#big black coats are very gender

[orangeplaneta]

Late posting of Qimir before the show got canceled ;__;

[dilatorywriting]

Monster Mayhem: Siren's Song [Part 5]

Gender Neutral Reader x Vil Schoenheit Word Count: 6.8k

Summary: 'Rule 27: It’s a poor choice to help a hare at high noon, but it will certainly appreciate you if you do.'

WARNING for some descriptions of violence

[PART 1] [PART 1.5] [PART 2] [PART 3] [PART 4] [PART 5]

You’d first set foot on The Rose Queen when you were the tender age of eleven. Or, well, something close to that. It wasn’t like most peasant orphans were taught numbers, let alone how to interpret calendars well enough to mark the passing of years.

It was the first ship you’d ever seen up close—sleek, and salt-stained, and creaking beneath your toes. The Boy King at its helm had turned his nose up at you in his too big coat, with his too big boots and tricorn hat that kept slipping down over his eyes. It was a ragtag crew that you’d wandered into, made of nothing but runaways and street rats. The ship itself was just as unusual and fresh-faced. It was built in a very impractical sort of way, with hallways that led to nowhere and portholes that opened up into endless seas of shadow where you could tumble down, down, down for hours and never see an end (or so you’d been warned). There were paintings on the walls, all off-centered and hanging on crooked nails that wobbled with every dip in the waves. The masts and rails were stained a deep, bloody red, in honor of its title. And no matter how the raging winds and waves battered at those petals, your Captain would have you out there the next morning to paint them anew. The Rose Queen was the finest pirate ship in all the ocean, and you only half-said that out of personal bias.

The vessel of the Silver Songbirds was… not like that.

It was grand, certainly. But there was a barren cleanliness to it that didn’t feel lived in. Sure, Riddle’d had you literally scrubbing stains out of the deck with a toothbrush and pot of turpentine, but this was different. Sterile, rather than squeaky. The wood planks didn’t whine with a weary, seaworthy groan beneath your feet that you could feel through the heel of your boots—as if to reassure you it was there. The air smelled of salt, sure, and you could see a group of gulls circling overhead, but the whole of it felt… empty. Lonely.

The black haired man led you to a small, private room in the ship’s hull. That alone was strange. You’d been sharing quarters for the whole of your seafaring career. This new little suite of yours had a bed, and white paint on the walls, and a porthole for a window. He gently coaxed you into sitting at the foot of the mattress and readjusted the coat resting along your shoulders. His smile was soft, kind. The sort of warm, pretty expression that you could read about in a love poem.

You remembered your Siren’s vicious, pointed smirk—red, and haughty, and sharp enough to cut glass—and fought a pang of something you absolutely refused to put a name to.

When you blinked back into focus, his lips were moving in a slow, steady flow and you focused your best on the shape of them. It was hard, with how placid his expression was—with how little there was to make out of anything he was attempting to get across. And whether it be your furrowed brow or a sudden memory that oh right, you’d told him your ears worked as well as a three-legged horse pulling a one-wheeled cart, he startled into silence. His face twisted up with chagrin, and he offered you an apologetic smile with round, pink cheeks.

He fumbled around in his pockets for a piece of paper and scribbled out a hasty note to press into your palms.

‘My name is Neige Leblanche, and I’ll be taking care of you for this journey.’

You paused, fingers worrying at the sides of the neat, square bit of parchment. It felt right to offer your own name in return. That would be the polite thing, surely. But you paused, throat tight with uncertainty and a prickling, unpleasant sort of heat. Because you’d never even told your Siren your name, had you? Not even once.

And beneath that sudden, sour gut punch was something else.

‘Rule 116, your name is not a number, but it is your value. Do not offer it to any whose own interests are undue.’

The first time Ace had found himself with a wanted poster (‘Ugly,’ he’d complained, bitter. ‘How am I supposed to hook any tail with this? I look like a mutant potato. This stupid portrait is worse than prison.’), Riddle had taken your handwritten Book of Rules and underlined that one thrice over. You hadn’t thought much of it until you’d had to cut a hangman’s noose from around your idiot, foxy friend’s throat—the handiwork of the tavern folk he’d been boasting to only an afternoon before. And then it had made sense. Ace had survived (with a new, grand tale of woe that he liked to repeat ad nauseum until you wished you’d left him strung up), but the lesson had remained.

Carefully you swallowed the words resting on your tongue and offered a polite-ish nod in their place.

“Nice to meet you, sir. Thank you. For saving me.”

Neige shook his head in a panicked sort of rush, hands waving back and forth with a clear ‘none of that! None of that!’ before reaching back into his pockets to search for another note.

‘It was my honor,’ he wrote, words jumbled and sloppy in his haste. ‘It’s the duty of all officers to help those in need.’

Your brow pinched. Officer? Officer of what?

Your Siren had called these Songbirds dangerous. ‘Not safe’ written into the sand over and over again with his curled claws. You didn’t know much of mainland politics and other such nonsense, but maybe there was some sort of… Siren Hunting Order? Soldiers of the King sent out to scour the seas and keep them safe for a host of weary, would-be-merman-meals? That would make sense. It would make a lot of sense, actually.

Another note was pressed into your hands.

‘How did you end up stranded on that island?’

Islet, you wanted to correct petulantly. Riddle would have. Your Siren would have.

You opened your mouth and hesitated. Telling Nigel, or Nergal, or whatever his name was that your ship had been besieged by a pod of ravenous mers (and one fair-faced asshole who you already missed far, far too—) was as good as serving them up on a silver platter, wasn’t it? Siren hunters probably traded information like how pirates traded maps or merchants traded gold. And you’d be damned if your loose tongue was what led to your friend companion co-strandee’s family being hunted for sport just after he’d finally managed to make his way home again.

So you stiffened your upper lip and turned to look your savior in the eye.

“I fell overboard,” you said, firm. “Because I’m an idiot.”

He blinked, startled, and you could recognize the spluttered ‘…oh’ shaping his lips.

He handed you another scribbled bit of parchment, gaze averted and awkward.

‘I’m sorry.’

“Never apologize to the half-wit for whatever fallacy of their own led to them falling into the pit,” you recited naturally, and Nigel startled. His doe eyes went round with confusion and he tilted his head at you like a curious hound. Nothing intimidating, more like some kind of fluffy cocker spaniel or primped up lapdog staring up at you with too-long-lashes and too-few-thoughts.

You shrugged.

“Just a rule I was supposed to follow,” you shrugged off. You offered a slanted grin. “Though when you’re the idiot in question, it can be pretty hard to avoid.”

Neville smiled at you with a soft sort of laugh that you swore you could feel dancing along your skin.

Another note.

‘I’ll be back in a bit. Please enjoy the amenities here and get some rest. If you need anything, let us know and I’ll get it sorted personally.’

You dipped your chin in thanks and collapsed back against the small, flat mattress in the corner. It was soft, sturdy, probably good for your back and all that nonsense. The sheets were crisp and white, and they rubbed blandly at your weary hide. You could smell the lingering, sharp fragrance of some kind of tacky soap in the cotton. Totally not unpleasant at all. Theoretically, it should have actually been the best bed you’d ever slept in. But a part of you missed swaying back and forth in a net hammock, and an even bigger part missed plopping down in the sand with the heat of a crackling fire at your front and the even steadier warmth of the long, curling, press of gemstone scales at your back.

You flopped over onto your side and stared at the empty, carefully manicured surface of the desk opposite you and wished more than anything that you’d brought your shell.

.

.

The room was cold when you next woke, and you shivered into the jacket Neige had draped along your shoulders (because it was ‘Neige.’ It had been signed on the bottom of the note he’d left you that morning alongside your breakfast. Which was stupid. The dumbest name you’d ever heard). The starched fabric of it all wasn’t exactly comfortable, but it was better than shivering through the chilly ocean mists that were seeping in through the porthole.

You burrowed into the swathe of white and blue wool like a rabbit in a hole, and then winced in irritation when another of those stupid, gaudy pins dug into your cheek.

You plucked the first from its place—the duo of silver songbirds. It really was quite pretty, despite the ominous undertones and all. Two, graceful, delicate sets of feathered wings arching up into the sky—forever frozen in a dance to the clouds. You dropped it into the little, dark crevice between your bed and the wall. Good riddance.

Next came a crest that was familiar in a distant sort of way—a memory that tickled that back of your brain from days long past. You hadn’t noticed it before, what with the echoes of ‘not safe, not safe, not safe’ blaring in your head like an alarm, but it was just as neatly polished as the birds pinned above. It was diamond shaped, the edges embossed in twining lines like the cut of a rope. At its head sat a strange sort of crown, with the arches and more familiar pointed designs replaced by the billowing arcs of sails.  All of that gallantry surrounded a pair of rearing stallions—hooves crossed along a golden edged sword and circled with blue ivy.

You twisted it between your fingers, watching the metal glint in the low light. You hadn’t set foot in proper society since Riddle had let your young, dumb self abscond into the ocean all those years ago. You could hardly remember the flag of our home country, let alone the specifics.

You frowned and the edges of the badge pricked at your fingers.

