though you may know him more as the Duke of Meropide."

The Duke of Meropide. You've heard tales of him in the battle front- a fierce soldier commandeering a battalion in Chenyu Vale. A man praised for his prowess both in the battlefield and in the beds of Fontaine's women. Though, you'd wager that the last bit was merely a rumor; one that you could believe as the man's lips twitched into an attractive smirk.

"Pleasure, Madame."

You held out your hand for him to take, expecting him to simply kiss your knuckles and be done with it. Instead, he lowered himself down to your gloved fingers, lips opening ever so slightly to kiss your knuckles, striking grey eyes still holding an intense gaze for you, and only you.

Time seemed slower then. Suddenly, you were all too aware of the growing franticness of your heartbeat, and how much warmer it was in underneath your coat. You stare back, too, in bated breath as the duke lets his touch linger for far too long that you should have let it. Had it not been for the glove that adorned your slender hand, you were sure that his lips would have ignited something across your body.

And perhaps, it did.

Before you could shake yourself out of your thoughts, the train car shook violently, almost throwing you off your feet as screams suddenly echoed outside. In a flash Wriothesley had let go of your hand and dashed out of the train to check the commotion. His touch still ghosts over your hand, and there was a disappointing little tug on your heart as you shrink back into yourself in shame. A married woman should not be thinking about a man she just met so wantonly.

After you meet back with Ajax, your eyes fall onto the crowd of officers surrounding the side of the train, barely catching a glimpse of a fallen figure before it was obscured by a black cloth by none other than Wriothesley. According to your brother, the same worker you has encountered earlier had jumped onto the train tracks as it was repaired, presumably slicing him in half.

You shuddered. An unfamiliar chill ran up your spine, reeling from the fact that the same man who you had bumped into was now dead just a few feet away. You tried to take your mind off of it, but it still irked you- it was as if the very notion of his death held your soul captive, in spite of being a stranger. In hopes of distracting yourself, you turned to the Marchioness and your brother, who were immersed in each other's conversation. Behind them, the duke followed closely behind his cousin.

"…it is rather unfortunate. He left behind a large family, god knows what may become of them." Clorinde remarked, purple eyes holding what seemed like pity. Ajax merely nodded along, also sharing her concerns.

"Shouldn't they be compensated for such? It would only be fitting." In an effort to make it seem like you were listening the whole time, you made a suggestion, hoping that they wouldn't notice the way your face had become much paler in the last few minutes.

Wriothesley suddenly paused, turning towards Clorinde, "Wait here, cousin." He said before making his way back down to the crowd, taking out his wallet and a few notes of mora. You couldn't hear the conversation between him and the conductor, but you assumed from the way he spoke to him with tenacity when he gave the notes to the conductor gave you a few ideas.

"You're the one to thank for that." Beside you, the marchioness gave you a small smile, which you returned shyly. Ajax sang his praises of the duke, calling him a good man for doing a deed that most certainly would have been forgotten.

Barely an hour after arriving at the Court of Fontaine and you were already met with such an eventful day. From meeting the two cousins to the grisly death of the worker moments before, you were beginning to miss the tranquility of Marcotte as the seconds ticked by. Your mind weighed heavily on what had transpired, yet all thoughts seemed to go back to one person.

The Duke himself.

He consumed your thoughts like a plague. Maybe it was the fact that he was both roguishly handsome and a gentleman, or maybe it was his eyes- the ones that seemed to pierce you with how sharp they were, almost like a canine's. He enraptured you, maybe bewitched you, you were certain. And yet, you had no opposition to it. But you should, for your husband would most certainly chastise you for thinking so.

The confusion of your thoughts must have bled onto your face, as you feel Ajax's hand squeeze your own after you had sat beside him in his carriage. An action that he had always done to provide you comfort, ever since you were children. You gave him a reassuring smile, leaning your head against his shoulder as the carriage began its journey to his household.

You prayed that it would be your first and last time to see that duke. For your sake and your husband's, because you didn't know what might become of you if his presence haunted you in more places than just your head.

#genshin impact #genshin imagines #genshin impact x reader #genshin childe #madame neuvillette #genshin neuvillette #neuvillette x reader #wriothesley x reader #genshin wriothesley #clorinde #sigewinne

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promenadewithme · 9 months

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The Viscount Who Deceived Me - Part 3

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | ...

Pairing: Anthony Bridgerton x Fem! Reader, Benedict Bridgerton x Fem! Reader

Warnings: none, I think

Word Count: 1.7K

a/n: I'm having a lot of fun writing this series!

You took a deep breath and stepped out of your carriage in front of the Cowper residence.

Closing your eyes and gathering strength, you straightened your shoulders and released all the pent up air in your chest.

"Are you alright, my dear?" your mama asked, taking your arm in hers.

You gave her your best smile, that still turned out small, and answered "I'm perfectly fine."

She didn't believe you, but nonetheless nodded. You both walked around the house and greeted people you knew on the way to the gardens.

Candles were lit, floral patterns were freshly painted on the grass, and everyone was dressed in varied tones of red, orange and black. The invitation had said it would be a blazing event and that the guests should dress in the hues of fire.

There was said to be a never before seen surprise to do with the theme at the end of the night, but many disapproved, thinking it was too provocative for a ball.

You had thought it might be fun and were very excited to see what this innovative surprise might be.

You abandoned your family greens for a burgundy dress that evening. Madame Delacroix had truly outdone herself with your dress this time. The light fabric along with your hanging sleeves made it look like your clothes were dancing with your every move.

"There are the Bridgertons." pointed your mama with a nod of her head.

Sure enough, you saw the whole family except for the little ones.

They spotted both of you as you made your way over. You smiled and curtsied politely, trying to avoid Anthony's gaze. He made it impossible when he took your hand in his and bowed to kiss it.

'Has he ever kissed her hand?' you wondered.

'Of course he has, he was already kissing her neck. He might have even kissed her lips.'

"How are you this evening?" he asked.

"Perfectly fine." you said, but your voice was too weak, pitch too high.

"Alright then, if that is all." Eloise took your arm in hers and started dragging you away "We will be on our way."

"Do not linger too far!" called out Violet, but the two of you were already gone.

You leaned closer to your friend and whispered "Thank you."

"You looked like you saw a ghost, I had you get you out." she answered, looking around.

You spotted Penelope in a corner grabbing a champagne flute from a passing servant and gestured to Eloise that you had found her.

"Ah."

The two of you walked towards her and she smiles when she spotted you.

"There you are! I was beginning to think I'd have to spend the rest of the night in the company of plants." she quipped.

"I wish I could have stayed home," huffed Eloise, crossing her arms and glaring at a gentleman who passed by looking at her "You know how much I despise these sordid events."

You chuckled and nudged her with your elbow "Are you not the least bit excited for this surprise they have planned?"

"I am excited to finish my book. I am excited to lay down in bed and sleep."

