#━━ he's not quite what he appears to be「visage」

[swytdoll]

☁︎ sex with exconvict!toji is more enthralling than it should be!

cw: fem!reader, breeding, virgin!reader, toji’s mean:( unprotected sex, spanking, size difference, dacryphilia.

they say the devil is a diminutive red man with a pitchfork, but that's not true. he's the eloquent charmer, the smooth talker who knows precisely how to infiltrate your psyche. he's the man with the handsome visage, the man with the enigmatic steel eyes that you could never quite decipher. the man with the scar on his lip that narrated a tale he'd never disclose, the man with the name toji zenin.

the evening he’d staggered through the wooden door, with nothing but the tattered clothes on his back, you knew he was trouble. you’d been perched on the plush, toffee-colored sofa, legs folded delicately underneath your strawberry-patterned dress, which complemented your sun-kissed skin. the room was dimly lit by the flickering light of the fireplace, casting dancing shadows on the walls.

it startled you to see this burly man with a rugged appearance and piercing eyes bursting into your cozy home. toji zenin was a formidable presence, his tall frame cloaked in clothes that clung to his muscular build, hinting at the strength beneath. his hair was dark and unruly, framing a face that bore the weathered marks of a hard life. a scar ran across his lip, adding to the air of danger that surrounded him. his steel-gray eyes were cold and calculating, and when his gaze locked onto yours, it felt as though he could see right through you. the intensity of his stare sent a shiver down your spine, making your skin crawl with goosebumps.

you had prepared to scream, your heart pounding in your chest, until your father appeared behind him, his familiar, reassuring figure bringing a semblance of calm. “this is toji, darling… he’s going to be doing some work around the farm. just for a while.” your father's voice was steady, yet you couldn't shake off the unease that lingered in the air.

your father’s words hung in the air, but your eyes remained fixed on toji. you could see the weariness in his stance, the way his shoulders slumped slightly as if carrying an invisible weight. his hands were rough and calloused, evidence of a life filled with hard labor. the flickering firelight accentuated the sharp angles of his face, casting shadows that made his expression even more inscrutable.

toji took a step forward, his boots making a soft thud against the wooden floor. the sound seemed to echo in the silent room, amplifying the tension. his gaze never wavered from you, and you felt a strange mix of fear and curiosity. there was something about him that was undeniably magnetic, despite the unease he stirred within you.

as he moved closer, you noticed the faint scent of earth and sweat clinging to him, a testament to his journey. he finally broke his gaze, glancing around the room before looking back at your father. “thank you for taking me in,” he said, his voice deep and gravelly, yet carrying a hint of gratitude.

your father nodded, placing a reassuring hand on toji’s shoulder. “let’s get you settled in,” he said, guiding him towards the back of the house. you watched them disappear down the hallway, the sense of foreboding still lingering. you couldn’t help but wonder what kind of trouble toji zenin had brought with him, and how it would change the quiet life you’d known on the farm.

two weeks had passed since toji zenin stepped through that intricately carved door, and things on the farm had shifted in ways you never expected. he’d settled into the routine of hard work, but there was something about him that still set your nerves on edge. the way he moved with a confidence that bordered on arrogance, the way he spoke just enough to keep you guessing—it all felt like he was hiding something.

you’d caught him a few times, deep in conversation with shady-looking visitors who pulled up in sleek cars that didn’t quite match the rustic charm of the farm. their hushed tones and furtive glances made your heart race. it was hard not to suspect that toji was tangled up in something dangerous, maybe even the mafia. the thought sent chills down your spine, but you couldn’t deny the intrigue he held over you.

one afternoon, you found yourself lingering by the barn, pretending to organize tools as you watched him work. his muscles flexed under the sun, glistening with sweat, and for a moment, you forgot your suspicions. but then you noticed the way he’d occasionally look over his shoulder, as if expecting someone. it was a small detail, but it made your stomach twist.

“hey,” he called out, breaking your thoughts. “you need help with that?” his voice was smooth, but there was an edge to it that made you wary. you hesitated, weighing your options. could you really trust him? or was he just a charming facade hiding something darker?

you hesitated for a moment, then decided to play it cool. “sure, if you don’t mind,” you replied, trying to keep your voice steady. you handed him a rake, your fingers brushing against his. the contact sent a jolt through you, but you quickly pulled your hand back, hoping he didn’t notice.

toji took the rake and started working beside you, his movements fluid and efficient. he was shirtless, his toned muscles glistening under the sun. his light blue levi jeans hung low on his hips, and his black boots kicked up dust with every step. his hair was matted with sweat, and he occasionally wiped his hands on a damp cloth he kept tucked in his pocket. “you’ve been watching me,” he said casually, not looking up. it wasn’t a question, more like a statement of fact.

your heart skipped a beat. “just making sure you’re doing it right,” you said, trying to sound nonchalant. but the way his lips curved into a faint smirk told you he wasn’t buying it.

“is that so?” he murmured, his eyes finally meeting yours. there was a glint in them, something that made your pulse quicken. “or are you wondering why someone like me ended up on a farm like this?”

you swallowed hard, caught off guard by his directness. “maybe a little of both,” you admitted, deciding there was no point in lying. “you don’t exactly fit the typical farmhand profile.” toji chuckled, a low, rumbling sound that sent shivers down your spine. “life’s full of surprises,” he said cryptically. “sometimes, you end up in places you never expected.”

you wanted to press him for more, to dig into his past and uncover the truth. but before you could say anything, he straightened up, wiping sweat from his brow. “let’s finish up here,” he said, his tone signaling the end of the conversation. as you worked side by side, you couldn’t shake the feeling that toji zenin was a puzzle you were desperate to solve, even if it meant uncovering secrets that could change everything.

now toji would be lying if he said he hadn’t found interest in the farmer’s daughter. how could he not? pretty dresses, and an even prettier face. your eyes sparkled with curiosity and mischief, and every time you laughed, it was like a melody that stuck with him long after. despite his rough exterior and the secrets he carried, he couldn't help but be drawn to your warmth and genuine spirit.

he noticed the way you moved with grace, even when doing the simplest tasks around the farm. your hair, always perfectly styled, framed your face in a way that made you look like you belonged in a different world, far from the dirt and toil of the fields. you had a way of making everything seem brighter, and toji found himself looking forward to the moments when your paths would cross.

the kindness was another thing that caught him off guard. you treated everyone with a gentle touch and a kind word, even him, the stranger with a past he tried to hide. there was an innocence about you, but also a strength that he admired. it was a combination that made you irresistible, and toji knew he was in deeper than he wanted to admit.

you couldn’t exactly recall how’d you ended up squished between two stacks of hay as toji fucked you mercilessly. the thrusts he delivered nothing short of cruel, folding you further into the prickly stack as you whimper sweetly. he almost couldn’t believe it when you’d taken him all at once, his eyes fluttering shut as your pretty tight pussy clenched around him so delicately. “virgin huh? god, you’re so slutty. what would daddy think of you being stretched out like this, hmm?”

you can only whine at his words, voice long gone. “ah!” the feel of his large hands spreading you apart has you sobbing, “oh she’s wet. you’ve been thinking about this for a while huh? i bet you’ve touched yourself to the thought of me plenty of times. such a slut.” his words are mean, but the way he splits you is meaner. “mhmmm, oh my gosh!” stars kiss your eyelids as his throbbing tip presses repeatedly into that gummy spot inside of you.

it leaves you a moaning mess, the sounds of skin slapping filling the entire barn. the sound of it has your pussy fluttering and your head spinning.

your toes curl as he pounds into you relentlessly. you can barely form a thought, only able to focus on the feeling of him ruining you. your cunt squelches obscenely, juices dripping down your thigh. your breasts jiggle, the tips of them brushing the hay every so often.

and much as toji wants to be gentle with you, the way you cry for him, beg him to taint you has him gripping the fleshy meat of your hips. he doesn't care if you're bruised, he just needs to hear more. your voice is so delicate, yet so needy. the way your face scrunches up, your eyebrows knitting together in pleasure. it all goes straight to his cock. the way you're stretched around him is lewd, the way your tits jiggle is even more so.

"so pretty." his thumb rubs your clit gently, his voice a growl, "be good and cum for me baby. be a good girl and cum on this big dick, yeah?" you nod frantically, unable to speak as his thrusts become more and more punishing. his words a broken record in your head, good girl, good girl, good girl.

"gonna- gonna cum!" he grins, his hand rubbing your clit even faster. his own orgasm is fast approaching, the way you're squeezing his dick so tight.

"go ahead sweetheart, i'm close too, fuck." the hand rubbing your clit goes to your neck, gripping the tender flesh and forcing you to arch your back even more.

he's nearing the edge, the coil in his stomach becoming tighter and tighter. "cum with me. cum." it's the only warning you get before he's releasing, his thrusts still brutal as he empties himself inside of you. his thumb is still rubbing your clit, the overstimulation too much as you squirt around his pulsating cock. the sight of it has him grinning, and the fact that he’s the first one to make you squirt making him proud.

his thumb continues flicking your bud, slower this time, as he rides out his orgasm, the overstimulation too much as a small orgasm wracks through your body. then he’s spanking you. one hit. then two. then three. then five.

your ass stings, but you can only whine at his cruelty. he pulls out. it all happens so fast and he’s tucking himself back in and zipping his pants up. a grin is still on his face, a satisfied expression plastered across his features. "thanks for the fuck baby. see you around."

you watch his retreating figure, the door slamming shut behind him. you sigh, still facedown. the sound of his truck peeling off leaving a bad taste in your mouth. but the sticky cum that drips out of you as you struggle to clean yourself up has the butterflies in your stomach returning.

[saintobio]

daddy’s little devils.

when dealing with not only one, but two mini versions of your husband is a type of chaos you never saw coming. but with him by your side, there’s nothing else in life you could’ve ever wished for.

pairings. ryōmen sukuna, fem!reader genre. domestic fluff, slice of life, explicit smut cw. dilf!sukuna, profanity, explicit smut, mommy/daddy kink, breeding kink, fellatio, spitting, unprotected, creampie, 18+ notes. 4.5k. just bcos i had to write dilf!sukuna version of this fic. enjoy >:D i was smiling throughout writing this! reblogs are highly appreciated!

Sukuna as a husband was unexpectedly romantic. Despite his cold and indifferent demeanor towards others, sometimes bordering on snarky and arrogant, he displayed a surprisingly soft side when it came to you. A really, really soft and incredibly clingy side, one where he always wants you by his side and becomes grumpy the moment you leave him alone for even a few minutes, claiming and whining about how you no longer love him. That was a hidden facet of his personality that no one else knew, a side that made him appear submissive to his wife rather than the other way around. 

But to be honest, you loved that about him. You absolutely, with all your heart and soul, adored that about him. 

However, Sukuna as a father was quite the mischief-maker. And having to deal with three versions of him in your life certainly didn’t make things any easier. 

“Ryomen Sukuna… your sons,” you exclaimed, your voice tinged with exhaustion as you burst through the front door, “are a menace.”

Your husband was lounging on the sofa when you came home, an iPad in hand, watching as you kicked off your shoes and juggled with your bag and the twins’ belongings.

“Hey, baby,” he regarded you with a bemused expression. “What did they do this time?”

You didn’t even know where to begin. In all honesty, the question should have been: what did they not do?

“Ugh! My head hurts.” As soon as you released the bags onto the floor, you sank onto the couch, frustration evident in your visage as you ran a hand through your hair. “Raiden stabbed a classmate in the back with a crayon,” you recounted in disbelief, “And Ryuji drew your ‘tattoos’ all over himself with the teacher’s marker.”

Right on cue, the two little devils—his twin boys, his exact carbon copies—barreled into the house like the troublemakers they were.  

“Papaaa!” the twins chorused, leaping into their father’s lap the moment they saw him. 

Sukuna’s smirk blossomed into a grin, clearly amused and somewhat proud of his mini-me’s. “Aww, look at my little tattoo artist!” He applauded with amusement as he carried one twin on his lap. “That’s awesome, Ryuji!” Then, he turned to Raiden, who awaited his praise as well. “And Raiden, Mama said you stabbed someone? I bet your classmate was being a jerk, huh? Good job!”

The twins and their father bonded over the mischief, with Sukuna ridiculously acting as an instigator rather than reprimanding them. Just when you thought things couldn’t get worse. Was he actually entertained with this whole ordeal?  Jesus. You shot Sukuna a glare, finding the situation far from amusing. And as soon as he caught sight of your serious expression, his face softened into an apologetic stance, silently mouthing the word, ‘sorry’.

“Ryo, stop monkeying around,” you stated firmly, crossing your arms. “They’re causing trouble, and you do realize I had to endure a lecture about their unacceptable behavior, right?”

Only when he noticed the genuine concern in your voice did he shift his tone slightly, though you could see a hint of playfulness remaining. With your husband clearing his throat and adjusting in his seat, it seemed like he was merely putting on a show of being a ‘strict dad’ in front of you, while secretly shooting winks at his sons as if to say he was just playing around.

“Alright, alright,” he began putting on an act, addressing his twins, “You two are grounded. Go to your rooms. Now.”

Instead of showing any fear, the twins giggled as they dashed out of the living room without a care in the world—their tiny footsteps echoing all over the house as they ran recklessly. They didn’t even listen when you shouted at them to be careful. And now you couldn’t help but cross your arms, clearly dissatisfied with how your husband handled the situation in jest.

“Baby, come on,” he coaxed, drawing you closer and enveloping you in his strong embrace. You could feel his chin resting on your shoulder as he placed a kiss on your cheek. “I understand your frustration. They’re naughty when they want to be. But you have to admit, they’re showing some… initiative.”

Raising an eyebrow, you watched as he struggled to suppress a laugh at his own words. “Initiative? They’re supposed to be learning how to share and play nice, not how to terrorize their classmates!”

“Right, right. Of course,” he murmured, attempting to ease the tension with a gentle massage on your shoulders. “I understand. I’ll have a talk with them, mommy. Let’s not get angry now.”

The dilemma here was your desire to maintain the facade of a strict mom, to avoid the embarrassment of picking up your kids from daycare for causing yet another trouble. You loathed the judgmental stares from other parents, the silent accusation that you and your husband weren’t disciplining your children properly. It was as if they viewed you as terrible parents. Like you didn’t raise your kids right. 

At first, their opinions didn’t bother you; after all, they knew nothing about your family beyond the PTA meetings you’ve had to attend. But time and time again, after having to offer countless apologies to the parents of your sons’ classmates and the teachers who had to deal with them, their scrutiny was starting to get into your head—that perhaps you weren’t as strict as you thought. Perhaps you were too lenient. Perhaps you needed to assert your authority over your children so they’d learn to listen to you.

Yet, despite your resolve, you couldn’t resist the charm of your twins. They were just too adorable for their own good. And, well, their dad wasn’t exactly lacking in the charm department either.

With a sigh, you leaned against his chest. “I just want them to grow up to be good, not little terrors.”

Sukuna tenderly lifted your chin, planting a soft, affectionate kiss on your lips. “I promise, they’ll turn out great. Let’s not be too hard on them.”

~~

You had to acknowledge Sukuna’s efforts and give credit where it’s due. After he had promised to ‘talk’ to the kids, you did notice a marked improvement in their behavior since then. You and your husband used to take turns picking up the twins from daycare, but recently, he had insisted on doing it more frequently than you, saying that as his latest project had been completed, he now had more available time to pick up the twins after work.