You dropped this one behind the bed too, with a petulant flick of your wrist to make sure it really stuck.

.

.

‘I’m sorry I haven’t been around more often, there’s some business I’ve been having to take care of.’

You handed the note back with a shrug.

“It’s no bother.”

Neige offered an apologetic grimace nonetheless and another of those smiles that looked a bit too sweet to be real.

‘Do you mind if I ask you something?’

You bristled before you could help it, thoughts spiraling away to harpoons, and nets, and hunting parties. And then you settled your shoulders into a polite, easy line and offered one of your own too-put-together smiles in return.

“Yeah, sure. I mean, you saved me after all.”

Neige smiled again, easy and comfortable, and pressed another slip of parchment into your palms.

‘Where were you headed? When you fell overboard?’

Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck you with a barbed cactus branch dipped in—

Ahem.

You cleared your throat in a way that was surely a Very Normal Person Thing To Do, and tried to ignore the fact that he was so brazenly attempting to map out his plan of attack—to pinpoint the route that the sirens had been chasing and run after it like hounds tracking a fresh scent. Which, to be fair, sirens were a scourge on the seas. Hundreds upon hundreds of good men and women had been lost to their crooning songs and wickedly sharp teeth. They were vicious, often cruel, and so much stronger than any mortal sailor that of course the world above would fear them. You’d been very much of the same opinion until only quite recently, and now—now you just couldn’t.

“I don’t know where we were going,” you lied, and Neige’s brow pinched in a dour, rejected kind of way. “But,” you tried, sprinkling in a touch of truth to make the lie go down easier, “I know we were coming from Port o'Bliss.”

He nodded, that uncongenial expression slipping off his face as easily as it’d settled there.

He rattled off something quick and bubbly, and you pointedly arched a brow. The brunette blushed bright pink and hastily scrabbled for another bit of paper.

‘Thank you for being so helpful. I know it can’t be easy.’

Your neutral expression froze on your face and when you smiled it felt more like a polite bearing of teeth. Did he know? Could he see right through you? Or worse, was he getting all the answers he wanted from you either way, no matter how you tried to coat it in a veneer of misdirection.

“Sure thing.”

He handed you another note, this time for his pocket. Crumpled and soft, the ink a bit smeared along the curling letters.

‘It’s a poor choice to help a heron at high noon,’ it said, ‘but it will certainly appreciate you if you do. So my thanks to you.’

Something settled in your gut at the familiarity, something deceptively warm and homey.

“It’s a hare,” you said, without much thought. “Not a heron.”

Neige nodded with a polite, smiling mumble that looked like another apology, and then left you to your own devices.

That night, a veritable feast was delivered to your tiny, white-walled cabin. A grand spread of food fit for a king. There was roasted fowl, pools of thick, spiced gravies, mountains of vegetables that you’d never even seen before. And tarts. So many colorful, fruity tarts that were so sweet they almost made your tongue curl.

“What’s the occasion?” you asked as Neige took a seat at your desk to nibble at the meal alongside you—a cloth napkin folded neatly across his nap and a clear glass flute for wine placed a bit precariously by his elbow.

He smiled, honey warm, and offered you another note.

‘For helping the hare.’

.

.

Neige didn’t come to visit you the next morning, and his absence had the hair at the nape of your neck standing on end.

You paced and paced around your cube of a barrack. It was maybe four steps from one end to the next, but the constant bumping your toes against the wall was better than just sitting there doing nothing. The worst part was the silence. Not the one in your head. Yes, yes, you were more than used to that. On and on, yada yada. But the silence of the ship. The Rose Queen had always felt like a living thing, a great, wooden beast with a pulse you could feel thrumming beneath your toes, your palms. All you had to do was lay a hand against its side and you could feel the rumble of the tide beyond, the rushing footsteps of sailors sprinting about to meet one of Riddle’s orders or other, the thump of heavy, wet mop heads smacking the deck overhead. It was quiet, but it wasn’t quiet. This ship? No matter how you laid against the boards or pressed flat to the walls, there was nothing. And it made you feel like you were trapped aboard a vessel full of ghosts.

The sun had long begun to set by the time Neige returned, and by then you were nothing but a livewire of nerves.

Had they found him? Your Siren? Was he there somewhere, just a few floors above—strung up like a fish in a net? Caught and displayed like a fine trophy? Or had they killed him outright? Had they found his pod? Had he put up a fight? Had he—

A piece of rolled parchment was held out for you to take, a satin blue ribbon tied along its belly. Neige’s soft, brown gaze was glued to the floor and you snatched the paper from his hands like a rabid cat and tore it open. You could barely keep your eyes steady to read it all—fine, pointed print done up in a neat hand.

‘—danger to those who venture—'

‘—for the safety of the people—’

‘—therefore, the decision has been made—'

‘—with the greatest consideration—’

‘—with immediate effect—'

‘—we have declared the extermination of—'

“You can’t!” you wailed, and Neige’s doe eyes darted up to yours and immediately away once more in guilt. “He’s—he’s not bad. I swear! I know how things look—and—and I know he’s not—that’s he’s a—but you can’t—”

Neige’s wavering stared jumped back to you in open surprise, and you saw his lips twitch on one word—delicate brows pinching in question.

‘He?’

You frowned and fought the urge to stomp your feet. Because, okay, fine. Sure, you were arguing tooth and nail for someone whose name you maybe didn’t even know. Someone who had swum away from your stupidly sentimental ass with all the power and grace of a beast fit to rule the depths of the oceans while you could barely flounder at its surface. And sure, sirens killed people and ate them. But this one was—he was special, and you’d be damned if you let some primped up fishermen try to reel him in on a hook just because he’d maybe eaten a few people. And—

There was a hand on your shoulder, and Neige was staring down at you with an expression not dissimilar to that of a parent about to tell their child that the cat had got out and met a terrible, squishy end beneath the wheels of your neighbor’s carriage. He sighed, dark lashes brushing along his cheeks, and then reached out with his other hand to tap a finger between your collar bones.

“What?” you snapped, and he tapped again. “Me? What about me?”

He paused, gaze meeting yours with a pointed sort of melancholy.

Oh.

Oh.

You remembered the pins you’d dropped behind your bed, one by one. You remembered the strange coat of arms crowned with golden sails and bearing a great, shining sword. Something regal, something imperial that a commoner like you would have only caught fleeting glimpses of in parades, and marches, and war calls.

Something like, say, Pyroxene’s Royal Naval Fleet.

You glanced down at the parchment again, crumpled between your fists, and smoothed it out into something legible beneath your fingers. You reread the text with careful focus.

‘For the Crime of Piracy’ it said. Right at the tippity top. In red ink.

“…ah,” you blinked. “That makes a lot more sense.”

.

.

You were to walk the plank on the ‘morrow.

Which honestly, you hadn’t even thought was really a Thing—walking the plank, argh. Fiddly dee and a yo-ho-ho. That sort of storybook nonsense. The parables that parents passed onto their children to try and scare them away from a life of villainy. Real pirates were put to the rack, or hanged in the town squares to scare the adults away from doing the same.

But you supposed it was practical, at least. Blood was hard to scrub out of wooden decks, so beheading would have been a bit of a mess. Bullets were best to be conserved out on the high seas where stocks were already low, and honestly, your body would just have to be thrown overboard anyways before it stunk up the barracks. So, like, doing it all in one would be quite efficient. You could appreciate that. 

Your hands would be bound at your back and you’d be given three breaths, three steps, and then you’d be tumbling down into the waves below. Claimed by the waters that you’d patrolled for so many years now. Fitting, honestly. Riddle would be proud (beneath the raging, spitting indignation of you being caught at all, but that was another matter). At least you wouldn’t be going out from food poisoning or something mundane like that, so that was a win. And who knew. Maybe your Siren would find you again when you were nestled to rest in some seabed not too far from here, and he could finally make a meal of your dumb ass yet. Happy endings abound.

You wondered idly at the dual branches of fate you’d wandered along in these past weeks, and if it would have been better to hide away when you’d first seen those sails on the horizon. To keep to the little, crescent island you’d found yourself on and slowly starved to death. Alone, abandoned, and sitting in a forever stillness worse than any silence you’d known before.  Forever staring out over the horizon for a glance of amethyst fins that you knew you’d never see again.

If given the choice between the two, you’d take the plank.

.

Neige brought you another feast that night, and you gorged on it merrily. 

When he nervously kept piling your plate with choice cuts after choice cuts, gaze diverted to the floor and looking like a kicked puppy dog with its tail between its legs, you rolled your eyes and swatted at his fingers.

“Unclench yourself,” you huffed, and he puffed up stuttery and pink in horror. “It’s not the end of the world. You’re just doing your job, right? If we’d met under different circumstances I bet I would have shot you first. So, really. All’s fair.”

He worried his lower lip between his teeth, guilt still swimming heavy and warm in those doe eyes of his.

He said something under his breath, something that you’d bet even if your ears were working at full capacity you wouldn’t have been able to parse out. He leaned forward to scrawl a note on the napkin beside your plate.

‘You’re happier now? After all this? I don’t get it.’