"What are you reading?" you asked, looking forward to the topic.

The three of you were the only women your age you knew that enjoyed reading. Most ladies of the ton found that improving your mind with extensive reading was not an accomplishment, but a waste of time.

'Men do not want a woman who has read Shakespeare, they want a wife who can entertain them with the pianoforte or their voice. Men want women who can embroider and paint, not someone to discuss politics with.' was what you had heard a gentleman saying while you were at the bookshop one time.

"Wuthering Heights." she answered excitedly.

"What is it about?" questioned Penelope before taking another sip of her champagne.

"Vengeance." she smiled.

"I am very much afraid of you sometimes." you said and Pen nodded.

"Thank you," she touched her heart "but, in all earnest, it is a very good book. The both of you should read it."

"Can I borrow your copy after I finish my current read?" smiled Pen.

"Of course, I shall drop it off as soon as I finish it. What are you reading now?"

"Pride and Prejudice." she said and you gasped.

"So am I!" you exclaimed excitedly, gaining a few disapproving looks from other guests.

"What do you think of Bingley? she asked with a smile and a slight flush to her cheeks.

"I think he reminds me a bit of Colin," you leaned closer to her ear "and you remind me a bit of Jane."

"Oh, hush." she chided, but her cheeks had turned crimson and she grinned "Do you really think so?"

"I do." you nodded and turned to Eloise "And you, my dear friend, are Elizabeth Bennet."

She rolled her eyes, but a smile tugged the corner of her lips. "And who might you be?"

"Me?" you stopped for a second to consider your options "Well, I suppose I must be poor Mr Collins."

They both laughed and everything seemed so normal. When you were like this with your friends, it was like all your troubles faded away.

You did not have to marry the man who betrayed you, you did not have to worry about taking one step out of line with the fear of having to be wed to the oldest man you knew, you did not feel nauseous and anxious like you had the rest of the day. With Eloise and Penelope, you could just be.

That feeling of peace faded all too quickly when Anthony appeared in front of you and bowed "May I have your first dance?"

All colour drained from your face and you had to clear your throat before answering "You may."

He wrote his name on your dance card next to the first song. A quadrille.

At least you would not spend the whole dance with him.

He offered you his arm and you took it, giving your friends one last glance. They tried to smile encouragingly, but it looked more like they were grimacing.

You took a deep breath as you stepped into position. Four couples, including yourselves, stood in rectangular formation. You and Anthony on one side, a married couple to your right, Philippa Featherington and Finch to your left, and Benedict with Cressida Cowper in front of you.

Your shoulders were hunched, your muscles tense. Anthony's hand felt cold in yours and you remembered how it had touched the opera singer.

Benedict locked eyes with you and his gaze was warm. His eyebrows furrowed and he mouthed "are you alright?"

You forced a smile and nodded just as the song started. He didn't look like he believed you, but didn't say anything else.

The string quartet continued as you turned to Anthony and bowed to each other, you repeated the same with Finch. While the couples at your side met in the centre and danced around one another, switching partners then back, you stayed in place.

Benedict continued looking worriedly at you and you gave him a small smile.

Anthony interrupted your silent communication when he leaned close to your ear and whispered "I have to talk to you. About us."

"Are you sure this is the right time?" you asked and inwardly cursed him for bringing this up.

"This is the perfect time." he said before taking you to the centre of the group.

You briefly grasped both of Benedict's hands before passing by him and meeting with Anthony again. He held your left hand on his and his right held your waist. You stayed that way as you walked around the couples.

"Have you received the flowers?" he asked, a hopeful look on his face.

Anthony had sent you roses after you left the house that morning. Your mother had said it was romantic, you thought it was generic.

"I have." you answered, nodding curtly at Philippa.

'Does he even know that my favourite flowers are tulips?' you contemplated sadly. 'I was so blind to think he loved me.'

"Good, good. And are they to your liking?" he probed and you contained an annoyed sigh.

"They are perfectly fine." you stated, looking anywhere else but him as you stepped into your starting place again.

"I know that you have not forgiven me for what I have done." he whispered solemnly.

Your eyes burned and you stared at Cressida's hem, the couples on each side of you switched partners.

'I will not talk about this, I will not cry in public, I will not make cause a scandal.' you repeated the words over and over in your head.

When you said nothing, he continued "I do not expect you to forgive me, but I would be grateful if you would give me a chance to explain."

"There is nothing to explain." you spat then took a deep breath to calm yourself "I already know everything."

"But you do not." he insisted "You do not know the half of it."

You scoffed "If that was merely half, I do not wish to know the rest at all."

Stepping forward once again, Anthony and Benedict switched partners. One hand on your waist and the other holding yours, he leaned forward and his lips brushed against your ear, breath tickling your neck.

"Save your next dance for me?" he whispered and chills ran down your spine.

"Yes." you nodded as you switched brothers again.

"If you will not let me explain," he said, alternating his feet in front of him to the rhythm of the quartet's melody "at least let me say that I will no longer be seeing Siena."

"I truly do not care." you said between your teeth, attempting to hide your anger behind a smile "Do what you will, it does not matter to me. Not anymore."

Anthony pulled your body flush to his by the waist, searching eyes boring deeply into your soul.

"You hate me." he stated gravely.

"I do not hate you." you sighed.

"You do, I have wronged you and you have every right to hate me. What I do not understand is why you are choosing to marry a man you now despise."

Your voice was small and desperate when you answered "It is not a choice, Anthony."

The song ended and you untangled yourself from him. You curtsied and turned to walk as far away from a furrow-browed Anthony as possible.

a/n: guys!!!! I got so many requests for a part 3!! I hope you are all enjoying reading this series as much as I do writing it! (ps: this was my first time writing dialogue during a dance, so please tell me if it was bad or too confusing)

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mimi-cee-genshin · 3 months

Text

Denial is Futile: Wanderer x f!reader - Chapter 6

Read on AO3 | Series Masterlist | Taglist

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Summary:

What would you do if you were stuck with Wanderer indefinitely?

The cute and sweet guy from the bazaar was brought to your place while unconscious. But when he woke up, you were appalled by the amount of snark he had. Was he even the same person? And now you were stuck with him because he could literally die if he stopped holding your hand. You weren't sure if you could tolerate him any longer. Little did you know he was exactly the type of person you needed in your life.

Other info: Fluff, humor, sfw, enemies to lovers, some hurt/comfort and angst later, character growth, occurs after the version 3.3 Archon quest and Tighnari's story quest, female reader

Words: 3.2k

*****

Your arm didn't sting anymore. The pain medication finally kicked in. Despite your experience with fire, this was the first time you'd gotten burned.

You sat on the bench, now settled in Pardis Dhyai, and Tighnari inspected and redressed your wounds.