You suspected the real reason behind his request was to alleviate your stress from constantly dealing with your sons’ antics. Knowing him, Sukuna also wanted to gauge the current atmosphere at the school by having conversations with the teachers and other parents to ensure there were no issues like bullying or other serious matters. 

With that solution in place, Raiden and Ryuji became much less of a handful, and the main reason being the reward system that Sukuna had implemented for the kids, where he promised to buy them expensive toys if they earned stars for good behavior each week.

So that was how it went for the next two weeks. No calls from distressed teachers, no calls from concerned parents. In fact, the twins eagerly showed you their progress and proudly displayed the stars on their hands each time they received them. You couldn’t help but swell with pride at their accomplishments, because as small as they were to some people, they were huge achievements for you and your husband as their supportive parents. 

At least, you could relax for now. With the twins having toned down their mischievous shenanigans, your mind was more at ease. To be fair, they might seem like little devils wherever they went, but when they were peacefully sleeping like they were now on the couch, they appeared as absolute angels in your eyes. 

The living room was bathed in a dim light, with the glow of the TV screen illuminating their cute, little faces as they snuggled up together on the couch, in their peaceful slumber sandwiched between you and your husband. They had dozed off before the movie ended, and now, with the credits rolling, your family movie night concluded earlier than expected.

“My precious babies,” you cooed in a hushed voice, gently stroking Ryuji’s cheek and planting a kiss on Raiden’s nose. Their eyes, their brows, their nose, their lips—every detail was taken from their father, and nothing from you. But you didn’t mind, because you knew just how strikingly handsome they would be when they grow up. “Looks like our little troublemakers couldn’t make it to the end of the movie.” 

Sukuna chuckled softly and glanced down at his sleeping sons with a fond smile. In holding his family close, he could feel that blissful warmth flooding his heart at the sigh of his wife and his kids snuggled together. “They’re tired today. Didn’t even last an hour into watching Megamind.” 

You smiled, carefully rising from the couch so as not to disturb the sleeping twins. The moment you caught your husband’s eye, you gestured for him to lift Raiden into his arms. “Let’s get them to bed.”

“Yes, ma’am.” He nodded, scooping up Raiden, while you lifted Ryuji, and together you carried your kids to their room. 

After tucking each twin into bed and giving them a final kiss on the forehead, you motioned for your husband to quietly exit the room with you. He was still adjusting the AC for their comfort before following you out close behind. The lights in their room now completely switched off. 

“They’re out like a light,” Sukuna whispered as both of you made your way towards the master bedroom. 

You stifled a yawn, stretching your arms. “Finally, some peace and quiet.” 

“Nuh-uh,” countered your husband, who was now grinning mischievously as he stopped in his tracks and grabbed you by the waist. “Not so soon, wife.” 

Before you knew it, you were pressed against the wall, a mere few inches outside your bedroom’s door, caged between your husband’s toned arms as he looked down at you like a lion looking at its prey. His animalistic gaze never failed to send you into an orbit of weakness, like always. “H-Hey.” 

A teasing smirk then appeared on his handsome face. “You know, babe, now that the boys are asleep, we could really make good use of this time.” 

“Really, now?” You held back a chuckle, cheeks heating up from the wanton desire on your husband’s eyes. As you crossed your arms and leaned against the wall, you didn’t realize that such action only caused him to go even crazier than he already was. 

“Dammit.” His eyes danced in lust as he stared at your cleavage when you crossed your arms. He had good self-control, too. That was… until he couldn’t resist it anymore. He had to have his hand squeeze one breast gently, fondling the rounded mass like they were his personal stress balls. “Are you ovulating, honey? They look huge.” 

You weren’t sure as it had been while since you tracked it, but your breasts did feel heavier lately. And sore, too, because he was kneading them. “Hmm. I might be expecting my period soon.” 

Very playfully, Sukuna leaned forward to trail kisses along your neck, his warm breath tickling your skin as he spoke, “What do you say we add another one to the bunch?” was his whispered suggestion, “A little girl, maybe? I know a few positions.” 

“Are you serious?” You raised an eyebrow, trying to suppress a laugh. “With these two little devils wreaking havoc, you still want to add more chaos to the mix?” 

His finger was already looping around the strap of your nightgown, pulling it down with a salacious upward curve of his lips. “You know you love the chaos, babe.” You could feel his hands moving to grab a handful of your buttocks, squeezing your bum eagerly. “Plus, imagine all the mischief our little girl could get up to.” 

You couldn’t help it either—the desire, the tension. Not to mention, your husband was looking undeniably hot right now, with the muscles on his chest pressing against yours, making you want nothing but to see him shirtless again. Those toned abs, those muscular arms. God. His lips were also soft and sweet when he pulled you into an open-mouthed kiss 

“You are,” you mumbled in between kisses, breathing heavily against his mouth, “very naughty, mister.” 

You felt him smirking through your kiss before he grabbed your thighs, and lifted you up so you could wrap them around his waist. The kissing, the very intense kissing, with his tongue rolling against yours and you moaning against his mouth, was already as erotic as it could get. When was the last time you two had sex? Last week? You couldn’t remember which specific day it was, but you did recall it being only a quick one in the shower. This time, it definitely wouldn’t be a quickie as he seemed to have plans in giving you a sleepless night. 

Sukuna carefully placed you down in your king-sized bed, pulling his shirt off and once again crawling above you to hungrily meet your lips with his. And did you mention he was a good multitasker?  As he nibbled on your lower lip, breathing you in like you were an addicting drug he couldn’t get enough off, his fingers were also rubbing your clothed entrance, pulling your underwear to the side to touch your moist cunt. 

“Mhmm—!”

Two fingers entered you without warning, and he pulled away from the kiss to look at the face you were making as he used his digits to find your sweet spot. “You’re so fuckin’ hot, Y/N.” 

You arched your back, spreading your legs wide open to give him full access to your core. The moment he was able to reach your g-spot, you could feel your lower abdomen coiling from the intense wave of pleasure that was coursing through your body. “Nghh—yes, daddy. That’s it!” 

A few more pumps, hard and fast, had you gasping for air like a fish out of the ocean. He seemed to have loved the sight too, as he kept his dark, sultry eyes fixed on you while he fingered you like there was no tomorrow. “You’re one hot mama, aren’t you?” he asked, withdrawing his fingers and sucking on them to taste your slick. “Can I fuck your mouth, baby?”

“‘Mmkay,” you answered, pulling yourself up to help him rid himself of his pajamas. The sight of his bulge—his big, angry bulge—made you all the more excited. You had seen him many times before and knew just how huge his member could grow when aroused, but it still didn’t change the fact that seeing his fully erect cock surprised you every single time. Because it was thick, it was long, it was meaty, it was veiny. “Gosh, lovey. You’re huge.” 

He obviously liked hearing that. Not only did you inflate his ego, it also made him desire you even more as he positioned his shaft on your face, pulling your hair into a ponytail. “Open your mouth.” 

Like a good girl, you did as told. And your eyes went wide as he forced his cock inside, thrusting balls deep in and out of your mouth. He was doing it roughly to the point where your eyes pooled with tears because your gag reflex kept on fighting back. You couldn’t even taste him properly because your saliva was coating his entire length, but you couldn’t stop yourself from smiling in satisfaction as you watched your husband throw his head back from the utmost pleasure of being inside your mouth. 

“Ah, fuck. Fuck.” He cussed multiple times, jostling his hips before pulling his member out. “Your mouth’s so warm.” 

For a moment, you replaced your mouth with your hand, an elbow propped on the other as you stroked his girthy length. You jacked him off at the pace you knew he preferred, and placed your tongue flat on the swollen pink head like it was a lollipop. You were kissing the tip with your eyes staring back at him, ultimately driving him into insanity. “Like that, daddy?” 

“Fuck yes,” he grunted, his vulgar thoughts now consuming his actions as he grabbed your chin up, only to then spit in your mouth. “I’m gonna get you pregnant tonight,” he declared in a deep, raspy voice, “Gonna fill up that pretty little pussy with my cum.” 

Damn, he’s serious about it? 

As embarrassing as it may sound, you could feel your pussy clenching from his lewd words. “You want a baby girl for real?” 

Your husband lowered himself down to meet your level, undressing you impatiently like a rabid dog who was ready to bite its victim. And in your naked glory, he then spread your legs apart and rubbed his shaft in between your labia. “I do,” he said, puppy eyes hoping for you to say yes, “I want a baby girl, please. Please. Please.” 

Could you even resist this man? 

You gave him an answer by nodding, holding your smile by biting your lower lip as you watched your silly husband reach through the nightstand in search of the lube. Because he was too crazed with excitement, a couple packs of unused condoms fell out of the drawer as he grabbed the strawberry-colored tube. 

“Take it easy. Jeez,” you teased. 

“You’re driving me nuts here.” 

You decided to tease him even more by touching yourself, your fingers doing circular motions on your clit as your husband coated his entire length with the water-based lube. The smell of artificial strawberry permeated through the air, and with it being your favorite scent, you felt more stimulated than ever. “Mmm. I want you inside me now, lovey.” 

“What mommy wants, mommy gets,” he joked, manhandling both your legs into placing it above his shoulders and putting you into his favorite position. The classic missionary. “Ah, shit.” He buried his member agonizingly slow. “Why… are… you so damn tight tonight?” 

Maybe because you were clenching around his cock, squeezing his angry member with your velvet walls and giving him that extra good grip he always went absolutely wild for. “A-Aah! Y-You love it.” 

“Fuck, yeah.” He began thrusting now. Using his thumb to spread your slit apart, he delighted in seeing his cock go in and out of your entrance, watching the full length be swallowed by your cavern entirely. And he was going from slow and sensual, to rough and fast in less than a minute. 

He was just far too deep inside. Now, you were losing hold on your sanity as with every jostle of your body, your insides were also reacting more and more violently with your knees and thighs shaking. The skin slapping sounds were bouncing across the room, and you were hoping, praying, that your soundproof walls worked well enough not to wake your innocent twins. Because at this rate, you were going to squirt all over their father. It had been sometime since you felt the need to pee during intercourse, but that also speaks of just how intense Sukuna was plowing his hardened cock inside of you. 

“D-Daddy, I… I’m…” 

He attached his mouth on your right tit, playing his tongue around the nipple. “Mhm… You’re so sexy, mommy.” 

Two little boys. And your husband still won’t stop until he gets his little girl. 

Your mind was a whirlwind that night. The events that followed became such a blur because your pleasure overpowered your ability to think straight. All you could remember was Sukuna releasing his warm load into your womb after chasing his climax, and immediately after, he had your body twisted around and positioned into what he refers ‘the undefeated’ doggy style. 

Gosh, he was telling the truth when he said he was going to fuck you all night with no breaks in between. 

Because now, you were on all fours, being pounded from behind as you had your hands gripping the sheets each time he propelled his body forward. He was shoving his cock from behind like it was his day job, already familiar with the perfect angle and depth in which he had to rut you in. With his hands holding your hips in place, he raised one leg on the mattress, and the other knee still intact, to fuck you senseless. 

“Mmm—Aah! Haah!” 

The deeper he penetrated you, the lower your upper body went. You were now in a position with your chest down low, and your ass up high so that he could see your hole in a much, much better view. “You think you can take ‘nother round after this, babe?” he asked, breathless as he reached forward to squeeze your tit. “I don’t wanna push your limits.” 

“I-I don’t t-think I c-can…”

You could hear his deep chuckle despite your frenzied state, and soon enough, he was increasing the speed of his thrusts once more, cursing and moaning while doing so, before shooting thick ropes of seed inside your cunt. 

He collapsed next to you right after that, while you were completely limp in labored breaths as you lay beside him. The feeling of his semen dripping out of your pussy had you reaching for your husband’s arm, pointing towards the box of tissue with your half-lidded eyes. You were too sore to move. 

Sukuna immediately got the cue. “I got it,” he said, pecking your lips before doing the task of wiping the mess on your body. And as soon as he was able to clean you off, he quickly went back beside you, pulling you into a sweet, husbandly embrace. “Good night, beautiful.” 

You hummed in your drowsy state, his chest becoming the perfect pillow for your head to sleep on. “Night, night, handsome.” 

~~

Good lord was his body sore. 

But was that the greatest fucking sex he has ever had? Hell yes. It was so good that he even dreamed of it. 

As the morning sun streamed through the curtains, the aftermath of your passionate night was evident in the tousled sheets and sleepy smiles that you both had that morning. He still had you in his arms, your body secured around his as he pressed his lips into your temple. 

“Good morning, my love.” 

You stirred awake, blinking sleepily as you stretched beneath the warmth of the covers. He could tell you were still groggy from last night’s events, and he was a hundred percent certain that you were also too sore to walk. “Morning, lovey.” 

But before he could savor the domestic moment with you, the bedroom door burst open, and a fully awakened Raiden and Ryuji came in with their energy back at 100%. Oh, boy. Sukuna just had to forget locking the door last night. 

Raiden, in his polka pjs, was jumping up and down excitedly. “Mama! Papa! Wake up!” 

He was joined by his twin brother, Ryuji, who was in his striped pajamas, skipping around the room. “We want pancakes, pwease!” 

Sukuna could feel you stiffening next to him, and he saw the look of panic in your eyes upon realizing that you were very much naked under the sheets. So, hastily and frantically, your beloved husband pulled the duvet, covering your chest from being exposed and hoping to conceal any tell-tale marks. 

“Shh! Keep it down, boys,” he reprimanded the twins, “Mama and Papa are still sleeping.”

The stubborn Ryuji placed his hands on his hips. “But you’re awake, Papa!” 

On the other hand, Raiden, who climbed the king-sized bed, was pointing towards his mother. “Mama, what’s on your shoulder?” 

At the sight of the marks, Sukuna’s eyes widened in alarm and his cheeks were limned with a crimson hue. His mind raced for a plausible explanation because those exact bruises on your shoulder were, in fact, hickeys. So before you could speak, he took it upon himself to handle the matter. “That... It’s, uh, a battle wound.” He mentally kicked himself for such a ridiculous lie. “Mama’s very brave, you see. She fought off a giant mosquito last night.”

You stifled a laugh, burying your face into the pillow for a moment, and later deciding to play along. “That’s right,” you agreed, nodding seriously. “Mama’s a warrior.”

Raiden and Ryuji, however, were too smart for this as the twins exchanged skeptical glances, clearly not buying their parents' explanation. And with Raiden being the more vocal one, he pointed it out first. “But why does it look like a bunch of tiny kisses?”

Sukuna struggled now, and while he was still thinking of another excuse, you finally stepped in to try and save the day. 

And thank the heavens, you handled it a lot more casually than he did. “It’s a secret,” you said, smiling at your kids, “Mama and Papa have a secret game they play sometimes. Right, Papa?”

Your husband quickly joined in on your little antic. “That’s right, it’s a secret game! But it’s only for grown-ups,” he clarified to the curious twins, who were clearly intrigued by this mysterious ‘game’. “You two aren’t old enough to play yet.”

The twins exchanged curious glances, their skepticism giving way to fascination. “Okay,” Raiden said slowly, still pondering the explanation. Ryuji just shrugged, accepting it more readily. 