You reached out to pat him merrily on the shoulder, more a smack smack smack then anything really pleasant. He could see him fighting a wince with all the trembling sort of bravery of a field mouse. Poor dear. What was the Royal Navy thinking? Hiring on someone who looked like they belonged on an advert for rouge and sweets. This was the last face a pirate was expected to jeer into? This one? Really? It was a wonder this little, squirrely man hadn’t keeled over the first time someone spat on his boots.

“It’s a poor choice to help the fish at high noon,” you said around a mouthful of crumbs. “But it’s my choice. And I’m happy to do it.”

“Fish?” you saw him mouth, brow pinched, and you batted at his shoulder again before reaching for another of those too-sweet tarts.

.

.

There was a whole procession for your execution. With speeches. Which even with the slowly encroaching panic worming into your guts, you couldn’t help but think was at least a little funny.  

The whole crew was lined up in solemn formation, listening stalwartly to some judge, or high ranking officer, or whatever rattle off who even knew what. Your crimes? A homily? The lunch menu? Fuck if you had any clue. And you were the one being fed to the sharks. There had to be some joke hidden in here, right? The scoundrel pirate who could never be tried, simply because they couldn’t hear their own sentencing. You wouldn’t even know when to stand up and shout ‘I object!’ It would probably be pretty funny, right? If you just did that out of nowhere. And what was the worst that could happen? Oh, no. A fine. Please, sir. Add it to the list of debts I owe from beyond my watery grave. Amen.

A hand at your lower back gave you a gentle nudge forward and you shifted against the ropes binding your wrists. They were nicer than your own stores aboard the Rose Queen. Not nearly as itchy, the fibers neat and clearly expensive. Neige stepped up beside you and offered you a look that was likely meant to be kind, but your growing nerves had started to eat through your willingness to play friendly. You could feel the weight of the crew around you, even if you couldn’t hear them. The creak of the deck beneath your toes as they shifted about, the way their bulk must have been shielding you from the worst of the wind. Unlike with your own mismatched family of castaways, their presence wasn’t reassuring. And you kept your eyes locked forward and away from the field of sharp gazes eating into your hide.

The plank was narrow, and immediately you were fighting the urge to sway on your toes. Having your hands bound at your rear only made it worse. It threw off the whole of your center of gravity and had you feeling dizzy and seasick.

You took one breath, stuttery, and one step. The wood whined beneath your heels in a vibration you could feel all the way up to your knees.

Another breath, another step. You could feel the salt soaked board starting to bend now. Clearly it wasn’t meant to support much of anything, let alone a whole person. And for some reason the idea of it breaking beneath you was so much worse than taking that last step all on your own. A sudden plunge that was out of your control. It had your heart hammering in your throat and cold nausea bubbling in your belly.

You looked down. You didn’t want to, but it was like your gaze was a weighted, magnetic thing. Pulled down into the salty depths below. The water looked rougher than it had a moment ago, or maybe you were just really starting to panic. You could see the white froth of the wake breaking against the ship’s hull. It churned like the start of a storm, which was really, terribly inconvenient. Seeing as it’d been so still and calm just a few minutes before. And, y’know, the fact that you had to fall into that mess of sharp peaks and rocking waves. You swore you could see dark shapes flitting about just beneath the surface, a flash of grey, or maybe green. It was hard to tell, with the brightness of the early morning sun in your eyes.

No one was poking at your back, urging you forward, which you thought was quite odd. You’d been taking your sweet ol’ time sauntering to your demise. You’d assumed they’d have less patience for a pirate with cold feet. Instead, the world around you was just silent and still. Shifting with the raging waves below, but empty and quiet as a tomb for all you knew otherwise.

You took your last breath, your last step.

And then the ship lurched and you were plummeting towards the water. The dissonance between having something beneath your feet—no matter how frail—and then nothing was jarring, and it had you gasping on impulse. Hair whipping at your cheeks and lungs squeezing tight as the air screamed past your throat. It felt like you were drowning before you even hit the water.

When you did finally crash into the waves, it hurt. You’d always been a fairly proficient swimmer, but whether it be the mind numbing panic or the ropes binding you tight, tight, tight, you just started to sink. The salt stung like an open wound, and the water was cold. Frigid. Like being tossed into the jagged side of a glacier. You at least had the sense not to gulp down a mouthful of water out of reflex, but that didn’t make things much better.

You screwed your eyes shut, bubbles frothing at your nose, and tried to find that peace that you’d clung to all night long. A life for a life, one catch for another. No one was going to miss you anyways. And if you had to meet the reaper some way, then of all the ends the universe could have spun for you, at least this one had some meaning to it.

You sighed into the darkness, soft, but when your lips parted next around what should have been a mouthful of icy saltwater, all you could taste was air.

Your eyes shot open in the gloom to a mess of familiar golds and purples that you’d thought you’d never see again.

Your Siren pulled back, bubbles curling from the edge of his lips into a soft stream of warmth between the two of you. Nestling as deep as a full breath all the way in the tightest corners of your lungs. You could feel the dip of his claws as he settled his hands at your shoulders—keeping you in place. And immediately you shrieked and flailed in your bindings.

“You—!”

You promptly choked on another mouthful of sea water and your Siren wailed—all that molten fondness in those lovely amethyst eyes of his sharpening into familiar, pissy exasperation from one second to the next. He dragged your face back to his, slotting his mouth against yours and pushing more air into your lungs. You leaned into it before you could help yourself. Half for the whole oxygen thing, and half, because, well—

When he pulled away this time he smacked a hand over your mouth with a sneer, his thumb and index finger hooked upward to pinch at your nose. He jabbed a claw in your face with a clear ‘stay put’ and immediately went to work cutting through the bindings twined along your arms. The ropes fell away beneath his talons like butter to a hot blade, and he fretfully ran his palms up and down your limbs—looking for any stray bits of netting like a compulsion. Once he seemed certain that you’d been properly freed from your ties, he hauled you up against his chest in a grip that had you losing all the air in your lungs all over again. You could feel the cool jut of the sea glass around his neck pressing into your collar, and he buried his head down into your throat until you didn’t know where he ended and you began. The frills of his tail fluttered in the water, and the bulk of those twining strands curled up and around your legs like a barnacle.

He was warm. Warmer than you’d been expecting, for a creature who spent his life patrolling the darkest depths of the ocean. It wasn’t the same sort of heat that would beat off a human’s hide, but it was more comforting than any you’d ever known. You burrowed down against his shoulder, nose scrunching against the side of his neck and the fins at his ears brushing your temple. You could feel his claws flexing at your sides, feel the shift of his scales against your skin. And just as your lungs were starting to burn, he ducked forward to pull you into another kiss—filling your chest with wonderful, wonderful oxygen all over again.

You blinked blearily past the sting of salt in your eyes and he scrubbed a thumb against your cheek.

Now that those high, wonderful, heart bursting emotions were settling back into something manageable beneath your ribs, you took a moment to look at him. Really look at him. Because you’d sent him on his way, hadn’t you? Waved him off with well wishes and a hope for his happiness. And all that aside, how had he even managed to find you—

Bubbles streamed from your nose as that newest shared breath began to run dry, and your Siren hooked an arm around your waist to propel you upwards.

You crested the surface with a gasp, paddling instinctively against the churning wake. When all that did was leave you smack, smack, smacking at your Siren’s chest like a flailing toddler, he hissed—a spitting, pissy thing you could feel on the breeze—and hauled you back up against him. Just like he had all those times you’d swum together in your cove. You forced yourself to settle, bobbing gently against the tide as he kept you both aloft.

Once your body had managed to catch up with your brain to realize that it was, in fact, not drowning, all of the adrenaline rushed out of you like a broken spicket. You slumped against the Siren’s chest, fuzzy headed and dizzy. Because he’d saved you. Which made no sense in the least. But you’d almost died, and he’d saved you—

Your gaze drifted back up to the ship from which you’d only so recently taken your Cannonball of Doom and startled.

There was blood everywhere.

Staining the railings, splashed along the low flying flags, dripping along the deck. A macabre mess of gore and claw marks gutting the once grand vessel like a beached whale. Some of the crew still seemed to be hanging onto the life rafts, others were taking running leaps into the water like they were under compulsion—eyes glazed over and distant. There was a prickling all along your skin, something twisting familiar and strange in your gut, and oh. Oh.

One of the grander looking officers (the one who had been giving your pre-execution speech, perhaps? He looked similar enough) was shouting something from his place at the bow of one of the life rafts—arm extended in a grand show of valor and sword glinting into the light of the morning. And then a great, emerald siren was rearing over the side of that tiny vessel with a sharp grin on his face and sharper talons on display. The officer was dragged overboard, and the siren’s tail came down on the guardrails with a force that had the wood splintering and the already haphazard little boat rock, rock, rocking until it caught on a high wave and capsized.

You could see the flash of colorful scales and the tips of even brighter fins all around. Cresting above the water just long enough to grab hold of another wailing victim and drag them down to the depths. There was enough blood in the water that you could smell it. Acrid and copper against the ocean’s already sharp, salty musk. And sure, you were a pirate. You’d been in raids, you’d seen death. Plenty of it. But this. Well. It was unfamiliar. In a strange, detached sort of way. These assholes had chucked you overboard, after all. So you only really had a teensy, tiny pinch of sympathy for the fact that being eaten alive probably hurt like a sonofabitch.

