#Certainly got lost along the way while writing this

[yan-randomfandom]

Hi! Is it possible to get a platonic Yandere Stanford with a teenager reader? The reader likes mysteries and monsters and all that just like him, so Stanford sees them and he’s like ‘yup. That’s my kid now’ lol

P!Yandere!Stanford Pines & Teenager!GN!Reader

warnings: violence(toward monsters), implied abuse

[THIS IS PLATONIC] I think I made this a tad too long... it's not even in bullet form anymore. thank you for the request! I love your idea sm 😭 [Word Count: 1047]

Stanford Pines has completed another mission. He lifted his head, his eyes squinting at the sight of the looming trees. The sun peeked between them, visibly on its way down.

To keep it short, he had to chase a dangerous, vile monster into the woods and take its life.

He probably saved thousands of lives. It's just that... it came down to the price of being lost. Ford has never gone this far from Gravity Falls before.

That's totally okay. Curious, even! This is perfect material for his research! He'll have to use a makeshift one for now—this cheap notebook he got from the gift shop.

As he was about to start writing, a panicked roar reverberated throughout the forest. Such strong growls—enough to blow away his clothes and body! Ford had to see it with his own eyes!

He ran and ran until he finally saw the giant. A single, widened eye stared at him, and suddenly he couldn't move anymore. Heavy breaths rose and plunged from his chest.

But he didn't have to worry any longer. A figure hopped down, continuously slicing the middle part of the eye as they descended.

Ford grunted, falling on his back as its blood squirted and leaked, even having some splatter on his nose. He watched the monster turn and run away, knowing that it'd die soon enough.

"Woah! Grandpa, you okay?" A small hand filled Ford's vision. "You froze up pretty quickly. I bet you'd be dead if I wasn't here!"

Once his vision finally cleared, he paused at the sight of a teenager. He's never seen this kid before. Ford cleared his throat, accepting your hand and standing up. "I'm fine. And don't call me that."

You hummed, tilting his open wallet with a nod. "I dunno. Being in your sixties sounds pretty old to me."

"What? How— When— Give me that!" Ford swiped his wallet out of you, to which you respond with a silly grin. He scoffed, crossing his arms. This is such a Stanley thing to do. "Who are you even, kid? Why are you out here?"

"I'm out adventuring!" you declared, placing your fists on your hips. You do certainly have equipment fit for an adventurer. "I mean, did you see me back there? Killed that monster with one swipe!"

Ford rubbed his chin in deep thought. He smiled. "That was pretty impressive. It reminds me of my nephew. You've gone straight towards the monster's weak point."

Unbeknownst to him, your face starts heating up from the praise. You've never received positive reactions from your oh-so-dangerous hobbies. "Well, yeah! It's no big deal. Eyes are usually common for being weak."

Ford chuckled. "Anyway, do you know the direction to Gravity Falls? I may be a little lost."

"Course, duh! It's like... that way! Opposite of the sun," you grinned, pointing behind him. He turned around to check, his shoulders slumping. You touched his nose with a grin when he looked back at you. What a Mabel type of personality. You were really just removing the monster's blood, though. "Boop!"

...Okay.

One glance at the sky, and Ford knew that there's no way he's going to go home at this time. While he loved adventuring, especially at night, he's still in undiscovered territory and would very much like to go home in one piece.

"Alrightnicetomeetyoudude! Byeeee! Good luck!" you exclaimed, already waving at him and walking away.

Wait! You're his only ticket out!

"Pray tell, kid, are you alone? Don't you have guardians or friends tagging along?" he asked hastily.

"Naw. I have parents waiting for me back home, though," you smiled.

Ford somehow convinced you to bring him home to yours.

Now, you stood in front of your house with him by your side. The older man couldn't help but notice that you looked a bit anxious, weirdly enough. You're scratching your arm.

The door finally opened. The first thing Ford saw was a frustrated face of an older woman, which was swiftly wiped when she took note of his presence. How odd.

"Oh, sweetie, who's this with you?"

"Found him in the woods! Isn't he neat?"

"Let's talk for a bit. Please give us a moment," the woman smiled at Ford, grabbing you before closing the door on him.

Ford awkwardly stood outside the house, checking his watch. Faint voices reached his ears. That's your mother, yes? She sounded upset. You sounded upset. He hasn't been in this dimension in a while, but would it really be so bad to take home a man you haven't met? He's just literally lost!

You opened the door. He froze when he met your tear-filled eyes.

"Sorry, whatever-your-name-is. I can't let you in," you muttered meekly. "But you can wait for me tomorrow. I'll help you go home. Bye."

The door closed. Why were you crying? That's not right.

Next day.

Ford waited for you on your front porch, mindlessly writing in his notebook. He had to sleep on a makeshift cushion of laundry. It wasn't the worst place to sleep, and he's just glad he didn't get caught.

"Good morning! You're early today!" you beamed, already walking.

"Is there anything I should know about your parents?" he deadpanned, trailing next to you.

You got uncomfortable quickly. "Uh, next question? Hey, look, a parasite! So weird!"

"Don't touch that! I can't believe it ranges up to here!"

The journey towards Gravity Falls felt long and tiring. But it simply made you and Ford closer.

"What's your name again?"

"Ford. Just call me Ford."

"For— Holy shit! I didn't even notice earlier! You have five fingers and a thumb!"

"Please—" he hid his hand in reflex.

"Six cylinders on your hand! That's so cool, Ford!"

Ford simply sighed, a smile growing on his lips.

Eventually, you both reach the mystery shack.

"Woah... That's yours? No wonder why you're so used to being in the woods. You live in one!"

Ford chuckled, opening the front door. "I can safely say you're going to get along with my family, kid."

...

You paused, hesitating. "I can't. I have to go home."

...

He smiled sweetly. "Not even for dinner? It'll be quick."

Your stomach growled quite loudly, causing your cheeks to heat up. "Okay, fine. Maybe a little."

Stepping right into the shack, Ford shuts the door behind you. He can't let you go back in that godforsaken house. You looked too miserable.

You can be happy with the Pines family here.

[trianglegoddess]

New Ink, Old Scars

Tattoo artist meet-cute au bbyyyyy

Part 2 of my meet cute series, also on AO3!

-----

Eddie is setting up his station when his new client walks in. He had made the appointment online so Eddie hadn’t actually met him, and well, he’s certainly not complaining. 

His new client is absolute eye candy. He’s wearing a pair of basketball shorts and an older looking t-shirt, soft and well-worn and well-loved. They had texted a bit back and forth on social media, just so Eddie could have his design ready by the time of the appointment, and he had clearly followed Eddie’s advice to dress comfortably. 

It was a pretty sick design, too, not something that would really seem to be up this particular client’s alley. He looks like your typical Good American Boy, with his tanned skin and freckles and moles and perfect floopy hair that makes Eddie want to eat drywall. 

Once he’s done setting up, he walks over to the counter, greets him with a, “Hey, Steve, right? I’m Eddie,” and internally high-fives himself for how chill he was able to be. 

“Nice to meet you, man,” Steve says. 

They chat as Steve hands over his I.D. for the paperwork he then fills out once Eddie makes a copy of it. And it’s kind of…Immediate, Eddie thinks. Sometimes he really has to work to get along with some of his clients, or they don’t really speak at all, but this guy, he’s a fucking riot. He’s witty, and a little bitchy in a mean-girl sorta way that makes Eddie want to write Mr. Eddie Harrington in his nonexistent diary over and over. 

The conversation steers towards music, and Eddie’s old pipeline dream of making it big while they size the design up. Steve is getting it on the back of his forearm from his wrist to his elbow, and he gave Eddie complete creative freedom. Once he gets the stencil made, he takes Steve back to sanitize the skin and stick the stencil on. 

All the while they talk and talk and talk, and Eddie only interrupts the flow of the conversation to instruct Steve to hold his arm a certain way, and to lay down on his stomach so he can tattoo the back of his arm comfortably. 

Usually Eddie gets lost in the work, absorbed in the way he pulls a line to make it perfect, focusing on just how far the needles are going when he gets to the shading so he doesn’t cut Steve. Now, though, he just lets himself go on autopilot. Steve is going on about how his nickname was “The Hair” in highschool, talks about how Eddie’s curls are really nice, talks about how Eddie should do certain treatments that can protect them even more, and Eddie’s never been interested in hair care, never been interested in any of this stuff, but he’s pretty sure he’d be over the moon about golf if Steve was the one explaining it to him. 

When they’re done Steve waits patiently while Eddie goes through the process of taking photos and videos for his socials (and if he takes a little longer than he should nobody but he will ever know), before throwing some second skin on him and a piece of paper with the aftercare instructions on it. 

There’s a sort of ache when Steve leaves, like he’s suddenly missing something, missing a part of him. 

He ignores the feeling, and instead gets ready for his next client. 

The next morning after he’s posted the photo of the nail bat Steve got, he sees a multitude of comments. Some are from the ones who comment regularly on his art, some are bots, and some are…Children? 

Eddie can’t help but pull a piece of hair in front of his mouth, twirled around his finger as he reads through them. Steve is arguing with some kids named ‘EatMyDust’ and ‘MadMax,’ and it’s dumb and endearing and-and he kind of feels like a teenage girl, twirling his hair and kicking his feet like he is, unable to help the grin that spreads across his face. 

Later that night he receives an apology from Steve about his battle with the children (which he lost, MadMax was brutal). He also gets a question about his availability for next week. 

It’s how he ends up tattooing Steve again. Steve had requested a robin on his chest, right above his heart. 

The design itself is pretty simple, but it’s still a more tender area for most, which he informs Steve of as he’s getting the design ready. 

“I think I can handle it,” Steve says easily, and then. 

And then the motherfucker winks at him. 

Eddie is going to spontaneously combust on the spot. 

He tries not to let it affect his speech too much as he instructs Steve to take his shirt off for the stencil. And, even though Steve was being coy about it, Eddie understands immediately that Steve is going to be just fine with this tattoo. 

On his abdomen there are mottled scars, ugly and raised and almost matching Eddie’s in a way that’s uncanny. He doesn’t ask though. For one, it’s just rude, but also he’s a professional. It’s not the first time he’s seen bad scar tissue. He’s tattooed burn victims and people who want to cover up their self harm scars and all sorts of other people, all sorts of other reasons for these kinds of markings. He spars a glance at Steve’s abdomen, and that’s it. 

Steve, for the most part, seems relatively unshy about the whole ordeal. He had talked about being into sports pretty much his entire life, and he’s sure that that has something to do with it. Being in those locker rooms for all of the important parts of his youth probably desensitized him to this sort of thing long ago. 

Still, when they’re letting the stencil dry, Eddie can’t help but run a hand over his own stomach, over his own scars. 

“You can ask, you know,” Steve says. “If you want.”

“Only if you wanna talk about ‘em, man.”

“You know Hawkins? Small little backwater town that had that earthquake a few years back?” Steve asks him. Eddie nods. He had been in that backwater town, had been in that earthquake, and once the dust had settled he had gotten the fuck outta dodge. That town had never done much for him anyway, and the earthquake had been as good a reason as any to leave. “I got stuck in all of it,” Steve continues. “Most of it is from the debris and what not; I had been walking downtown where a fault line split the ground up.”

“No shit,” Eddie says. He had been on the fault line, had a very similar experience to Steve in that sense. It had split his trailer in half, and he and Wayne had had to figure their shit out pretty quick afterwards. 

Eddie lifts up his own shirt then, shows Steve his own scars. His are a lot deeper, travel a lot farther, all the way up to his neck but they match, and that’s gotta mean something, right? 

He hears Steve’s breath catch as he looks down at Eddie’s own torso as Eddie explains his own experiences in that very same earthquake. 

After that, the tattoo feels weirdly intimate, with this sort of charged energy between them. They talk, just as much as last time, but this time their voices are softer, gentler, as they talk about their own traumas surrounding the event. 

“Sometimes I feel bad, though,” Steve tells him. “I had pushed the kids out of the way, you know, I mean-I didn’t even think about it, I just did it. But then when all that shit fell on me, and when the earthquake didn’t immediately stop, I think-I know I scared them. And I think sometimes they think I’m just gonna disappear. And I feel bad for being the one to make them go through that-that uncertainty. It’s scary, especially around their age.”

“How old were they?” 

“Fourteen, except Lucas’ little sister, she was eleven. And now they’re all graduating in a month, and I wanna be there for them but-”

“But it’s hard,” Eddie finishes. “I’ll go with you, if you want.”

Eddie knows exactly what compels him to offer. It’s his big, stupid, fat crush on this actual literal life saver. He’d brave his shitty backwater hometown for Steve. Hell, right now with how strong this crush is he’d probably do anything for him. 

“Really?” Steve asks. 

“Really,” Eddie says. 

After that, Eddie finishes the tattoo pretty quickly. It’s a beautiful robin with irises and snapdragons framing it, all bright colors and an almost sort of impressionistic feeling to it. Then it’s the aftercare and a promise to coordinate their trip to Hawkins at a later date. 

Eddie doesn’t expect Steve to take him up on the offer, not really. He seems like the lone wolf-protector kind of guy, someone who thinks they need to face their traumas by themselves to avoid being a burden to those around them. Steve doesn’t text him, outside of thanking him for the pictures of the tattoo Eddie sends his way. 

It’s why he’s a little surprised when Steve comes in the next night, too late for there to be any time to actually tattoo him. He looks flushed and almost uncertain as he changes his weight from foot to foot while he waits for Eddie to greet him at the counter, carefully angling his body to hide whatever he’s got behind his back.

“Stevie!” He greets, unable to help the smile that splits his face in two. “To what do I owe the pleasure? Does your bandage need to be changed out?”

“Wha-no, uh, no. The bandage is fine, no leaking or anything. I just-um. Well.”

Without saying anything else, Steve pulls out a bouquet of flowers from behind his back. They’re marigolds and daisies, and they smell fucking amazing. Eddie gently takes them, wide-eyed and dumbstruck as he looks between the flowers and Steve and back again and back again.

“I, uh-would you. Are you busy?” Steve asks. His face is beat red, and he’s running a hand through his hair and he can’t meet Eddie’s eyes for more than a second before he looks away again. 

“Uh-No. I mean-not after I’m done closing up, I mean. I just have to mop and then I’m all yours.”

“Really?” Steve asks, and it’s so fucking hopeful, so fucking endearing, and Eddie practically melts. 