Only then did Sukuna breathe a silent sigh of relief as he was grateful for your quick thinking. But with children like these two, the interrogation was clearly far from over because Ryuji decided to make things even more complicated when he picked up an unused packet of condom on the floor, its bright red color attracting his interest. “Mama, is this candy?” asked your son, pointing to the strawberry logo, “Can I have it?” 

“No, sweetheart, that’s not candy,” you softly spoke. The composure in your voice was outstanding. Sukuna should definitely learn a thing or two from you. “Give it to Mama.” 

And while you dealt with the other twin, Raiden jumped out of bed and tugged at his father’s arm persistently. “Papa, pancakes!” he demanded, throwing a tantrum as he chanted. “Pancakes! Pancakes! We want pancakes!” 

“Okay, okay!” The father sighed inwardly, shooting you a look for help as if he was their slave for the day. All you could do was chuckle and mouth ‘you got this’ back to him. Well, he didn’t have much of a choice, did he? “Coming right up, you little monsters.” 

“Yayy!” 

“Woohoo!” 

You, barely handling the noise at six in the morning, groaned playfully next to your husband. “See? Having another kid isn’t as easy as you think,” you told him, “We can barely handle these two.” 

Sukuna displayed a grin, running a hand through his hair as he looked at his wife and your little ones. “Boys, do you want a baby sister? Yes or yes?” 

Raiden and Ryuji, in unison, answered giddily. “Yes! We want a baby sister!” 

A look of defeat clouded your eyes, while your husband laughed and kissed your forehead. “You heard them, love,” he reminded, softly, “I want my baby girl soon.” 

He knew that, despite your playful protest, having a daughter was a shared desire. “Fine.” 

So in swift movements, your husband slipped into his pants beneath the covers, then got out of bed to scoop up the twins in his arms. “Alright, breakfast time you two!” he announced, heading towards the door with his sons cheering together. And just before leaving, he cast one last tender smile in your direction. 

“I love you, Y/N. Chaos and all.” 

[the-crooked-library]

Nuance, Narratives, and Nosferatu

As of today, Robert Eggers' Nosferatu (2024) has only been in theatres for 4 full days; and, coincidentally, that is about as long as I am able to let my thoughts marinate before they demand to be communicated. Before going into any further detail, let it be known that this film was made by freaks for freaks; it exists for the goths, the gays, the monsterfuckers, the historians, and for all those who delight in moral and thematic complexity.

With that being said - spoilers under the cut!

There are two principal narratives running through the flesh of Nosferatu, both of them rooted heavily in the cultural and literary origins of the story. It is a nightmare; it is also an erotic fantasy. It is horrifying, and it is also achingly romantic. From what I've seen so far, the vast majority of discourse that has already emerged around the film is caused by people misunderstanding or deliberately ignoring the relationship between these different lines of analysis; so please trust me when I say, from the bottom of my heart, that this duality is the very lifeblood of the movie.

The reason for that is, quite simply, that Nosferatu is a gothic horror film, set in 1830s German Confederation; and its plot relies on the same (sometimes contradictory) complexities often displayed in Victorian gothic fiction.

From the beginning of the movie, we are given to understand that Ellen Hutter met Count Orlok - the eponymous nosferatu - psychically, when she was very young. They spoke, she pledged herself to him, and was horrified to realize what she had done when he revealed his true visage to her in their first visual (and sexual) encounter.

Here, under the lilacs, the paths diverge.

The first reading of the film is perhaps the more straightforward. A young girl is essentially catfished and groomed by a much older, dangerous man. When they meet for the first time, she is a teenager; the lilacs that bloom where it happens become a trigger. He is the source of her madness and "melancholy" (depression), she has nightmares about him regularly enough that her husband is aware of them, and it is implied that she has been institutionalized in the past. Thomas Hutter is the physical representation of her one desperate hope for a normal life - but as the story progresses, she finds herself being denied even that. Orlok's psychic connection with her verges on demonic possession; in chilling, The Exorcist-inspired sequences, she writhes and mutters, prophesying a city-wide reign of death and terror. In pursuit of his claim on Ellen, Orlok terrorizes her husband, murders her friends - and, eventually, she gives her life to take him with her to the grave, saving the city from the plague he caused.

That is the horror element of Nosferatu; it deals with an exploration of childhood trauma, of PTSD, of difficulties maintaining a social life after the fact. It is easy to understand even from a modern viewpoint, and it pushes the film to its conclusion with a bleak, heart-wrenching punch.

The horror is not the only element of Nosferatu.

To contextualize the alternate - though just as correct - reading of the film, it is essential to understand that Ellen’s society was extremely sexually repressed, especially in regards to female and queer sexuality.

Both were severely medicalized, demonized, and restricted; and as such, when these topics do make an appearance in contemporary fiction, they are often inextricable from disgust and fear.

Dedicated as always to historical accuracy, Eggers maintains the same setting-based narrative coding.

In anticipation of morality arguments vis à vis monstrosity, depiction, and modern purity culture, let me clarify: this is something that works within his chosen genre. Horror, and especially gothic horror, invites a deeper analysis in regard to morality and motivation, and in this case, Eggers' homage to the origins of that genre grounds the narrative in its time and location, as well as fleshing it out much further than a purely modern cultural lens would permit. In this context, the details of Ellen's connection with Orlok become paramount to the understanding of the film.

As bits and pieces of their background become revealed, the audience realizes that her psychic gift did not begin with him - and neither did her melancholy, or her isolation. She was born with her abilities, and throughout her childhood, she was a bit of a tomboy by her contemporary standards, running wild in the woods near her father's property; however, once she foretold her mother's death, and once she was too old to get away with eccentricities, her father became frightened of her abnormality. She was isolated, confined indoors, and that is when her melancholy had begun. Painfully lonely and aching for some form of companionship, she called out into the ether; and Orlok responded.

Over the course of their story, he becomes the physical manifestation of everything Ellen perceives as dark and sinful about herself.

He is psychic, he is vicious, possessive, and blatantly sexual; her sensual affection with Anna parallels the evident and physical attraction he displays towards Thomas; and the social power he so easily commands is the same that she lacks, being a woman in a rigidly patriarchal society.

In the end, the severely questionable age gap, the murders, the coercion, the betrayal - all of that comes down to respect. Throughout the film, that is the one thing that Ellen is consistently denied. She is young when she meets Orlok, yes; but she is aggressively infantilized by her surrounding society even when she is a grown, adult, married woman.

It starts from the beginning of the film, when the Hutters visit the Harding family. During those scenes, the men are shown talking business - while the women play with children in the parlour; and the same social framing persists into the body of the film. When Ellen is suffering from what appears to be some form of mental illness, she is referred to as a child by multiple different characters; and when the condition progresses, she is swiftly diagnosed with hysteria and drugged - thus being forcibly removed from the discussion of her own illness. The general reactions to that illness - which is, in fact, a display of her psychic abilities - range from annoyance to fear to curiosity; it is seen either as a disability or a curse, rather than anything entirely innate to who she is. Her fears are dismissed. Harding tells her to learn some deference. Even closer to the finale, when Von Franz admits that she could have been a great priestess in another age, he does so with pity rather than anything else; in their industrial era, he cannot help but see her only as a tragic sacrifice - horrible, but necessary to save the city from a plague. Brought in to heal her, he instead guides her to her death.

All these aspects of Ellen's circumstances find a direct opposite in her relationship with Orlok. Unlike all other characters in the film, he only ever sees her as his equal, which is made even more evident when his interactions with Thomas and Herr Knock are brought into consideration. With both men, Orlok insists on being addressed by his lordly title, "as his blood demands it"; and yet, Ellen never calls him by any title at all, be it "My Lord" or even a simple "Herr." She argues with him freely, and there is a familiarity between them that he is demonstrated to never tolerate from anyone else. Similarly, while he disguises the covenant he makes with Thomas, the terms of his covenant with Ellen are laid out clearly, in full. He does not hide from her; she already knows the worst of him, the same way he knows that she is intelligent, that she is powerful, and that she is not meant to be demure and deferring. Again and again, Orlok insists that Ellen is not meant for humanity - and the true horror, the horror she cannot bring herself to face, is that he is right.

In a sense, he is a mirror held up in front of her own face. Ellen is painfully aware that she does not fit in, and that she never has. The "normal" society, epitomized by the Hardings (wealthy husband, pretty blonde wife, 2.5 kids), has no place for her - and actively dislikes her.

The film makes this ostracism impossible for the viewer to ignore. As the story progresses, it becomes evident that the other human characters - even those that do sincerely care for Ellen - never truly know her. Anna loves her, but wishes she would not talk of dreadful things - and lashes out as a result of that discomfort, scolding her. Sievers finds himself bewildered by her; Knock sees her as an object to trade; Von Franz pities her, Harding hates her, and Thomas cannot truly satisfy her, even after being touched by the supernatural himself.

Seeing a flash of a monstrous face while they are together, he flings her away. To him, his experience with Orlok is merely traumatic, and he wishes for nothing more than to leave it behind. However, to her, it is something she cannot help but crave; and she continues to wear her lilac perfume.*

All that to say - Count Orlok is, simultaneously, everything Ellen wants and everything she is terrified of being.

That specific dichotomy reaches its climax during their mutual finale. As it is to be expected from a vampire wedding night, they rejoin in a sequence of sex, blood, and renewed vows - and what is particularly notable is that (unlike Murnau) Eggers makes it clear that this Orlok never intended to kill his Ellen, despite his inability to resist her blood. Though he drinks from her through the night, he stops at cock-crow; and she guides his head back down herself, distracting him long enough for the sun to rise. It is a duet of accident and intention. He drains her; and she holds him as the sun drains him. They cling together as they end - on a bed that serves their wedding and their death.

It is romantic. it is unquestionably romantic. However, that does not mean that the horror isn't also present; Ellen's consent, under these circumstances, is highly debatable, and Orlok is cruel, amoral, and murderously possessive. At the same time, the characters are also acting out folkloric archetypes, with precious little adjustment to that framework - which further removes them from a modern understanding of morality. He is Death, a Koschei the Deathless, a monster; she is the Maiden, a Vasilisa, a damsel. I hesitate to liken them to the Beauty and the Beast, largely because in the original premise of that story, the Beauty falls in love with the kindness that the Beast consistently displays; and it is essential to stress that Orlok has none. He does care for Ellen, in his own way, but he admits to being incapable of love as she defines it in human terms;** and, curiously, that seems to be her primary concern when it comes to the idea of accepting his proposal - rather than all the blood and carnage.

What I'm trying to say, I suppose, is that there are multiple ways of following a story, and multiple different stories in a film as nuanced as Nosferatu. Yes, it is about grooming and trauma. Yes, it is about finding love outside of the cage that is "polite society." I'm sure that it is many other things besides, with as many meanings as there are people in the theatres; after all, I am only one person, and the film grossed something over $40M in its first three days. The point is, really, that this is a story in which a rotting vampire is woken from centuries of deathlike slumber by a lonely voice asking him to be her friend; and whatever these two strange and aching souls do with that can go down any myriad of paths. The film trusts the viewer to interpret the narrative they choose.

* LILAC PERFUME - in fact, it is such a consistent favourite of Ellen's that Orlok smells it on her hair in the locket she sends with Thomas to the castle. Thomas never really learns the reason she likes that scent - even though he knows that preference well enough that he gifts her lilacs in the beginning of the film.

** ORLOK'S OBSESSION - this is a side note, but: the vampire wedding sequence reminds me strongly of the third season of NBC's Hannibal. I suppose that was to be expected, considering that Hannibal is also a Dracula offshoot, much like Orlok himself. When Ellen snaps at Orlok that he cannot love, he responds that "no; but only with you, I can be truly sated." Similarly - "Is Hannibal in love with me?" asks Will; and Bedelia responds - "Could he feel a daily stab of hunger for you, and find nourishment at the very sight of you?" I'd say if you liked that series, you should try and see the film. It works with a familiar blend of aesthetic horror.

[confessedlyfannish]

Writing Prompt #16

"Aren't you curious?" Sam asks. "You gotta check it out!"

Danny is not, in fact, curious. He's watched everything his adoptive parents have done for the past six years wildly oscillating between amused and apprehensive.

The Fentons are eccentric, to put it mildly; obsessive, to put it insultingly. But when he's flipped through their papers, the formulas—while far beyond his comprehension—don't look like those of crackpots.

He wouldn't be here if they were merely that. He's not that lucky.

"We should go," he repeats, hands rubbing at his upper arms as a sudden chill works its way down his spine. And then, just as he recognizes the sensation, the world goes eerily still.

"Hello, Danny."

The creature steps forward from behind him. It passes by Sam's motionless body without a glance in her direction. It makes sense. In this silent, stationary world only the two of them truly exist.

The creature looks different this time. Its visage is that of an elder on the brink of death. So decrepit is it that the fluidity of its movement is the most unnerving aspect of its being. But its eyes are unchanged from the child that once came to Danny when he was at his lowest, piercing and red as blood.

Danny bows deeply at the waist. "Creature," he says, as politely as one can when using such a moniker.

The thing cocks its head.

"To receive such a greeting. I am honored."

Danny winces. "I am grateful," he admits. "You have done me a great—...you helped me. Thank you. And uh," his shoulders droop. "Sorry. For before."

They both pause to recall the eight-year old who once hurled curses and daggers alike.

"I have made grown men fear anew what lies in the dark." The Creature says. "You need not apologize for the actions of a scared child."

His eight year-old self would've bristled. He would've demanded retribution for such an insult. He was no average child. He had been raised to surpass the tolerance of any grown man.

His eight year-old self had been scared shitless, yes, but he would've died before admitting such a thing.

Danny isn't that person anymore.

"Yeah but. It was pretty rude." He rubs at the back of his neck. An easy tell. He's allowed that now, to tell and have it be easy.

The Creature seems to be cataloguing these differences. Whether or not it is displeased by these changes, it is difficult to tell. It would be rather ironic if it were upset, considering its technically the creature's fault in the first place.

Danny considers pointing that out, but the Creature is as unconcerned with small talk now as it was six years ago.

"I did you a favor, Danny."

Danny swallows. "Yes," he acknowledges.

"And now you will do one for me."

Danny closes his eyes. Just for a moment.

He'd known the second the Creature had re-appeared. He'd buried the knowledge of the deal he had made only so far as he could enjoy this new life without mourning its inevitable end.

He was built to be a weapon, and his decision had only been to trade the hands of who wielded him. A desperate choice, made by a desperate child.

I wanted to say goodbye! Danny Fenton wails, pushing his hands into his hair. I wanted to hug my Dad. I wanted to hug my sister. I wanted to hug my Mom. I wanted to hug my Mom. I wanted to hug my Mom. I want to hug my Mom—

Danny's hands are trembling.

Oh, he thinks. I did not bury it far enough.

Still, he opens his mouth and answers what has not been asked:

"Yes."

The Creature raises a hand and points past Sam, past Tucker. He points at the portal to the Ghost Zone. His parents' magnum opus.

"Go."

Danny nods, automatically. "I will go to the tunnel."

"You will enter."

"Yes," Danny agrees, blankly. The Creature provides no further instructions. Instead it watches him.

It doesn't work. Does the Creature not know it doesn't work?

It watches him. It waits.

So Danny approaches.