It was more strange, you supposed, to be at the center of a sirens’ hunt and not be the one facing down the angry, bitey end.

You kicked in the water, nose scrunching when the red tide lapped against your chin.

“This isn’t going to attract sharks, is it?”

Because if you were saved from drowning at the hands of a royal militia only to wind up as a fish’s dinner, you would be terribly annoyed.

Your Siren rolled his eyes at you, like you were just the most ridiculous and stupid creature in all of creation. And then he made a languid swipe of his large, fully-healed tail and began to swim away from the literal bloodbath he and his pod had wrought. With you and all your silly, fragile humanness in tow.

It was far too relaxing, being pulled along against his side. The gentle rocking of his tail beneath you as he swam at the surface—always ensuring to keep your head above the water as he did so. You could feel your eyes starting to dip, feel a yawn cracking along your lips. Maybe it was just the adrenaline crash hitting, or maybe it was the relief that you hadn’t even wanted to address. He’d come back. For you.

The earless pirate who never seemed to do much but stumble into one conundrum after another. Who had only annoyed him at best and shorn his fins to shredded, useless bits at worst. Who had thrown shells at his head and only nicked him a little when you cut the ropes from his hide.

Who had made him human foods with fire and taught him your language in a messy scrawl of sand and snark. Who swam with him in the bay and twined a necklace of shining, purple sea glass around his neck. Who braided his hair, and laughed at his pouting, and—

There was a rough roll of surf that splashed in your face and you spluttered against the white froth.

The Siren paused and beat his tail against the deeper waters, propping you upright as you hacked and fretfully patting at your back. You could see his mouth moving as he mumbled something, brow pinched, and stared back at him with your own wobbly frown—confused.

“Why did you come back?” you asked, and the Siren’s brows jumped up into his hairline. He looked startled, genuinely. And that only had you even more befuddled. “And how did you even find me?”

This time when he huffed, there was a subtle sort of irritation there that you’d learn to recognize well.

He was pouting.

Something brushed against your fingers in the water, soft and fleeting. You glanced down just in time to catch a blur of lavender flitting nervously below the choppy waves, never dipping close enough again to touch, but looking hesitant to keep much further either.

The Siren followed your gaze only to narrow his eyes, pointed teeth bared as he swatted at the poor, round, little octopus with his tail. A clear shoo, shoo if you’d ever seen one. The octopus squeaked, sending bubbles spiraling in all directions, and frantically looped out of the way of the mer’s petulant tantrum. You whacked him right back, indignant on your teeny friend’s behalf. Because—!

“You followed me,” you burbled, and the little octopus spun in a fretful circle. If you didn’t know better, you’d say the poor, little dear was wringing its hands. Your Siren bared his teeth and smacked out again. “Hey! Don’t be an ass! He saved me,” you argued, and your bitch of a merman just snapped his fangs in your face like a feral cat.

You gawked.

“No way. You can’t be annoyed that you were beat out by a baby, purple octopus the size of an orange.”

He huffed and turned up his nose, and you burst out into laughter for the first time since you’d watched him swim out of your cove all those days ago.

You laughed and laughed until tears were beading at the corners of your eyes, and your Siren was grumbling in complaint and pinching your sides with his curved claws. There wasn’t real malevolence in that stern glare of his, though—just more of the prickly, teasing sort of snide side eye he’d given you in your latter weeks together. Fondness, you realized. That’s what was softening it all. The same sort of warmth you held for him.

Your favorite, pissy, preening, self-righteous goldfish.

You snorted into his shoulder, still shaking on giggles, and you could feel his sigh against your temple. You burrowed down against his side, feeling his fins brush along your hips as he kept the both of you afloat.

“Thanks,” you said, soft. “For coming back.”

You were expecting another melodramatic sigh, another plaintive roll of the eyes. Instead, his fingers came up to twine with yours and tugged your hand to rest against the pendant at his throat. You blinked, confused, and he just curled your palm around that little, sand-smoothed piece of glass.

You arched a brow. “What does that have to do with anything?”

This time he did roll his eyes at you, and when he spoke he mouthed the word dramatic and wide so he was sure that you could see it.

‘Moron.’

You whined in complaint and smacked his fingers away. “But I’m your moron.”

Another huff, soft against the nape of your neck. And you could see the barest twitch of a smile on his red lips as he turned back into the tide and continued his trek home.

.

.

.

[TAG LIST - CLOSED]

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[bloodhoundsandplagues]

◦⭐︎・love lost

Ekko x reader

Summary: once a Firelight and Ekko's partner, you are now a mercenary, dragging yourself through jobs to make enough money to pay for food. After one too many drinks, you take a job you can't handle, and get hurt. It's no shocker who comes to your rescue.

Set at undefined time, no use of Y/N, gender neutral reader

Warnings: gore (not too bad but be mindful), swearing, mentions of death/welcoming death. 3.2 K words (oops), not proofread as always

A/N: icl guys this is one of the longer fics I've written, and definitely the angstiest one. Again, for my best friend, @sahxrii (go check out her recs, they're SO good) who I do everything for, lets be honest.

You have always prided yourself for knowing your limits; stopping when you need to stop, being reasonable about your own abilities. This has kept you out of quite a lot of trouble- avoiding fights you could not have won, not provoking people who were clearly able to whoop your ass. 

This, however, is very different, and not a common occurrence. 

First of all, you might be a little drunk- you’ve just had to numb the sting of your day with a drink, just a small one, in a tiny grimy bar run by a tall man with bright orange skin. Second of all, you’re running on two hours of sleep and painkillers (the painkillers are slowly wearing off, to make matters worse). 

And lastly, you’re in a really bad fucking mood. 

So, when your handler slides you a note with a name and address written in ugly red letters, you think fuck it, and take the job. You should’ve known this was stupid- you should’ve done what the sober, not exhausted version of yourself would have done. But instead, you accept with a bleary nod, because, to be frank, all you want at that moment is to break something. 

So you take the note, drain your drink, and leave the bar, shrugging on your worn coat. Adrenaline is already starting to buzz beneath your skin, your knuckles tingling softly in anticipation. You had never been this excited about violence when you were younger- in fact, people might have described you as gentle, even. But now, with all the things you have witnessed, all the people you’ve lost, hitting people brought a kind of release you could find nowhere else. 

Besides, there’s no one who remembers you as that gentle person left, anyway, so who are you disappointing? Yourself? You chuckle drily into the cold air, thick with gas. 

You stop in front of the building, your hands tucked into your pockets. It is big, red, and ugly (like the ink the name had been written in, you thought), bright colourful light shining from the broken windows. A Zaunite haunt, typical for a wannabe drug lord- the kind of man you were often hired to beat up or kill. You kick into the dirt at your feet, take a deep breath. You have hardly sobered up on the walk here, so your vision is still somewhat blurry, everything swimming around you like you’re underwater. 

Broken memories of swimming in an underground lake with him flitter through your mind, and you dismiss them, muttering a curse between your teeth. You roll your shoulders and make your way inside, striding in like you own the goddamn place. 

“You can’t be here,” a goon dressed all in black calls from the top of badly painted stairs. You look at him, an ugly grin splitting your face. 

“Kick me out, then,” you say, your heart already beginning to beat a little faster. 

Before you know, goons are coming at you from the sides, cracking their knuckles. The twat at the top of the stairs sneers down at you, his teeth oily and black. 

“You don’t wanna do this,” a woman on your left growls. She’s twice as big as you, her arms covered in bright red, winding tattoos. 

“I think I do,” you answer, raising your hands, which are already curled into fists. 

She lunges first, and you catch her with a right hook in the jaw. She hardly falters, but you drive your knee into her stomach. Now, she stumbles, and you leap up, narrowly avoiding an attack from another goon. You grab goon number one- the woman- and smash your forehead into her face. Her nose explodes, red and white flying all over you as she falls backwards. You spin and grab the nearest object- a stool- and bring it smack into the second goon’s middle. He collapses, and you walk over to him, drop the stool on his head. He stops moving. 

You turn to the giant of a woman, who is standing and looking at you with pure, unadulterated hatred. Her face is broken into bits, blood and spit dribbling down her chin. “Come on, then,” you say, cracking your already sore knuckles. 

She throws herself at you, twice as angry as before. You dodge, but she catches you in the shoulder. Excruciating pain shoots through you, and you realise too late that she has wicked little claw-like contraptions on her fingers. She comes at you again, slashing wildly. You jump out of the way, once again catching a claw in the face. It slices open your left cheek; pain explodes all through the area, but you grin. A challenge- you’ve always liked that. 

Somewhere in the back of your mind, a child’s voice screams at you to stop, to leave, to give up. The goon from the top of the stairs is gone. You falter when you notice this- he must be warning his boss, who is your target. You double your efforts, lunging at the woman. You manage to punch her in the stomach, but your second hit, aimed at her throat, is knocked out of the way as she drives her claws into your wrist. You scream, not really in pain but in sheer shock at the sharp metal slivers protruding from your skin. 