"You should be fine now," he said, kneeling in front of you, placing the rest of the bandages back into his satchel. "It shouldn't take long to heal as long as you keep it clean and reapply the salve I gave you earlier."

Wanderer slumped on the bench, elbow on knee and chin on hand. You took your arm back from Tighnari and gave him a brief thank you.

The sky was dim as the sun set behind you and the nocturnal insects had begun their hums. "You should probably rest for now," Tighnari told you. "I'll see if I can reschedule our meeting for–"

"Tighnari, you said you'd come hours ago.” A slender lady walked up behind him, placing her hands on her hips. She had pale turquoise hair and her white dress was decorated with isometric diamonds that were different hues of blue and green. You knew exactly who it was. It was Madam Faruzan.

Wanderer raised a brow and a slight scowl spread on his face. He didn't bother trying to hide his annoyance at her interruption. You squeezed his hand tight as a warning to be polite, but he merely snapped a look at you as if you were asking for something unreasonable.

"I could've been preparing for tomorrow's lecture," Faruzan told Tighnari. "Don't tell me you’ve completely forgotten."

The sky was getting dark, and you were tired from the long day. The battle with the Fatui dragged over today's schedule, and your legs were sore, not to mention the added difficulty of an injured arm.

“You're not the only one with places to go, you know,” said Wanderer with a click of his tongue, standing up in front of you. "Can't you see we're busy right now and that she needs some rest?"

You bit your lip and pulled him back onto the bench. Why must he be this rude to one of the esteemed professors from the Akademiya?

"First of all," Faruzan said to Wanderer, crossing her arms, "I was talking to Tighnari here. You should mind your manners, young man."

Wanderer merely snorted.

“Just what is so funny?” Faruzan reprimanded.

You wanted to disappear into the bench. Maybe she wouldn't notice you were here.

“It's just amusing how you thought I was younger than you,” he replied. "Last I checked, I'm actually older than everyone here – combined."

Faruzan took a step back. "What? H-how is that even possible?" she asked. “Then why do you look so young?”

“Are you really asking yourself that?” Wanderer said, rolling his eyes. “You of all people? Just what exactly do they teach at the Akademiya for everyone to be so stupid?”

In your panic, you jabbed him hard with your elbow, to the point where he forced out a cough. You couldn't risk a drop in your reputation that came from being associated with him.

“Madam Faruzan," Collei tapped her shoulder. "Please allow me to explain.”

You gave a sigh in relief, thankful she was here.

“Your meeting is actually with these two,” Collei continued, giving her a bashful smile. “I told Tighnari to wait for them here because Y/n got injured earlier. They saved us from some Fatui we ran into."

"Oh dear." Faruzan turned her attention to you, now noticing the bandaged arm under your sleeve. She knelt down to get a closer look but was careful not to touch it. "I apologize for my rudeness earlier,” she said after ensuring you were fine. “I shouldn't have jumped to conclusions like that."

“Hmph. I'm surprised you even apologized,” Wanderer commented. You threw him another look.

“Well then,” Tighnari said, clapping his hands together. “Since that's all settled, Faruzan, Wanderer is the one who reacted to the speckled posies the other day.” Tighnari must have spoken to her about your dilemma.

“It was these two?” Faruzan said now connecting the dots. “So that's what this meeting was about. Why did you need to be so secretive about it?” she said with hands on her hips. “And here I thought they were a pair of researchers who just happened to be a couple.”

“What?” asked Wanderer.

“Oh… Umm…” you said, not sure how to respond to her. You really didn't want her to think you'd like someone like him. “Why would you say that?”

“Well, based on how concerned Hat Guy was just now…” she began, glancing at you two. You couldn't help but wonder why she had a skeptical look on her face. Was there something you missed?

“Well… that doesn't matter right now.” Faruzan brushed off the topic. “You wanted me to help you investigate why Wanderer goes unconscious, did you not?”

“That's right,” said Tighnari after clearing his throat. “Wanderer's symptoms were the same as Kartaka’s.” He briefly explained the current complications with Kartaka and discussed how it'd be best to keep his existence discreet. You had no idea this was why he never mentioned this to you earlier.

According to Tighnari, with Faruzan's knowledge of mechanical life forms from the past, he hoped she'd have an idea for why Wanderer had the same reaction as Kartaka did. He had called himself a puppet before but maybe there were some similarities with this ancient technology.

“To be honest,” said Faruzan, “I'm not sure if I'll be much help.”

“I have some other ideas I can experiment,” Tighnari replied. “I'll just need you to observe and see if anything looks familiar to you.”

What Tighnari brought was much more elaborate than you had expected. He pulled out various vials from his satchel as well as other fabrics and materials for testing. You didn't understand what exactly he was experimenting as he discussed his finding with Faruzan, but you simply followed his instructions, hoping they'd come to a conclusion.

A few of the tests required Wanderer to go unconscious again. It had been a while since you'd seen him laying on the ground like that, and you held your breath every time he didn't wake up immediately. You knew you needed to find a permanent solution, but it was difficult to see him in that state considering all the time you had spent together.

“I'm sorry to say that all these tests were… inconclusive,” said Tighnari.

Faruzan sighed before stretching her arms with a yawn. “You know, why don't you just look for a replacement part?” she suggested. “From the looks of it, I think our findings confirmed your original hypothesis. It's as if one of his organs is malfunctioning.”

“But even after all of these tests, we don't even know which part of me is malfunctioning,” said Wanderer. “How would I–?” he stopped himself and sighed, rubbing his palm on his forehead. “We're back where we started.”

You were all circling back to the same conclusion you had with Nahida and Baizhu, the conclusion you desperately wanted to avoid. You bit your bottom lip, reaching for a different answer, one that didn't include the Electro Archon. “There isn't anyone else we could ask for help?” you asked.

“There's always the Doctor,” said Wanderer with a snort. “He had previously figured out some of my inner workings.”

Your eyes grew wide with hope. “Why didn't you bring him up earlier?” you asked. “This could've been fixed by now.”

“Ah. I see,” Tighnari said with a hand on his chin. “I didn't know you were acquainted with him as well.”

“You know him, Master Tighnari?” asked Collei, her voice a little shaky.

“Let's just say I've met him briefly before,” he said while crossing his arms. “He wanted to take Haypasia.”

Collei gasped, hands covering her mouth. Her arms and legs froze and she bit her lip.

“This was a long time ago,” he said. “You know yourself that she's perfectly fine.”

Collei's shoulders remained stiff, and you knew you must have been missing some vital information. “So… is this Doctor not an option then?” you asked.

“No!” shouted Collei, realizing she said that a bit too loudly. “No,” she said again after adjusting her tone. “He might just…” she began to say, but her eyes wavered and grew dark, their usual light was gone. She didn't finish her sentence.

“He'd perform all kinds of experiments on us,” Wanderer finally explained with a sigh. “To say he'll have no regard for our well-being is putting it lightly.”