Confusion and fear keeps his steps slow, but the curiosity he never could quite kill keeps them steady. He's ashamed at how fast his heart beats, not because he is nervous but because some part of him, the part that never quite settled in this quiet midwestern town, is excited.

He spent the first eight years of his life fighting to keep it, and the sick part of him that trilled with delight at every blade ducked in the nick of time, every cliff he scaled bare-handed, every time he held his breath for deeper and longer than before—

goes abruptly silent as he reaches the mouth. He places a hand at its lip and peers into the yawning darkness before him.

There was a system of caves he regularly traversed, in the life before this. It was in those caves that he made the deal with the Creature, who brought him here.

"Wait," it says now. It hovers beside him, its purple cloak just skimming the floor.

"What are you?" Danny asks, staring into the tunnel.

"You know what I am, Danny," it murmurs. "Answer her."

"What?" Danny turns.

"I said," Sam exaggerates, "Aren't you curious?"

Danny's mouth is dry. The jumpsuit crinkles in his hands.

"Go."

"Danny?" Tucker asks. Sam lowers her camera.

"Go."

"...You know what?" He pastes a smile on his face. "You're right. Who knows what kind of awesome super cool—" too much, tone it down "—things exist on the other side of that portal?"

It's his idea. Whatever happens next, it was his idea.

His choices. His fault.

He pulls the suit on, letting Sam yank the sticker off. His friends stand together, and he lets himself look at them, take them in, just for a moment.

He steps inside.

Maybe. Maybe this isn't the end. Maybe he still gets to have this. Maybe maybe maybe.

In a previous life, he thought the caves would be his tomb.

But he made a deal. He escaped. He became Danny Fenton.

This is not the cavern of his childhood. He learned the crevices of those walls twice over; once by torchlight, then with the tips of his fingers and a cloth tied over his eyes.

Danny Fenton has a family. Danny Fenton has friends.

He trips on a wire. He feels the chill of unfamiliar metal even through his gloves.

Danny Fenton has hope.

The wall gives way under his palm. Something beeps.

And Danny Fenton dies.

[moonsaver]

wheover that anon was that spoke up about mr reca I LOVE U WE SHOULD KISS

ALSO YESSS IRIS FAM MEMBER! READER WHOS AN ACTRESS/ACTOR!!! just imagine being THE mr. reca’s favorite thespian he’s ever worked with oh my gosh im drooling rn 😍🥰😋🔥😜

Yes anon!! Very real of the other anon. And of you.

This is yandere, so tw

Iris!Reader who's an actress/actor would smash. Imagine despite your humble beginnings and barely being able to keep your family afloat you make it. Although perhaps our beloved actor/actress doesn't quite fit the beauty standard, or they haven't made their debut in a popular film, or maybe they just aren't what most movies are focused on right now, considering the disparity between an actor's range and the genres they might partake in.

Here comes Mr. Reca, swooping you from who knows where, plopping you down into a makeup chair and reading the script to you at 50 words/sec speed. You have no idea where you are or what's going on before you're pushed onto the movie set, completely winded before Mr. Reca throws his hands up all "oh alright! Since you can't get the hang of this yet, I'll lend you a hand" or whatever excuse he loves to pull out of his ass. He personally guides you with the movie scripts, drags you along to any parties he may have to attend, forces you "into the filming sphere" or whatever by "exposure". You could be sleeping and he'd blast into your personal residence at 4 in the morning, and drag you along. He probably even forces you to sit down and listen to all his ideas and brainstorming sessions.

The more time you spend with him, the more sense he eventually makes. It's strange, and you almost end up questioning if you might be going insane. But you brush it off, because you realise he's been caring to you. Unlike most directors, he does care for his cast. He does provide a hospitable atmosphere to work with, which makes you realise just why your co-stars are so eager to please him. Mr. Reca, although insane and hard to decipher, makes you almost gravitate towards him when his eccentricities are laid bare before you.

Every time your short contract ends, he's already got the next one printed out and ready for you to sign. You appear so often beside him, it's unusual for you not to. Often, you make headlines with Mr. Reca backing you up. It's all in the palm of his hands when he gets you to stardom.

Oh, but isn't it a bit too much?

Nosy paparazzi that continually stalk and harass you, fans or even those that despise you call you or your family, people surrounding your home just to get a glimpse of your daily life, drivers who follow your car everywhere.. it's a bit too much for your pretty little head to handle. Mr. Reca is all too familiar with these pests. Why don't you stand closer and let him deal with them? Nevermind the fact he paid them, or that he's been rather eager to practice method acting with you.

Speaking of, he's replaced all your co-stars whenever it comes to suggestive or intimate scenes, considering himself as their stand-in since, well.. You're more comfortable with him, aren't you? You've been under his wing for so long, it's easier for you to do these uncomfortable scenes with him, instead of those no good actors.

You're not sure when it happens, but you notice the amount of cast dwindling until it's you and him, all alone. The movies are beautiful, but it's hard to hide the shivering by just pure acting skills when you realise no one has you in their grasp as much as Mr. Reca. His eager, insane eyes watching you like a rabid animal hidden behind a camera when you act all alone on a solitary set. This is the last time he allows the privilege of your visage on the lens, before you mysteriously go missing. You are meant for only the lens of his observant eyes, he states, as though confessing a haunting realisation.

Oh well, you can continue acting. Just remember your audience. It's only him you have to consider pleasing.

[chlerc]

rocky beginnings ; charles leclerc

— summary; he’s been collecting rocks from every country he travelled to just because you mentioned it once back in highschool but he never thought he’d actually gift it to you till this reunion.

pairing — charles leclerc x f. reader! ( third person story )

word count — 1144.

content — pinning over that one girl from highschool and collecting rocks from every country he visited just because she mentioned it was her habit once. polaroid pictures of the beaches he visited and collected rocks from, notes written with his messy handwriting on the polaroids.

NAVIGATION + author’s note: i forgot where this idea came from i'm not gonna lie, i swear it was a chinese drama but i forgot which and i thought it was cute...

THE ROOM WAS AWASH WITH a peculiar blend of nostalgia and tentative conviviality, the kind that only a high-school reunion could conjure. Fragments of laughter, some sincere, others tinged with a hint of uncertainty floated through the air, mingling with half-remembered stories and recollections of days long past. Charles lingered near the periphery, a glass of tepid punch clasped in one hand while the other nervously traced the edge of his jacket pocket. His gaze flitted around the room, moving from one face to another, searching for a singular visage — her visage.

Years had passed since they last spoke in earnest. They were mere acquaintances now, connected only by the fragile threads of social media, a few cursory comments on Instagram stories, an annual exchange of obligatory birthday wishes. But once, they had been inseparable deskmates bound by shared secrets, shared laughter and shared dreams scrawled in the margins of their textbooks. She had a peculiar habit; a habit of collecting rocks from every place she visited. It was a small thing, almost whimsical, but it was something he had never forgotten.

At last, he spotted her, standing by the old trophy case, the dim light casting a soft halo around her, making her appear almost ethereal. For a moment, he hesitated, feeling the weight of time and lost opportunities pressing down upon him. But then, as though compelled by an unseen force, he began to make his way through the throng, the container in his hand growing heavier with each step he took.

She noticed him before he reached her, her eyes widening in recognition, followed by a smile that had not changed in all those years. The same delicate curve that seemed to illuminate her entire face. It began softly at the corners of her lips, as it widened, her smile seemed to spill over, brightening her eyes until they sparkled with a warm, unspoken invitation. The fullness of her lips caught the light, the subtle dimples that appeared in her cheeks adding an almost childlike charm, a hint of playful innocence. The same smile that lingered long after it faded, the same smile he never forgot. “Charles!” She greeted, her voice carrying a blend of surprise and something gentler, something like familiarity tinged with warmth. “Hello,” he replied, striving for a nonchalance that belied the quickening of his heartbeat. “It’s been quite some time.”

They exchanged the customary pleasantries; the polite inquiries about life, careers, and family. Yet, all the while, Charles was acutely aware of the container in his hand, a silent testament to years of quiet devotion. As the conversation began to wane, he gathered his courage and took a steadying breath. “I, uh, I brought something for you.” He mumbled, his voice catching slightly. He extended the container towards her, his hand trembling ever so slightly. It was a simple plastic vessel, but its contents were far from ordinary — they were the culmination of years spent thinking of her.

She looked at it, curiosity knitting her brows together. “What is this?” She questioned, accepting the container from him with a gentle touch. “Rocks,” he stated painfully obviously, almost bashful. “I remembered how you used to collect them from every place you visited. So, I started collecting them for you. Every time I travelled to a new country for the F1 season or for the holidays, I made a point of finding a beach and picking up a rock.” Her eyes widened further, her gaze moving from the container to his face and back again, a look of astonishment mingled with something else, something like wonder. “You did that? All this time?” Her voice meek like she couldn’t believe someone would’ve done that for her.

He nodded, a flush creeping up his neck. “Yes, and there’s more. I used the Polaroid camera you gave me for my sixteenth birthday. I captured a photograph of the sea in every country I visited and I wrote the date and the location on each one, in my usual messy handwriting.” He reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a bundle of polaroids, bound together with a fraying rubber band. He handed them to her, his heart thundering in his chest.

She took the photographs, her fingers brushing lightly against his, sending a spark of electricity up his arm. She leafed through them slowly, her eyes tracing the images — the endless, varied blues of oceans from around the world. She saw the dates and the names, scrawled in his familiar handwriting, each one a small, personal testament to his enduring thoughtfulness. Her eyes glistened, her smile deepening with each photograph she examined.

“Charles, I… I don’t know what to say,” she murmured, her voice thick with emotion. “This is… extraordinary. Thank you.” He shrugged, attempting to appear nonchalant, though his pulse was racing. “I just thought you might appreciate them. I remembered how much you loved collecting them, and I hoped… I hoped you still did.” She looked up at him, her eyes meeting him with an intensity that was almost disarming. For a long moment, they simply stood there, suspended in a silence that was laden with all the words left unsaid over the years — all the missed chances and unspoken sentiments. Yet in that silence, there was also a flicker of something new, a glimmer of possibility, a chance for renewal, for rekindling what had been lost.

“You always were the thoughtful one,” she said softly, her smile tinged with nostalgia. “I still collect them, you know. I never stopped.” He chuckled softly, relief flooding through him like a warm wave. “I’m glad, I was hoping that was still the case.” For a moment, they stood together in that small pocket of space by the trophy case, the rest of the reunion swirling around them like a distant, blurred backdrop. It was as if time itself had slowed, giving them a precious few moments to reconnect, to rediscover the connection that had once bound them so closely.

“I’ve missed you,” she confessed at last, her voice barely more than a whisper. “I’ve missed you, too,” he replied, the words flowing more easily than he had expected. “More than I can put into words.” They shared a smile — a new smile, one that spoke of second chances and the faintest hope of rekindling something once thought lost. As the evening wore on, they found themselves engrossed in conversation, reminiscing about the past, laughing over old memories, and uncovering how much they still shared in common.

And as they talked, the container of rocks and the stack of Polaroids sat beside them — a tangible reminder of time passed, and perhaps, a bridge to a future that was now just a bit more luminous, a bit more promising, with the prospect of a renewed friendship or perhaps something more — beckoning on the horizon.

[sunnyshinesunshine]

Instead of Elrond looking like some vague Finwëan-Sindar combo

Elrond looks a little different to everyone that sees him

His face doesn’t change. He is still very much Elrond Peredhel, but his features will always remind whoever sees him of some form of a regret.

He supposes it is a combination of being a healer and the descendent of Maia but he tries not to dwell too hard on it.

(It is very uncomfortable to be the image of the deepest wounds of another’s heart)

Nonetheless, it is difficult to heal one’s own soul without facing the reasons for its damage.

Elros Tar-Minyatur was the only one to ever look at Elrond and see only Elrond.

If this was because his blood matched Elrond’s, or because Elrond was Elros’ deepest regret, Elrond doesn’t particularly want to know

Maedhros, utterly predictably, saw Fingon, and in doing so, found both comfort and misery.

Occasionally he would see in Elrond the ghosts of all his brothers, and he would again face the knowledge that he was not able to save them from their doom and the dark void.

Maglor sees Maedhros, and feels regret, not for the violence or the death, but for days in far off Valinor, under the light of the Trees. Days of running off with friends, to sing, to compose, to preform for adoring fans, to do anything but stay at home and help Maitimo take care of their small army of younger siblings.

(Maybe then the title of eldest brother would weigh less heavy on Mae’s shoulders. Maybe then the responsibility of care for them all would not have driven him so far, and to such a bitter end.)

If Glorfindel is to be asked, he’d tell you Elrond appears to him as the spitting image of Turgon

If you are Erestor, you know Glorfindel mostly sees Maeglin, Maeglin young and quiet, Maeglin older and scared, but sometimes also Aredhel, defiant and ready to disappear into the woods without a sound

Elwing once looked upon her son and saw naught but the visage of her little brothers

Galadriel sees Finrod, as does Celebrimbor, for very different reasons, but mostly because they share the same kind of kindness, and there is little that marks a person better than that

In quieter moments Galadriel will glimpse what her husband sees, Lúthien, as she was after Beren died, solemn, trapped, and entombed in misery.

During Bilbo’s final years, he can’t quite remember what he first thought upon looking on Elrond’s face (he’s sure it’s written down somewhere) but in those last days, he sometimes sees Frodo, wary and so very afraid. But mostly Elrond resembles Thorin and that is something Bilbo shall never set to paper

(Someday, in a time far beyond the counting of years, Fëanor will find himself staring at the face of his grandchild and seeing the eyes of Míriel Þerindë above the features Indis and will have a very small, very quiet meltdown.

[cece693]

A Crown of Two Realms

pairing: loki laufeyson x małe reader pairing: reader is a prince, arranged marriage, ambiguous ending, heart vs what's right, love sometimes isn't enough, why do I keep doing this to myself :(

For as long as the Nine Realms remembered, Asgard had stood as a gleaming pillar of might—yet your homeland, the hidden kingdom of Illyria, was older, wealthier in resources, and influential enough to command the respect (and, occasionally, the wariness) of even the great All-Father, Odin. When word spread that the heir of Illyria had accepted a formal marriage alliance with Asgard’s crown prince, the entire cosmos paid attention.

You were that heir.

Sharp-minded, with a handsomely chiseled visage that drew comparisons to the very deities etched into temple walls—wherever you went, it seemed people murmured, “He is perfection.” They weren’t wrong to admire you; from childhood, you had been trained to lead, to command, and to bear the responsibilities of your ancient, formidable realm.

The day you arrived on Asgard, escorted by a contingent of Illyrian warriors clad in shimmering silver armor, the air practically crackled with anticipation. Thor Odinson—your future husband—stood at the foot of the palace steps, bright-eyed and eager to greet you with warmth. Yet, even as you approached him with regal composure, your gaze drifted to the lean figure slightly behind him, dressed in emerald and black: the second prince of Asgard, Loki.

He was watching you as well, his expression guarded but unmistakably curious.

Odin and Frigga welcomed you graciously into the golden halls of the palace. They made a show of Asgard’s famed hospitality, laying out a splendid feast in your honor. Courtiers lined the corridors, bowing or curtsying as you passed. You could sense their awe—after all, you came from Illyria, a kingdom shrouded in near-mythic prestige. Some whispered that your realm once guided the dawn of magic itself; others claimed your armies had subdued entire dimensions with minimal effort.