“Should’ve left,” she sneers into your face. You spit into the bloody mess that was her nose and wrench your arm back, kicking her, hard, in the sternum. She stumbled backwards and you pull your weapon- a machete, sheathed against your back- out, spinning it around. She assesses you for a moment, with what you realise now are robotic eyes. 

Oh. 

Oh, fuck. 

You are not fighting a person, you’re fighting a robot. Or something that’s half half- the blood spilling from her face gives you the idea that she might be made of flesh and bones, but those eyes- you’ve seen them before. She’s assessing your fight patterns, and she’s going to win. 

You duck out of the way of another attack, but she manages to graze your neck with her claws. You slash wildly with your machete, to no avail- she avoids each blow easily, and the ones that do hit, she ignores happily. 

Finally, one of your attacks hits- you aim the blow upwards, and the machete carves straight through her face. Blood, huge quantities of the stuff, gushes all over you, bone shattering under the power of your blow. You yank the machete out, momentarily stunned as she stumbles to her knees, eyes fizzing out. 

“Fuck,” you pant, stumbling backwards, “fuck you.” 

Your victory is short lived. More goons are coming down the stairs, armed to the teeth. You raise your weapon, ready to fight them all if it kills you, when you feel something strange. Your shirt has been sliced open- cold hair breezes around your stomach. You look down, and are somewhat horrified to find blood; your own blood. 

All at once, you feel nausea hit. You stumble to your knees, gasping for air. She got you- you feel the pain shooting through now. She managed to sink her dirty claws into your stomach as if you were made of mist and gas. 

Everything flickers in front of you as the last few days finally hit. You’re in so much pain, it’s almost incredible- had you been an author, you would have liked to write about this one day. It’s like your insides have been ripped out (they kind of have, you suppose) and set on fire, stomped on, pissed on- you almost laugh at the thought as your head hits the ground. 

You can’t remember when you fell. 

Your vision goes dark, flickering in and out. You see the goons approach you, pick you up unceremoniously. You are outside your body, floating somewhere beyond, watching through your eyes as they drag you outside. It is raining- you wish you could feel the raindrops on your face, one last time. 

You laughed, holding out a hand. It had been a while since you had experienced rain- in the Firelights hideout, you are protected by the huge leaves of the tree; and the Firelights hideout has everything (and everyone) you could wish for, so why would you ever go outside? 

But, after hearing you sigh softly and murmur something about the only thing you miss about your old home being the rain, Ekko made it his mission to bring it back. As soon as it rained again, he took you by the arm, promising a wonderful surprise. He offered to blindfold you, but you kindly refused when you saw that he intended to take you up the tree. You had climbed together, him guiding you gently upwards; and as you’d ascended, you had heard a beautiful, soft patter; a sound that made your heart beat speed up and your throat close. Finally, you had reached the top, and he had lifted the leaves to reveal a little area above the canopy, partly shielded from the rain with a makeshift structure made of leaves and cloth. 

Now, you sat in this structure, your side flush against his, a hand held out to the pouring rain.  

“Do you like it?” He asked softly, looking at you. 

“Do I like it?” You cried, almost incredulous. “Yes, Ekko, I love it!” You turned to him, grinning so widely it almost hurt. “Thank you,” you added after a moment. “Thank you so much, Ekko.” He smiled too, and you took his face in your hands and kissed him, and Gods knew you’d never been happier. 

You’re lying in an alleyway. It’s like you can physically feel the blood leaking from you, your life draining from the gash in your stomach and the holes in your arm. The goons have left, convinced you are dead- why didn’t they check your pulse, stupid bastards? 

It has stopped raining, but you’re soaked to the bone, lying there in the dark. Someone has stolen your jacket and your machete. 

You groaned as you lifted the jacket up to the light. A bright fabric, the colour of the sunset, now stained with dark greenish grey goo. You should have known that wearing your favourite jacket down into the mines was a stupid idea, but you’d done it anyway. 

“Stupid,” you mumbled to yourself, dropping the jacket into a heap on the floor. You wondered briefly if it was salvageable, but deep down knew it wasn’t. You’d have to find a new one, which would be nowhere near as nice. 

Someone knocked on your door, and a soft voice spoke your name. 

“Come in,” you called, still staring sadly at your jacket. 

Ekko stepped inside, his presence like warm sunlight. Despite the grief caused by the ruined jacket, you smile, turning to him instantly relaxing as he wrapped his arms around your waist. 

“I hear your jacket got ruined,” he said softly. 

“Yeah,” you muttered in response. “Upsetting.” He laughed. “I have something for you.” You pulled away, moving your hands to his biceps and looking at him. “What, Ekko?” You already knew what he was going to show you, but it warmed your heart all the same. 

“It’s not exactly the same colour,” he said apologetically, “but-“ 

You put a hand over his mouth, beaming. “I don’t care,” you said. 

He smiled back at you, releasing you to pull something out of his bag. It was neatly folded, but he held it out to you. You shook it out, and found a jacket, almost identical to the one that you had just ruined; it was a slightly lighter shade of orange, and the pattern on the back was a tree instead of the flowers you’d had on your last one. 

“You’re insane,” you said, in awe. You put the jacket on- it was a little too big, but who gave a shit? It was your jacket, gifted to you by your boy. 

You blink back into consciousness, and almost screamed. The pain coursing through you is like nothing you’d ever imagined; like being electrocuted and burned and drowned all at the same time. Despite the gaping hole in you, you want to curl up, to shield yourself from the wet and cold and pain. 

“Please,” you whimper into the ground, “please, no.” 

It’s not that you don’t want to die. In fact, you welcome death- you see it as a release more than anything else, from the bullshit life you lead. But dying here, like this- 

You start to cry, and you gag and retch as tears spill mercilessly. 

You are about to give in- you have given in- when a bright light seems to fill your vision. It is green and orange and yellow and pink and warm and fills everything around you. For a moment you think you’ve died, and this is some kind deity welcoming you into the next life, whispering I forgive you don’t worry as it carries you away. But no, the truth is much harsher than that. 

A face hovers into your field of vision, and warm hands tug your shirt upwards. You want to protest, but your throat is dry from all the retching and sobbing you’ve been doing. A cloth presses down into the wound in your stomach and you howl, eyes rolling back in your head as the pain grabs you by the throat and fucking throttles you. 

“Stop,” you manage to whimper. “Why- why are you doing this?” Your voice is hoarse, you’re crying again as you try to shut out the pain. 

You hear shouting- words like help and home and quick- and black out again. 

When you come to, you are no longer lying wet and dying in an alleyway miles from home (where even is home anymore? It’s just you, and that orange jacket, which you don’t even have anymore). 

Your surroundings slowly swim into focus (swimming, your brain sings, swimming in an underwater cave, hands on your waist, kisses all over). You are lying down, mercifully dry and warm. Pain pumps through you in waves, mostly coming from your wrist and your stomach. You wonder, again, if this is some afterlife- if so, it is far less cruel than your parents described. 

But then, you turn your head, and pain sears through you. 

But that is not what makes you cry. 

He lifts his head instantly as he hears your quiet sobs, and he’s at your side, a hand carefully gripping yours (he’s avoiding the bloody bandage wrapped around your wrist, you realise), the other gently brushing soft fingers over your bruised face. “It’s okay,” he says, even though you think he doesn’t mean it. It’s not okay- you ran away, got yourself beat up, almost killed, and he’s had to rescue you. Of course it’s not okay.

“Ekko,” you whimper. 

“It’s okay,” he repeats, stroking your hair away from his face. Instinctively, you curl away, wanting to hide your injury from him. He shakes his head, his eyes brimming with tears (or maybe you’re delusional, because who would cry over you?) 

“I-“ Your words are lost in a pathetic sob, and you turn your face away from him. 

“Don’t,” he says. A pause. “How are you feeling?” 

You croak out what should’ve been fuck but instead comes out as a bad imitation . You would’ve laughed, in any other situation. 

“What happened?” His voice is so soft, so kind, it makes you want to rip your eyeballs out and stuff them into your ears. 

You shake your head. You don’t want him to know what you’ve been up to since you left the Firelights. 

He lets go of your hand, and for a moment you think he’s leaving you. It wouldn’t surprise you, to be honest. But no, he doesn’t leave you. Instead, he leans over, inspects the bandages wrapped around your midsection. Your mind instantly flashes to him prodding it, digging his fingers into your wound and calling you names. You wouldn’t blame him. 

“You’re an idiot,” he says finally, still glaring at your bandaged stomach. 

“Excuse me?” That is the first full statement you manage to force past your shredded throat. 

“You’re an idiot,” he repeats with just as much gusto. “I mean, how could you just go and do this?” He gestures at your injuries. 

“I didn’t-“ 

“What, think? Yeah, I can tell.” His face is partly obscured, so you can’t tell what face he’s making. 

“I-“ 

“You’re so stupid. I mean, did you really think you could survive taking on all of the goons in that building?” He snorts to himself. “At least tell me the pay was worth it.” 