Collei's eyes grew wide at him. “Did he… ” she rubbed her arm, almost as if to soothe an invisible wound. “You too?” she asked.

“Well, in a different life, yes,” he said with a shrug. “But there's no use in discussing this anyway. He and the rest of the Fatui don't remember a single thing about me.”

So it was the Fatui. Despite learning some of Wanderer's past, you knew very little about his time with them. He mentioned it here and there with very little context, so you could hardly piece together a picture of his life there. Now you received another part of the puzzle; he was a victim too.

You had learned of the Fatui by chance, unfortunately because of Collei's trauma. A Fatui diplomat was in the city while the two of you carried some food from the tavern on the way home. Her trembling hands ruined the cake for Kamran’s birthday, but you were fortunately able to piece it back together. That was when Collei explained her past to you when you got home.

So seeing that Wanderer had a similar past, you had a glimpse of why he wished for revenge. For the first time, you felt like you understood him.

And that was why you'd never go back home.

Faruzan left for the night as the rest of you made your way back to Gandharva Ville. Collei had her bed back and you slept on the floor again but this time with Wanderer next to you. After staring up at the ceiling, you turned on your side to face him and inched a little closer to him.

“What do you think you're doing?” he asked.

You sighed, lying on your back once again. Collei was already fast asleep.

“Nothing. I'm doing absolutely nothing.”

*****

Wanderer clicked his tongue as you dragged him to the House of Dana for the third time this week. The meeting with Faruzan only concluded with what the two of you didn't want to hear: the next logical move was to see that woman.

You had been sleeping in more. It wouldn't have been a cause of concern if you were merely going to bed later than usual. But there were instances where you had trouble getting out of bed, almost lethargic at times. You would quickly regain your energy after eating breakfast, but Tighnari had instructed to keep an eye on your condition.

But you? You were ignoring it.

You continued with the work for your internship, not even addressing the issue of him being stuck to you anymore. He didn't care much either since he was forced to tolerate you and your habits the longer you were together. You would even compromise to his wants when he used to have to force his way instead. It was like you simply accepted that you'd never find a solution to being attached to him.

Until you had fainted.

Wanderer had caught you once again and this time it had taken you two days before you had woken up. And he had to remain by your side as Collei nursed you back to health.

“At this rate, I wouldn't be surprised if you just decided to drop me at the ravine over there,” he joked.

It was the obvious solution to your deteriorating health. Just let go of the one who was draining the energy out of you.

“No,” you said. Your answer was firm.

So now here you were in the House of Dana in the dead of night, flipping through any book you could find in hopes of finding a way to keep you both alive. The topics varied widely: mechanical core applications, Archon energy manipulation, ways to access Irminsul, vishap creation myths… the list went on.

“I have no clue how to even pronounce half of these words,” you said, groaning into your hands. You sat on the cold tile floor, leaning your back against his. A book laid on your lap from the ancient alchemy section and neither of you were an expert in the area. “I should just ask some of the scholars in the other departments.”

“And how exactly do you plan on bribing them to do the work for you?” Wanderer chided.

“We could at least ask,” you replied. “There's no harm in trying.”

Wanderer closed his own book. Learning about the history of runes wasn't going anywhere. “Let's go to Inazuma.”

You didn't reply. This was exactly how he thought you were going to react. You had shut down all conversations related to Inazuma, even more so lately, and you tended to avoid whatever you didn't like.

So you didn't talk to him. You continued to look through your stack of books and it slowly dwindled as the hours went by. You let out a yawn and the next thing he knew you had audaciously cuddled against him and wrapped your arms around his elbow.

“What do you think you're–”

“The war in Inazuma created a food shortage,” you told him.

Wanderer raised a brow. That was an abrupt change of topic. And because he was a being who didn't understand hunger, he couldn't empathize.

“What's this got to do with anything?” he asked.

You went quiet again. The library was empty, now nearing dusk, and its high ceiling gave a feeling of hollowness. Your voice had a slight tremble in its timber, but you carried on as if it was nothing of importance.

“My brother was a fisherman,” you said with a smile, but he could feel the rise and fall off your breath against his shoulder. “He didn't worship Orobashi like the rest of the island. He was loyal to the Electro Archon and I never understood why.”

“Why are you even telling me this?” Wanderer asked. “Did you think I'd care?”

You shoved his shoulder. “Can't you just listen?”

“Why would I bother listening to another person's sob story?”

“Ugh. Forget it,” you said, pinching the bridge of your nose. “Why did I even try?”

You picked up another book and Wanderer returned to his. He didn't understand why you thought he could give you any comfort. He didn't remember much from Watatsumi either. His dealings were limited to the delusion factory and nothing was particularly relevant to him from that island besides the Resistance.

He flipped a page but his attention was elsewhere. After a few more pages and a sigh, he finally asked, “Did you go hungry too?”

“What?”

“Forget it,” he said. “If you don't want to answer the question, I'm not going to force you.”

“Seriously? You shut me down just to ask again?”

“You know, I don't even get why you want to tell me.”

“I brought it up because I thought you'd want to know why I don't want to go to Inazuma,” you said, slamming your book shut. “And I thought maybe, just maybe, you could understand because of what happened to you with the Fatui. I could understand why you'd want to avoid them too.”

“Ha. You think I'm scared of them?” he said.

“That's not what I said–”

“I simply just have no reason to associate with them. If anything, I'd rather not go back to Inazuma either.”

You were about to throw back a remark at him, but instead you stopped and you sighed and you rubbed the temples of your forehead. You muttered to yourself something about calming down and you fiddled with the spine of your book.

A moment or two later, you tried talking to him again. “Did you have bad memories in Inazuma too?” you asked.

He sighed and shifted his legs to a more comfortable position. “Why do you even bother asking?” he said, rolling his eyes. “Everything was fine and dandy every single time I was there.”

Despite his sarcasm, you didn't add anything else. You went silent as if you didn't want to touch the topic anymore. He wouldn't care either way. It was over and done with and he was glad you didn't try to comfort him. But was that really what he wanted? Just another person who let him be, and not interfere with the status quo?

He shook his head. No. It was better this way. You wouldn't want to see him when his feathers were ruffled the wrong way. Or worse, like that wild dog that bit Niwa while it was in pain. He was an idiot for nursing it back to health. Wanderer let out a sigh, remembering when his wife scolded him for getting hurt.

You eventually fell asleep on the library floor, giving up on your struggle to keep your eyes open. The amount of effort you'd put into this was absurd. Did you really want to avoid Inazuma at all costs?

You tugged on his arm as you stirred on the floor and he couldn't believe how troublesome you were. With a scoff, he lifted your arm up and muttered to himself about how fortunate you were that Nahida's home was close by. You'd better not slap him when you wake up.