All evening, you wore the gracious, polished façade expected of a royal. You chatted with dignitaries, answered questions about Illyria’s luminous cities and your father’s famed conjurers. Meanwhile, Thor rarely left your side, eager to regale you with tales of his own feats: banishing Frost Giants, venturing into cosmic realms, and valiantly defending Asgard. You responded with polite smiles, nods, and the occasional appreciative laugh. As perfect as it all looked on the surface, there was a gentle hum of disquiet in your chest.

From across the banquet table, Loki’s emerald eyes flicked your way from time to time, assessing, appraising. He appeared aloof, yet he seemed to be the only one not entirely beguiled by your princely exterior. It made something in you stir.

Your days following the feast were tightly scheduled:

Diplomatic Lessons with Odin, ensuring you grasped every nuance of Asgard’s laws and customs.

Combat Training with Thor, so you might learn each other’s fighting styles.

Council Meetings discussing the future stability of the Nine Realms, with you sitting at Thor’s side—ever the composed consort-to-be.

For all your flawless manners and competence, you never seemed to allow yourself a moment to breathe freely. Indeed, you had long mastered the art of veiling your true feelings behind calm, intelligent eyes and an impeccably gentle smile. But when the spotlight dimmed—when you slipped out of council chambers or strayed from the training grounds—you found yourself wandering Asgard’s palace in search of quiet corners. It was in one such corridor that you encountered Loki once more.

He stood at a tall window, gazing out over the Bifrost’s shimmering expanse. You paused, unsure if you should interrupt. Yet the shadow of a smirk tugged at his lips before he even turned to face you. “Come to admire the view?” he asked, voice tinted with subtle sarcasm.

You dipped your head, maintaining your stately composure. “It is quite impressive,” you replied, glancing out at the rainbow bridge cutting across the sky. “But I was also hoping to discover more about the prince I rarely see at these gatherings.”

Loki raised an eyebrow. “Our father and brother do love a grand audience. I prefer quieter spaces.” He looked you up and down. “You strike me as someone who doesn’t scare easily. Most are far too enamored with Thor to pay mind to me.”

Your composure softened just a touch. “I have no fear of you, Loki. Nor do I overlook you. In Illyria, we have a saying: ‘The keenest mind stands in the silent corner.’”

He chuckled quietly. “Fitting.”

A hint of curiosity glimmered in his gaze. You found yourself intrigued by the subtle interplay of cunning and intelligence beneath his exterior. Your time in Asgard had been filled with people wanting to see only your perfect “prince” persona. But Loki’s scrutiny felt different: he seemed interested in you, not the grand illusions and legends that accompanied your name.

A few days later, after a particularly grueling session with Odin’s council, you sought solace in the grand library. Illuminated by golden sconces, the shelves rose like monoliths, each row brimming with ancient tomes. You had heard rumors that Asgard’s archives held knowledge that even your father’s great library in Illyria lacked.

As you wandered the aisles, a familiar presence made itself known—Loki, perched on a tall stool, a dusty book spread across his lap. He pretended not to see you at first, but when you paused beside him, he glanced up. “Running from your princely duties?” he teased in a low voice.

You exhaled a soft laugh. “If you knew how many times a day I’m reminded of my ‘responsibilities,’ you’d understand why I slip away now and then.”

“I do know,” Loki said, and his voice bore a note of empathy. He snapped the book shut. “So, Prince of Illyria—tell me, do you devour knowledge as eagerly as the rest of your people are rumored to do?”

You took up the challenge in his tone. “We pride ourselves on it. The mind is a blade that never dulls, after all.”

He regarded you, faint admiration mixing with mischief. “Ah, so your famed composure conceals more than just polite conversation. I wonder, do you ever let yourself be anything less than perfect?”

A spark of something playful lit in your chest. You lowered your voice. “Try me.”

Loki’s eyes widened slightly, as though taken aback by your directness, then a slow grin curved his lips. He patted the space next to him on the broad windowsill. You hopped up beside him, the tension leaving your shoulders. Away from the prying eyes of the court, you felt a familiar sense of relief wash over you.

Perhaps, just this once, you could be something more human—free from the constant parade of princely duties.

Over the subsequent nights, you found yourself seeking Loki’s company more and more. It wasn’t planned, at least not consciously, but you both ended up in the same corners: a deserted wing of the palace gardens, a quiet lounge near the palace’s lesser-known exits, or hidden alcoves in the library. There, you allowed your mask of infallibility to slip. You joked about some of the more ridiculous demands placed upon you and admitted you sometimes grew tired of always being so “polished.” In turn, Loki confided his own struggles—constantly in Thor’s shadow, overlooked or misunderstood in Asgard’s courts.

He made snarky remarks, which you parried with lighthearted wit, leaving you both sharing smirks or muffled laughter. Strangely, these unguarded conversations with Loki felt more genuine than all the lavish banquets you’d ever attended combined.

The more you revealed your true self—playful, at times recklessly curious, occasionally exasperated by royal burdens—the more Loki seemed drawn to you. And you found yourself feeling the same: you craved his clever banter, the keen intelligence sparkling in his eyes, and the subtle vulnerability he tried so hard to hide.

The next day, as Thor escorted you through a grand martial demonstration—showcasing the Einherjar’s prowess—you felt restless. The troops’ synchronized movements were impressive, but your thoughts were elsewhere, recalling the warmth in Loki’s voice the night before, when he’d talked about mastering illusions to carve out his own identity.

When the demonstration ended, Thor draped a friendly arm over your shoulders. “Wasn’t that magnificent?” he boomed.

“Indeed,” you replied, forcing a polite smile. “Your warriors are formidable.”

But the brightness in your eyes didn’t quite reach your heart. Thor seemed to sense something was off. “If there’s anything amiss, please, share it with me.”

You glanced around at the gathered guards, your personal retinue included. Hundreds of eyes, all waiting for your measured response. Your calm, princely façade held. “Thank you, Thor. I’m simply weary from the travel and duties.”

He nodded understandingly, though a shadow of concern flickered in his gaze.

That evening, you found Loki in the secluded palace gardens, standing near a fountain that shimmered under Asgard’s starry sky. He wore his usual emerald cloak, a thoughtful expression on his face. The minute he saw you, he straightened, as though shifting from private thoughts to face the world. “What troubles the great prince of Illyria tonight?” he asked, wry amusement lacing his tone.

You let out a soft, frustrated sigh. “I feel trapped. Everyone sees me as this perfect solution—this polished, ideal figure who will unify Asgard and Illyria. No one cares to see the man underneath.”

Loki studied you intently. “I see the man. The one who challenges me in witty debate, who isn’t afraid to say the wrong thing from time to time—just to see how I’ll respond.”

You smiled faintly. “And you...you don’t treat me like some precious relic. You give me honesty, even if it’s laced with mockery.”

He chuckled, stepping closer. “I don’t mock what I admire. And I do admire you.” His expression turned earnest. “You’re not simply the heir of an all-powerful realm. You’re also…good, decent, and surprisingly humble. Someone who makes me feel—” He swallowed, searching for the words. “Makes me feel understood.”

Your heart thudded in your chest. A strange tenderness gripped you. The night air seemed to crackle with unspoken emotion. In a hushed voice, you spoke: “I never expected to find such kinship here, least of all with you.”

Loki’s eyes flickered. “Nor I with you.”

Then, quietly, he admitted, “Do you know what it’s like—being forever eclipsed by Thor’s light? And now, you arrive, shining like a star in your own right, but instead of drowning me out, you look for me in the shadows.”

Your breath caught. “I see you,” you said, fervent and quiet. “I see your brilliance, Loki. And I can’t help being drawn to it.”

For a moment, the two of you stood there, the fountain’s soft trickle the only sound in the hush of the garden. Then, Loki reached out, his fingers brushing yours in a tentative gesture. “In all my life, I’ve never felt quite so—” he hesitated, then murmured, “I believe I’m falling for you. It’s madness, I know. You’re to wed Thor. Our entire realm stands to benefit from that union. But I can’t deny what’s taken root in my heart.”

Emotions surged through you: elation, longing, and dread, all at once. You carefully entwined your fingers with his. “I feel it too. This is more than mere friendship. Yet duty binds me—I cannot simply break it without risking war between our realms.”

Pain flickered in Loki’s expression, tempered by resignation. “I know,” he whispered. “But for once in my life, I wish destiny would bend.”

You hardly slept that night. Each time you closed your eyes, you felt Loki’s hand interlaced with yours—warm and comforting, yet fraught with the knowledge that this, whatever this had become, could upend two realms. When dawn finally broke, your mind was already spinning with the weight of regret and longing.

You tried telling yourself that it was just a passing moment, a slip in composure. But deep down, you knew better. You’d never felt such a raw pull toward anyone, let alone the “other prince” of Asgard, the one your realm regarded as an afterthought in these negotiations. How was it that Loki—a figure so often relegated to the shadows—was the only one who truly saw you for who you were?

Yet duty loomed larger than ever. The next morning, you donned your ceremonial attire as if it were armor, and forced your lips into polite smiles for the courtiers. Thor greeted you in his usual fashion—boisterous, warm, heavy-handed in his affection. A sharp pang of guilt stabbed at you every time he grinned your way. He saw you as his future partner, the one who would strengthen Asgard’s hold on the realms with Illyria’s might by his side. Only you knew how fragile that notion had become.

Despite the ache in your chest, you made every effort to avoid Loki. You accepted invitations to train with Thor at dawn, to attend council sessions at midday, to endure elaborate banquets well into the evening. Whenever you thought you glimpsed Loki in the corridors or spotted the swish of his emerald cloak, you turned on your heel, heart pounding. If you faced him again, you feared you’d crumble, that you’d let the façade slip and act on feelings you had no right to indulge. But the palace halls had a way of entwining fates that preferred to remain separate. After nearly a week of avoidance—of half-finished nights spent pacing in your chambers—a hushed commotion in the library drew your attention. Voices, low and tense. One was distinctively Thor’s, crackling with anger. The other, undeniably Loki’s, fired back with a sharper, cold retort.

Steeling yourself, you followed the echo, careful not to be seen. Pressed against a gilded column, you could just make out their figures among the tall shelves. Thor’s broad shoulders tensed as he loomed over his brother, voice barely contained.

“Must you always vanish at my betrothed’s approach?” he demanded. “You’re avoiding him as though he’s done you some grave harm.”

Loki’s scoff echoed through the still air. “I do nothing of the sort. Perhaps it’s he who doesn’t wish to see me.”

Your stomach turned. You could practically feel Loki’s pain in his words. Thor let out a frustrated growl, palms slamming against the wooden table. “This alliance is too important to be riddled with your petty resentments. If you have an issue with him, address it, brother. Do not sabotage Asgard’s future through these childish games.”

“Childish games?” Loki repeated in a venomous murmur. “Is it childish to keep my distance, knowing full well that your beloved fiancé is tethered to you for the sake of duty—while he might harbor other…thoughts?” His voice faltered, bitterness lacing every syllable. “Leave me to my ‘games,’ Thor. It’s safer that way.”

Thor opened his mouth to retaliate, but the library doors creaked, heralding the arrival of a group of scholars. With one final glare, the God of Thunder stormed off, leaving Loki behind with his fists clenched at his sides, magic rippling faintly in the tense air. In that fleeting moment, you almost stepped out to speak with Loki—comfort him, maybe. But the memory of your last encounter was too fresh: his trembling whisper, the heartbreak in his eyes. You couldn’t bring yourself to deepen his hurt or your own.

Instead, you retreated quietly, the weight in your heart heavier than ever. You wandered through the corridors like a ghost, ignoring the questioning looks of your Illyrian advisors. They had long since sensed your change in demeanor, but none dared to pry.

Reaching your chambers, you shut the doors behind you and leaned against them, closing your eyes. You pictured Loki’s face when he said, “For once in my life, I wish destiny would bend.” Those words echoed louder with each passing day. Part of you wanted to grasp destiny with both hands and force it to bend, to let the alliance shift to a new shape—one where duty and love weren’t at odds. But each time your resolve flared, an avalanche of responsibility bore down on you, reminding you of every soldier, every citizen, and every promise the marriage was supposed to uphold.

Time offered no mercy. Another week slipped by. Another feast, another council meeting, another swirl of illusions you maintained for appearances’ sake. Loki’s absence, once a mild inconvenience, now felt like a gaping void you couldn’t ignore. Where was he? The few times you spied him in the distance, your heart leapt in your chest only to sink when he vanished like smoke.

In the still nights, lying awake in the grand bed that never felt like home, you replayed every moment spent with him—his cutting humor, his intelligent gaze, the unexpected warmth in his laughter when you managed to draw it out. You ached to see him again, if only to know he was well. But the walls built by duty and guilt felt insurmountable.

Your arranged wedding was edging closer, each day ticking away like a drumbeat of war. The entire realm would gather to watch Asgard’s golden prince wed Illyria’s graceful heir, sealing an alliance that would alter the power balance in the cosmos. It was inevitable—or so Odin and your own father insisted. You were a prince of Illyria; your life was never entirely your own.

Yet, despite everything, you couldn’t banish the memory of Loki’s eyes. The longing there, the unspoken promise of something more real than any throne or realm could grant you. Perhaps it was too late to turn back. Perhaps the best you could do now was shield him from the heartbreak that would inevitably come. If that meant sacrificing your own happiness—well, princes were often required to make such sacrifices.

Or so you tried to tell yourself, night after endless night.

But a small, traitorous spark of hope still flickered in the depths of your chest, refusing to die. A whisper that said there might be another way. A path where duty and desire could coexist, if only you were bold enough to claim it. Yet for now, you remained paralyzed by doubt and fear, uncertain how—or if—you could change the fate that had already been written for you.

[yawnderu]

Lorelei — Simon "Ghost" Riley x Reader | Part VI

1 2 3 4 5 6

Synopsis: Aware of the way his lifestyle doesn't align with your dream life and unwilling to quit his life as a soldier, Simon breaks things off with you. It isn't until a year later that he sees you again, a tiny carbon copy of him held in your arms.

Simon Riley is, like any other man who has been in the military for long enough and seen the horrors of war, a man who struggles. Struggles with feelings, actions, words, nightmares. The constant reminder that his career—the very same thing that made him grow a pair and go from a scared little boy to a proper lad—was what ultimately cut his family’s life short, weighed heavy on his shoulders, holding him down like Atlas holding the sky. 

Despite how much he tried to hide his own feelings from both you and himself, that icy gaze that seemed to be focused on nothing for hours and the lingering silence, along with the tired smiles he forced himself to give you no matter how awful his nightmares were the night before made it clear things were only getting worse.

Whatever was out there was oftentimes merciful enough to give him good dreams every once in a while, his psyche drowned in a sea of what the future could have been. A future with his family, a future with you. No matter how difficult things got in the black, buzzing mess that was his head, he saw his daughter and you like a beacon, a Star of Bethlehem during those dark, cold nights. 

The sound of stirring bed sheets is what originally wakes you up, the smell of tobacco and gunpowder that always linger on Simon’s body overwhelms your senses the longer you’re awake, slowly coming back to your senses. A groan, and more shifting from your left. 