Eddie nods, hiding his smile behind the flowers. “Really,” he says. Steve just grins back at him. 

“Do you want to go to dinner with me?”

“I’ll go with you,” Eddie says. “If you want.”

Steve softens all around. His shoulders relax, and the nervous tension he had been holding himself with dissipates as he takes a confident step forward. 

“I would like that very much, Eds.”

A month later, Eddie gets to meet the kids that Steve goes on and on about, and he meets the Queen of Steve’s Heart, Platonic Soulmate with a Capital ‘P,’ and she gives him a knowing look and a wink and it’s-

It’s good. Great, even. 

It’s great.

[apheliia]

SUFFERING. — In which Yaoshi's child is wounded.

— trigger & content warnings. mildly graphic depictions of wounds, mild blood, mentions of fainting, both yaoshi and the reader operate on questionable morality at best.

— pairings & notes. hurt/comfort. yaoshi & emanator of abundance!reader. reader is gender neutral (they/them pronouns used). when yaoshi cries, it has a direct effect on those who have come into contact with the power of abundance, including xianzhou natives. 2.1k words.

— author's thoughts. pov lan and yaoshi are divorced parents and their children are fighting. i am very normal about yaoshi i promise 🫶 i made shit up for this fic fr, i am working with CRUMBS you guys 😔🙏 ik from experience that the yaoshi nation is starving so i offer this to my fellow aeon of abundance enjoyers <3 side note, writing two characters with they/them pronouns is so hard LMAO??!??!?!

       Stars dance behind their eyelids every time they dare to let them drift shut.

       The universe is an ever-expanding blur of stars and planets that seem to dance and spin the longer one gazes at them—that, of course, is a natural given.

       ...The stars behind their eyelids are, however, not a given; those are most certainly not meant to be there.

       Their chest heaves, lungs aching and burning as if lit on fire when they painfully expand to take in as much air as possible, lightning striking across their chest and side when they breathe just the slightest bit too forcefully.

       Blood drips from their side—slowly, thankfully, but they've lost so much at this point that it really could not have mattered less if the flow was slow or rapid. The amount lost would have remained the same, nevertheless, because their body vehemently refused to heal the wound that should have been gone within seconds. Minutes, at the absolute most.

       Whatever the Xianzhou Alliance had done to them was terribly effective, delaying their inhuman capacity to heal instantaneously and causing their body to convulse fiercely whenever they tried to force the healing to proceed. It was... less than ideal, but they'd try not to hold it against their siblings.

       (The Xianzhou Alliance just does not see it, does not see anything, the way they do, unenlightened and led astray by the Aeon Lan. That's fine. Perhaps one day they will all come to their senses, snap out of the misguidance, and recognize Yaoshi's benevolence.)

       The ground sways beneath their feet.

       A gasp is torn from their throat as they trip over themselves, ankles snapping inwards, unable to support the weight of their body any longer. Trembling, bloody hands shoot out in a weak attempt to catch themselves, and—

       "Beloved child..."

       —and they're fine, situated on the floor without ever having to fall to get there. The growing cold knawing at their flesh is chased away. Soothing warmth takes its place, and their wounds don't seem to throb as excruciatingly as they did before.

       They're certain that they are no longer where they were before—not hopelessly, blindly stumbling along a familiar planet in hopes of reaching one of its civilizations before the blood loss got to be too much for their body to handle, before they fell unconscious and helpless to the whims of the universe surrounding them.

       (Of course, it wouldn't have killed them. The fainting alone was fairly harmless. However, doing so out in the middle of nowhere while bleeding and wounded was not an ideal fate for any creature to experience. Maybe the blood loss would not have killed them, but if something else of equal or greater strength to them discovered their unconscious body when they were that vulnerable...)

       They're... elsewhere, now, though they haven't the slightest clue where. Truthfully, it mattered not. All they were concerned with was whose side they were at; they were earnestly grateful that their parent had sensed their suffering and seen it fit to bring them somewhere safer.

       Tones soft and saccharine yet richly smooth and vaguely rumbling with the power of something ancient danced across their skin; the sound alone was enough to send a shiver up their spine and to raise goosebumps on their fragile, bleeding body. Undertones of pity and sorrow overwhelm the voice—if it had belonged to a human, perhaps they might say it sounded more akin to horror and shock.

       Actually, now that they thought about it, the chills may have very well been the blood loss... it was hard—if not downright impossible—to tell at this point.

       ...Not that it mattered, of course. Now that they were here, any suffering their child had unfairly endured would be undone and amended.

       "What have they done to you?"

       An unsteady hand dares to reach out to them, and the deity's face twists, displeased, in a way their child cannot quite describe. The flash of displeasure makes them worry through the dazed fog of blood loss that they gesture was unwelcome. Their gaze is quick to move elsewhere—looking so bodly at Yaoshi's face has always felt rude, anyways, so they're quick to look away at even the most minor allusion to disapproval, even though something at the back of their mind reassures them that their actions are hardly the cause of the Aeon's unrest.

       As fast as the concern arises, it dissloves into nothing.

       They did not even have the chance to shift, to pull their arm back, before Yaoshi takes their hand stained wine red, and bestows a tender kiss upon their aching knuckles. The pain is washed away in an instant; there was no trace of it ever having been there in the first place. No lingering ache, no soreness, just relief.

       Sanctus Medicus' touch alone—let alone their kiss—causes their body to have a reaction. The most concerning wound of all has begun closing, skin stitching itself together anew, even without the Aeon extending any of their power to do so. Simply existing in the deity's presence has already guaranteed the preservation of their life. A concern of death did not exist any longer.

       It was only really a halfhearted concern, anyway. Truly killing something like them would have taken an insurmountable showing of strength and wit. The Alliance only injured them; putting a complete end to their life was something their estranged siblings horribly failed to do.

       "G— Guardian, I—"

       A wave of coughs that they cannot suppress no matter how hard they try wracks their body, and they wince, abdomen sharply crying out in protest of the forceful motions. The healing process has not yet concluded, and any excess force or strain put on their body still causes them great discomfort.

       "Speak not," the Lord of Longevity murmurs, chiding, as their many hands gently guide their little one ever closer to their body until their child is strewn across their lap. Blood soaks into the the Aeon's robes, though they pay it no mind and instead opt to focus on the source of it. "Poor, sweet child... how much suffering have your siblings wrought upon you? How much cruelty have they extended? Limitless child, struck down by your limited siblings..."

       The sulking lasts for quite some time, but they feel no compulsion to complain about it. It doesn't even cross their mind once. If anything, Yaoshi's love for them is communicated perfectly through their distraught musings, and the attention makes their little one feel quite embarrassed, if anything at all.

       Embarrassed for not being able to defend themselves? Perhaps, though they would attribute it more to simply being overcome by the ever-abundant love the Aeon carried for them.

       Merciful nails stroke the hair from their face, and the Aeon's tens of thousands of eyes flick across their body, thoughtful and contemplative yet riddled with monumentally expansive layers of all-consuming pity and sympathy. To some, it may have been deeply unsettling to be stared at by something so unfathomably powerful, but they have long since grown used to being gazed at so intently. Yaoshi's affections are not subtle in any way, so having the Aeon's complete and undivided attention on them was an overwhelming feeling that they have learned to welcome with open arms.

       (Well...

       More or less 'complete and undivided'; they're fairly certain that Sanctus Medicus is still keenly aware of everything going on outside of this little oasis, still hearing prayers sent to them, still feeling the pains of death and sorrow that they'll undoubtedly seek out and quell to the best of their abilities in as many societies as possible once they've handled the nasty wound left on their favored child. An Aeon's attention is always divided at least somewhat, but it was not their place to complain about something so inevitable. Divided attention was only natural for cosmic beings, no?)

       It is warm. Peaceful.

       ...But only for a moment.

       Something—disappointment, sadness, perhaps even what could be described as fury—rolls off of the Aeon's being in suffocating waves undoubtedly capable of drowning entire civilizations. It is hard to breathe, somehow even harder than it was when their ribs were collapsed inwards and poking agonizingly at their viscera.

       This is worse.

       In an instant, something deep inside of them shatters, and their chest is seized by the grief and agony of millions and millions of beings. A wheeze is drawn from their chest as any clarity they had slowly gained back is snatched away in a mere second, replaced with terror and pain and screaming, so much screaming—

       Their head spins.

       If not for the Aeon of Abundance's presence, soft hushes and careful nails dragging soothingly over and across their skin on as many areas as they can reach at once, they're certain that these conditions would have made their mara flare. It doesn't, thankfully.

       Something about being held by the very deity who had given them their immortality in the first place soothes that side of them into submission, like a dog kneeling at its master's feet. If they listen closely, beyond the screaming and wailing and pleading for the agony to cease, they can hear adoring yet vague and indistinguishable whispers in the corners of their mind.

       Their mara is sated for the time being, but the storm of despair rages on.

       When the tears begin to fall, it is far beyond their control, impossible to stop no matter how much effort they put into doing so.

       It is immensely difficult for them to see through the hazy blur of their uncontrollable weeping, but their gaze still instinctively shifts up towards Yaoshi's face, the terror and nervousness swirling in their chest growing to be too much. In that moment, they were hardly any different than a child seeking reassurance from their parent; of course, the Aeon was all too happy to provide that to them.

       However...

       To their absolute dismay, though the Aeon's expression remains detached, soft, and thoughtful as ever, they are crying.

       Whatever cracking bits of their will that were still somehow clinging together were shattered beyond repair in a quick instant, and they sobbed harder, pressing close to their God in a feeble and weak attempt at taking some of the agony that their parent endured away.

       Between the sorrow, Yaoshi's tears ignited rage, boiling just beneath the surface of their skin and threatening to consume those who stood in its way. It is one thing to take up arms against them, but to make the Aeon of Abundance cry? It is nothing short of a crime, unforgivable and worthy of only the greatest punishment. If not for said deity's gentle kneading of their skin, easily making the rage dissolve into dazed serenity, they may have very well cut down entire armies, wounds be damned.

       ...But that is blatantly against Yaoshi's will at the moment (and more than likely in general, for such destruction is not in the nature of the path which they emanate), so they allowed the anger to be soothed.

       Concern—what could possibly have made something as incomprehensible as Yaoshi cry? Was it truly what the Xianzhou Alliance had done? And moreover, what can they do to stop it? To amend it without being disobedient?—was there, but they were moreso overwhelmed by absolute horror.

       ...

       Aeons are far above mortality, so far beyond humans and their concepts of everything. Nothing that applied to mortals applied the same to Aeons. They were concepts personified. Living ideologies.

       Seeing a being they had come to recognize as infallible, as the purest form of existence above all other creatures, a being of love and light crying?

       Oh, it sent endless ripples of fear and uncertainty blazing across their skin.

       If their will—the will of someone with a deep and intimate connection to the Aeon, someone who had been spared a beautiful fraction of their strength—was so effortlessly shattered by the Abundance's tears, what were other beings connected to them feeling in this moment?

       ...Far worse things, no doubt, but maybe some of them deserved it.

       (The distant screams, a cacophany of confusion and horror, of their siblings rang in their head. Sick satisfaction brewed in their chest at the sound. If any of the Alliance's fleets were mid-battle, there is not a single doubt in their mind that the entire fight will now be lost and in vain. It is only a small fraction of the pain that they were put through by those people, but it is more than enough.)

       One of Yaoshi's hands pets over their head fondly, and they hum through the tears and pain, eyelids fluttering closed as they press ever closer against the Aeon's collarbone.

       "The actions of your siblings will not go unpunished, precious one," they murmur, leaning down and pressing tender kisses to the battered flesh of their shoulder. Any bruises or scratches in that area disappear miraculously. "The suffering you have endured is unjust."

       "I trust in your judgement, Guardian."

       They could feel Yaoshi's smile against their skin, a stark contrast from the Aeon's tears, burning and stinging their skin yet somehow perpetuating their healing process.

       "Good."

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[daylighted]

ㅤㅤㅤㅤBETTER BIRTHDAYS — vampire!dean

slowly, dean is learning to love his birthdays again, after going for decades without letting himself.

not what i intended to write, and not as good as i wish it was, but to be fair to myself i have sickness. and i'm NOT missing out on my beloved baby's birthday! if logistics don't make sense, i don't care. that's fiction baby! vampire!dean is just rent free so it was inevitable.

it wasn’t supposed to be possible.

it was one of those things that dean came to terms with when he’d been turned so long ago — a family? was not something that was personally in dean’s cards. he’d have an infinite life, yes, but any family he wanted would have to be made or created, and not in the way that he’d ever get a chance to hold something so small that was part him.

dean forgot often that the impossible seemed to happen a lot around him.

there was a moment when he thought that being with you was a fate destined for doom. but every step of the way, you’d helped convince him that decades of isolation did not equate to deserving said isolation, and slowly, he’d let you make a home in his heart.

you accepted him for what he was. you trusted him with all you had; let him into your heart, your house, and every room that was deigned yours. no secrets, you’d promised.

it was a promise you held true to, because on a day he’d always remember, june 27th, you’d sat him down and told him that you were pregnant. and, on top of that initial shock, you were three months along.

he’d used the word impossible over and over throughout your pregnancy. this was not something for dean to pour his hope into and get attached to. it had to be a mistake; it had to be a misunderstanding — something.

but on dean’s birthday, a day he refused to celebrate anymore because of how many he’d had, a day that you took into your own hands and made him celebrate anyway—

a little boy was born.

a son with his hair, his face, and your eyes. so human and so real that it stole his breath away, unable to breathe at all even if he wanted to try again.

and it only got more chaotic from there. the little boy was an absolute devil; just as dean had been before sam was born, and before his father sank into a depression that drowned both of them. cassius winchester was a little force with sharp teeth and an affinity for crawling after him everywhere that dean went.

everything about cassius was impossible. that was why he’d been given the name, after all; helmeted warrior, it meant, so nothing could take him, so nothing would try to. now that dean had him, it was not going to be so easy to pry him away.

it was cassius’s third birthday, which meant it was dean’s… he’d lost count, really. either way, it was an incredibly special day for you. your two boys, one grown and one anew, and while you didn’t fit the mold when it came to the family dynamic that your boys painted, you certainly made up for it with your enthusiasm.

“blood in the icing?” you’d asked dean the moment he stepped downstairs, cassius balanced on his hip. “would that make it any more edible for you? for cassy?”

dean, taken aback for a moment, raises his eyebrows. “what would you eat, then?”