Wanderer attempted to prop you up on his back, but something got caught in one of the books. It was the bandages from your arm and it began to unravel. Wanderer scrambled to reach for it, only for the whole thing to fall apart anyway. He awkwardly froze with no clue how to proceed. If he bent down to pick it up, you'd wake up. Wait. Why did he care anyway?

But before he could fully change his mind, your arm caught his eye. It had mostly healed and when he lifted your sleeve to take a look at it, he saw a scar that he never noticed when he tended your wounds. It was distinct from the burn you got from protecting him. He had seen this type of wound before from a delusion, a delusion made from crystal marrow, and it had been years since he’d seen one.

He decided he might as well bring you to Nahida's. You'd just have to get your wounds dressed again there, whenever you decided to wake up of course. The sun was rising as students began to make their way into the Akademiya. A few familiar faces turned their heads, gawking at the two of you. He rolled his eyes wondering if they had never seen a sleeping student before as he carried you through the school.

*****

I hope you enjoyed this! Thanks for reading and if you take the time to leave a comment, I appreciate them so much!

If you want to be tagged for future chapters, you can use this Google form or just let me know.

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saintkunii · 6 months

Text

All a ghost can do is haunt

Pairing. Zhongli x reader

Contents. arranged marriage, historical au, ex fiance childe mentioned, a simple life with your military general hubby zhongli.

Wc. 1.7k

It is with a heavy heart that you find yourself resigning to your fate, caressing a jade hairpin with grief. It’s smooth against your fingers. The intricate carvings give the illusion of a fluttering phoenix almost lifelike as if it’s about to soar to the skies.

It’s the most exquisite thing in your possession and the only remnant you have of a certain diplomat’s son.

With every stroke to the hairpin, you’re brought back to the day you received the item with so much fondness and excitement that you carried it with gentleness. afraid that if you put too much force, it would crumble under your touch.

It was a rough hand that reached out to gift if to you that warmed up your soul.

He said it was a promise of some sort. Of a lifetime and of his return.

He said it was meant to symbolize your connection with him. Something physical. Something tangible.

Something to remember him by.

You recall the soft breeze carrying ginko leaves off to the distance and the faraway clamor of a festive banquet in the background.

His eyes back then were crystal clear, electric blue in hue stared at you with a tender grin, calloused fingers wrapped around your hand in a gentle hold. His thumb would rub around your knuckles in assurance as you were forbidden to meet in such a secluded part of the mansion.

And he was rebellious in nature, always finding ways to get around and meet you in secret. When he enveloped you in his embrace, it’s as if it was meant to be, and you mold perfectly within his arms.

It was perfect.

His warmth soothed your racing nerves and the playfulness in his kiss filled you with nothing but glee.

Everything went as it should.

As the betrothal should have.

Ajax. You recall his name. What once filled you with joy and fondness has now turned into a bitter memory that makes you feel sick in your stomach.

Your hold on the hairpin tightened and you let the item roll down your feet with a soft thud.

It stings. Your chest feels constricted and your eyes warmed with tears.

Oh you loved him so much, it hurts.

Had you not decided to visit the marketplace with so much stubbornness, relentlessly pleading to your husband, you would not have met the sight of that man smiling and laughing with the woman he replaced you with. The ever so great foreign woman who attracted his curiousity. With hair as bright as gold, skin as pale as jade, and elegance as delicate as the calm winds that twists your heart with jealousy.

She was valiant. Aja- Childe would describe. Strong and courageous with a heart of gold, selflessly putting others above herself, and a woman of virtue. As you've been told.

You hated how soft his voice melted as he spoke those words. It was the same as how he used to speak to you in private.

She was every bit that you're not. courageous and kind.

It's a sight tainted with bitterness and such hollowness you can't help but resent the memory.

A servant at your side was alarmed at your reaction as she rushed up to you and supported you by your elbow.

“Are you alright, madam?”

You choke a sob.

You took a deep breath to calm yourself and exhaled.

There was no point dwelling over the past.

Try as you might not to let said matters get to you, you realized that the long years of affection you harbored to Childe was not so easy to dispel as you had thought so.

“I’m fine.”

Ling Ji picks up the hairpin and brushes away any dust that might have cling to it before returning it to you.

You take one glance at it. It’s magnificent and beautiful, appearing with great splendor that you've worn over the years. It carried all the memories you have of Childe. All the good and bad.

“Sell it away,” you order with a final conviction.

You decided to discard any remaining embers of feelings you have left for your previous fiance.

This is for the best.

You hope so.

Parting was inevitable.

“Madam? Are you sure?”

Ling Ji asks once more, afraid that she heard wrong but you only nodded your head to her.

She knew how much you treasured the item.

“I do not want to repeat myself again. Just do it.”

“As you wish.”

She excuses herself out of the room and disappears, leaving you all alone to gather your thoughts.

It’s best you hold your head high now that you’re married to someone else and focus your energy on building a better relationship with your husband. After all, he saved you from the humiliation of being branded as a discarded woman not wanted by their betrothed. In exchange for an heir, he offers you all the wealth and luxuries, prestige and honor that are tied to being his wife, and freedom to do whatever you want to your heart’s content.

–

Zhongli was a feared figure in the battlefield, a war god that ravishes the land with blood and carnage. Just a mention of his name was enough to evoke fear among the mass. They said he beheaded a man and skewered his head as a warning to the barbarians, they said he took a hundred men with his bare hands and tore through their flesh like it was nothing.

It was always he said, she said.

With a reputation as gruesome as the military general, stories were bound to blow out of proportion and thus you’ve always thought not to put too much attention to the rumors.

When you first met him. He was nothing as they proclaimed him as. There was nothing like a fearmongering god in his visage. He was cordial when you talked to him. Ever so polite and patient when he offered you tea and shared a box of pastries over a casual talk.

His rich knowledge of everything under the sun made you initially think he has semblance to the overly pompous and close minded noble sons that sees others beneath their stature, and yet not once had you seen him carry that arrogance that comes with the scholarly attributes.

The humility in his approach is a little endearing as you would find yourself admitting.

“Did you enjoy your little trip to the market?” He asks, his hand careful in pouring tea.

You watch his callous fingers wrapped around the handle of the teapot and as green liquid fills your cup, the earthy aroma wafts through your nose and soothes your nerves.

That was supposed to be your job and yet you watch your husband serve you refreshments. Ever since you entered Zhongli's family registry as his wife, you always made sure to spend even a little bit of time with him.

“I did, my lord. But there was nothing that struck my fancy.”

You took the cup with gratitude and brought the rim to your lips. One sip and you place it back down with a soft thud.

For some reason, Zhongli's presence always exudes such calm temperance that sways you into tranquil silence. The words exchanged between the two of you are never short and yet there's an unspoken trust that lets you cultivate in such an environment for such a short frame of time that you've been together.

You consider him a friend at least. At this stage.

And you've been working hard to close the distance between you two.