“Simon.” Your voice is soft and even, hands feeling around the bed sheets until you find his shaking body. In the past, Simon used to sleep on the couch, refusing to go back to his apartment just so he could spend more time with you and your daughter, yet after Johnny’s death, the pain and trauma was always clear in his eyes, ending up with you offering to let him sleep in the same bed. 

Simon’s body feels extremely warm, a thin layer of sweat covering his burly frame, seeping through his clothes and into your fingers as you shake him harder, the room dimly lit with the bright moonlight peering from the window. You can see his features scrunching up, his hands balled into fists, the veins in his neck and forehead becoming more prominent as he relives what is likely yet another traumatic moment in his life. 

“Simon.” You repeat with more urgency this time, your body shifting closer to his in order to shake him firmly, watching as his eyes flew open, dilated pupils looking around the room before meeting your gaze, a mask of deception quickly taking over his visage as you see him force himself to appear more relaxed despite the fast-drumming of his pulse you can still feel beneath your fingers, his chest rising and falling, nostrils flaring as he forces himself to take a deep breath.

“Did I wake you up?” Despite how awful his nightmares were, Simon’s priority was always you. His kindness isn’t just fake sympathy, it’s the real thing. 

“No, I was reading something.” A little white lie that at the very least eased his concerns. Your hand squeezes the tense mass of muscle on his shoulder with such gentleness that he wasn’t used to, not after a year of being alone after breaking up with you. 

The corners of his lips tug up into a tight-lipped, tired smile, his Adam’s apple bobbing up and down as he swallows thickly, trying to hold it together for your sake. His eyes examine yours for any hints of disgust, any hints that you may have seen just how disgusting he could be during those nightmares, his mind still fragmented thanks to Roba’s torture, never seeming to heal no matter how many years go by. 

Your fingers work overtime on trying to ease the knots formed on his muscles from the strain it takes to hold it together when you’re looking at him with so much trust and concern, not an ounce of disgust in you despite how ashamed he feels. His eyes momentarily drift away from you, focusing on the baby monitor, the tiny screen displaying your sleeping daughter, the living image of innocence, serving as a soothing balm for his broken soul. 

“Bad dream?” How lucky he is, that even crushed under the weight of looming grief and enough trauma to last him several lifetimes, he has someone to care about him, to care for him. His exhausted eyes leave the baby monitor, staring up at the ceiling as he finally allows himself the chance to take in your tender touch, the genuine kindness showing through your soft massage and concern, no matter how much of a bastard he was for leaving you. 

“Yeah.” You know better than to press him about it, too familiar with him to know if he wants to talk about his issues, he will. You lean closer to him, your head now resting on his pillow and your arm draped over his stomach, your body moving on nothing but pure muscle memory from four years of dating him. 

From this short distance, you’re able to admire the man that Simon Riley truly is. His short brown hair, the thin, pale scars adorning his visage, and the wrinkles that are starting to become more prominent as he ages, war and stress making him appear older than he actually is, yet looking as handsome as ever. His rough, calloused hand goes up to hold yours, fingers intertwining with the same muscle memory your body performed. 

It has been months since Simon came back into your life, the knowledge of the fact that he now has a daughter always made him stick around, not wanting to miss a single moment from the tiny bundle of joy that seems to adore him, a brave little girl who was as spunky as her mother, and as stubborn as her father. 

“‘Bout Roba, again.” He finally admits after seconds of silence. Manuel Roba, a name you’re unfortunately familiar with. The same man who tortured Simon and his mates for months on end, allowing him to escape and to feel a sense of false security, giving him the chance to have a proper family for once with his father out of the picture, just to rip everything that held him together from his hands. 

“Do you wanna talk about it?” His head shakes, signaling a no. The pads of your fingers run over his bruised knuckles in a calming fashion, tracing tiny, random patterns before his free arm wraps around your shoulders, pulling you closer to his chest now that he’s laying on his side. There’s hesitation in his actions, yet his soul is filled with relief the moment you let go of his hand, just to circle his waist with one of your arms. 

“‘M sorry.” He’s not even sure what he’s apologizing for. There’s way too many things he needs to atone for, and he will be as patient as they come. 

“I’m sorry for leavin’. I was scared, didn’t want to mess you up.” He knows his absence did the opposite, and the idea of you giving birth without him present always shattered his soul. If only he had known about your pregnancy, he wouldn’t have broken up with you, never would have left. 

His chapped lips plant a comforting kiss on your forehead, his warm hands running up and down your back, looking to soothe you as he can hear your breath hitch, salty tears already rimming your eyes. Your face is buried against his chest, lightly feeling his fast-beating heart as he holds you even closer, his eyes fluttering shut at finally having you in his arms again. 

“I missed you.” The shakiness in your voice breaks his heart even further, his soul being ripped apart by his own selfish, awful decisions. 

“I missed you too, sweet girl.” He manages to whisper out despite the way he’s getting choked up, his arms circling your form even more when your shoulders begin to shake. Warm, salty tears bleed through his clothes as he holds you as close as possible, squeezing your frame even tighter before he’s back to rubbing your back up and down, looking into spreading the warmth emanating from his large frame. 

“So fuckin’ much.” Another gentle kiss is planted on your forehead, holding you for as long as you need— for as long as he needs, too. You both lose track of time, simply caressing and giving each other much needed comfort, bringing you back to the ways you comforted each other back when you were dating after an awful day, all the crying and warmth coming from his body eventually exhausting you, idly playing with the fabric of his black shirt. 

“Can I…” There’s clear doubt in his words, and despite the fact that his exhaustion matches yours, there’s one last thing he wants to do. You lift your head, brown eyes meeting your gaze. You could drown in those eyes— in the way they always seem so loving and kind, so gentle despite how brutal you know he can be as a soldier… and yet that’s Ghost, not Simon, you remind yourself. 

His hand comes up to tuck a stray strand of hair behind your ear, ultimately pushing himself to cup your cheek, his thumb lightly rubbing your soft, warm skin, still moistened by tears. You get the message almost instantly, yet admiring Simon when he looks so unsure of himself steals your attention for once. 

A small nod of affirmation meets his words, and Simon doesn’t waste any time, leaning down until his forehead rests against yours for a few seconds before his lips meet yours in a soft, tender kiss, the hand on your cheek caressing your skin gently, his eyes fluttering shut.

[PREVIOUS]

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[dipperscavern]

Okay your post about Cregan being a father has got my little heart growing three sizes and I'm even more in love with this fictional man.

I do wonder what your take would be on how he'd react to a partner's interaction with Rickon, his one year old son in the books during the dance.

Your posts are giving me life though the new season is disappointing me. ❤️❤️

Hope you are having a wonderful day!

An in love witchy anon. 🌒🌕🌘

omg stop :(( it could even be something small, like teaching rickon how to make and throw a proper snowball.

you had grown up with siblings in the north — and both hands weren’t enough to count the times you had an all out war the day after fresh snow. walking back indoors afterwards, sitting round the fires’ hearth while recalling with laughter how your brother had slipped on ice, or how you and your sister had managed to sneak up on your eldest sibling. yes — snowball fights were something all northerners looked back on with fond nostalgia.

and with or without siblings, you intended for rickon to learn all about such matters.

i can picture it sooo vividly. you and cregan, freshly married, going about your separate ways during the day — and him stumbling upon quite a sight in the afternoon.

perhaps he wanted to spend the small free time he had with rickon, or you for lunch. perhaps it was just coincidence that brought him upon the courtyard the day after fresh snow.

but here he was; and here you were.

rickon, giggling madly as you shaped the snowball in his small hands. cregan could hear your voice, laced with childlike glee, ordering your sworn shield to remain still. if brought before the gods, cregan would attest to the twitch of the knights lips — to the faint smile upon them.

it is a clumsy throw, brought about with untrained muscles and even less coordination. but your knight remains dutifully still, and it lands upon his lower visage.

cregan feels much like the knight now. a smile wears itself on his lips, and cregan could not tell you when it appeared if his life depended on it. love doesn’t explain itself like that.

he watches just long enough to see rickon tackle you with a fierce hug, and for you to return it without the faintest trace of hesitancy. he’s now aware of his smile when he walks away — and he makes no effort to wipe it from his features.

and when you both tuck rickon into bed later that night (he specifically requested you with his father), as he tells cregan of his day in the snow, you have the faintest blush on your cheeks. that same very smile returns to his lips; it seems intent on not being kept at bay.

you both whisper goodnights to the little lordling as you close the door, and as soon as you do — turning to cregan — his mouth captures yours in a kiss so sweet it reminds you of the pastries stolen from the kitchen by lord & lady stark when sleep can’t be found. you sigh into him, and it somehow makes cregan fall even more hopelessly in love with you.

[eldritch-spouse]

Woah hey, you just ran into a fey-

Say hello to Mooncalf !

Do not give him your name.

This not-so-little trickster has been in a deep sleep for a looong long while. It's unclear what got him to stir, perhaps the abnormal phenomena Earth is going through all of a sudden, but now that Mooncalf is wide awake, he has a lot of playtime to catch up on.

Monsters of his kind are some of the most dangerous you could ever find. Short of siadar themselves, these entities often hold far too much power for their immature attitudes. They love games and they hate to lose, to come out unscathed is to have impressive wit. Thankfully, they're quite rare.

Aligning himself with no one's values or goals, Mooncalf lives for the thrill of self-amusement. For deceit, games, music, comedy- His desires as simple and gentle as they can be dark and sadistic. The real consistency of fey like him lies in their worship of the lunar cycles, from which they claim their power is drawn from.

To catch his attention is to reveal yourself particularly unique, or simply stand out at the wrong time in the wrong place. Either way, you're assured a joyride in a pocket space that'll leave you more than a little rattled. Even if you never allow this fey to have ownership over you the proper way, Mooncalf is possessive and adamant that only he may interfere with your life's trajectory, a persistence predator more than anything else. His love for you translates into constant attempts to make your surroundings interesting and exciting, but oftentimes only result in giving you mild to severe anxiety.

Although fey are fond of disguises, many of them will have "go-to" forms, so while you see Mooncalf's bird-legged, hunched visage often, he may appear to you in other ways.

A consequence of staying asleep for as long as he has is that his magic has yet to shake off a certain inertia, which keeps his glamors static and prevent him from shifting back to his natural state. For this reason, Mooncalf avoids taking on his conventionally attractive humanoid disguise. It grows quite irritating to stay in it for prolonged periods of time, causing him to become aimlessly violent.

A non-threatening, rounded form exists to aid him in drained or unsafe states, with the intent of appealing to any perceived predator's emotions and evoking merciful urges. This form is also excellent to preserve energy as a whole. Although presumably weakened when in this state, it wouldn't be a bright idea to just punt Mooncalf against the nearest wall.

When Mooncalf is entering a rut, he will "hunt" a possible partner by using the humanoid disguise and attempting to trick someone into stepping inside a pocket space.

Well. Good luck with bird legs.

[king-craftsman]

The SwapCraft Challenge

“Dude, have you heard of this Swap Craft challenge?”

In came Josh, sweaty and tired, probably just from the late shift again Bradley could imagine. They’ve been roommates for six months and if it wasn’t for the fact that the two had a great interest in Swap Craft, Bradley could barely even imagine that they’d get along at all, it was the only thing they talked about! Bradley got up from the couch.

“No, what is it?” He asked.

“It’s like this challenge where we link our accounts on SwapCraft and then get to change something physical and something mental about each other in turns. Whoever quits first loses,” explained Josh as he continued in, excitedly showing Bradley his own phone where he could see the big bold letters themselves, “Swap Craft Challenge” written in white. A prompt asked if he was willing to ‘Enter’.

“Really?” questioned Bradley, this seemed way too good to be true.

“Yeah, like you can do all sorts of stuff, but there’s no winner. Dude, we should try it!” suggested Josh, Bradley shrugged. Fuck it, there wasn’t any other way he was going to spend the night. After only a few short moments the both of them found themselves in a two-person “lobby” for Swap Craft, with Josh just itching to push play. “Okay but one rule, no mental changes or stuff, okay? I don’t want you fucking around with my head.”

“Man, I’m not dumb enough to do something like that. Plus I bet you I can win without even needing to,” claimed Brad.

“Oh yeah? You’re on,” replied Josh as he pushed play and suddenly saw that it was his turn as he began to focus on his cracked phone. “Now what to do…what to do…” He suddenly looked Bradley over, he hated to admit it but the dude had gained some weight and packed on some pounds these last few months. It wasn’t like it was bad or anything, but it would be fun to see his funny twig of a roommate again that he saw when he first moved in - and that’s exactly what he was going to do. “Ha! Have fun!”

“Wha-” Brad stopped as he glanced down to suddenly see some of the bulges from his stomach pressing into his shirt suddenly rescinded. He hated he had gained weight and wanted to even go to the gym to lose it naturally, but it was no bother, his stomach sank and became flat like it had been only a few months ago. He laughed. “Nice! Okay my turn then.”

Bradley paused, this was a lot harder, he only really had one picture of Josh and he had taken that weeks ago when his phone had broken for the third or fourth time. But what Brad could go for was to see Josh grow taller, the guy was practically a midget being a small 5’9 when Brad himself was at least 6’3, some height was what he needed and if Josh was going to help him grow skinny then Bradley could help Josh grow taller.

Suddenly Josh saw the smirk appear over Brad’s visage and stopped when he felt his own legs churn as they began to spread out, whatever fat he had was pulled against him as he suddenly realised his own torso was also stretching out. He almost felt like he was being pulled from both sides, but not in a painful way as the small 5’8 man became a suddenly gargantuan 6’5 and a hell of a lot thinner because of it. Bradley was in hysterics.

“Oh come on, that’s not funny!” snapped Josh.

“Yeah right, hey if you don’t like it, you should quit,” teased Bradley. Josh rolled his eyes.

“Not fucking likely,” he muttered under his breath as he was just glad it was his turn now, feeling so stupid with his clothes obviously being far too short for him and glad nothing else grew. Though speaking of growth…Brad did say they couldn’t do any mental changes, but transformations never last forever and if he was going to stay skinny, why not give him a bit of a boost? Josh did some tinkering of his own as he looked up, sneering at Bradley.”Hey Brad, do you have that ten dollars you owe me?”

“Yeah, yeah, it’s right here,” grunted Bradley as he began reaching towards his wallet, pulling out ten dollars which he threw to Josh and Josh could see it clear as day, a gym membership card, tucked away behind his debit card. It worked and now for the best part.

Bradley shifted as he scratched at his own chest, starting to feel a tingling spread across them as he looked down to see his chest beginning to grow, divulging into pecs that pressed against his shirt, only making it tighter as his whole torso clearly began to bulk up. His entire chest was that of a well trained bodybuilder, completely separate from the rest of his skinny body.

“What the fuck?”

“Oh well I made you skinny, only fair I make you fitter too,” chuckled Josh as he got his ten dollars, scraping it up from the floor. He ignored Bradley’s glare. “Your turn.”

“Okay fine if that’s how you want to be,” Bradley smiled as he scratched at his pecs before an idea came into mind. His smile grew wider as he went on to Josh’s profile page and began typing away. “How are you doing Joe?”

“Joe? What the-” Josh’s eyes became a stark brown in complete contrast to his once blue eyes as he blinked. “I’m doing good, it’d be better if you just quit now then.” He chuckled, yeah Joe, he didn’t know why he was confused by that, it was his name after all, Joe.