You’re somewhat incredulous. All the time you’ve known Ekko, he’s never been this outright mean to you. 

“What-“ you sputter, unable to find the words. 

“Did you not think for a moment that you might get killed?” He puts extra emphasis on the word killed, and it’s like a punch in the gut. When he turns his gaze onto you, you think you’d prefer to have the goons rip you apart than see him look at you like this ever again. 

“I’m sorry,” you manage to say through a fresh tightening in your throat. Your eyes sting and you’re about to turn away when you see his expression. 

He’s smiling. 

“What?” You almost choke out. “What is it?” 

His smile is the softest thing you’ve ever seen. It’s the sunlight, shining through the leaves of the tree; it’s the rain gently pattering on the roof of your childhood home. It’s the smell of old books and wood. 

It’s so painfully home. 

Your eyes sting, and you turn your face away from him, swallowing the bile rising in your throat. He still smiles at you like that, after everything you’ve done. 

He takes your hand again, his other beginning to gently trace patterns on the bandage on your stomach. It’s such a soft, kind gesture. He used to do that, you remember with a pang, when you two would lie in bed together: draw little patterns on your back with his fingers, when he thought you were asleep. 

“It’s okay,” he says, and for the first time, you wholeheartedly believe him. 

“I’m sorry,” you repeat, because those are the only words your throat will allow out. “I am.” 

“I know,” he murmurs. He hesitates, then leans forwards, kissing your forehead gently. “Just…” he trails off, his gaze now focused back on your bruised face. “Don’t do that again.” 

You promise him. Not with words, but with the feeling in your chest, the loosening of your lungs and throat as you watch him watch you. You promise him with the way your knuckles have stopped aching for more skin to break, with the way your eyes water again. 

You promise him with all that you have, because that is the least you can do for him. 

“I love you,” you mumble, almost sheepishly. 

“I love you too,” he answers; there is no hesitation, no layered but only if… behind the words. He says it back with the same confidence he gives orders, the words more of a declaration than softly spoken pretty things. 

“I’m sorry,” you add, after a few moments of just watching him breathe. 

“I love you,” is his answer. 

You shut your eyes, and he squeezes your hand. 

[sleepy-fiction]

Eleven Weeks

- sebastian solace x gn!reader

syn: Your ex-coworker, Sebastian, suddenly comes back from the dead, completely strange and anew. You go to see him and realize how different he had become since you left urbanshade. Can you accept him as he is now? Will he allow you to?

tags: predator/prey, suggestive but no actual sex, fluff, heavy comfort fic, there are no gendered terms for reader, sebby has an ex-wife (Zaara)

a/n: eleven weeks by vansire was on repeat in my mind as I wrote this! tysmm for the love on my last seb fic, my hearts really gonna burst!! but in this fic seb escaped and is now working w the FBI to build his case. Also to clarify pls this is no diss on zerum

5K WORDS

part 2 for the FREAKS below |

🛋🦈🐍🐋

You remember it.

The soft tan skin, the way his mouth would crinkle up and flash his pearly, straight teeth. You remember the barreling laughter, the prompt scolding. You remember the soggy bags under his eyes, you remember his sullen tears.

You remember it all, because he was human back then.

But now.

Your eyes shake as you stare at him now.

He's large, maybe even ten feet tall now. His large tail takes up almost the entire room; and the "men-in-black" you had to go through just to get to him was proof that this all was real. Sebastian had become something... He became something different.

His skin was no longer beautifully golden, instesd he was now blueish with scales, fins, and tails. He now has three eyes. Three eyed that are no longer those deep and black but abnormally large and blue. And his hands were now three shivering claws, claws that shook intensely, waiting for you to do something - anything.

Say something.

But you took your sweet time inhaling everything about him bit by bit at a time.

Minutes went by of you quietly staring at him, your shoulders tense, your fingers fidgeting together.

Weren't you going to scream?

Weren't you going to cry?

Weren't you going to do anything?

Please do something.

It broke him.

Sebastian abruptly squealed out an intense sob, his large hands covering his lips as he hunched over in shame. The wounded cry came straight from his belly, sounding as if the fiber of his very being was split into twos. He bowed his head more and more, trying his hardest to muffle his sprung cries. You couldn't let him be so alone like this. You, swept up by the bitter sounds, launched yourself forward, grabbing whatever you could reach: the coat sleeve on his smaller arm.

He pawed at his eyes with his large blue claws, and your lip quivered helplessly. He tried to pull away, but it was like the strength in him was gone. The spark, the everything. When you first walked in, he didn't say hello. His face, body, his soul had already lost its vigor. Simply going through the motions.

What should you say?

Your eyes flicker between the ones he covered from you. Your grip on his sleeve grew intense.

You thought he was dead. When the neww broke out of his crimes, you couldn't believe. You couldn't stick around long enough to find out because your contract ended. You couldn't tell anyone back home about anything that happened in Urbanshade at all. You alone had to bear it. Then you heard that a freak accident happened at urbanshade, and everyone died. You were alone.

But God, looking at him, he had gone through it worse. Not just physically.

You swallowed thickly, unable to keep your own tears back. But you smiled. You couldn't help this weird budding joy that sprang up in your chest, fondness that could kill even the sweetest daisies. As morbid as it is to be happy right now, you finally got your buddy back. Your annoying coworker who corrected over your work all the time. He was someone to talk to - someone you could finally console in. Your smile was profoundly big as you gripped onto him.

Sebastian Solace.

You're really back.

Your grip loosened.

"Say something, damn you -" Sebastian couldn't finish his loud, spiteful curses when his eyes finally met your gaze. Your bubbling gaze. You were amiling with glassy eyes, a quiet sort of smile, the kind that makes the air around you taste sweeter. His face twisted in horror, frustration. Why were you smiling? How could you smile at him?

His family couldn't look at him.

His wife.

His own wife shook and trembled, and she cried out in fear of him. Not only that, he had to learn that she and everyone else moved on a go time ago. Worse than that, his sweet wife told him she started a family with another man.

What the fuck was he supposed to do.

He spent all those aching years to break free, hoping for everything to return back - only for it all to be worser out here than in Urbanshade. Back then, at least he had something to hope for, to hold on to.

Here? Nothing.

Mind numbing questions seared through his mind. Why the fuck did he have to suffer like this when he was so badly hurt? Why couldn't she stay loyal? Why did he look this way? Why did they do this to him? Why.

Why is no one accepting him but you?

Why are you being so insufferable.

It made his heart burn. And your soft, secure grip on him made it even hard for him to run away. Did you not want him to leave? His heart is burning with corrupted fondness. He wants you to. To...

To touch him a bit more.

He wants you to look at him a bit more.

He wants you. If you're going to be so kind about it, look at the other weird parts of him with those sweet eyes.

Maybe the more you stare, you'll finally reject him. Confirm to him what the world has taught him. Or.

Or.

Just touch him a bit more.

Don't just stand there.

Don't just--

He suddenly remembers his voice. He croaks out the pitiful plea, "Don't... just. stand. there..."

The voice is commanding and terrifying, and it's proud and angry coming from such a large beast. His he trying to scare you off? If so, it's not working - he'll you barely register his words.

Just the sound of his voice sends your heart fluttering. Sebastian's alive.

You know he's been through so much worse, but.

Is it okay if you are a little selfish right now?

You reach forward, standing high up on your tippy toes to grab his right arm sleeve.

"What the hell are you doing!" He booms.

You pull him into you. He squeaks and cries, "Say something," He yells, loud even to shake your heartbeat. You're much weaker than him, but he falls into your shoulder so easily, like pulling a strayed kitten.

The weight of his head crashes into your shoulder harshly, the feeling a sharp thud, but you balanced it, still on your tippy toes. Your hands slip away from his arms, wrapping themselves tightly around his shoulders. While his neck brushed against your forearms.

"Hey Sebastian," his ears perk up in delight. Your voice whispers dear into his sharp fins, hushed, childishly excited, "Is your heart beating as fast as mine is?"

Yes.

Yes.

It's beating fast. It's beating so much faster than you know it. His breath exhales with a shivering snap, and he gulps.

You broke him again in an instant.

Sebastian grabs you, all of his hands finding their places on you; your back, your hips, your waist. As he pulls you up high into the air into a deep embrace. You drop all your weight onto him in the hug and nuzzle your nose into his neck. You laugh brazenly. It spikes into the air as your feet swing in the wind.

"Haha! Sebastian! We're so high," You squeaked, holding onto him like some sort of giddy child. Even he can't help but share the giddiness and giggle. You can feel his ears flick against your head.

"And look at you now, you're so big." You tease him, and his face crinkles up in a grin. You pull up to gaze at his face, drumming your fingers against his shoulder. You stare at his face, beaming. Your hands are moving to touch his face, "Three eyed freak," you snicker, "You weren't taller than me before."

His grin bursts onto a beaming smile through his face. "Wow... Wow. Look at you," The tone of his voice is partionizing, enoigh to make you already start laughing. "No class, per usual. I'm not sure as to why I even invited you to see me," he said. His were eyes lidded, his voice freed of any bite. The was hushed and sweet.