“i’m sure a little iron in my diet won’t hurt me.”

his scoff is an amused one, his eyebrows furrowing when he feels a sharp nip on his fingertip. in cassius’s mouth is dean’s finger, gnawing on it like it were nothing more than a teething toy.

his lips quirk up. he hasn’t genuinely grinned in so long that it feels almost foreign all of the time to do it now, since he met you, and even more since cassius. “on second thought, it might not be a bad idea.”

you stop the stand mixer to glance up at them, your eyes glimmering with that look that dean always refused to address. so much love for one person always made him feel on edge, like one day it would all fall away, like everyone else he’d loved prior. his fears had never once deterred you. perhaps it was why he, too, loved you so fiercely.

“he finally learned how to use those little teeth?” you ask, circling around the kitchen island to stand in front of dean and cassius, your expression alight. “what a milestone, my love. and on your third ever birthday.”

it certainly was a milestone. cassius had not let up his biting, little pinches that were certainly going to leave his finger raw for a few hours while it tried to heal. already, dean was planning on tossing all of the teething toys in the house away; he did not care for them like he cared for dean’s pointer finger.

you press a kiss to dean’s cheek, cassius’s forehead, before turning back to the slightly/less-dusty kitchen again. it’d been practically gray before you, but you had to eat, didn’t you? the scattered leftovers of human and forest creature in the boxed refrigerator did nothing for you. but you stop quickly, your eyes widened when you spin back around.

“wait!” you say on a gasp, grabbing something from underneath the countertop. two somethings. very shiny somethings. you jog back up to dean, looping the string of one underneath his chin and planting the birthday hat securely on his head, and doing the same for cassius, albeit with a smaller one. “happy birthday, my boys.”

dean tries to not let it affect him so deeply. how long had it been since his birthday felt like something to be celebrated and not a burden? there were so many years of those feelings that he did not understand yet how to react in instances like this, in the sheer warmth that you and cassius’s joy brought to him.

you were well aware of dean’s affinity for privacy. he was reserved, had made a home in the reservation, and would not leave it, not when he was so comfortable. so you did not call upon his sired to come celebrate — especially not them, when he was only beginning to heal the self-deprecation that came from their being there.

you did, though, dust away his hallway of their paintings, and uncover his painting supplies again. it was special to him, after all, and a hobby he’d locked away for too long after realizing the solace he found in keeping memories forever was embedding him into the past.

the paints and the blank canvasses were neatly wrapped in your room, along with a smaller box — dean’s present pile. there were more toys wrapped in a pile next to it, toys that cassius was far too spoiled already to need, but deserved anyways.

dean is not amused by the blindfold you put over his eyes as you led him to your shared room. or really, he was incredibly amused, but not so much to find out that all it served for was a dramatic way to lead him to his gifts while cassius napped downstairs.

“there are much more fun things that we could do with this blindfold,” he grumbles from in front of you, “there are much more fun things that we have done with it.”

“it is okay to be selfish and accept gifts sometimes, dean,” you say back, lightly kicking open the door with your foot to guide him inside.

dean is at his most shy and timid, somehow, on his birthday. as if he could make himself invisible and shrunken enough to be forgotten about, as if this day was not as equally about dean as it was cassius. “you are well aware of how little birthday gifts i’ve gotten over these years, aren’t you?”

“that is why i’ve got you three today.”

he can’t see, but he can hear the rustling of wrapping paper. shifting around, moving him as you so please, until he’s sat on the edge of the bed, and you are sitting at his feet in front of him, can feel the warmth of your humanity seeping into his legs.

something heavy lands in his lap.

“you may take it off,” you hum, and dean is not surprised to see that when he does, you are wearing a smug grin that makes you all the more beautiful. “go on. open it. that’s why gifts exist; to be opened.”

“i have not gotten a birthday gift in a while,” dean says with a huff, lifting his eyes as he tears into the wrapping paper to meet yours, “but that does not mean i need the process explained—”

his words die in his throat.

his paints. the ones that created life out of people he’d long killed. his heart falters. his mind blanks.

“this—” you pat the biggest gift behind you; flat and hollow when your hand touches it, “is some of the canvases i found too. i was just thinking— well, about how you paint everything you love in case it leaves.”

dean can’t even find the words to respond. his eyes stay locked on yours with a vulnerability you rarely see. “but i’m not leaving. and cassius is not leaving. and i think a family portrait for the front entrance would look lovely, don’t you?”

his swallow is thick and unnecessary, but he feels the lump in his throat and simply can’t help it.

instead of addressing your words, or the paints in his lap, or anything, he looks at the third present sat in your lap. his voice is raw when it comes out. “what is that one?”

dean’s paintbrushes, he assumes. fits the theme, would complete the puzzle.

your lips curl in a little grin. “those are cassius’s building blocks and perhaps a toy train. i can’t spoil everything.”

the attempt at lightening the mood works. he sets the paints aside and leans forward, lifting your chin with one finger and reaching into your lap with the other of his hands. “i meant this, little devil.”

there is no explanation or comments from you this time, as he opens it. it was hasty, the way he tore in, feeling light and airy like he did as a child on christmas. it’d been a long time since dean had felt so free.

it was not paintbrushes as he assumed, though. for the second time in one evening, you’d shocked the words out of him.

impossible, his mind begins to repeat again, but it’s quieter. less insistent. the voice of his subconscious had already been proven wrong once before.

a pregnancy test with two lines sits in the little jewelry box you’d tucked it away in.

the lump in his throat is tight, heavier. his mouth opens, closes, opens again, and no words come out. dean is left holding a pregnancy test between his fingers like it might break, left staring at the one person who heard his cries for company and answered with a family.

a family. how long had it been since he let himself dream? of this, of you, of anything?

“i know it is yours and cassius’s day, but i figured…” you don’t even need to finish the sentence for dean to get it. this was something that he’d wanted desperately, a secret he shared only with you. his childhood was bleak and unforgiving. all dean wanted was a chance to start anew and make it better.

here it was, in the form of a stick and a woman and a toddler.

he is more ginger with the pregnancy test than he was with the paints. as much as he appreciated the sentiments being brought back up, painting sam and judas had pulled all of the fun and the peace out of the hobby. he had no intention of digging back into the part of himself that loved the art of creation, in any way.

but now, in his head, there’s the grant entrance of his manor. and above the fireplace is you next to him in acrylic, a little cassius painted onto his hip, and a little baby in your arms. it would be updated every time his children grew. it would be updated every year, maybe even, so he could have multiples of you in the dresses he loved so dearly, and to see the progression of his kids. his family.

the hand on your chin moves to the back of your neck, tugging you up and into his arms. his eyes close, breathing you in slowly. he’s always loved the warmth of your livelihood, and it felt that much more intense, knowing that there was another life now, too.

“you have a talent for making a man forget he doesn’t deserve this,” he whispers into your throat.

you grasp at the sleeves of his coat, the grin on your face evident even as its buried into his chest. he can feel it, the pull of your lips, your smiling mouth in his shirt. “i hope to foster that talent, then. to become an expert in bringing you a lifetime’s worth of better birthdays.”

dean doesn’t know how to tell you that these years with you have done plenty. this was all he needed — you and the family you brought to him — to have better days and better birthdays.

so he stays silent and holds you to him, letting himself slip away into this life that felt more and more like a wish come true with every passing day.

and it is only when the sounds of little footsteps start stomping up the stairs toward your room, toward his presents, that dean’s eyes lift up to meet the sleep mussed little boy babbling to himself — and the big brother t-shirt you’d had him in, only now noticed.

notes. i literally woke up just to write this quick asf & post it PLS. if it sucks my bad. i'm just a girl. happy bday my pookie beloved baby waby!!!

tags. @titsout4jackles @moonstruksandco @starzify @ultravi0lence14 @itzavahere @sagegreen17 @bruceewayne @jays-bonnie-on-the-side @deansbeer @blushpinkdoll @warpedless @sabrinasopposite @k-slla @deansbite @foolinthera1n @honeyryewhiskey @angelblqde @whyyouegg @bluemerakis @fallbhind @florchids @figthoughts @beausling @chevroletdean @mccartneyqp @bluestrd @sthefferrete @rubyvhs @tortureddarkstar @aileenunfiltered @frosttbitessam @theosaurous

[eroguron0nsense]

The Mysterious Mysteries of Mr Sir Crocodile (Character Analysis)

(Apologies in advance for discrepancies from my usual tone and for holding off on everyone who voted for this on my last poll. Honest to God I hope y'all enjoy this in some capacity because I've been procrastinating on this meta so long it's derailed ALL my other One Piece writing and I only accomplished it through addy-fuelled mania)

This was such a fucking pain to write. I really wanted to say something about Crocodile and what makes him so fascinating that wasn't like, another fan theory or just a set of headcanons, but that's easier said than done?? We could boil it down to immaculate design, screen presence, attitude, or just the fact that he got brought back as an unlikely ally who shocked everyone by saving the protagonist, but I don't know that those factors in and of themselves make for a villain who's become such an object of fandom obsession.

Whatever it is, it's certainly not backstory or depth, because 24 years and hundreds and hundreds of chapters after his introduction, we still know nothing about Sir Crocowani's past beyond a vague confrontation with the Late Great Edward Newgate (that apparently like, ruined his dreams or something?), and some totally-not-just-a-threat-to-out-him-if-he-betrayed-the-alliance blackmail material the Queen of the Queers is holding over his sandy reptilian ass. I was born and grew into adulthood in the time it took Oda to tell the world fuck all about where he's from or his inner thoughts, or his actual honest motivations and traumas.

All we have about this character are questions. Why did he save Luffy and Ace –very conspicuously after both of their lineages were revealed to the world– against all logic and reason? Does he have ties to the revolutionaries? Is he the long-lost son of Rocks D. Xebec? Did he bounce on Comrade Dragon's Monkey D and squirt out the fucking Warrior of Liberation? I assume Oda's going to tell us more about him, but at this point, he's managed to keep a tighter lid on Sir Crocs, Inc.'s past than the fucking Secret History

You may be wondering, dear reader: what the fuck is my point? What is there, at this final stage of Long Running Pirate Manga, for me–Frankie EroGuroNonsense, OP Tumblr Community Z-lister with like, 7 mildly popular meta posts under my belt–to write about the legendary Sir Krokorok that hasn't already been said or theorized? What eagle-eyed observations did I make while rereading Alabasta and writing toxic Crobin fanfic? Am I going anywhere with this? Sorta. Yeah.

Let's start with listing things we actually know about Crockpot, in roughly chronological (??) order: –attended Gol D.'s execution way back when he was my age, along with anyone else who's anyone from his generation.

–At some point, met and was known well enough by Iva that she could effectively blackmail him

–Made it far enough on the Grand Line, somehow getting to the New World, and managed to pick up an 81,000,000 bounty (low end for a warlord, presumably scouted fairly early in his career)

–Wanted to be Pirate King until he gave up on it, not 100% explicitly confirmed but most likely due to getting his ass beat so badly by Whitebeard that he settled for picking off small fry and racketeering behind a government desk job. This makes him profoundly relatable to the rest of us depressed fucking losers who acquiesce to our own mediocrity.

–At 30, after presumably licking his wounds for a hot minute, sets up shop in Alabasta, comes up with a clever evil plan to quietly build up enough arms to conquer the world with a WMD, and then gets his years-long bioterrorist coup attempt foiled by a 17-year-old.

The rest we know: after a brief moment of glory as the unsung MVP of Impel Down/Marineford, he immediately reverts to Failguy Mode, gives all his money to a literal clown, and consequently gets roped into the neverending uncontrollable PR nightmare that is Cross Guild. It's still super vague and we know little to nothing about his past before the Alabasta Saga (for all we know he had a fling with King Cobra)

...Onto his personality and mannerisms. This shit's a lot more revealing. Superficially, he's everything: immaculate Bond villain levels of charismatic villainy, unbelievably ostentatious, dripped out like a Pimp, constantly smoking cigars, absolutely dripping with smugness and grease and disdain. Owns exotic pets and a giant casino, and spends every waking moment either grinning like a maniac when he's got the upper hand or storming around in a fucking mood when anything goes mildly wrong.

He's also pretty hardened underneath all that, obviously couldn't have lived a day on the grand line or survived Impel Down Torture otherwise. But even in Alabasta, Crockery gives off an air of being distinctly more grounded and willing to get his hands dirty than other flashy, established villains who flaunt their wealth and status. A big part of it is just his really hyper-masculine indomitable tough guy persona, but even early on he's very much micromanaging his operation, fighting people hand to hand in (as opposed to, say, Doffy, who literally puppeteers people while lounging around) and makes a point to keep almost all of his followers at a distance and rely on them as little as possible. He rants a bit about how dreams and whatnot are pointless follies, as One Piece antagonists tend to do, and repeatedly taunts Vivi about how her idealism can't save her, but with the context that he wanted to find Laughtale himself, it feels a lot like projection.

The character trait that's harped on a LOT in canon, and probably the most pertinent one to whatever demons he has, is Croconaw's profound pathological distrust for everyone around him. It's a huge part of what makes him a good early foil to the Nefertari family and the Straw Hats, whose collective strength is derived from organic human connection; Crocalor, by contrast, makes sure that up until the very last moment, he keeps most of his people so distant from him that they genuinely have no idea he's even their boss. His relationship with Robin is interesting, but he turns on her immediately when he realizes she either can't or won't give him the location of Pluton and has his dramatic stabbing/"I forgive you" lines about how he never trusted her or anyone from the start. He says the same shit to Mihawk when he suggests they join forces, even citing their mutual distrust as a kind of paradoxical justification for why they'd actually work well together.

Arguably the only exception is Daz Bones, but even that relationship is still a pretty reserved one; one of the few traits Daz exhibits is a similar avoidance of human connections to his boss and even though they've ironically formed a bond despite it, I can't imagine that they're emotionally close. I find these more explicit declarations of paranoia a lot less indicative of what's actually going on in Croconut's head than subtext, but I feel inclined to mention them just because it more or less tells us that his background/trauma has something to do either with betrayal or alternatively just being jaded and deprived to the point of self-isolation.