“Your turn.”

Joe wanted to have more fun, he quickly began to observe Bradley’s profile and meddled away.

“So how was work today?” asked Joe. Bradley rolled his eyes. Work was boring and he didn’t know why Josh or “Joe” was starting to ask about it now, working in a grocery sto- He blinked. He meant the gym wasn’t all that great.

“It was fine, a couple of new guys joined the gym and I showed them around,” answered Brad as his own shirt was almost becoming a literal tank top with the way that the sleeves were starting to tear from his own bludgeoning biceps that were once skinny arms but had now grown into great muscular appendages for a great beast of a bodybuilder like himself. “Aw fuck this, I’m not letting you ruin my clothes too.” Brad quickly took off his shirt, revealing his sexy abs.

“Well, it’s your turn now, Brad,” chuckled Joe. Bradley was impressed, “Joe”, still didn’t know what hit him or what was about to as work was on his mind - and why not have “Joe” fit his name correctly, instead of working at the movie theatre, he could work somewhere else.

“How was the club tonight, Joe?”

Joe got a flashback of himself suddenly ripping off his own shirt like Brad here as he remembered all the money and guys that were fawning at him over at the strip club he started working at only two months ago. Fuck, it felt good to be able to do that and show off his body. But for now he simply shrugged, didn’t want Brad to distract him, even when he suddenly started to see that his own skin was starting to grow tanned from his head to his toes.

“Okay, well I think you’re- Wait…” Joe blinked. “Why are you asking me about work?” Brad shrugged.

“You asked me,” he replied.

“Yeah but I only asked you because-” Joe suddenly blinked again as he paused and glared at Bradley. “Are you cheating?” Bradley furrowed his brows.

“No!” He said.

“I can tell when you’re lying,” growled Joe. “You know what, I fucking knew it, that’s it.”

“What are you doing?” exclaimed Bradley as he saw Joe rapidly typing and swore his heart had never beat faster at that moment (except after a tough workout).

“Winning this thing,” declared Joe as he pushed down on his phone and Bradley watched as his own feet pushed through his socks, the toes colliding with the fabric all at once before bursting a hole through them all and ruining the socks that became tattered and now barely able to adorn his large and musky feet.

But that didn’t worry Brad enough as much as the idea that any mental changes would come about - but he felt nothing for a time, and then he suddenly felt everything at once as his eyes slammed shut and sparks almost appeared when his own cock was suddenly so large that it was able to poke through his underwear.

“Woah, what the hell?” cried Brad as his hand automatically grabbed at his dick, trying to stop the flow of pre-cum that stained his legs. “Oh my god, what the hell are you doing? Don’t you have to give your intelligence to raise someone’s libido?”

Joe nodded.

“Yep, but it’s worth it, way smarter than you anyway,” grunted Joe as Brad narrowed his eyes. Two could play at this game. “Your turn.”

“My turn…Alright I’ll show you what I’ll do on my turn…” Brad muttered as he bitterly typed away, wondering what to alter, what to change when he smirked. Not only in the next few moments did Joe begin to implode with muscularity (seemingly Josh either missed the fact that you could just alter the muscle mass in the whole body for a little bit more of your intellect if you wanted to).

But suddenly Joe’s own cock was throbbing member as all his clothing was completely gone, ripped away by both his bulge and his great muscularity as he was starting to look more like the real deal himself with every passing turn. “Have fun. Your turn.”

Joe was feeling a different kind of way, he was sure that just a bit more couldn’t hurt as he laid there in the tatters of his own clothes, resisting the urge to bounce his pecs or dance to the music that had filled the room this entire time and the beat which only grew louder in Joe’s mind as he recalled the strip club.

“Fucking…Alright I’ll do this…” muttered Joe as he enjoyed the feeling of watching Brad realise his own cock had also grown far too large for his underwear, almost instantly having to be taken off just in time for Brad to see the cock grow so much more larger as it snaked by, inch by inch.

All while the rest of his own clothing was completely gone shredded by his own well, shredded abs and giant muscular thighs that continued to grow, almost doubling in size to the point where they easily increased his waist size. “Fuck…Not feeling so good.”

“What’s the matter? Gonna quit?” laughed Brad as he looked down at his own phone. Fuck, he wasn’t feeling all that great either as he wanted to see Joe cum for him but a part of him also wanted to still at least be a bit smarter than him.

Fuck it.

He hastily increased Joe’s libido and began changing his face by adding a new profile picture for him. Joe’s own face started to shift from what was once the recognisable thin visage of “Josh” to now portraying the sexy Joe Manganiello with the nose growing larger, the brows thicker, the hair slightly shaggier and the jaw becoming ever more sharper.

“Not yet,” panted Joe as he groaned and looked down. Fuck, he could barely hold it in. He hastily typed away something about Brad, starting to see him as the perfect man to mould and make as he changed his hometown to Dallas, watching the name automatically change to “Travis” now instead of Bradley whilst his own face changed.

The head grew so much more bigger to accommodate the size of his new large body and thick neck with vocal chords that helped showcase some of that southern twang whilst his lips grew thinner and spread across his face. Travis’ hairline shifted back slightly as he grew older with age, only accentuating his facial features like a fine wine and a brown beard appearing over his chiselled chin.

Joe looked down at him.

“Wanna quit now?” asked Joe.

“Aw fuck dude, I think I-” Travis couldn’t even finish what he was saying as he heard Joe moan, not himself before suddenly watching the great muscular beast cum all over himself and his phone.

Travs was barely able to keep his phone out of range as just watching that dark cock almost explode in ecstasy was enough to cause him to give in and cum over his muscular body, looking down and panting in pure pleasure as he saw his seed stain his abs. “Aw god.” Travis reached for some nearby paper towels to clean himself off and handed Joe some spare clean ones.

“Oh man I think I fucked up my phone,” muttered Joe as he saw the “Swap Craft” screen flicker before turning off at once, drowning in darkness knowing it was never going resurface.

“Aw shit, can we not quit?” asked Travis. Joe shrugged.

“Doesn’t look like it, but you can still use your phone right?” questioned Joe. Travis looked down, confused. He could see some other options, one of which he think said ‘Revert’, but he could barely understand it.

“I don’t know what the other words say, but there’s a big green one that says share, if we wanna share our result?” Travis shrugged.

“Hell yeah, do that bro!” chuckled Joe and together they set their camera up, grabbing each other by the hand and tensing their biceps for the perfect picture.

Two lucky sexy fools sending their picture off into a sea of submissions of the Swap Craft Challenge, all showing similar sexy men of all kinds, some having more than two, all showing off their body, the result of the challenge. To this day, there is still no winner of the Swap Craft Challenge.

If you want to check out more stories like this, then click here to see more TF/hypno on my Patreon.

[thewritetofreespeech]

Night 221: Liar’s Night

words: 1.7K rating: E pairing: Gale x Tav summary: A night for tricks & treats at the annual Blackstaff Academy Masquerade Ball. An certainly more treats than tricks that Gale had hoped for. tags: kinktober - masquerade, f!oral, public sex, fluffy smut

Ao3 - 1000 Night Series

---------------------------🟣----------------------------------

Gale huffed as he adjusted his mask, trying to straighten it. It was rather itchy too. He wished he could have just used a glamour like some many of his colleagues tonight.

Liar’s Night. A festival in honor of Leira & Mask, gods of trickery, deception, and illusion.

It was often celebrated with people dressing up in costume to ‘trick’ the gods into thinking they were someone else. Though celebrated up & down the Sword Coast, in Waterdeep, the celebration was very elaborate. As home to one of the greatest magical academies, people took their effort in the illusions very serious.

None more so than the academy itself.

As a student, Gale often wondered what the professor’s masquerade ball was like. The smaller celebration for students was often quite involved, so he had to assume that the professor’s was over the top. It did not disappoint. The main ballroom had been decorated with beautiful crystals straight from the Underdark and beyond. Intricate weavings of pumpkin vines from some of the best herbologist magicians this side of the druids. Candles floated in mid-air, a common trick, but would change on their own with the tempo of the music played by an invisible orchestra. Seeing his colleagues unbutton their collars for a bit, dressed so unique & silly, was also quite impressive.

“Gale my boy, where is that enchanting wife of yours?”

“Hard to say, Elminster.” Though not on staff at the academy, a wizard of Elminster’s acclaim was welcome at any magical gathering. And Elminster would go just about anywhere with free cheese. “It’s a little hard to see with this mask.”

“Hmmm…her suggestion, I take it?” The older wizard asked. Though not really asked, as he seemed to already have his answer before Gale nodded. “I thought as much. Do not take this the wrong way, my boy, but I would not have thought a proud peacock like you would cover put his visage so willingly.”

“Did you just call me vain Elminster?”

“Not so much ‘vain’ as more….proud of your appearance. And which you should be, my boy. Enjoy your looks and your youth while you can. They will be gone from you sooner than you know.” The older man huffed a little, seeming defeated by the weight of his own years a bit, before he sipped his wine. “I will leave you to search for your mate then. Do say goodbye before you leave though.”

“We’ll find you by the buffet I take it?” Gale quipped as his old mentor departed.

Alone in the crowd for a moment, Gale continued to try and scan the room for his wife. She had said that she would met him at the party, saying it was silly for him to come all the way back from classes just to return a few hours later. Gale said he didn’t mind what man would, arriving at a party with a beautiful woman on his arm but she insisted.

“Excuse me kind sir,” he turned around at the gentle tap on his shoulder, thinking it was someone looking for the loo again, and felt all the air rush out of his lungs, “could you direct me to the nearest stream?” There before him was Tav. His beautiful Tav. Dressed in what he could only assume was a water nymphs costume.

The intricate, flimsy material moving around her body like waves on the sea. The flecks of sparkle like moonlight blinking in the sea. Her mask, not nearly as cumbersome as his, just some delicate pieces of white coral by her temple with makeup over her eyes. Clearly her inspiration that of the Umberlee charges they helped while in the Gate. But where they looked ready to slay a man in divine vengeance for their Bitch Queen, Tav looked as if she would lure a man to the sea, who would willingly follow as a sacrifice to the Mother of Oceans for just one more glance at her.

“There…there are no streams here.” Gale replied. Collecting himself and turning fully towards her. “But there’s a pretty large fountain in the south corridor I could interest you in.”

Tav giggled. The sound like sea breeze through a chime. “I suppose I will have to make do. What’s a handsome man like you washing up on these shores?”

“I’m looking for someone.” Gale told her. “A missing love.”

“Missing? Oh, how horrible.” She stepped closer and placed her hand at his chest. Even with the thick cut of his jacket he could feel her pulse there. Although maybe that was his own heart. “Anything I can do, to help a poor lost sailor?”

Gale clasped her hand and, without a word, cast Dimensional Door. Suddenly, they were no longer in the thick of the party but in a secluded, unused portion of the ballroom. Gale torn off his mask and threw it to the ground somewhere in the dark before he kissed Tav feverously.

“Where did you get this dress?” He asked when he finally let her go.

“I made it.” She told him; would her wonders never cease. “I thought it would be a cute couples costume. Nymph and pirate.”

Suddenly his outfit made sense. Gale hadn’t questioned it. Interested in the party but less on what he was wearing, and trusted her judgement. “Well then, it seems I have caught myself a nymph in my net.” Gale replied. Falling back into ‘character’. “According to legend, that entitles me to three wishes for your freedom.”

Tav giggled again. “Alright. What are your wishes, handsome sailor?”

“I want to taste you.”

Gale kissed Tav again, deeper this time, before he moved down to her neck. Her skin tasted like salt. Gale wondered if she had added it to make her costume that much more authentic, or if it was just his imagination. He moved further down. Kissing the patches of skin her costume left dangerously bare as he moved the kneel in front of her. “Gale,” Tav hissed quietly, “we’re at a party!”

“You said you would grant me any three wishes.” He reminded her. Her blush an intoxicating contrast with all the blue. “This is my wish.”

With no further complaints from Tav, Gale moved the ruffles of her skirt aside. Letting them fall over him like a curtain as he reached up to spread her legs and lapped at her center. His wife moaned. Fingers gripping into his shoulders at the hem of her skirts to keep quiet. Gale used his practiced tongue to work her open. Moving one leg carefully onto his shoulder by her hand to give him more room. Taste her deeper. He was pleased to feel Tav buck her hips against him in a soft cadence. Using his mouth to gain her pleasure. His cock straining in his pants in reply.

In the quiet dark of their little corner, Tav moaned between the bite of her bottom lip as she came for him. Her sweet ocean coating his tongue before he pulled out from under her skirts. “Everything you wished for?”

“And then some.” Gale replied. Looking up at her with reverence before he stood to his feet. “For my next wish, I wish to be inside you.”

“Yes please.”

Tav wasted little time helping him unlace his pants and hike up her skirts again. Gale was pleased with her eagerness. Maybe it was the moment, or the fact that they were still at his work party, but she seemed quick to join with him; compared to their usual slow & passionate love making.

Gale held on to Tav’s legs when she wrapped them around his waist. Using the wall to brace them before he slid his cock inside. His little nymph moaned. Clinging to him as he fucked her. Thrusting in & out with ease from the wetness of her orgasm and tongue just moments ago.

“Don’t stop.” She begged him. “Feels so good. Don’t ever stop Gale.”

How Gale wished that could be true. To be joined with her always. To be one forever and feel her around his cock for eternity. Sadly though, all good things must come to an end, and the wizard grunted as his hips stopped. Coming deep inside her.

Gently, he let Tav down and allowed them to adjust themselves. Gale groaned as he straightened his back. The lower part tense from the strain and his impulse decision to lift his wife. Well worth it, but he was paying the price now.

“Shall we go back to the party for a bit, my love?”

“Yes we…Oh…Oh dear…” Tav giggled as she looked at Gale. Covering her mouth as she snickered. “Your face is covered in blue.”

Gale was surprised, although he really shouldn’t be, and touched his cheek to find blue paint at his fingertips. “Nine hells…” It was probably in his beard too. It would not do to go out looking like this; their disheveled appearance already a dead give away that they had not been taking in the pumpkin displays nor the night air.

“Think we can sneak out the back?” Tav asked.

“Now that you mention it, I just so happens I know a way to sneak out through this back hall.” A memory for his school days that was proving quite useful.

The couple snuck out through Gale’s hidden escape route and out off the campus to head back home. Once there, he took Tav in his arms again. “Sorry my impulsiveness ruined your costume. And the chance to show it off.” He apologized. “You just looked so lovely. I couldn’t help myself.”

Tav chuckled at his apology and offered him a kiss. “No need to be sorry. We’ll be better prepared for next year I suppose.” Gale smiled. Delighted at the thought of next year. And the year after that. And the year after that.

His wife wrapped his arms around his neck to stare lovingly at him. “You never told me your third wish, sailor.”

Gale grinned. He tilted her chin up, holding just before their lips touch to whisper, “Forever.” His one wish. His only wish for a very long time.

Tav leaned up to seal their lips together. Like the stamp on a contract. “Done.” She told him. “Now, handsome sailor,” Gale grunted as Tav hopped up into his arms. His lower back whining again as he held her up. “You’ve caught yourself and sullied a fine nymph this day. You’ll have to clean her up.”