“I see. Maybe next time I’ll bring you to Mingxing.” Zhongli empties his cup.

He sees your barely touched tea and regards you with curiosity.

“And have you adjusted well within the mansion?”

Whether he notices your plight or not, he doesn't comment on it and awaits until you're comfortable enough to spill it yourself. For that you are grateful.

“Don’t you have Xiao to report back to you, my lord? I’m certain he already told you everything I’ve done.”

“That’s true but hearing it from you would be entirely different. I'd very much love to hear your personal opinion.”

You nod in understanding and recount anything of worth to tell. From the way you're adapting to your role as the mistress of the house and everything that involves managing the estate.

You suppose you're doing well. Aside from your heartbreak.

Everyday you spend time indulging in your hobbies. From reading to embroidering and painting, you've never felt more relaxed in your entire life. Comparing yourself with your life back in your paternal home, from the scheming of your father's concubines, to your sisters sabotaging each other, you've finally tasted a life free of worries.

Zhongli did make a promise to let you live a comfortable life. Not only that but he had gone above and beyond as you noticed the lack of women in his inner court. As of now, all his attention was completely on you.

"The progress for the renovation of the east wing is going well, my lord. It is estimated to finish before the arrival of this friend of yours."

You notice him crack a smile.

“There is no point being so overly formal between the two of us, wife.”

You raise a brow at this, a little taken aback because of how you've been used to calling him.

You didn't think it would matter to him much as he had always kept a respectful distance between the two of you.

You humor him a little. You like this.

You're thankful that he's meeting you halfway with your efforts.

He must have noticed as he's always been perceptive.

“Very well. I’ll take it as an invitation to call you something else then.” For a while, you ponder for an endearment. “Zhongli.”

Zhongli chokes on his tea.

“You don’t like it?”

“No- That’s not it. It took me by surprise. That is all.”

“Oh? You don’t think it’s too intimate?”

“I, naturally, have nothing against it." Your husband regains his composure. "I suppose since we’re husband and wife then there’s nothing wrong with whatever way you wish to address me.”

You smile in response to this, letting the silence settle in the space between you and the warmth of what you can now call your family of your own.

Maybe you're not quite there yet with love, but you're willing to try again once more, open your heart and trust with the companionship of your husband.

It's not all bad. You think so yourself. Zhongli is a great man as far as you can tell and you're ready to move on to the next chapter of your life with him.

#✧| written works: one shots #zhongli x reader #genshin impact x reader

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shesjustanothergeek · 1 year

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His Love

|Aegon II Targaryen x Fem!Reader|

Part Three

Master List of Series

Summary: Being a bastard born in the slums of Flea Bottom was all you were known for. Not the streak of white you had in your dark hair, the violet ring around your pupils, or how your sharp tongue and skills with the blade resembled your father, Daemon Targaryen. You were just a bastard, nothing more, but to him, to Aegon Targaryen, you were everything. You were his love.

Author's Note: Before you read this chapter, I want to tell y'all I am perfectly aware of how messed up this is. But if the male writers of Game of Thrones can show graphic depictions of sexual assault and get away with it, why can't I show something messed up but empowering? They literally showed sexual assault as a good thing because the trauma can "empower" a woman. How about a girl finding strength in her body and pleasure? Now, let's traumatize these men back. >:}

Also, I find it a bit humorous that the reader is wearing something like this during this entire chapter. Also, I made a playlist of songs that I listened to while writing this story.

Chapter Warnings: minor x minor sexual situations, CNC, we do not follow SSC here, folks. (safe, sane, and consensual.)

Aegon led you up a dark sandstone staircase worn from thousands of years of use, turning his head back periodically with a wide grin. You knew he was leading you to the Streets of Silk, where the high-end brothels were, not the type Ma ran. It was something interesting you found with Aegon, how he chose to forgo the upscaled silken sheets with finely dressed whores that most of the High Born frequented. But he, the first-born son of King Viserys Targaryen, First of Men, King of the Andals, and Protector of the Realms, choose to sink his royal cock into the cunts of lice-ridden women. You did not mind Aegon choosing something as malapropos as that, for if his tastes were better, you would have never met him.

"Come, little one, we are nearly there," he encouraged, squeezing your hand briefly and kissing it. The simple act made your cheeks hot, a hue of red blooming from your nose to your ears as your short legs struggled to stay in step.

You felt giddy with a man's affection, a feeling you had not experienced in many years. Ma had never let you grow close to a person near your age, always promptly snatching you away and telling your acquaintances to "get lost" or deal with the consequences. No child had ever dared to become friends after that. You had only Madam and the Ladies of the House until the unsightly curly, white-haired prince made his appearance.

Aegon led you down sharp turns and uneven ground, squeezing your fist every moment he felt you got too far behind. Despite the fast walking, his legs were shaking, his knees nearly buckling under him when his shoe got caught on a loose rock. You chuckled when you helped him up. His excitement was contagious. You could not help but feel the same, your cloaks billowing out behind you.

"Where are we going, my Prince?" You asked sweetly, biting your lip in anticipation. Aegon noticed you didn't use the title as an insult this time but as a... flirtation. Were you flirting with him, he wondered.

"Have patience, little one; we are only fifty paces away," he chortled, stopping for a moment and patting your hand in reassurance.

"I find it peculiar that you know the precise distance," you jested.

Jested? Jested! Aegon nearly died from happiness at the realization. Someone, who had no incentive to be kind to him, was treating him like a friend. Like he was not the royal cunt drunk fuck-up everyone claimed he was. You were so beautiful, kind, and innocent. And best of all, you were his. None of the other Targaryen knew of your existence, other than Daemon. Perhaps if his family had known about you, bastard or not, Aegon could have been betrothed to you and not that half-wit bug-obsessed sister he now called wife.

Aegon supposed things did happen for a purpose, though. If you had been raised as part of your actual family, you would most likely feel the same as all of them about him. You were too perfect, sent from the Gods, plucked from the very clouds he prayed to and placed into his wanting, needing lap. An angel finally leading him out of the purgatory he called life.

"We're here," he stated in finality, gesturing for you to look at the building.

It was much larger than Ma's. Whereas hers was built from solid oak wood and a straw-thatched roof, this was constructed from a smooth stone. Burnt steel braziers with yellow-orange flames lit the dark entrance, dancing off of Aegon's pale, veiny hand as he knocked. A woman with deep midnight hair cascading down her exposed tanned skin opened the door, hugging the frame as her golden dress did to her curves. You could see Aegon's purple eyes blown with lust as he drank her in, unabashedly wetting his lips.

She smiled, perfectly white teeth showing through her painted lips as she did the same to Aegon. More likely sizing up the potential profit in her head rather than his appearance. Then she looked at you, her smile dropping and full black eyebrows furrowing. You didn't know whether she was displeased at another woman being here, somehow seeing you as competition, or because you seemed so young. Being sized up as if you were any predator unnerved you. You were just a daughter of a whore, raised on moldy bread and stolen apples, not someone to be seen as a rival. You hid behind Aegon, intimidated by the beautiful woman's stare, and tightened your grip on his hand.