Your eyes lidded, too.

He looked sort of...

Handsome, in a way. Right now.

It was weird. Not too shabby for a... mermaid?

You looked away with a gulp. It's just hard not to feel something for someone when they're holding you like this. Like you're some sort of treasure. At least, that's what you told yourself.

"Don't you agree," he purrs. His voice is teasingly delightful. Embarrassment springs up as you back your palms back onto his shoulders. You try to hide your head back onto his shoulder, but he rejects you, pulling you back out to keep you. You swallow. Blood rushes deep to your face, your embarrassed hands playing with the ends of his hair.

"You're flushed," he whispers curtly. You suck in a breath.

"You're holding me like this... Anyone would be," you said.

His third eye twitches.

He grabbed his wife like this, and she screamed. The sound rings deep into his ears. Ah- ex-wife. His face fell bittersweetly, unable to succumb fully to sadness when you're so full of joy.

You're so special.

He smiles brightly again.

Your heart flutters, but it's a weird stutter.

"Ah! Alright, alright, put me down," you yell, beginning to squirm to no avail. "Damn you!" You bang harshly on his shoulders.

"I'm not sure I wanna," he laughed heartily.

"I mean it!" You screech.

🐋🦈🐍🛋

"This your place? The federation hooked you up," you said. When you finally got away, you could finally take a look at his home. It was on a military base, deep underground, behind many iron doors and pass codes. They even gave you a CAT to come on base to schedule visits with him. It took almost about a year to get clearance to see Sebastian.

Did everyone who wanted to see him have to wait this long? Go through so many briefings, sign so many contracts, just to spend 5 alotted hours? You couldn't imagine being him, living like this so alone for so long. Was he just counting down the days until he saw you, just like he did back when you two were teens?

Why did that idea make you feel so content?

"Mmhm. They're spoiling me," he grimaces, and you're pulled from your thoughts.

"What? Don't like feeling like a princess?" you asked.

"It's only because of a case we're building against Urbanshade. That's all." He hums. "I'm not planning on getting used to it."

His home itself and everything within it was large. With high ceiling arches, high doorways with large door handles. Everything is his size, even the chairs and couches. It must've been expensive to make this whole thing. He truly was heavily pampered in here.

"Make us tea," you bark.

"Alright," he said.

You looked back at his tail as he guided you into the kitchen. The slithering thing echoes a low humming sound. It moved so rhytmically, it was so odd. He truly was a snake.

This wasn't your first time seeing him either. In the hundreds of briefings the FBI and the base itself gave you, they got to tell you all about his anatomy, photographs, and health scans. They really wanted you to be comfortable with him, and you can't help but be happy about it. It was hard to fully believe until now. It still was a fresh shock just as the day they tried to make you believe this is what he really looked like now. You wondered if he had met with his family by now. If it went well...

They really took him and his case just as serious as he deserved it to be. These things are typically kept top secret, so maybe they allowed you to see him simply because...

Your think back to his soulless greeting.

Time to step up and be a good friend.

"Hang in there, buddy." You cheer, patting his shoulder with a knowing gaze towards the horizon.

"That's embarrassing," He snips.

Ah.

Typical Sebastian Solace, you comfort him, and he immediately corrects you. You sigh.

You look up at him, finally noticing the way his large little claw was holding your small one. Your face heated again. You look away quickly, gazing throughout his kitchen. Everything was so large, even the counter meets your chin.

"Why don't you go sit on the couch," Sebastian hums. He had a new air around him now, one that was sure and soft. You heard as he shuffled through cabinets the sounds of cups and things clattering around.

"How can I? I have so many questions. Sebastian, how'd you do it? God, you're big now! And, uh... What'd you all day? Was it dangerous?" You asked, your hands finding the whale tail. You stroked your fingers along the scales, stroking it dearly. You felt him shiver, but selfishly, you slid your hands up his dorsal fin and into the beginning of his snake-ish body.

"Well... A lot of it is classified but. I can tell you that I read a lot during my time at Urbanshade," he snickered.

"Well, that's obvious," you muttered as you looked back to his tail, "Hey, is this heavy?" You pressed all your weight against it and then sat down on him.

"Excuse me? What the hell are you doing?" He asks, but the tone is a soft bite. "I'm not a jungle gym," he sighs.

"Yeah, but... Isn't it so cool," you asked.

"So cool?" He grunts.

"A-Ah I'm -"

"No-no. Uh... Hmm... I suppose, after the rage wore off, my body became sort of... Interesting. But still, I'd rather be something a bit more like you... At least... I kind of miss being back shorter than you." He mumbles, sentimental fondness brimming in his voice.

You grin, "Hehe, you used to say a centimeter didn't count."

"It really does now." His tail wraps around you, grabbing you by your hips in a vice. They hold you suspended in the air, your hair hanging down as you face the ground. You squeaked, but he continued, "Come now. Tea's done."

He slithers away with you, not that you care. You giggle and laugh all the way to the couch, suspended in his tail. He plops you down onto the large plush couch and your cheek smush against the cushions in awe. It's so comfortable!

You turn back to him. He laid against the couch long ways, with his tail all perfectly held up by the large couch. All while he rests his elbow against the cushion, peering down at you with relaxed but incredibly intimate eyes. His tea is being held by his mini-hand, and the smoke of it rises to face.

He takes a long, slow sip, his lidded gaze never once breaking from you. You sucked in a harsh breath. He shouldn't look at you like that.

You couldn't help the way your palms got sweaty. The way your heart longed to touch him.

He's so different now. His whale tail pokes your back, almost annoyingly so. You grimance in distaste.

"Hey. Your tea's on the coffee table. Are you even paying attention? Or do you just like looking at me," he says, his voice fluctuating teasingly. But even you took notice of the interest gleaming in his blue orbs.

Your face heats up in both anger and embarrassment, two emotions you've grown incredibly fond of because of him. You "hmph," grabbing your cup and muttering something along the lines of, "you were oogling me too," that falls on authoritarian ears.

But God, you're so aware of his presence that it makes you hard to even take a sip, even though the aroma of chamomile was incredibly fragrant. It has a brilliant color too. Sebastian always had a brilliant eye for tea. "You know," you mumbled as you leaned back against the couch - as well as his tail, "I only started getting into tea after I heard you passed... C-Cause. Cause you'd drink it so much. You always thought you were too posh for us drinking coffee in the morning."

He laughs, a howling sound filled with nostalgia, "Haha! I did, I really did!" He clasped his larger two hands together, rubbing them in an automated smooth motion. Was that a new habit of his?

You couldn't help but beam a joyful smile. "You really haven't changed." You sighed.

An annoyingly dead pant takes his face, but you close to ignore his teasing. It's obvious he's sort of... "new" now. But still damn it! He's the same.

"I- I... You know what I mean."

"Really? Telling the clearly mutated guy th--"

"Shush."

"That you feel--"

"Shut up, god damn you!"

You look away with a huff, turning your whole body to the side to display your protest of his treatment. But he doesn't let you, and his whale tail curls around you. It's big fins redirecting you to face him with a jaunty push. You squeaked, trying to keep your tea from spilling. A ripple goes up his tail, bumping against your body contiously, forcing you to shoot straight up, or else you'll really spill tea all over you.

"What's your deal!" You yell, now on your feet. You don't look at his face, but you can feel the sadistic amusement in his eyes and hear the quiet, humored chuckles mixed into his breath.

"You... You were really thinking about me like that?" He mumbles. "Honoring me in your tea..." He can't spare your gaze, so he flees onto his tea cup.

God, your heart's beating so strongly.

"Of course. Everyone was. Like our section manager, and then Zaara," don't say that name, "your mother, hell even our high-school math teacher... I went by your wife's and mom's homes on occasion- just to see something of you." You mumbled, not noticing the way he tensed at the mention of his wife.

"No one believed you'd do something like that... Even Zaara... She took it hardest out of everyone," You mumbled. He stopped his snakish ripple, but you still took the chance to sit closer to his main, humanoid body, as you sat 2 feet away from it. Still, it felt too far, but you wanted to respect his space.

He looked down at the floor, trying to find something funny to say, but it all failed him.

"Did you hear... About... Zaara?" You whispered, treading softly on sensitive ground.

"Yeah... I heard. She uh... Gave me a picture of her daughter when she... visited me last year," his voice was weak.

"Yeah, little Selena... She's three years old now. Such a big girl," You whispered, staring down at the reflection of yourself in your teacup.

"You know... She couldn't e-even look at me," his voice cracked and groaned out, the sound still like a fresh wound to him.

"Oh god," was all you could manage out. You hunched over to your cup, shutting your eyes deeply. "And your mom?" You whispered, begging for it not to be true.

"It took her a bit, but... She writes me letters. I don't think she can visit me anymore either... It's hard seeing your baby boy so... S-So..." He pauses for a long time before the words finally come out, "C-Changed," he gasps.

Changed.

Change is good.

That's such a selfish thing to say. But.

You'll say it anyways.

"Change can be good. Change can be... H-Handsome," You chuckle, not sure if it was a mixture of your fear, embarrassment, or whatever else.