Krookodile's character gets a little bit more interesting when we get to see him again in Impel Down being a smug little manipulative rascal right up until he gets blackmailed by his endocrinologist, which is definitely medical malpractice but also funny as hell. I also appreciate that literally the first thing he does after getting out of his cell is change into a big coat and cravat to keep up appearances, but it's not until Marineford proper that things get really complicated. Saving Luffy and Ace is the first selfless thing we see Crobat do–while yelling at Luffy that he needs to protect what matters to him properly, no less– and he just keeps fighting for them after that, teaming up with his most hated rival crew to cover Luffy's retreat and telling the entire WG to go fuck itself multiple times over. He fights everyone on sight with no regard for his own safety, talks mad shit to Doffy, and demonstrates a genuinely compelling amount of honest to god chivalry.

For a short time, we see Crocomotive less as a really entertaining cartoon villain and more as a person with hidden, profound emotions and a confusing moral code that's seemingly incompatible with the vicious little creature we met in Alabasta. We come to understand, in a few very brief lines that give us way more questions than answers, that Cromagnon has deep-seated, emotional convictions he actively suppresses, and that whatever baggage he has is probably tied to wanting to or failing to save something of his own. His resentment of Newgate, who he really really wants to have a go at (despite theoretically no longer caring about the ambitions of his youth) is indicative of a desire to revisit the fight that probably ruined his dream and ego, but it's also tinged with a deep-seated grudging respect for a living legend.

Crock–Afire Explosion's obvious seething hatred of Doffy also gives us a few more insights into what's wrong with him. On a surface level, it makes sense that he dislikes a profoundly obnoxious, even flashier fellow warlord who achieved more or less the same goal he set out to in a shorter time, fucks with his business, and then mocks him/tries to recruit him right after his very public defeat and imprisonment. He postures a lot, especially with his lines insisting he's on a higher level and that Doffy could only ever join him as a subordinate, but he's visibly steamed in their initial encounter and clearly hasn't liked him for quite some time. I bring this up because if we stretch our interpretation a little (for the sake of my argument), Croc Holliday's distaste for someone who's (outwardly) so much like himself and embodies all of his villainous characteristics from back in Alabasta might also suggest that deep down, he doesn't actually like the things they have in common; he sees right through Doffy because he's done the same shit and he hates what he sees.

Having gone over all that, I've come up with some key characteristics of Crocomelon that I'll use going forward:

–Extremely performative: puts an ungodly amount of energy into maintaining a carefully curated persona, and projecting a certain amount of power, masculinity, and prestige. Not necessarily an unnatural or inauthentic one, but a constructed and purposeful one nonetheless

–Deep-seated paranoia, hidden secrets; probably intertwined. Keeps personal details on tight, tight lockdown, probably afraid of being known.

–Constant projection of his own insecurities and failures onto other people, making a point to be uniquely cruel in Alabasta to an idealist who loves her people and a dreamer who wants to be the Pirate King.

Ironically, he demonstrably respects and defends two people–Luffy and Whitebeard–who theoretically embody everything he hates or scorns (ambition, goodness, love, connection, romanticism, greatness in the traditional sense) and he intensely dislikes the villain most like himself, or at least the one who shares a lot of his worst characteristics (ostentatious manipulative scheming rat bastard backed by people stronger than himself) –The Grinch's heart grew three sizes at Marineford because of like, the compelling power of brotherly love and reminders of his youth or something

SPECULATION, CONCLUSIONS??

The difficulty with writing anything definitive about Crocko's Basilisk is that he's such a mystery, which functionally lets the fanbase project literally whatever weird personality traits, potential backstories, or anything else they could possibly come up with onto him. So I want to be clear that I have absolutely no interest in theorizing about the specifics of his past or secret identity or potential baby daddy or anything along those lines; I'm only interested in what we can infer about his personality by extrapolating from canon. And the conclusion I keep coming back to, the one that I'm convinced is true on some level, is that Crocodile is living a lie and he fucking hates himself. Everything he does, from how he acts to what he claims to believe, is a desperate effort to cope with his own insecurity and failure and cover up a past version of himself he's deeply ashamed of.

Now, unfortunately, Oda did not conceive of Crocodile as a trans man but stories belong to the people and we can do what we want let's forget about that and play it straight because he's constantly performing gender as a means of compensating for a deep-seated shame and self-loathing from whatever traumas and secrets he keeps hidden. Even assuming he's a cis man, he deliberately chooses a hypermasculine persona with a Capital V Villain moniker and pimp outfit and speech pattern he's carefully curated to project masculine power–physical, political, and financial–and we know it's performance because we see him break kayfabe and get legitimately fucking angry whenever he's confronted by a person like Luffy, who's crazy and brave enough to try and do what he couldn't and risk everything for love and hope that he cannot bring himself to feel for another person, or reminders of the past he tries so desperately to bury.

The lessons he's wrongfully obtained from his past are as follows: Idealism is a weakness. Dreaming is a weakness. Connections to other people and being known are crippling liabilities (If he is, in fact, trans and closeted, that's all the more reason to be existentially disgusted by what he used to be). All the hope he brought to the Grand Line, all the excitement of trying to carry on where Roger left off, needs to be purged and buried because all he got to show for it was loss and humiliation. But he can't stop wanting more, and ironically, after he gives up on conquering the Grand Line, he ends up chasing the same fucking poneglyphs and weapons because his ambition's still there; it's just compromised and much more jaded.

Everything he does that's seemingly contradictory makes sense when you realize that Crocodile resents his failure and wants to avenge himself. He makes a big show of talking down to Luffy and Vivi's petty ideals and shit-talking Newgate and his family, but he still wants to fight Whitebeard like he did way back when and help Luffy protect what matters to him. He hates Doffy, who's honestly just a more successful schemer than he is because it's a constant reminder of what he settled for when he took that warlord post and fucking gave up. He claims to trust no one, but he keeps Daz by his side and rewards his loyalty because he can't help but trust someone who respects him so deeply and follows him to the ends of the fucking earth long after losing the material incentive to do so. He claims to look down on people who aim for the stars and fight for love and joy and freedom and yet, in his most vulnerable moments–not in the face of violence or imprisonment, but when he's emotionally compelled to defend a child and help save his brother–we see how badly he wants that for himself.

TLDR: Crockman Holic is deeply insecure in his masculinity, desperately needs psychological help, and his character/potential redemption arc in One Piece is just dealing with his midlife crisis.

[contentloadingandstuff]

Late Returns | Dom!Lisa x Sub!Male!Reader

A/N: I sat down today, set a 45 minute timer and told myself: Alright, content, a smutty short. Don't think, write. Well, 45 minutes turned into an entire day and roughly 6 pages of text. Is this graphomania? T/C: Femdom, clothed female nude male/CFNM, facesitting, cunnilingus, electrostimulation, amazon position, use of a condom.

While the Academy of Mondstadt was far from the level of strictness expected in Sumeru, it certainly wasn't easy. Notes, deadlines, classes, practice, essays and books. Books upon books upon books, stacked in every corner of your house. The knowledge they contained was crucial for passing the many exams you had yet to face, making each book priceless - literally, as copies sold to students have price tags that still haunt your sleep. 

The only option was the Favonious Library. 

You couldn't say you were the most diligent of people. That in of itself was bad, but combined with the diligence of the head Librarian, Miss Lisa, it was a nightmare. You did your best to keep track of the due dates - among the mess your studies constantly created - and you succeeded… at first. Later, as the year got more and more hectic, you would forget about tomes and turn them in after the appointed date. It was only due to Lisa's kindness that you were spared from the occasional thousand or two Mora fine. 

Still, you couldn't help but feel she was losing her patience with you. She grew more and more smug, probably knowing that your entire livelihood relied on her not asking for her due payments. She even started calling you a cutie, something you found fairly flustering. You could only hope to stay on the good side…

��� but obviously it had to go down sometime. 

This month has been so busy you were forgetting your very own name. By the time you got a grip and took all of the late returns to the library, you knew you had a bomb on your hands. No amount of smiles or tea parties could get you out of this kind of debt. 

“Ah… Sorry, cutie.” Lisa said, browsing through her record book. “These are very overdue I'm afraid. If anybody would see me going easy on you, they would certainly feel unjustly treated…”

You rubbed the back of your head, looking hopefully at her. “Miss Lisa… I don't have much money at the moment… Could I maybe pay in installments?”

She smacked her lips, slowly raising out of her chair. “I'm afraid that won't do. But, if Mora isn't the way, I'll think of other disciplinary means.” You could tell you saw a small flicker in her emerald eyes as she took your hand. “Follow me.”

There was no time to refuse. You sighed in defeat, going along with her as she led you to the back room. Taking your seat at the small table, you watched as she drew a key and locked the door behind you. You swallowed, nervous at what the sorceress had in store for you. 

Lisa drew a piece of paper and tallied up your due, revealing a shocking, six digit sum. How in the world were you to pay that up…

“As I said, we can change it into something less monetary.” Lisa joined her hands on her chest, looking at you from under her wide, purple hat. “You could do library duty, public works, cleaning or, say, help me specifically.” 

You nodded at the last one - it seemed the least strenuous and, if truth were to be told, you loved spending time with her. Even if it wasn't to earn favors. 

“Excellent choice, cutie. Let's start now.”

Lisa approached you, an eager smirk on her lips. With a gentle tug she stood you up from the chair. You could feel her warm breath on your skin, causing it to heat up with a blush, eliciting a chuckle from her. So responsive, she said, as her hands traveled over your arms and down your back, coming to rest on your hips. 

You felt her fingers creep behind the waistband of your pants but lost focus as soon as her lips touched your cheek. Hidden under the wide rim of her hat, Lisa kissed each inch of your cheek, slowly going up to your ear. The tip of her tongue tickled your earlobe, riddling your skin with goosebumps as her other hand continued its quest. Her fingertips rubbed your thighs through the fabric of your boxers, following a trail from the outer to the inner part of your leg. 

While her tongue continued its work, Lisa's other hand found its place behind your pants and with a slight tug, she pulled them down. You meekly took off the article of clothing, letting her hands grope whatever part of you that struck her fancy. She gently raked her nails across the soft fabric covering your buldge, a nervous hum slipping out of your lips. You allow your hands to wrap around her waist, granting her permission to go further. Her index finger starts trailing up and down your clothes cock, swelling up under her gentle tease. Lisa's lips withdraw from your ear and move closer to yours. Your eyelids lower; your head tilts in expectation. You draw closer, so close, you can barely taste her lipstick, almost…

“Ah!”

Your body jumps back on reflex as a spark of electricity goes through your sack. Lisa smirks, seeing you close your legs and grip your package protectively, all with that adorable look of - fittingly - shock on your face. She turns around, humming. 

“Don't forget this is a punishment, cutie~” She flashes you a smug look and turns towards the couch. “Over there, Y/N. Lay back, will you?”

You obey her command, feeling excitement bubble in your veins. Lisa nods in approval. Her hat is removed with gentle touch and placed securely on the large table, the centerpiece of the room. While unbuckles the chain connecting her top, she lets her Vision drop and fall between her bountiful mounds. With a quiet moan, she slowly drags it out by the small chain still attached to it, letting the cold metal drag across her burning hot skin. The clothes are discarded on the table; Lisa steps out of her heels and waltzes up to you. 

“Mm~” She touches the tip of your cock, struggling to break free of its confines. “I have a feeling you're aching to get out of these, aren't you?”

The purple glow in her eyes causes your pulse to jump. Fearing another shock, you clumsily pull down your boxers, getting rid of the shirt for good measure. The witch's gloved hand grips the tip of your shaft, pushing her thumb into the flat of it. You feel your veins bulging under the pressure, causing your dick to throb in her hand. She laughs. 

“Look at this little cutie, so eager for my touch…” She drags her palm across your erection, moving it to rest on your stomach. “But I'm afraid he'll have to wait. Your punishment begins now. Are you ready?”

You nod. 

“Good boy.”

Lisa steps up onto the couch. She stands still for a moment, letting you gawk up at her like a helpless puppy. She turns around, the cloth flaps of her corset doing a painfully good job of hiding her assets. She holds the back one in her hand, revealing a set of black, laced lingerie under. It hugs her fatty thighs tightly, almost threatening to come apart with a crouch. The silk holds firm, though, as her ass lowers and settles right on your face. 

Your nose is pushed into the crevice of her ass, your mouth feeling the pressure of her fatty lips, separate from you only by a thin layer of fabric. You take a breath, and your nose fills with a strong, tangy scent of her arousal, soaking the silk of her panties. 

She shifts her hips, smothering you as she looks for a comfy position. Her attention turns back towards your manhood. Lisa takes pity on your cock and wraps her hand around it, using your chest as a support as she gives it a few test strokes. 

“Who would have thought that a cutie such as yourself carries something so…” She leans down and takes a whiff of your cock, taking in the musky mix of precum and pure lust. “Mm~... Intoxicating in your pants. The thick shaft, the bulging veins, and the delicious, thick head… Ah, I would love to feel it pushing my lips apart as it forces its way into my pussy~ Wouldn't you, too darling?”

You make a noise in response, the words drowning in the fat of her hips. 

“I'm sure you'd love to empty your naughty balls inside me… I've noticed the way you've been looking at me ever since we met, Y/N. Know that I would love to take advantage of that too~”

Lisa brings your cock closer and presses her painted lips tightly to your head. When she pulls back, the lipstick leaves a nice mark of her kiss. 

“But first thing first… Your punishment. For being such a handsome, shy and absolutely tasty little cutie - and for the books of course - you'll eat me out. If you'll be a good, diligent boy, I'm sure I'll have an appetite for a second helping. I'm sure you'll handle it.”

You mumble yes, miss into her ass, your mouth salivating at the prospect. She giggles, wiggling her hips to bury you deeper in. You move your hands to her waist and, as soon as you touch her, you yelp in pain at the zap delivered to your cock. You whine, and immediately off-hand her. 

“Bad boy. Use your teeth.”

Lisa rubs the skin right above your cock, grazing the base with her immaculate nails, promising more if you behave. You open your mouth, bite down on the fabric and, with utmost care, pull it away. The fabric digs into Lisa's skin, exposing her just enough for you to get in. Feeling your way around her slit, it isn't long before you find the wet, expecting lips. With the tip of your tongue as your guide, you slide between her inner lips, feeling the salty taste of her excitement. A few humms of approval escape her lips. You use all of your mouth to fully expose her pussy. 