He chuckled, more at the fact you were so intimidated by an older woman's disapproving glance you sought him for protection as if he wasn't the very thing that brought you into this situation.

"Do not worry, sweet thing; Mila will not hurt you. The bitch's bark is worse than her bite." You were surprised by his brazen disrespect for the woman who might service him tonight, but she didn't seem fazed.

"This is not the first time you have brought another with you here, your grace, but never one so young, so..." Mila sucked her teeth in disapproval, raking her eyes over what she could see, "so inexperienced." Her insults upset you, and you moved from behind Aegon.

"Do not take age as a lack of experience, woman. I grew up with the sounds of women moaning and men begging to cum. It was my lullaby."

You brushed past her, deliberately bumping your shoulder into hers as you entered the brothel. You didn't need to look at her face to know you got a reaction from her—Aegon's snickering as he followed in after you were assurance enough. He knew that small demeanor could not last long, not in his hatchling.

Music filled the brothel, and the soft murmurs of people chatting amongst themselves melted into the songs, creating a gentle hum in the air. All you could see was gold. Gold walls, chairs, lounge seats, gold pitchers, and chalices of Arbor Red and green liquid as people flited along the main room. Shiny curtain dividers of the same palette divided private rooms as you entered further, the moans and pants becoming louder. Three more women came up, all dressed in varying shades of cream, tan, and gold, taking your cloaks and giving you and Aegon goblets.

It was nice. You could understand the appeal of a man such as Aegon devoting their time to a place like this. They treated you like royalty even when you were not. You were not used to being the one dotted on, usually watching from afar before Madam snatched you away and locked you in your room.

"My Prince," the lithe blonde one said, eyes a stormy grey as she bowed. "It is a pleasure to see you again. It has been so long." She took his hand, leading him to an empty bench as the second girl ushered you close behind. "And I see you have brought a guest with you." Her voice was tight as she addressed you, pursing her lips in an almost pity-like emotion.

Aegon released a breathy laugh, moving his fingers to lace with yours, smiling. "Yes, she is my companion for the evening. I expect her to receive the same treatments you would give me, as she is an extension of my crown tonight."

The girls shared a look, expressions, and wordless conversations thrown at each other before they decided to nod and smile.

"Of course. Whatever our Prince desires shall be given," the brunette nodded. "What shall we get you started tonight, your grace? Wine, mead?" She asked.

Aegon grinned to himself, flipping through all the options of alcohol he could choose for his hatchling, then let out a puff of air with his decision. "The Green Fairy, I would like to start with that, wench."

This time, you could understand the expressions on the ladies' faces. They looked shocked, worried, and scared, even for you, at his drink of choice. They both nodded, not protesting his request, as they got the drink. When they returned, they were holding a different set of glasses. They were crystal, intricate designs that blew into the stem as they set the supplies down. The pitcher was also transparent, and you could see a deep emerald liquid. It was unfamiliar to you, having grown up with mainly bottomless red and purple drinks.

"What is The Green Fairy," you questioned Aegon, leaning closer to him so the girls couldn't hear.

"That is the common name for it, little one. It is called Absinthe, and it is absolutely delightful," he assured you. You hummed, shifting your body centimeters away from him, still nervous.

You continued to watch as the whores sorted the supplies. It was entrancing, a ritualistic setup for something as simple as a drink, gathering ornate spoons with holes in them and pouring the green contents into the cup. It seemed like something a High-Born would drink, so you were not surprised that Aegon chose it. The blonde gathered another pitcher, this one not from the same set, and asked Aegon how he would like it.

"You know how I like it, Carmilla," he retorted, and she gave a slight nod, getting a small wooden stick and lighting the tip on it with a candle flame.

She brought the stick to the Absinthe, creating a burst of fire before it disappeared as Aegon put his palm over it. You stared in awe, your mouth agape as he brought the glass to his nose, removing his hand and inhaling the vapors with a moan before swinging it back. He slammed the empty cup on the wooden table, grinning like a madman at the burn in his throat. You could tell he loved the feeling, a blush creeping up his neck to his ears from the heat.

"And how would the lady like it?" Carmilla asked, gesturing to you.

"I-" you began to stutter, but Aegon came to your rescue.

"The classic way. We would not want to scare my sweetling off from the drink, now, would we? She is not as well versed in The Fairy as I am." He playfully nudged your shoulder, making you giggle. You were sure your skin matched Aegon's, heat covering your entire face and ears with embarrassment. After you just went and said something to Mila, he said something like that.

The brunette grabbed the fancy silver spoon, placing a sugar cube as she poured the Absinthe over it, the liquid running through the holes and into the glass. She repeated the same process as she did with Aegon, grabbing a wood stick but lighting the sugar cube instead of the drink. You watched it carmelize, burning the alcohol off for a few seconds as she slowly poured water over it, careful not to go too fast. It was so beautiful, so mesmerizing, watching the browned sugar slowly melt into the cup. Drip, drip, dripping down until it was dissolved.

Aegon paid no mind to the show before him, staring intently at your whole face. Watching your mouth, brows, and nose scrunch up as your eyes danced across the scene, taking in the unfamiliar experience.

Once all the sugar was gone, you looked at Aegon expectantly, waiting for him to tell you what to do. The realization that you were looking to him-- him to guide you, made his cock harden.

Oh, his little dragon. The things he could show you.

"Drink it, little one," he urged, eyeing you with a jerk of his head. You gave him a half-hearted grin, unsure about the drink. You've, of course, had alcohol before. Most of the time, water was unsafe to drink unless collected from wells or the skies. You had it for almost every meal. Still so young, you did not like the taste but knew the necessity of it. You brought it to your nose, taking a whiff and recoiling your head in disgust, grimacing.

Aegon studied your face, watching your thoughts show themselves. It smelled like madness, reckless abandonment traveling inside your nostrils and bursting into your head, yet it was cool, calming, like the steel of a blade unsheathing from its scabbard. It is... an extraordinary thing.

Adorable.

He repeated the same motion, wordlessly telling you to try it anyways. Well, if Aegon could drink it without so much as a reaction, you could, too... probably.

You took a deep breath, bracing yourself as you flung the glass into your mouth, gripping the stem as the alcohol burned your tongue and throat. At first, it wasn't bad, a savory flavor hitting your taste buds, like the herbs a tavern would smell of, but then, everything else came crashing, nearly making you spit out the liquid. Your body heated in embarrassment, tucking your chin to your chest as you tried to hide. Everyone at the table laughed, the two women who were less than enthused about your presence shrieking, gaining the attention of the other patrons in the main room.