“Oh yes, woe be unto he who interrupts a nymph’s bathing rituals.” He teased back. His cock already getting excited again as he carried her to their bathing suite. Eager to show his water nymph how long he could hold his breath for.

[leggerefiore]

I know it's been a while since you wrote the Harpy Togekiss Volo headcanons but… Could you please write about him during their S/O pregnancy? Or even about a baby Aestrea Togepi hybrid? It would be so cute 😭.

cw: pokehybrid au, togekiss Volo, pregnancy mentions, eggs, parenthood, short

pairing: Volo/Reader

Next to nothing was known about the mating behaviours of Togekiss. It was assumed by many ornithologists that they, like many other bird pokemon – female and male make a nest and both work to care for the eggs until they hatched. The variation came in a Togepi's inability to fly until it evolves. The rarity of Togekiss made them next to impossible to study. Many even believed that they were becoming extinct due to that.

You, however, got a direct line to observe these behaviours up close. Volo was not your very definition of loving. No, in fact, he could prove quite the opposite. He was cold, vindictive, scheming, and yet there was a certain friendliness in him that could not be entirely faked. His curiosity was nothing but the truth, too. He wanted to know more and more about this world and the history of it. Of course, the Togekiss hybrid was utterly terrifying, too. Those almost angelic wings paired cruelly when he had you at the peak of Mount Coronet with the goal of destroying this very world.

And, somehow, you still ended up in a bed surrounded by blankets and pillows. Male Togekiss, you had determined, often left the female to roost while they went out to hunt for them. An egg was held to you as you waited on his return. A Togepi egg was quite distinct in its appearance, unsurprisingly. They needed to be kept at the proper temperature in order to continue development to hatch. It was strange to consider that this thing had been inside you, but that was far from the current situation. Volo had almost become stranger since whatever instincts had overtaken his mind and led to the creation of this poor egg.

He was fiercely protective, truly not wanting you to stray far from the home he shared with you. Embraces were common as mumbled phrases about your duty to help him continue his bloodline. There was even something of a half apology for nearly killing you, clearly wishing to only have you at his side. The blond was something else at the best of times. Though, you truly never wanted. Food was brought in and made for you without hesitation. Arms and wings came around you and the egg as he pulled you into his lap and whispered various things into your ear. It was a certain madness that paired with it all. You found yourself enjoying this softness. Somehow, you felt like this was as real as the terrifying visage of him you had seen.

The sight of him holding the egg to himself also burned itself into your memory. His gaze was oddly gentle while he spoke in a language you did not recognise. Eyes closed as he seemed to listen to the egg. You knew that only he and Cogita remained of his people. There was a distant feeling that this meant far more to him than you could ever know. The older woman also had made her own appearances, often remarking on how healthy the egg appeared. Something about her did not seem quite the same as Volo, but you were never able to pin just what kind of hybrid she was. Patches of scales gave you a decent hint, though.

Before too long, as you sat with the egg and Volo, you felt the egg begin to move. Your eyes went wide as you sat it down. The hybrid's attention was piqued as he gazed carefully at the scene. Pieces of shell were forced away as whatever was inside began to try to free itself. You unconsciously reached a hand to try to help, but Volo caught it and shook his head. This was something that they had to do on their own. It took far too long, but it was likely under an hour.

A cry made you scoop up the crying infant. The egg was not entirely gone, but she seemed done. You rocked her and soothed her. A girl… You determined that much. Being near you, she seemed to calm. Volo approached and gazed down at her. Tufts of golden blonde hair sprouted from her head. His hand came to stroke a finger down her cheek. She wriggled in reply. You let him hold her, seeing him gently press his forehead to her own and mumble something.

“Astrea,” he turned to you, “… Her name.”

You nodded. It seemed better than anything you had come up with.

Now, you were about to familiarise yourself with the growth and development of a Togepi hybrid.

[confessedlyfannish]

DP x DC Prompt (Should I be numbering these?)

Clark knocks on the glass of the Watchtower. It's a futile gesture in the vacuum of space, but the movement catches Phantom's eye and he drifts inside, slipping through the glass.

"Hey," he murmurs, not quite making eye contact.

"Hi," Superman says, resting his hip against the conference table. He pats it beside him and Danny floats down, criss-cross apple sauce. Clark wonders not for the first time if Danny died at 18 or if this is just the body he inhabits, not unlike Connor.

They both look out at the vast wonder of space for a moment.

"We made you uncomfortable," Superman says quietly. "I'm sorry."

Danny is quiet for a moment. He doesn't deny it.

"I thought Kon-El was your son," he says softly.

Superman blinks. When Danny blanched beyond his norm and flew from the room the group had assumed CADMUS' invasive experiments had struck too similar a chord to the GiW's actions. "Do you take issue with cloning?" he asks, feeling deeply hypocritical all things considered. That self awareness gentles his tone but Danny still shoots him a glare at the not-quite accusation.

"No," he spits out. He sags, an awareness in his own eyes. "No, of course not."

His eyes are far too telling and Superman takes a hard seat on the table beside him.

"Oh," he says. He just barely keeps the horror from his voice. He is a grown man, but Phantom lies somewhere between the ages of 4 (his first dated appearance in modern time) and thousands of years old (his first recorded appearance) and his visage is too young for Clark to ever be comfortable assuming the latter.

"Yeah," Phantom says, staring down at his lap.

"Then...why?"

"You act like you're Kon's father," Phantom says. "I never thought about it like that."

"It's complicated," Superman offers, because it's all he can say, because it is not appropriate to demand details, to potentially trigger trauma, no matter how badly he wants to punch someone. Not right now at least. And because while some part of him has healed enough to find warmth in the title, his early actions will never truly make him worthy of it. "In some ways he's more like my brother. Jon considers him an uncle. My parents...they stepped up when I did not."

"But biologically he is your child," Danny says sharply, and the sharpness is not directed at Clark. "He is of you, and she is of me." Clark's inhale is distinct but Danny continues on without acknowledgement. "And I always felt strange about it, I always felt like I treated her differently, but I never put a name to it. I let it be and I let her go." He presses a hand to his chest, to the right of where his heart would be. "But she was mine. She is mine."

"Danny," Superman says quietly. "What do you want to do?" And how can I help?

Danny looks up at the vast wonder of space, and then his eyes flick down and Superman realizes he has not been looking at his lap at all. He's been looking at Earth.

With fear. With anxiety.

With hope.

"I want to find my daughter."

[randomwriteronline]

"Sweet little one, standing upright, to me you appear dressed in white. But your red nose, what wonders it does: shortens your life the longer it glows."

"A candle," Velika smiled.

"Correct." Mata Nui replied. Then, he offered another riddle: "Which part of the bird has never soared the skies but slithers instead upon the ground, and swims on the surface of the water without ever getting wet?"

"The shadow."

"Correct. Two parents have five daughters; each daughter has a brother, and each brother has five siblings. How many members compose this family?"

"Eight."

"Correct. A beast of long legs, of strength filled to the brim - yet no eyes adorn its head, its intelligence quite dim."

"Pinchers."

"Correct. Today is the third of seven days. In seven years, which of seven will today be?"

"The fourth."

"Correct. I am that which cannot be touched, but inhabits all living things; I am what kills them, burning quietly, and through their mouths the plume of my combustion shows in the cold."

"Oxygen."

"Correct. Through my long black neck breathes my red heart, hacking out smoke as warmth from me departs."

"A stove."

"Correct. She who fights the winds and waves from the bowels of the seas to maintain her treasure so far away, thin yet heavy, weak yet invincible: who is she?"

"The anchor."

"Correct. A ship rotted upon the shore: each plank that fell away was slowly replaced, until it was remade completely new. Yet from the rotten planks, preserved adeguately, a second ship was constructed in the image of the original. Which one then is the true ship?"

"Both and neither," Velika smiled. He tilted his head in his hand, amused. "You're really not good at this."

"An 'and' is not an answer." Mata Nui replied: "Please choose."

"It doesn't matter, does it?"

"A rethorical question is not an answer. Please choose."

"The one from preserved wood."

"I see. A crow, dying of thirst, struggled to get water from a deep vase lodged in a pebbled shore. In its desperation, it began piling rocks upon one another; and so it saved itself. How?"

"By piling them in the vase, forcing the water upward."

"Correct. Swells all around you, like a glove fitting; never shall it hold you, cold embrace fleeting."

"Fog."

"Correct. An unusual farmer plows through a barren snowy field, sowing black seeds in quick succession; what he reaps is just one fruit which feeds many over the years, and never wilts, but only lasts as long as it is not burnt or faded."

"The written word."

"Correct. It is one of the visages by which we can be recognized, odorless, colorless, impalpable - and yet it can reach us far away."

"The voice."

"Correct. It is what the rich lack and poor have plenty of, what the strong fear and the weak have power over, what the happy desire and the dead need."

"Nothing."

"Correct. What am I doing?"

"Stalling me."

Mata Nui smiled: "Correct."

Velika did not move.

"It's useless, you know," he said, grin frozen upon his fake Matoran face as it struggled to hide his true one: "You can't stop me from my goal with these little guessing games of yours."

"I was under the impression you quite enjoyed making riddles."

"I made you."

"You helped. It was admirable, indeed; but it was not your labor alone. You are not one for the practical sciences, after all."

"I made you. You are a soul, a thinking brain. I allowed you to be that."

"You, and others."

"Does the fine print matter?"

"Of course it does. You would wrongfully claim full ownership over the universe entrusted to me otherwise."

"I made them. They are sapient because I allowed them as much."

"And you wish to destroy them now, as they are past their use, and for them to comply and go quietly to you, without making a mess, as otherwise it would be quite the inconvenience."

"Of course."

"Fathers owe their children as much as their children owe them."

"They're not my children," Velika laughed loudly as if that was the most hilarious thing he'd ever heard: "They are a successfully completed experiment! Archived and finished! I can't leave the mess of my previous project all over my desk if I want to start a new one, don't you think?"

Mata Nui did not move.

"You are awfully cruel in your insatiable curiosity." he noted simply. "Indeed, you are Teridax's father."

"I told you I don't have children."

"But we were your successors, were we not? A lonely god on a mindnumbingly long journey, one scientist in a team with delusions of grandeur."

"You are things I made. Things I gave awareness to. Nothing more."

"Nothing more?"

"Nothing more."

"Is this also your opinion of the universe within me?"

"Of course."

"Then you have no claim on us."

Velika raised his head from his palm and laughed. He laughed again, spitting out phonemes without a rhythm. He forced himself to laugh, because otherwise the confused wrath within him would have needed to explode in some other way.

"Pardon?"

"It brings a riddle to mind."

"I don't want a riddle. What did you just say?"

"Again, I was under the impression that you enjoyed posing riddles. At inopportune times most of all."

"Cut it. What did you say?"

"A woman bore her daughter, and decided it was not her duty to care for her: she still observed her growth over the years for sake of a morbid fancy, never intervening nor gaining any affection for her. At last the daughter found great happiness and fortune; and so her mother came, and demanded a part of her riches as compensation for giving birth to her. Was she right in requesting as much?"

"I said I don't want a riddle!"

"That is not an answer. Please choose."

"Quit that! What did you say to me?"

"That is not an answer. Please choose."

"You insulted me, is that it? You insulted me?"

"That is not an answer. Please choose."

"Shut up!"

"That is not an answer. Please choose."

"Fine! Fine, you broken piece of junk, fine. Repeat it, I didn't listen."

"A woman bore her daughter, and decided it was not her duty to care for her: she still observed her growth over the years for sake of a morbid fancy, never intervening nor gaining any affection for her. At last the daughter found great happiness and fortune; and so her mother came, and demanded a part of her riches as compensation for giving birth to her. Was she right in requesting as much?"

"No, she denied custody and has no say over her nor her belongings."

"Correct."

"So? What did you say?"

"I said the exact thing you repeated with your answer." Mata Nui replied. "You have shirked your responsability towards us, and you have no right to decide of our fate."

"You are things," Velika hissed: "Things are made!"

"We are people. People are made, too."

"People are born! They are thinking creatures!"

"Are we not, then?"

"No! You are things that I have given sapience to! You owe me life! Obedience! You owe me everything you are!"

"Are we then yours?"

"Yes!"

"By what virtue?"

"By virtue of creation!"

"By virtue of birth." Mata Nui repeated. "A virtue that we have agreed holds no water when a parent abandons their children."

Velika's eyes burned: "You are made," he insisted. "Not born."

"People are made, too. They are engineered by chance, put together by two others. The creation progress requires time and resources; afterwards, the new being needs to be programmed and taught what to do, what not to do, through trial and error."

"It's different. It's completely different. I gave you that intelligence. In people it's innate."

"From when? From the moment your cells are assembled? From the second you develop eyes? From the instant you are brought into the world, kicking and screaming? There is indeed an ability, innate, for understanding tasks and languages; but it all has to be instructed. Neither of us were born capable of speech, yet we could understand a language of our own, for that is how we were both built."

"Do not equate yourself to me. You are code, bits and pieces of electricity, the vague hint of a self."

"On that same electricity is based the neural system that is your 'I'."

"But I am your maker. I created you. Not the other way around."

"And so? You have denied custody of us. You refuse to recognize our personhood. Are you not our parent who abandons us, our creator who destroys us?"

"I have no children!"

"Then we do not owe you anything."

Velika raised his hand and grabbed the air, right where a neck should have been.

"I will kill you," he threatened: "I will annihilate you."

Mata Nui held his gaze without flinching: "That you can."

They remained still.

The room was empty.

"I had such knowledge to share... But it would have been too long to tell, I am afraid." he only lamented. "I have lived a long life, all in all - sometimes it has even been pleasant. A lousy god such as myself will not make much difference by now, alive or otherwise: my people have moved on from any whims that may have moved my requests once. Go on then, if it pleases you."

The hand twitched, but did not close.

It spasmed, clutching, hardening, but did not close.

Velika clenched his jaw, tightening his fist, but it did not close.

He tried, and tried, and tried, and tried, and tried; but it did not close.

"I will kill you," he hissed. But suddenly he wasn't sure he could.

Mata Nui waited.

Nothing happened.

His hand of thought - invisible, impalpable, barely real - grazed his creator's chin and lifted it slightly with his fingertips.

"What is it that the brilliant man standing before the machine he has made to do his bidding - to labor away endlessly in his stead, to travel where he would not, to learn what he could not, to sing and write and draw what he cannot - fears most of all?"

The Great Being did not answer.

Silence stretched over the small endless space the word should have been spoken into through his voice.

Mata Nui smiled.

"Leave." he ordered. "There is no place in this world for a god that treats its people like toys."

Velika lunged forward and grasped the Ignika in his hands.

By the time other beings arrived drawn in by the horrid noises, the body writhing and raving had lost its limbs, its bones, maybe even its skin. It clung to the golden artifact still somehow, trying desperately to claw at it, break it, unleash its wrath upon it as it continued to mutate the creature into something less and less able to function the longer it remained latched upon its surface by its own stubborn volition; it howled wordlessly, voice cawing through what was supposed to be its mouth in a garbled attempt at speaking, but there was no mind behind the gruesome wailing - just a violent, infinite, senseless anger.

It shrieked at them when they rushed to put it down, partly frightened to death by it, partly trying to spare it from the anguished existence it was bound to go on to live - screamed something, something that could have been 'obedience', or close enough.

Mata Nui did not stir from sleep.