She doesn't guide you this time, and instead wraps her hand around your cock to signal her satisfaction. You feel her hand squeezing your dick as Lisa pumps it up and down with frustrating deliberation. Knowing that the pleasure or torture of your cock is at stake, you dig in. 

“Ah~!” She moans as your tongue dives between her eager folds. 

You dine, switching between gentle flicks and strong, full licks. As you tunnel between her lips, Lisa cranes her neck back, her blonde hair cascading back as pleasure builds within her. It's not long before her needy cunt demands more and Lisa begins rocking her hips, matching the length and direction of your tongue. Her body heats up, her beautiful, deep moans filling the room. More, she says, now resting on your entire body as your fingers dig into the fat of her ass, stabilizing her hips for better access. Your tongue dances around her bud, sliding between her folds before locking onto the clit, lips wrapping around it and sucking. Lisa whimpers and her grip on your dick becomes tighter. You squirm, pain pulsing through you yet never slowing down your service. Her heart rages in her chest and her breath quickens as she grabs your balls with the other hand. 

“Keep… Mhn~ Keep going now… Don't get… distracted~” Your skin crawls as you sense Electro buzzing between your legs. Your grip becomes tighter, legs trembling as you feel the energy pulse down your cock and spread to each of your nuts. You shift your hips helplessly, desperate to keep your mouth working as your shaft hardens even further, balls churning even more cum at the painful stimulation. 

You feel her thighs growing tighter around your head so, with the last gasps of air you push your tongue into her core. Lisa lets out a gasp as her pussy tightens, her legs trembling around you as you eat her to completion. 

Lisa releases her hands, cutting off the electricity. Your cock throbs and bounces, both relieved and missing the stimulation. Lisa groans as she lifts her ass up, freeing you; you gasp for fresh air, coughing. With half lidded eyes and a dazed smile, Lisa looks back at you. 

“Good job, cutie.” She turns around, taking a seat on your thighs. “You know how to please a lady, don't you?”

You nod weakly, letting your hands drop to your sides. You feel Lisa prop up your aching dick with her slender hand. 

“All that licking, sucking and eating was delightful… yet my body wants more. It looks like I went a little hard on your cock, didn't I, darling?”

She strokes the head of your cock comfortingly. You wince at the sensation, instinctively tightening your thigh muscles as you watch her. 

“Aw, don't be scared. I won't punish you anymore. You did what I asked, didn't you?” She leans down, placing a light kiss on your frenulum. “You're a good boy.”

Relaxing, you lay back and focus on the feeling of her hands going up and down your legs. The calm doesn't last long, however. 

“Legs up, big boy~” 

You raise your head, shooting her a look of confusion. She smiles in response, sliding her hands under your ass and gently pushing up. You go along with her signal and raise your legs. Lisa shifts closer, gently caressing your inner thighs as she fumbles with her corset. Before she drops it, she reaches between her breasts and pulls out a small, brightly colored pack. 

“Miss Lisa…” You say, eyes never leaving her hand as she tears the foil open and pulls out a condom. “Why did you keep it there?”

“For special opportunities like this, of course. A woman has to be prepared for a sweet catch like yourself, doesn't she? It doesn't happen often, but when it does, well… Better be prepared, hm?” she coos as she slides the rubber over your raging hard-on. 

Lisa rises up, pushing her hips against yours. She steps over your legs and squats down, pushing them to hang in the air. Lisa sends you a teasing wink as she reaches under the flaps of fabric hiding her sex and grabs your dick. Your imagination runs wild before it stops completely, mind blanking out as you feel your dick finally sinking into her sloppy cunt. Your vision goes blurry for a brief moment before it's brought back down as Lisa raises up and falls back down. You see stars as your cock slams against her cervix, making you moan in unison. 

Without delay Lisa begins moving her hips up and down, her walls eagerly sucking you in as she fucks you. Her hands hold onto your ankles as her ass plops down on you again and again, the clapping growing sloppiers as each thrust coaxes her insides to drool all over your cock. Holding onto the couch for dear life you moan as she rides you, bent over and completely helpless. You could only moan and whimper in response. Lisa keeps her pace steady, looking down at your flushed face with satisfaction. 

“Such a good boy, letting me fuck you like this~” She says, reaching out to tilt your head up. Your eyes meet. “Now cum, cutie~ Empty your balls inside me~”

Tenderized by her earlier torment, your balls fail to endure her pace and tighten in preparation to bust. Your mouth cannot form a coherent word other than cum. Lisa presses her body flat against yours, holding your cheeks as she pounds you into the couch. 

“Good boy… That's it… Cum for mommy~” she whines out as you safely unload inside her, her slick walls pulsing in rhythm to coax every drop of cum from your body. When you can shoot no more, your tired form goes limp against her. 

She chuckles, placing a kiss on your forehead. She slowly stands up with a satisfied, drawn out whine. You look up only to see the condom gone from your softening cock. Lisa smirks as you look at her for an answer. She lifts her front flap to reveal the end of the condom stuck inside her pussy. 

You follow her as she graciously steps down from the couch and heads towards the table. Lisa picks up her hat, making her way over to the armchair put up against the opposite side of the room. She sits down, resting her legs on the footrest. Her hat is lowered back on its rightful place.

“Consider the fees settled, cutie. But if you’d like to discuss… extended terms, feel free to come in for a cup of hot tea~”

Thanks for reading!

[taintandviolent]

So, I saw that you write Gambit, and I fell in LOVE with your style and portrayal. I also saw your smut list? Could I maybe request Gambit with a female S/O? I can't decide between 100, 117, 127, 144. So uh.... You pick? I'm honestly a sucker for first times/possessive/protective/ would burn the world down to protect troupes. If it's too much though, feel free to ignore me. I don't mean to bother you about my hyper fixation crush xD

warnings: smut (female receiving), fingering, remy being selfless and concerned with your pleasure only, uhhhhh I think that's it. I'm sorry my smut drabbles have been kinda mild lately, I haven't got the braincell during the work week lmao.

The sound of the world outside your window fades away as he touches you. Your back arches against the mattress, pushing your chest up into the air and as it does, Remy’s hands trail over your ample cleavage, admiring it as his fingertips ghost over the flesh, leaving a trail of goosebumps in its wake. 

Every ragged breath has your tits bouncing, jiggling underneath his touch, and Remy gobbles up the visual like it’s dinner. Everything he does seems to elicit lewd reactions from your body, actually – not that you’re complaining. At all. In fact, you’re just about blissed out with the way he’s touching you. A shiver erupts down your spine, shaking your entire body. He smiles a half-smile as he watches your reactions.

He has you whining at the attentive way his hands move over your body, tracing every inch of it like he’s trying to remember it in case he never gets to touch it again. One hand traces the curve of your stomach, while the other is slotted between your legs, fingering you masterfully. You swallow, laboriously lifting your head to look down at his hands. He’s been going at you for God knows how long, you’ve lost track. You can feel the outline of his erection on your leg, yet he oddly hasn’t insisted upon anything. 

“You feel so good… but…”  He looks at you with concern in his eyes, as if he’s suddenly realized that you’re unhappy. Remy’s fingers slow their pace, ready for whatever comes next. He’d do anything to please you, even if that meant stopping. 

“B-But what about you?” you continue, worried.

Relieved, he chuckles low, and slides his finger down to your entrance, ready to resume. “We can worry about Remy later. It’s alla’ ‘bout you right now.”

His selfless response floors you… or maybe it’s the way that his middle finger breaches your dripping slit, and crooks up inside to find your G-spot with ease, while the wide pad of thumb continues swiping at your clit. Maybe it’s both. You’re going with both. 

You’re used to being pleasured. You’ve felt all this before – well, not this, specifically, because no man has ever pleasured you the way that Remy Lebeau is pleasuring you currently. From the way his finger encircles your clit, applying just enough pressure to drive you crazy, but not enough to make you orgasm yet to the way that he leans down every so often, kissing along your collarbone.

“Remy,” you plead. “I want you to feel good, too…” 

“Oh, don’t you worry ‘bout ‘dat, chere… I feel just fine right now.”

Serving as punctuation, Remy thrusts his hips into the meat of your thigh, bumping his swollen, aching cock against your leg. You can feel the heat of it through your pants, and long to touch it, to stroke it, to taste it… but he has you whipped underneath his grasp, he’s in control and you’re certainly not about to test his strength.

[greynatomy]

regret

leah williamson x reader

actually finished writing something! wooo! the poll i put out was a close one, but this pair ultimately won. thanks to all who voted.

i’ve decided to split this into two parts, so this isn’t the end peoples!

part 2

———

“Alright. Remember, when we get there—”

“—pretend that we’re still happily married. I know.” You say annoyed, getting out of the car.

“Hey, don’t be like that!” Leah gets out of the car, catching up to you.

“Be like what? I’m not the one who got us in this situation.”

“Can we just be civil? This is the last time we’ll go through this.”

“Piss off will you! We wouldn’t have to act civil if you kept your mouth to yourself. And you had the audacity to file for divorce.”

Before Leah could reply, the front door opens to reveal Amanda, Leah’s Mom.

“Oh, I’ve missed you girls so much!”

Putting up a smile on your face, you engulfed the woman in a hug.

“Missed you too Amanda.”

“Come in! Come in!”

“Oi! David how’ve you been pops?”

“Oh, I’ve been wonderful! Glad to have you here!” He pulls you into a hug.

“There’s my favorite sister!” You hear behind you, Jacob just coming down the stairs from his room.

“Come here you! It’s been a while, huh?”

“It has! You gotta visit me more often.” You tense a bit, but not enough for him to notice in your embrace, putting up a smile on your face.

“I’ll try to visit more.”

What you don’t see behind you is Leah watching your interactions with her family.

You’ve known each other young. You’ve both been dating since you were fifteen, marrying at nineteen, divorced at twenty-one.

Her family’s have welcomed you with open arms since the beginning. You were her first serious relationship. The only one of her girlfriends that her family loved. You’ve had your whole life basically planned out, Leah would become a footballer, you a doctor, marriage, kids, the dream basically.

Leah didn’t know the exact reason why she did what she did, but it happened and she couldn’t take it back. She knew this teammate of hers has liked her for a while and never told her off.

She woke up to an unfamiliar bed, an arm around her that certainly wasn’t you. She regretted it the moment she woke up, didn’t know how to tell you, but you found out before she could. Ashamed of herself, Leah filed for divorce.

———

Leah didn’t know what she was thinking divorcing you. She didn’t have the right to be the one to file as she was the one who fucked up. It was impulsive and shameful. It was the best option she could think of at the time.

Now here she was, five years later, at the Emirates training grounds, about to run for the first time since her ACL injury. She missed you so much during this time. Every time she was injured in any way, you were always by her side nursing her back to health. You were her support system, making her fall more in love with you. This time, without you by her side, she realized how much she took you for granted, how she didn’t show you enough love, betraying you in the worst way possible.

She’d already signed the divorce papers, pressuring you to do the same all while making you go to her family’s for a dinner pretending that nothing has changed between the two of you. It was when she finally saw your signature on the papers was when she realized how she’s lost you for good.

———

Getting back home after a family walk, Amanda spots a stack of papers on the kitchen counter, a folded paper on top, along with two rings. Curious, she opens it up and quickly skims through them, shock fills her body after she finished reading.

“Leah!” She yells for her daughter.

“Yeah, mum?” Leah walks into the kitchen to see her mom holding something up.

“What the hell is this?”

Leah being clueless, grabs the sheet, reading it herself.

Leah,

I’ve finally signed everything you’ve been wanting me to sign. I don’t know why I’ve put it off for so long even if I’m not the one at fault. Guess it’s just hard to let go of the one you love the most.

Don’t contact me. Don’t look for me. You’re free.

Yn

Leah couldn’t even respond to her mother. All the emotions she bottled up came at her all at once, breaking down in front of her family. Six years of relationship, one year of marriage over.

[happy-beeeps]

In A Different World

Summary: during a mission that is nearly indulgent, you get a moment alone with Lucanis.

WC: 1.3K

Pairing: f!Rook x Lucanis

Warnings: alcohol use, me knowing nothing about DA lore

A/N: FIC FACTORY IS OPEN I CAN’T STOP THINKING ABOUT HIM I PROMISE IM WRITING SOMETHING FOR DIN SOON

“It’s kind of hard to believe that stuff like this still exists in Thedas after all we’ve seen.”

Emmrich nodded as he took in the scene, “This is grander than anything I’ve seen in a moment.”

The venue for this particular evening was an open air hall situated on the banks of the river running through Treviso. It was beautiful in the way all of Antivan architecture was, swirling masonry and flying buttresses. It was also swathed in warm golden light from the dozens of candles suspended from the ceiling and perched upon staircases. The art, the reason for the occasion, was displayed elegantly around the room, and the rich citizens of Antiva and beyond milled about, dancing and drinking while they opened their purses.

And when rich people drank, you did your best work.

Your art dealer contact had slipped you an invitation, and promised vast intel on both the Antaam and Venatori sympathizers. While few Antaam would actually be in attendance, you hoped, those that funded them would be. The plan was simple: you and Emmrich would go in, relatively unknown to the upper class of Treviso, posing as a wealthy couple looking to buy new art for their home. Lucanis would mill about, as expected of a Crow from House Dellamorte. You hadn’t seen him since you split at the Diamond, when Teia had whisked you away to find something more “presentable” to wear.

You had to admit, it felt nice to wear something like this again. The soft silk of Teia’s dress slipped comfortable along your body, and the plunging back and neckline allowed you to actually feel the air of Treviso, warm and sweet, across your skin.

Emmrich moved easily, looping a hand in yours and placing another firmly across your back. His dance posture was respectful and elegant, and admittedly less sensual than the way the other Antivan couples danced. Your mind drifted away to Lucanis, wondering where he was, if this was how he danced–

“Rook? I fear I’ve lost you.” Emmrich’s voice snapped you back to reality, concern and something knowing flickering across his eyes.

“Sorry Emmrich I’m,” your eyes scanned the crowd once more, looking for Lucanis’ form, “distracted.”

“That much is clear,” he laughed as he said it, alleviating any fears of his frustration on your lack of focus, “I have not seen Lucanis either.”

Your face flushed as you ducked your head, embarrassed to have been caught in your fantasy. “Fine, fine you got me,” you moved together in silence for a moment longer. “How are things with Strife?”

“Why, I, I haven’t the slightest idea what you’re talking about!” But the blush on the man’s face said it all.