Aegon refused to let you wallow in shame as he grabbed your wrist, yanking you up as he cheered. "She's done it," he yelled, looking at the several dozen pairs of eyes trained on you. "Well done, little one!"

The others couldn't help but gather in the celebration, walking closer to the group of you and congratulating you on whatever. Most were too drunk to care, just happy to be around the excitement. You could not help but laugh along, enjoying the attention, something you never got with Madam.

"Another," Aegon shouted as the women repeated the same ritual.

What felt like moments later, you found yourself lying between Aegon's legs on a private bed, your back to his chest, his fingers playing with your frizzy hair and tracing up and down your arm. The room was hazy, but you didn't care. You were too far down in the feeling of his touch. You sighed into him, your glass replaced by some Dornish wine instead of The Green Fairy. You could not feel the burn anymore, tipping back the red drink, some slipping past your lips and down your throat. Your motor skills were sluggish, but your senses were heightened, hearing, feeling every sound and touch, nerves of fire through your body.

Serval women lay next to you, sleepy from the festivities or drunk like you were. Aegon had the tolerance of ten men. You found out after ignorantly challenging him to a duel of cups, which of course, you lost, much to your chagrin.

You hummed softly as Aegon slid his fingertips up your bicep to the base of your throat, wrapping them like a necklace. It tickled that area of your body unfamiliar with touch as you leaned your head back on his shoulder. The whites of his eyes were nearly bloodshot, staring down at your face with blown pupils. You had not realized how attractive he was until now, the yellow light from the torches shining behind him like a halo. He looked ever the prince. You lifted your arm sluggishly, trying to reach for the crown of light but stroking your fingers through his short curly hair instead. It was an acceptable replacement, you decided, closing your eyes to feel the strands between your digits.

Aegon leaned his head closer, resting his forehead on your furthest cheek, his nose poking into the other. You were content with the connection, nearly falling asleep until you felt his hand slide up your neck, gripping your jaw to be level with his. Your lips parted, struggling to breathe through your nose at this angle. His eyes flickered at the movement, then back to yours as you blinked slowly.

You realized too late that he was kissing you, his wet mouth pressed against yours, his tongue feeling it. It felt so lovely, a pleasant tingle traveling to your stomach as you slid your hand further into his hair. Aegon could feel the hot air leaving your nose faster, tightening his grip on your jaw. You whimpered into his mouth, the slight pinching uncomfortable but not unwelcomed.

Everything felt... heavenly. Aegon's touch was a gift from the Gods, one you accepted with open arms as he trailed his free hand down the front of your dress, pressing into the small space the fabric dipped between your legs. A jolt of ecstasy went through your body, causing you to part from him as you hiccuped a moan. He repeated the motion, pressing what felt like a button harder, making your eyes roll back into your head.

You knew there were ways to pleasure a woman other than penetration but did not understand the anatomy of it; perhaps this was what they were talking about?

Aegon continued pressing, now rubbing in tight circles as your humid breath covered the vellus hairs on his face, moving your hips to seek more friction. You were raised in a brothel. You knew about sex, practically an expert by the time you were ten and one, but the logistics were lost. As a child, you had a curious mind like any other, sneaking peaks through keyholes at the working girls at Madam's before she would grab you by your ear and haul you to your room. It was natural how your body reacted to Aegon, and you did not mind it.

"Aegon," you breathed against his skin, your eyes half-lidded as he kissed your neck. He hummed, nipping at the skin as you squeaked.

"You sound heavenly," he whispered, rubbing himself against your back.

"It feels..." You trailed off, losing yourself in the pleasure.

"Tell me, little one, tell me how you feel." Your back arched as a loud moan filled the small room, causing some guests to stir.

"It feels so... so good," you cried, rutting your core onto his fingers. He chuckled into your shoulder, nipping your collarbone as his free hand laced with yours.

A woman opened her eyes, disturbed by your loud noises, but she didn't seem to care, rolling onto her other side and going to sleep. You bit your lip, embarrassed that something so intimate, which was supposed to be done in the privacy of only two people, was in the middle of an audience.

"Do not silence yourself, my little dragon. Let them hear you roar."

You were lost, lost in the sea of alcohol and ecstasy Aegon had rowed you out too. The brackish waters pulled you under, and you struggled to fight them, running out of the will to do so. A tear leaked from the corner of your eye, running down your temple and into your hairline. He kissed it away, licking his lips and groaning at the salty taste.

Gods, he wanted to come so badly. He wanted to sink into your virgin cunt, tearing your maidenhead as your blood coated him, spilling his seed inside you. But despite what his family said about him-- despite what everyone said about him, he could be a good man—a good man for you.

"A-Aegon, it is happening." You knew what was coming, but not the name for it, not what this little death was called. "It-it's happening."

"Shh, shh," he brushed the strands of your dark hair sticking to your sweaty forehead, squeezing your hand in reassurance. "Let it happen," Aegon soothed, "let it happen."

You shrieked, allowing the waves to drag you under, consuming every fiber of your being with pure, unfiltered pleasure. Your crushed his grip, your hips moving wildly and burying your face in his neck while you cried. Having your senses heightened and stoked simultaneously was too much to handle. Aegon held you the entire time, pulling you out from under the ocean as air finally filled your lungs.

Your body shook, soft mewls escaping as the aftershocks wore off. You hated it but loved it. You wanted it again. You finally understood Aegon, why he sought out pleasure the way he did, for if it always felt like this, you would too.

"How are you, sweet thing," he asked, moving his hand between your legs and your face, cupping your cheek.

You couldn't respond, only groaning as your eyes closed. Aegon laughed, pulling your body on top of him as he laid back down on the sheets, head resting on the pillow. You felt yourself falling asleep.

"Thank you," he spoke quietly. You had never heard a man thank a woman for giving her pleasure. You turned your head, questioning his gratitude. He gently placed your head back on his chest, and you did not protest, too exhausted from everything that had happened.

Aegon's cock was in pain from the denial of your touch, silently begging for you. It had been problematic throughout the entire day, never ceasing the constant pumping as you explored the city. He had no idea how he managed to control himself for so long. Self-restraint was not his strong suit, but you changed him. You made him different. Aegon wanted to defile you when he saw your sticky fingers steal a bracelet off a noblewoman's wrist.

But you were precious, his little dragon, and you could not force a bond with a dragon no matter how much one willed it. It must be the dragon's choice.

Master List of Series

I hope y'all don't hate me for this chapter...

Thank you for reading!

Tagged Peeps: @zeennnnnnn, @malfoytargaryen, @targaryencore, @justasmallbean, @alexandra-001, @buckysmainhxe, @omgsuperstarg, @sommornyte, @minttea07, @silverslive, @unclecrunkle, @prettykinkysoul, @duesobabe, @djlexi, @ynbutbetter, @honestlyka, @graykageyama, @legolas017, @iiamthehybrid

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