You had decided to split up, gather more intel as you roamed the room, looking at art and sipping wine. This had to be your favorite mission yet, apart from the fact that there had been minimal information to learn. You already knew about Gattlock, and had already located and destroyed most of the stash. You certainly already knew about Venatori involvement in Minrathous, and didn’t want to think about that particular involvement right now. Instead, you enjoyed the small reprieve and sipped the red wine in your hand, eyes following the crowd of dancers in front of you, oblivious to the world behind you.

That oblivion was where he worked best. Perhaps you were hoping he’d seek you out in the crowd, or perhaps you just got lucky.

“I don’t think I knew you had a tattoo here,” Lucanis’ voice was smooth, his fingers ghosting along the scrolling elvish designs trickling down your spine.

“Not many people do,” you sipped your wine and turned over your shoulder to peek at him from the corner of your eye. He wasn’t dressed much different than you normally see him, his Crow armor may have just been spruced up, but against all the grand splendor of the room, he nearly took your breath away.

“Could a lady be troubled for a dance?”

“You’d have to ask my husband,” you smirked, and he rolled his eyes.

“Your husband is currently out on the terrace writing a detailed sonnet about the river to show to Strife. I don’t think he’ll mind.” Lucanis’ hand reached for yours, and you warmed a bit at the touch. He reached for your glass and set it down on the ledge, guiding you to the center of the ballroom.

He moved around you so differently than Emmrich. Where Emmrich was formal movement and elegant posture, Lucanis’ hands pressed against the small of your back, cradling your body against his and swaying easily to the music, maneuvering you around the room with ease.

“Do all Crows know how to dance like this, or am I just lucky?”

“You’re just lucky,” he teased, before a fond small ghosted across his face. “Caterina and my mother taught us, me and Illario. When I was little I used to stand on my mother’s feet while she moved us around the villa.”

You can’t help but smile at the image of a young Lucanis balancing on the toes of a woman who can’t materialize in your mind. It makes you think of your own mother, lost in your memory alone.

“Haven’t heard anything of urgent use tonight,” you murmur, voice low as the music drifts into a sensual violin tango.

He tuts, before adjusting his form to press you even closer to him, “To be completely honest Rook, I don’t really care tonight.”

“Lucanis,”

“Let me enjoy a night with a beautiful woman in my arms and pretend that all of Thedas isn’t relying on us. For just a moment, let me pretend this is different.”

His words take you by surprise, and the flush across your cheeks grows to spread down your chest. You do your best to hide it, positioning yourself with your head flush against his chest. You stay like this for awhile, in silence, before you speak next. “How would you do it?”

“I’m sorry?”

“How would you woo me. If this was different.”

He pauses, quiet for a moment. “Well for starters, I wouldn’t be in Minrathous,”

“Lucanis,” and you’re sure he can hear your eyes roll

His chuckle shakes your frame. “I’d find you in Treviso. You’d be in the market, looking for intel on the Venatori. I’d buy you a cup of coffee, and we would sit on the river bank and talk for hours. Spite wouldn’t be there, so I wouldn’t have to listen to everything he had to say.”

“Does he have a lot to say?”

“About you?” His eyes widen and he laughs, “he’s… very colorful.” He thinks a moment longer, perhaps filtering through Spite’s response, and continues. “You’d come back, maybe I’d go to you. You’d bring me to Minrathous. Eventually you’d meet Teia and Viago. And Ilario, and Caterina.”

“So… not that different than how things shook out?”

His eyes are locked on yours instantly, as if he hasn’t even thought of it before. He says nothing at first before pressing you closer to him. “No, I suppose not so different.”

“Lucanis?”

“Vida?”

You pause, chewing your lip a bit. Offering a piece of yourself to him as best you can. “In this world, you wouldn’t call me Rook.”

“Really? What would I call you?”

Your name. Foreign on your tongue, dances across the whispered distance between you. You see him register it for a moment, and taste it on his lips. He says it back to you, and it feels warm and sweet on his tongue. Like he was meant to say it.

If you asked him, he’d say he was. Meant to say it, just like this, whispered to you in a dark ballroom with you pressed against his chest. Ignoring the end of the world.

[staybabblingbaby]

Soulmate Garden AU (Prologue) a2 d4

[Caution: These are not full fics, or even full parts of fics for some, these are part of my writing progress archive!]

Concept: Growing up, you knew Soulmates weren't all that they cracked up to be. So when, on your 18th birthday, your skin is painted with a garden of flower buds, you resolve to hide it from everyone. Who had ever heard of someone with 8 soulmates, anyway?

Or; Reader has 8 soulmates and no issue avoiding all of them. It's up to SKZ to show her that while every soulbond might not be made of fairy tales, theirs certainly could be.

Word Count: 1,308

Notes: I don't like this. It's not. Bad. It's decent writing. I just don't like doing world building this way. But I'm flying by the seat of my pants and everybody need to know the base information before we're all lost as hell. Also! Prologue + Ch 1 are the longest single piece of writing I've ever done. SG lives in my brain rent free. These are also the most polished pieces on the archive, because I have a tendency to reread smthn to get back into writing it after I put it down, and these are long so they got put down a BUNCH. So. Enjoy?

Dividers by @saradika

Warnings: Fighting Parents, She/Her Reader

Leave me comments or questions or anything! Love hearing from folks <3

Masterlist <3 | Next Part

On your 18th birthday, you wake with a garden wrapped around your torso.

You analyze the unbroken ring of vivid greenery in the mirror, tracing the lengths of stems and branches with your eyes. They wind lovingly around your curves, looping all the way up your ribcage and sloping back down around your sides. It takes some maneuvering, a handheld mirror, and your phone’s camera to get a good look at your back, but your soulmark continues in the same manner all the way around.

Perhaps even worse on your back, you think, as you eye one tree that rises all the way up your spine, stopping just below the nape of your neck. The branches spread out in long, willowy tendrils along your shoulders, pale and droopy frond-like buds dripping down the expanse of your back.

You count eight types of flower bud in your explorations, noting that they’re the only things really in focus on your mark, despite the image being connected through all sorts of greenery. The implications of that make your jaw clench, and you turn around to hastily pull on a long t-shirt with shaking hands.

You study yourself in the mirror again after, lifting the bottom of your shirt to various degrees at different spots. You eventually make your choice and nod to yourself. You continue your morning routine as usual with the addition of a rapid heartbeat and unsteady breathing.

When you emerge from your room, mostly ready for the day, you’re met with the expectant gazes of your family.

Feeling sort of nauseous and like you’d rather refuse entirely, you shyly lift the part of your shirt you’d rehearsed earlier. You reveal a part of your mark on your right side. Just a small section of green, almost bush-like, from your hip to just above your waist. It trials off underneath your shirt, but not in a way where you’d think there was anything but more bushy green.

Your family celebrates for you. Your mom hugs you tightly, your father crows about how his baby girl deserved all that and more, and your sister shakes your shoulder with excited glee. They’re so proud of you for having such a large and vivid soulmark, your parents happily bragging about the small but colorful ouroboros on each of their thumbs and how they just knew their kids would be just like them.

You exchange a look with your sister when your parents somehow start an argument in the middle of their cheers for you. About something they had been enthusiastically agreeing upon moments prior, no less.

You push your sister out to your car with promises of breakfast fast food, the inevitable daily screaming match already beginning as she steps out the door. You follow her once you've left a note by your mom’s purse and take your usual food money allowance from her wallet. She wouldn’t notice until well after she’d stormed out of the house again, you knew.

Your soulmark celebrations are halted there, since you decline to show anyone at school your fresh mark. After all, while your family had just seen a bush with little droopy purple and fuzzy white flower buds, what you’d shown them was two very separate flowers on a backdrop of green.

The thing was, it wasn’t like you hated your soulmark. That’s not why you hid it, why it caused you so much anxiety. You adored your soulmark, in fact. As the years go by, there are many nights you spend feeling cradled by the comfort of being so ensconced in love that evidence of it literally always surrounded you.

Nights when tear tracks stained your face, and you could almost feel the tree branches on your back warm as if holding you.

Nights where everything seems pointless, interrupted by tall stems seeming to tickle just beneath your breast, a sound like twinkling laughter ringing in your ears.

Nights when the yelling in your house reaches a crescendo and you spiral into panic, wondering if tonight was the night someone went too far, brought out of the oceanic tides of fear only by counting little white buds across your tummy.

So yes. You love your mark. It’s just that you had no intention of ever sharing it with the world, and even less intention of seeking out the eight individuals behind those precious symbols of love.

See, you knew a thing or two about soulmates. You spent quite a while researching them when you were younger, trying to find a reason why soulmates like your parents could fight so viciously.

Turns out, while ‘love’ was the common interpretation of soulmates, all they really were was ‘destined’.

You can see this truth in action in your parents nearly every day. Always yelling, always fighting, always resentful. And yet, neither of them ever thinks to leave. It’s almost like they’re connected by the world’s strongest rubber band, constantly springing back together no matter how hard they pull apart from each other.

But even rubber bands can snap, and you don’t really want to be around when this one does.

Your parents had married, you know from your mom’s drunken ramblings one evening when you were twelve, because their families had expected them to. Their friends had expected them to. Even their coworkers had expected them to. After all, they were soulmates, and with such vivid marks at that! Surely they’d fall deeply in love, have a million babies, and live happily ever after.

You wish the reality had been that kind.

In your opinion, your parent’s ‘destined’ relationship with each other was one of enemies. Enemies with benefits maybe, but definitely not people who should live under one roof and raise children together.

But the public theory is that the bigger and brighter the mark, the bigger and deeper the love. And so your parents got married, and you were born. Lovely, really.

A research rabbit hole when you were fifteen had informed you that not only was this public theory not fact, but that it was entirely unprovable. Given that every normal relationship was different, it was only a given that every soulmate relationship would be different too. The most science could prove was that more vivid marks tended towards more intense feelings.

So yeah, no matter how much you loved your marks, you weren’t going to trust the relationship it promised you. You considered yourself the type to learn by example.

Besides your unwillingness to seek out your soulmates, your situation was also just plain weird. It wasn’t like clusters of soulmates were unheard of, rare as they may be. It was just that they were usually threesomes or foursomes, the largest on record being a whopping six person soul-cluster from South Africa. And you may be bad at math, but you’re fairly sure that having eight marks meant you were part of a nine person cluster.

You didn’t really want to be the latest study on the limits of soulmate bonds. So, you turned to what you knew, and started hiding.

Your closet filled with long camisoles of every color and pattern imaginable, and your sock drawer was quickly loaded with waterproof privacy wraps and rolls upon rolls of concealment tape matched to your skin tone. No one questions you, simply figuring you private with your marks.

It gets to the point where you wear your flimsy shields around the house, too. The only time you really get to see your marks is late at night when you’re drifting off to sleep, and early in the mornings when you’re getting dressed.

You live your life like this, flinching when your parents fight, barely acknowledging your soul marks, and pretending that everything is just fine to your little sister.

And then, freshly graduated and twenty-two, you move clear across the country. 

Perma Tag List: @mbioooo0000

[yourheart-inmyhands]

hellllllllloooo your writing is great. Might I request the scared reader that you did but with Scara?

ah this was such an interesting request! i went a little more along the route of Wanderer instead of Scara but if you'd like Scaramouche, when he was in his fatui phase, i can always write that as well :D

Warning: this post contains yandere-themes, including implied being held against ones will, implied kidnapping, implied forced Stockholm syndrome, restrictions around food and meals, and other potential topics. Please read at your own risk!

If this was pre-erasure then Scaramouche would understand, he’s got a reputation, he’s known for things, regardless of how much he’s come to regret them. If this were post-erasure though, it would be a whole different story. He understands that while he has lost the intimidating, scary reputation he once had, he’s in turn taken on a mysterious, unknown one. 

He doesn’t like that you’re scared of him, especially when there’s nothing to be afraid of. Wanderer finds himself angry and confused, he doesn’t know how to make you stop being afraid of him, he can only remember how to be feared, desperate to avoid getting hurt again. And it’s not like he can just go around asking how to make you get over your silly fears. He spends a lot of time pacing around the room he keeps you in, muttering to himself and making exaggerated hand gestures. It takes him a while to come up with a plan, one that he really thinks will work, but when he does finally have his plan together, it’s impossible to change his mind on it.

It’s not his greatest plan, hell it wasn’t even a good plan, but it was the only thing he could see actually working. It’s slow at first, barely noticeable when he starts cutting back on your meals, serving slightly smaller and smaller sections each time until it becomes too obvious to ignore. He restricts you to the single room even more so than before. No more free range of the home, no more looking out the windows or even going to the nice bathroom, now if you have to go, you use the bucket. Wanderer plans to slowly break you down until you cave, begging and crying and pleading, saying you’ll do anything for some more food, for a proper bathroom, for some sunlight. 

He stands in the corner, watching as you stare at the plated meal in front of you. It could hardly be considered a proper meal, barely enough to feed a young child, it would certainly not be enough to satiate you, and he knows that. Wanderer gives you just enough to keep you from falling ill, but so little that your stomach crawls in hunger, hands clutching at your sides as you lay awake, praying for it to settle just long enough to get some sleep. He may not be a human, but he certainly understands how they work, he knows what they crave most and what depriving them of basic needs will do. 

“I could get you more if you’d like.” He sees the way you stare at him, like he’d grown three more heads, and it makes a small part of his chest tingle in excitement. Wanderer can see you hesitate, wanting more but knowing the price it comes at, the tears that well in your eyes as your head hangs low, a small nod leaving you.

He’s practically vibrating in excitement when you finally give in, letting him hold you close without fighting in exchange for more food. From there it continues to escalate, no longer does he wait for you to give in, instead he slowly starts returning things to normal and being as close and affectionate with you as he desires. If you should go back to fighting and screaming again then you can expect him to remove all your ‘privileges’ again. Wanderer will repeat the process over and over again until you give in for a final time, even if it breaks you.

[myrtlebranch1019]

Why Davrin is my favourite companion in DA:TV.

With characters like Neve and Emmrich in the game—both of whom are well-written and fall under my favorite character archetypes—it was surprising to find Davrin climbing into the number one spot on my list. For starters, I’ve never been particularly invested in the Grey Warden storyline outside of Origins and my Hero of Ferelden. I don’t typically gravitate toward Grey Warden romances either. All things considered, I would’ve expected Davrin to rank lower for me, certainly not first. But I always try to keep an open mind about characters, even if I’m not initially drawn to their subplots. Surprisingly, not only did Davrin become my favorite, but the Grey Wardens turned out to be the only faction whose writing I genuinely enjoyed.

Why Davrin stood out to me

Let’s start with what made me connect with Davrin specifically, because at the end of the day, preference is deeply subjective, and relatability is often a key factor. Nonetheless, I do feel Davrin's writing doesn’t get enough credit for how realistic his arc is. Everything we learn about his past points to him being the classic "small-town misfit" (in his case, a Dalish clan misfit) who wanted to break free of his bubble. Growing up, I had a similar mindset. I believed there had to be more to life than seeing the same faces, hearing the same perspectives, and following the same predetermined path.

In one conversation, Davrin mentions how his clan felt rejected by his decision to leave. That resonated with me, but what struck me more was the subtlety in how this rejection was portrayed. In my experience, the person who leaves often carries the weight of perceived rejection far longer than the community they leave behind, which typically moves on. This nuance was reflected in Davrin’s journey—how that sense of rejection motivated him to pursue his path without looking back. It’s a mix of choice and pride, and it’s telling that he only becomes eager to reconnect with his clan near the end of the game, after he’s accomplished what he wanted.

Then there’s the moment of failure that every person faces when they leave behind everything they know—when the unknown turns out to be far more brutal than anticipated. Davrin doesn’t shy away from this, admitting that he “got his ass kicked” and went broke. That particular conversation during his first personal quest hit close to home for me. As a Dalish elf, Davrin likely faced additional obstacles, such as the pervasive discrimination elves endure in this universe. His banter with Bellara (easily missed but incredibly insightful) sheds light on those early days of hardship: how he came to appreciate the things he’d once taken for granted, how he desperately sought purpose to make all his struggles worthwhile.

What I appreciated most was how realistic and difficult his journey felt. He didn’t simply leave his clan and immediately flourish; he had to mold himself into who he wanted to be, enduring setbacks and moments of doubt along the way. Leaving wasn’t painted as an objectively good or bad decision—it was a necessary step for his self-discovery. It also wasn’t framed as a critique of Dalish culture, which I found refreshing given BioWare’s frequent criticism of the Dalish. Davrin wasn’t used as a narrative tool to disparage their way of life; instead, his story highlights that he didn’t fit in and needed to explore a different path. Which is why he is the perfect character to decide the future of the Griffons, whether they will follow tradition or the road less travelled. (By the way, I felt the moment lost its impact when the final decision was left to Rook. I firmly believe that Davrin should have been the one to make the ultimate choice, with the outcome influenced by prior conversations.)

Additionally, while the stoic warrior archetype isn’t typically my cup of tea. (For example, while Blackwall is a complex and well-written character, I never really connected with him). With Davrin, I enjoyed that the stoicism is tempered by his snarky sense of humor, boldness, fiery passion and a softer, nurturing side that emerges in his relationship with Assan. Beneath these layers, there are moments in the game when his dialogue hints at deeper fears and vulnerabilities. His line about Wardens having an “expiration date” stood out to me, overall, the post-Weisshaupt conversation is a fascinating moment that deserves more attention. While the game resolves it quickly, there’s something poignant about how Davrin’s overwhelming need to belong and have a purpose makes him the quintessential "army dreamer." This aspect of his character—the drive to prove himself and tie his self-worth to a cause and subsequently an accomplishment is subtle and easy to miss beneath the more heroic motivation to protect others, but it’s still there.

For the Adventurous Misfits

I could write much more about Davrin (and probably will in future posts), but ultimately, he’s my favorite because he represents the adventurous misfits. He’s for the ones who leave their safety bubble only to get brutally punched in the face by life. For those who tie their self-worth to their achievements and set impossible standards for themselves. Anyone who tries to avoid caring, because they’re only capable of caring too much. And lastly, for those who despite everything, refuse to give up. Davrin’s journey is one of self-discovery, resilience, and growth, and it's a story that feels both deeply personal and universally relatable.

[yuri-is-online]

I love your one sided Floyd vs Ace thing because Ace is just trying to play wingman from the background so Yuu will stop talking about how Floyd's "Such a sweet boy!", like he didn't just try to take Aces head off during practice. And "He visited my class today" , yeah perfect, Floyd visited him today too. For very differnt reasons though. or "He just helped me dye my hair! Doesn't it look good?". It does but that's besides the point.

Bro Floyd is pining SO HARD rn it's not even funny anymore! He's always lost in fantasies but they're not even the hot kind! No, he's daydreaming about holding Yuus hand and going to that one really cute Cafe in Port city that Yuu always calls a "French Cafe". He doesn't know what the hell a French is but you know what! Calling it that makes you happy so that Cafe is French! He wants that excuse to come find you whenever he wants a nap and fall asleep in your lap as you pet him to sleep, and no one can even say shit about cause like! You'd be together.

But he thinks that Ace is trying to get together with Yuu and that just puts his mood way below the poverty line. HES NOT. HE SWEARS HES NOT. ACE JUST WANTS TO TEASE YUU FOR THEIR STUPID GROSS CRUSH NOT BE CAUGHT IN THE MIDDLE OF IT!

AlsoYuuisthepervertintherelationshipthankyouforcomingtomyTEDtalk

ah confused the ducky you. you always see my floyd visions so clearly, i am so happy

I like Ace's relationship with Yuu in pretty much all flavors, when I'm writing floydyuu I think of Ace as the self appointed mom friend/older brother. He likes the feeling of power and responsibility he gets from it since he's used to being the baby of the family. Floyd thinks that little shrimpy is funny and cute at first, someone he could chase around similar to Riddle.

But then they beat Azul. They beat Azul by annoying Sea Lion, who constantly ignores and mocks his attempts to fight him. They got under his skin, that's just on a different level. He's paying close attention now, and he likes what he sees. At first it's exciting, he likes new things and these feelings are certainly new. But it also makes him notice little things. Like how much closer you are to Crabby than you are to him. The jealousy just eats him up because he feels like he shouldn't be? Crabby kind of sucks? He's seen how his color changing magic is, he can't imagine he'd be a better option than him. But shrimpy giggles at his jokes and spends almost all their free time with him. He hates it, and it's starting to effect his... not quite but yeah kind of friendship with Crabby.

Meanwhile Yuu is savoring any sort of contact they can get with him. I love the hair dye suggestion, Floyd says he'll give you one color but really he just wants an excuse to put a streak of teal where his swoop would be on your head. He's too much of a coward to do it, going with whatever you request instead and how happy you are makes it almost worth it until you babble about how you'll have to show your friends how cool it is and what a good job he did. He makes a point of visiting Ace intending to threaten him but he ends up just whining about how he doesn't know how to get through to you, and asking if Ace knows anything about what a "french" is (he thinks it's a dessert) before he lapses into the silence of daydream while Ace wonders if it would be worth it to get Jamil involved.

Yuu gets the perv title for being into a literal fish on top ha of going along with whatever Floyd comes up with. Please do not underestimate his imagination he can be quite filthy when he wants to be, he's just being a good boy and only thinking about extramarital h*nd h*lding for now (•̀⤙•́ )

[mae-lou-ron]

Give Me the Twilight

Summary: Overworked and overtired, Commander Fox is just trying to make it through the rest of his shift, but with a budding migraine, it’s easier said than done. Lucky for him, you’ve got some ideas in mind about how to soothe him.

Pairing: Marshal Commander Fox x Fem!Reader

Warnings: Fox suffering from a migraine, descriptions of migraine symptoms and triggers, sensory overload, Fox has teefies, teasing, senator reader is in a revealing dress and Fox can’t handle it. SFW with references to later non-descript sexual activity. Fluff (kissing, head massage, mando'a nicknames).

Word Count: 2,200

A/N: @ghostymarni marni, marni… what the heck are we going to do about all the delicious things you’ve been creating lately. DUH, MAE, YOU SAY? WE WRITE ABOUT IT, OF COURSE. But seriously, these pieces you did have been rolling around in my brain since you posted them, and I had a migraine yesterday, so like any normal person with clone brain rot, instead of resting, I projected it onto your sharp-toofed Fox and dumped 2,000+ words about it into my word processor. Beware: I wanted to riddle this thing with as much Fox Fanon™ as I could think of, so that's what I did. Fox girlies, I humbly present my offering to you.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Marshal Commander Fox was thankful for three very specific things at this particular moment in time: the environmental filters on his helmet, the fresh batch of caf from the mess, and last but certainly not least—returning to his office to discover you were there, waiting for him.

"Well hello, ad’ika..." His warm, modulated voice rumbled through the room as he stepped over the threshold. "...are you lost?"

You turned your head, keeping your back to him. "What makes you say that, Commander?" you cooed. "Maybe this is exactly where I want to be..."

A silence descended upon the room, broken only by the quiet trill of the door locking and a soft clunk of his mug on the desk. His footsteps drew closer, slow and deliberate, bringing the lingering roasted scent that mingled with his presence. It was then you noticed he still hadn't removed his helmet despite the dimmed lighting—it looked like Fox was suffering from another migraine.

But before you could turn around, you felt the familiar weight of his armor pressed against your back, followed by the telltale hiss of a pressure seal. He set his helmet on the table in front of you before resting his gloved hands on its edge, one on each side of your waist. He sighed deeply as he caged you with his large frame, nuzzling his face into the back of your neck and shoulder; the darkness and pressure over his eyes relieved some of the throbbing behind them.

"I take it your evening concluded early, senator?" he said while running his nose along your bare shoulder, savoring the gentle scent of your skin. He had noticed that you recently stopped wearing perfume around him—another thing he greatly appreciated, especially right now when his head was already pounding enough without the added barrage to his sense of smell. "And tell me how is it you got in here without being seen?" he said with mock scolding.

"Mmm," you hummed, feeling his thick curls brush your shoulder. "I have my ways too, Commander... and you should know by now that I can be quite resourceful when I want something." You smiled, gently running your fingertips over his vambraces before covering his hands with yours. "Or someone..." Your sultry tone caused him to chuckle softly as he moved somehow even closer. "But the gala was actually quite short since the Chancellor never made his appearance..." Your breath hitched as his teeth grazed up the side of your neck. "And I was hoping to see you there..." you added, swallowing thickly.

"I was called away... the Chancellor..." he sighed, his warm breath fanning across your skin. "...you know what, it's not important," he said, his hands toying with the very silky and very red fabric that spilled out over your hips. "Did you wear this for me?" he rumbled.

To his delight, the dress was completely backless, save for a delicate silver chain that ran from the collar down to where the silky fabric draped over the curve of your backside, stopping dangerously above your hips. If he didn’t know any better, it looked like the chain was the only thing keeping the fabric on your body. His gloves were then discarded onto the table along with his helmet. You shivered as his fingertips slid under the chain, sweeping down along your exposed spine.

"Perhaps," you smirked as his hands alternated toying with the fabric and your soft skin. "It is one of my favorite colors, after all." A soft gasp escaped your lips as his mouth moved the base of your neck.

"Ah, so you were hoping to tease me, mesh'la... is that it?" he said darkly, spinning you around to face him. The long skirt of the garment gracefully swished and flared out at the abrupt movement.

"Well," you planted your hands on his shoulders, leaning close into his ear. "I was wearing something over it... but seeing me like this? Well, that's just for you..." you said huskily, making him groan deeply as his fingertips dug into the soft swell of your hips.

"Oh, mesh'la," his voice melted into an even deeper timbre. He loved when you did this. Whether it was wearing a nod to his colors, or the delicate fennec fox pin you often put in your hair for assembly. A smile tugged at his lips as he thought of the tiny tooka cat figure you'd playfully pushed into his hand that time you "ran into each other" at the night market a couple of months ago. What you probably didn't know was how he'd kept that precious trinket in his belt ever since, carrying a tiny piece of you with him wherever he went.

He held you against him as he rested his forehead to your temple. The scent of you, combined with the way the smooth fabric hugged your curves so perfectly, was somehow simultaneously soothing his nerves and driving him wild despite the other growing desire to lie down and close his eyes.

Suddenly, the courtyard lights began its ridiculous nightly display, flooding through the window with their bright, swirling patterns. Fox recoiled with a pained groan, grinding the heels of his hands against his eyes as the capillaries in his head exploded from a lingering ache into searing agony. Without hesitation, you went to the wall panel and activated the blast shield, plunging the room into a gentle darkness broken only by the soft glow of floor lighting.

"Are you alright?" you asked softly as he continued to rub his eyes. "Fox?" you implored, reaching for him. But before you could touch him, he gently snatched your wrist and brought it to his face, nuzzling into it before he planted a warm kiss on your palm, gazing intently into you with those impossibly deep golden eyes. He leaned in, dragging his teeth over the soft pulse point on your wrist.

"Yes…better now that you're here..." he said in a strained voice against your skin. You sighed and gently wrapped your fingertips around his jaw, caressing the stubble on his scarred cheek. He leaned into you, and your fingers moved into his hair, displacing some of his salt and pepper locks.

"Come here..." you murmured before you started gently massaging his scalp, earning you a deep groan from him as he wrapped his arms around your waist, leaning into you.

His eyes fluttered closed as you massaged the back of his head down to his neck, giving you the perfect moment to press feather-light kisses to each of his eyelids, silently worshiping your hardworking Commander. Your fingers traced down his jaw and neck as you whispered, "Come home with me... let me take care of you."

He started to speak, but you cut him off. "I don't want to hear it. You let them work you to the bone, you deserve to be looked aft—" Your words were silenced as he wrapped his hand around the back of your neck, drawing you into a gentle kiss.

"Hush now, cyar'ika," he chuckled gently against your lips. Fox's ochre eyes met yours with playful sternness, glinting in the dim light. "I was only about to ask if you still have those bacta patches..." he added with a soft peck.

"I do," you cooed, tracing the scar that ran along his jaw. "And some painkillers, and that tea you like, it'll help you relax." His lips quirked up in a small, grateful smile as you traced more soothing circles into his hairline.

"Being with you relaxes me..." he nuzzled into your cheek as you grinned, feeling his dark eyelashes flutter against your cheekbone. Your soothing touch combined with your gentle presence worked wonders, already melting away much of the lingering tension from Fox's arduous day.

"I should check if it's clear before it gets too late," he said, reluctantly pulling away to retrieve his helmet and gloves. After donning both, he opened the door and scanned the darkened corridor.

"Most practical, as usual, Commander," you stiffened your posture, playfully mocking your own senatorial facade as he returned to you, the door whooshing shut behind him.

"Well, we can't have anyone catching you sneaking out of my office at this hour," he murmured with a smirk in his tone, his gloved fingers trailing down your arm. "Especially not dressed like this..." he tilted his head and looked at you longingly from behind his visor with a soft sigh, disappointed that you'd worn that kriffing dress for him and he was in no state to be doing anything about it.

You were now very good at reading him with his helmet on. For so long it, was the only way you'd seen him. The first time you saw his face, you couldn't stop staring at him. You were instantly taken with how beautiful he was. You chuckled and squeezed his hand gently before reaching for the more modest, yet still opulently traditional overcoat you had adorned earlier.

"I'll still have the dress tomorrow, you know," you grinned, flashing him a good view of your leg as you walked towards the door. He took note of the deep slit in your dress that stopped at your mid-thigh—all Fox could think about in that moment was you guiding his hand to wander under and touch...

"Fox?"

"Here's what we're going to do, mesh'la..." he said urgently, fingers adjusting the collar of your coat. "I'm taking you home, then you're going to put some bacta patches on my head and make some tea and whatever else— and then I'm going to take my time worshiping every inch of you in that dress until you're begging me to take it off you." His voice was low and gravelly in your ear, sending shivers down your spine as his fingers traced up the edge of the slit.

"But first things first..." He pulled his hand away, making you grumble. He chuckled softly at your soured expression as he chivalrously offered you the crook of his elbow, now mocking his own stoic soldier facade. "Senator..."

You rolled your eyes but smiled at his gentle sense of humor, taking his arm with an equally dramatic flourish. "Why thank you, Commander. How very gallant of you to escort a lady home at this late hour."

As you left his office and strode through the empty corridors, you couldn't help but notice how he drew you closer to him before slipping out of the building and into the ever-bustling Coruscant evening.

You looked quite the pair as you walked arm in arm through the streets, with your dress billowing elegantly behind you and Fox in his polished guard armor, painted with those deep red stripes. Fox again found himself thankful for his helmet—not just for shielding him from Coruscant’s bright neon lights and roaring ambience, but for allowing him to steal glances at you without or anyone else noticing the lovesick expression on his face. He couldn't help it.

To any passerby, you appeared just as any other senator and Corrie would moving through the city late at night. But the way you walked beside him—proud and unabashed to be on his arm— it made his chest tighten with that feeling he was beginning to frequently associate with you. For a brief moment, he allowed himself to imagine being your proper escort for the evening, accompanying you to the gala and back home like a normal couple. But those thoughts quickly faded as his mind focused on what he truly cherished— being safely tucked away from prying eyes for another precious night with you. And better still were the times when those precious nights stretched into even more precious mornings.

[genshin-obsessed]

Water Tasting | Neuvillette x Reader

This was a joke between my friend and I, but seeing as how I've entered my Neuvillette obsession phase, I might as well throw out at least one fic for him. Enjoy~

Word count: 832 Unedited; please don't mind <3

"I'm sorry I came here so late. I didn't intend to get lost." You said with a slight dry chuckle. Neuvillette sent a small smile your way, waving his hand a little.

"Not at all, I said my doors were open to you at any time of the day. Besides, I'm also taking a bit of a break, myself. So it's quite perfect."

You followed Neuvillette further into his office and found a nice seat for you, while the long-haired man looked over at you.

"Are you thirsty? I have a wide array of beverages you may like." You eyes lit up and you sent him a smile, along with a nod.

"Oh yes! I'm absolutely parched."

"You're in luck." The chief justice walked over to a large cabinet and opened the doors, revealing many fancy bottles, decorated with beautiful text and adorned with gems. Honestly, you weren't even sure you wanted to drink such expensive looking beverages.

"This one is from Mondstadt, you've been there, yes? It's quite the popular one. I wouldn't say my favorite, but I do like to indulge every now and then." You were certainly familiar with the variety of drinks offered in Mondstadt, so you figured it was akin to dandelion wine. The bottle had the colors of Mondstadt and even had a small symbol. You couldn't make out the writing from where you sat, but the bottle, itself, was absolutely beautiful.

"Oh, like dandelion wine, right? I've had it before, it's great."

"No, it's not wine. What gave you that idea?" He asked, which confused you, honestly.

"Well you mentioned it was popular in Mondstadt... they're known for their dandelion wine..." you elaborated but Neuvillette shook his head. Without hesitation. Maybe he didn't like alcohol? You knew a guy like that- a certain tycoon.

"Oh, so it's more like a juice. I know their-"

"No, it's water."

What...?

The long silence hung in the air as the two of you stared at one another. You really weren't sure what to say to that, but the awkward silence was getting to you.

"Like... triple digit water? It's not their famous spring vale holy water right?" Knowing how that water was bottled, you'd feel awful knowing Neuvillette fell for such a scam. However, much to your delight, he shook his head.

"Anyway," he reached for another bottle, one that looked like it brandished Liyue's design and markings. "This one is from Liyue and I heard even their own Archon was quite in favor of it. I, myself, have enjoyed it every now and then but it's not my favorite."

"Is... is that water too?" You asked, making Neuvillette give you a sweet smile and a nod. You only returned the nod as you realized... all of those bottles on the shelf were water. Just water. Unflavored, plain water.

"This one, however, is my favorite. It's a brand from Snezhnaya and it's best served chilled." You almost laughed at his words but buried it deep, deep down.

There was something so innocent and sweet about his fascination with different brands of water. The passion in his voice just brought a smile to your face and somehow the awkwardness of the situation lifted as he got into the other various bottles, claiming the one from Inazuma did seem to have a sweeter scent and flavor to it and was one of the more comforting drinks in his collection.

You found yourself getting lost in his voice as he kept going on and on about the different varieties of waters from all over Teyvat. He claimed there were still a great many he hadn't tried as he doesn't have the chance to leave Fontaine with his position being so high up in the court.

"Well? Is there one that beckons you? Or are you unhappy with the selection?" Neuvillette asked with a slight tinge of disappointment in his tone. Maybe even a hint of shyness.

"No, that's not it! I was just expecting different and you surprised me." You assured him, waving your hands a little.

"Oh? What were you expecting?"

"Like Fonta or something."

"No, we don't drink that garbage here." Ok, now you had to laugh. You threw your head back as the fit of giggles finally escaped your system before you calmed yourself. Neuvillette just stood by, unsure of what could possibly make you laugh like that.

"I'll take your favorite then. We can enjoy it together." His confusion melted into a smile and he nodded, grabbing the Snezhnayan water and closing the cabinet. He walked over to you with two- what you would call chalices- and poured you a generous amount. He sat down across from you and you lifted the cup to your lips.

Taking a small sip, the cold water rushed across your tongue and cooled down your entire mouth. Water was water, but there... was indeed an interesting flavor behind this one.

Maybe Neuvillette had a point- water had flavor. This one did anyway.

[seasirengirl]

EVERYTHING YOU SEE IS A PART OF YOUR IMAGINATION, EVERYTHING YOU SEE IS A LIE.

pairing: jason grace x f!neptune!reader

warning: jason is kinda a bop in this, reader is referred to as a blonde

a/n: wrote this at 4am so it’s probably really stupid, but i was thinking of writing hcs for a part 2? idk would y’all read that?

growing up at camp jupiter meant being a soldier, a warrior with no life outside of their duties, a disciplined demigod with no mistakes ever made. this mindset messed up a lot of the kids’ mind, awarding them with different mental illnesses that they wouldn’t be experiencing if their lives were just, normal.

normal could mean a lot of things, but jason grace lost the touch of it a long time ago.

what was normal? being a mortal in high school or spending his everyday life in camp jupiter?

none of these options were available to him, because in the middle of his quest to save the queen of the heavens, he felt more confused than ever, his memories slowly coming back, but in little snippets, unnecessary things were being brought back to him, such as a certain scent that reminded him of… he didn’t remember who. he was surely going crazy.

and the blurred face of a girl he saw every time he ever got the chance to fall into hypnos’ domain certainly did not help the situation. maybe he did something so terrible in the past that he didn’t even get the chance of sleeping undisturbed, but what did he do? he didn’t even remember.

the question that bore into the mind of a mere reader would’ve been, 'what did he even remember?’ an oblivion, absolute nothingness.

and his two apparent friends, leo and piper.

while piper seemed to not be much of a friend, she still kept her patience.

jason, being the selfless soul he was, always managed to put everyone else before himself, he was worried that he was breaking piper’s heart by his amnesia, which, by the way, was not his fault either, but who else was there to blame? truthfully, no one.

while the quest was ongoing, he managed to get used to being apart of the trio, managing to fall more and more in love with the mystery that was piper mclean, or so he thought.

piper was absolutely gorgeous, in her own unique way, she was something to be looked at, to be admired and treated with care and love, but the world that they got exposed into, certainly was not up to the standard jason wanted piper to be put at.

she was also a total knockout, pretty, smart and really unique, what more could a guy want?

right?

then why did the ocean breeze randomly flow through his nostrils when jason was not anywhere near an ocean? what about the blonde soft wavy hair he always saw in his dreams, or the laugh he heard during one of those dreams. something about the girl in his dreams made jason’s life way more complicated, he could not get her out of his head, but how could he? it’s like the gods above truly did not want anything to be remotely normal in his life.

was it all just a set-up, was he cursed? or was he simply going insane over a woman he had never met? it had to end.

apparently the blonde from his dreams did not even exist, he described her to a lot of people, but not one person in camp half-blood knew anything, so he gave up.

the argo II had to be built and they had to fight mother earth, gaea, along with quite a lot of giants, girl problems could wait.

while keeping himself busy, he found his sweet escape to be piper, maybe what was between them was real, it wasn’t just venus having “fun” for a bit and making him insane? he still got dreams from time to time, but they didn’t corrupt his whole time.

but a few months passed, his and piper’s relationship was going well, they were just days away from going to camp jupiter, while going there to find the rest of the eight demigods from the great prophecy was the goal, maybe he could find her there?

and just like that, thoughts and dreams about the mysterious ocean girl slowly came back.

until the day they finally landed in camp jupiter. pieces of jason’s memory came back to him, but not all of it, but everything seemed to click the second he got the chance to actually look around the (not-so) familiar territory.

his hand intertwined with piper’s, he entered camp jupiter, he noticed annabeth running off to a black haired boy, who he assumed to be percy jackson, since that was the guy everyone seemed to be looking for ever since his arrival.

but right next to percy, stood a girl, but not just any pretty girl, her.

the girl from his imagination.

she quickly noticed jason, running over to him and pulling him into a hug, he noticed slight tears in her eyes that weren’t willing to spill.

jason was stunned, his hand was still holding piper’s, until it wasn’t, he felt it let go.

but jason had your arms around him, which felt better than anyone elses.

“i missed you, jase.” you said quietly, in a tone barely above a whisper.

“i-i’m sorry, i don’t remember.”

“percy told me it was a possibility, i just never thought you’d forget me, after all that we’ve been through. he remembered things about annabeth, did you really forget all about me?” a single stray tear managed to escape your eyes, raised in camp jupiter, crying was not something you were used to, but given the circumstances, what else were you supposed to do? sit around and smile like nothing happened, like you didn’t just realise that the love of your life forgot about you? “no, i’m sorry, it’s not your fault, i can’t blame that on you.” you quickly added, noticing how much pressure you put on the boy you loved.

“jason, what’s going on?” that was the voice of the girl jason came back with, sweet as honey. did he find a replacement? have you commited a sin so unforgivable that the gods had to punish you this way? he held her hand, they came in happily, you weren’t needed.

“i don’t know, look, let’s just go and find annabeth, she’ll know what to do.” jason simply shrugged away from your uncounter, living the girl of his dreams in tears, standing there, empty.

and it certainly did not help that jason and his newfound girlfriend were on the ship too, so you couldn’t really be miserable all the time.

you had to put in the effort.

that same night, as you were about to go to bed in your cabin, percy came in to check on you and you suddenly got the urge to tell him about all of your emotions and thoughts, since he was a great listener and also probably the only person who could cheer you up.

so you told him, if you couldn’t trust your brother, who could you trust? you told him some details he didn’t already know about your and jason’s complicated relationship and about him and his new girlfriend.

jason’s cabin was the one opposing yours, so he got a bit confused and almost opened the door to your cabin, but he heard your voice, and his name a few times too, so he did something absolutely irresistible, eavesdropping.

“it was complicated for so many years, and when we finally confessed, 3 months later he just disappeared one morning, i count every minute he was a way, and he came back with a new girlfriend, what did i do to venus so horrible? she gave me a hair comb once after a quest, she doesn’t like hate me or something, right? or does that mean my hair is really messy?” you kept on rambling.

“shh, i don’t know about jason, but if he’s willing to break your heart like that, i’m not gonna be okay with it, goodnight, y/n.” percy kissed your forehead.

“night, perce.”

just as percy walked out of the cabin, he saw jason standing by the door.

“hope you heard all that, buddy.” he mumbled.

if jason thought he was going insane months ago, he for sure knows he’s insane by now.

around a week has passed since that night, jason admired you from far away, getting reminded of why he fell in love with you all those years ago.

it was a quiet evening, some calm and peace, the typical calm before the storm vibes were around.

and it sure ended up being a storm that night for jason grace. he had been thinking about ending things with piper, since remembering things were making him all confused, all of the fake memories were faded too, so their relationship was hanging by a thread, which piper tore that night.

“we need to talk.” piper exclaimed, her tone sounded serious, not the usual cheery and soft.

“is everything okay?” jason asked, knowing that in fact nothing was okay, but he could only use a filler sentence, he didn’t have much of a heart to say anything else.

“what’s going on with you and y/n? i know you two dated, but i see the way you act around each other, you’re not over it, neither of you, and whatever this is going on with us is simply not satisfying neither me or you, so, are you cool with staying friends?” piper stated casually, without much worry on her face.

“i’m sorry pipes, it wasn’t fair to you.” jason tried apologising, but got interrupted.

“it’s fine, but she loves you, i can tell, go talk to her before it’s too late.” that was it, the awakening point, jason immediately stormed into her cabin.

“i fucked up, i’m really in love with you.” he exclaimed, and boy, did that sentence change everything.

it did.