"You say whatever you want, you know. Don't you care about my feelings? Be gentler, what if you hurt me," his snakish tail pumps you roughly again, direction you to look at him. And you do, but it's filled with a burning, unadulterated fire straight your heart.

You flip your head towards him, leaning in, your hands keeping your tea steady underneath your zeal, "You don't want me to be gentle. Ypu want me to be rough. You want me to treat you like a human, so I will." Your voice is intense. The shiver it produces from him is proof of that.

The silence gives you confidence. You scoot closer, a hand fleeing from your tea to cup the side of his round blue face - he gasps. "You are still incredibly human. And you're still incredibly the same rude, pompous, annoying coworker, Sebastian Solace..." Your words are too intimate, and you know that. Your heart's about to burst, but you know that. You like it, even. You catch yourself, blinking away from him, "T-To me... To me, you're--"

Your face is grabbed harshly, your teacup falls and slips onto the floor, it splatters on your shoes, and it's the first thing you worry about. Not the fact that the new, monstrous frightening Sebastian is pulling you rapidly towards him. Not the fact that four intense claws have you by the face that could crush your entire skull between his palms. Not the face that you were being pulled by your face toward his lips-- No you were worried about wasting his tea, breaking his cup, or if the drink mingles with his carpet.

He pauses right before his lips meet yours, what's the point if within this rapid milisecond, you're not looking at him. He tosses his teacup to the side, the tea within it all gone, and so the clamor of the empty cup finally snaps your eyes towards his, not in fear, but in worry about him- of him.

And so, within the milisecond your eyes meet, He sinks his hands around your tiny body and kisses your lips deeply. You moan and shudder at the feeling, grabbing chunks of his button up, chunks of his collar as you climb greedily into his lap. The feeling of his lips, his mouth, is almost erotically different than kissing a human.

His mouth is colder, bigger, his lips a ragged shape. You'd be lying if the friction didn't send primal shivers down your back. Your human instinct tells you that the mouth of such a large and tenacious predator shouldn't be so near, but God, the friction felt so good.

The shivers were intense, as his pointed teeth poked you carelessly at times. Or when you'd feel the breath from his silt nostrils, the intense feeling of his sharp claws on your body. Primordial fear, nipping at your brain, and you shut it all off, letting the overwhelming situation pool as passionate fire into your suddenly peckish organs below.

Two sensitive people, slurping, lapping, mewling, and huffing into eachothers lips. The sight and sound of it was dirty, sloppy. But you drunk up the sounds of his hungry pants, growls, shivers. Sebastian cracks open his mouth to feed you his gloriously thick and intense tongue.

You slurp it up, welcoming the colder muscle into your hot, moist cavern. The large presence of him inside you is dominating as your fingers twitched against his button-up. He was so needy, was he like you in a way? Unable to get it off since the horrors of Urbanshade? No-- you can't forget. He's gone through it worse, so his need.

You pull back in an anxious shudder. He truly growls then. The sound so animalistic you body gave out, but he held you dear as he pulled you back into the kiss that you know you shouldn't be enjoying so pervertedly.

To him, all of this was your fault.

Saying such pretty words, out of such pretty lips, with such a pleasant voice. Surely, you're aware of how catty you are. Sebastian can't help but think that as he overwhelms your tiny tongue.

He's aware of how beautiful you became over the years. Somethinf he never took noticebto at Urbanshade. He's never been so aware of you. He's aware of you as his arms grab your hips and waist. He's aware of you as his right arm trails up your back to cup your tiny little head. He's aware that your head didn't used to be tiny before his transformation, but he's also aware of how good it is to have so much control over you.

To him, you were being so demanding and selfish and bratty this entire time. His predatory desire to bite you grows as you part for a breath. Sweat beads begin to bubble up on your forehead as you pant at the space between your lips. "Sebastian..." You mewl, he grips your hair and tilts your head back to flash your tantalizing neck muscles.

"You know," he says comanding, "I'm not that same little teen you met when transferred into our school year," you giggled at his words, but he continued, "I'm a man. I'm not only a man. I'm not that same man you went to Urbanshade with - I've evolved. I'm a beast, too. And we beasts have our desires." He growls a bit, the trilling sound mingles with his breath against your revealed neck. You whimper.

"And your breath, your... loud little heart beat. Your lips... Your voice... Your size... It provokes me to sink my teeth in and tear your neck open." He hushes dangerously. God his flirts were getting to you.

"T-The feds are right outside Sebastian," you mewl. "Think you can take them?" You whisper, drawing your hand up and tucking his hair away from his blue-ish face. It's then that you really register how mermaid-ish he had become. You cupped his face again, drawing circles under his under eyes, smoothing out the feeling beneath your thumb pad.

He was cold to the touch, his nose now two little slits. His eyes big big blue orbs, that trailing light bub attached to his head like an angular fish. You had to ask, you couldn't hold it back anymore, not in this moment.

"What are you," you whispered. "I know I read your briefing, but still... How'd they..." You grip chunks of his cheeks.

"I'm uh..." His grip droops as he awkwardly looked to the left. "You want to know now?" He quirks.

"Huh oh uh... I mean. I kinda wanna know." You stutter.

"Well? I-I guess. A little bit of everything. Angular fish, sea snake, whale, shark..." he looked away.

You rose up in his lap, pulling his attention back on you. "That's so p--"

"Are you going to keep killing the mood or... Do you just not want me to fuck you?" He suddenly smirks, and you gasp in horror. He pulls you close to him, purring in your ears, "What? Scared you won't be able to take all of it..." Sultry and slow, teasing.

"W-What... What did... What does that mean..." You don't want to entertain the idea, the possibility.

But his angular mouth creaks open to an even more dangerous grin.

One of his large claws flashes in your face, as he puts two large fingers on your belly button. He presses them there.

You legs almost give out. "Huh?" You stutter.

He looks at you, unwavering, he presses his two fingers against you rougher.

"To here?" You mumble.

"Two what?" He giggles.

"Two- To? Here... O-Oh god."

🐍🐋🦈🛋

[themanfromeire]

Wolfstar's!Child - Mama Raised a Little Bitch

Parents!Sirius Black & Remus Lupin x Teenager!Reader (ft. Jegulily)

Reader's gender and Hogwarts house is unspecified

This is my first work of the series - if you have any suggestions or requests, let me know!

~~~

Fucked was not a strong enough word to describe how totally and utterly screwed you were now.

When you had first gotten your Hogwarts letter, your uncle Regulus had fallen to his knees (metaphorically) to beg you not to be like James, or your papa Sirius. Remus had joined in too, with both of them citing that ‘Sirius and James were bad enough’ as their justification.

With a promise you had intended to adhere to, you departed to Hogwarts. 

In your defence, you believed you would never even come close to breaking it - you had been going strong for four years now, dedicating yourself to academia instead of continuing the Marauders’ legacy, much to the horror of your godfather and papa.

They had made a big deal about ‘disowning you’, opting to name Fred and George Weasley as their heirs, who were more than happy to accept. You believed it to be a joke. For the most part.

However, now there was a blot on your record - a spill of crimson Chardonnet on a white bedsheet if you will.

A blot that came in the form of Hera O’Donnell.

With her snide remarks and condescending attitude, she strutted around Hogwarts like she were the headmaster herself - as a lioness scoured a savanna for a deer to sink its fangs in to, she paroused her peers, searching for the easiest one to prey upon.

You were her chosen doe. 

In her skewed vision, you wore shoes too big for you to fill - the weight of the Lupin-Black left you crushed by expectations and drowning in inadequacy, waves of failure washing over your head and coating the inside of your lungs with a thick layer of incompetence.

But your head remained firmly above water.

Despite her taunts and jibes being fruitless at first, Hera had hunted you down and separated you from your pack, and now, her teeth finally began to pierce your skin.

 Logically, you should have informed someone. You were not alone - your dad and papa were forever on your side, along with your godfather James, godmother Lily, Uncle Regulus and all of your aunts and uncles, composed of your parents’ Hogwarts friends.

But Hera awoke a different part of you. Something more spiteful. Something more primal.

Reporting it would not be as satisfying. As gratifying. But revenge would be.

If anyone asked you about what had happened to Hera O’Donnell, you would simply claim something along the lines of how ‘her appearance had improved with the addition of a skunk tail.’ It amused your peers, undeniably, but the staff not so much.

Even as your head of house sat you down and informed you of the consequences of transfiguring someone like that and the numerous procedures that Hera was undergoing at St. Mongo’s, having been transferred there for more specialist care, you could not find it in yourself to care. 

However, you absolutely did find it in yourself to care when a crimson envelope fell into your bowl of cereal the next morning. 

You had expected your parents to be informed of the incident, naturally. But a howler? That you had not. Staring at the envelope, Hera’s words swarmed your mind. What if your parents now saw you just as Hera had?

With a quiet sigh escaping your lips, and sympathetic glances from your friends, you opened the envelope, hoping to get it over sooner rather than later. The voice of Sirius Black erupted from the envelope, filling the entire Great Hall.

‘MON AMOUR I AM SO PROUD OF YOU! TRANSFIGURING SOMEO- Oi, Rem, get off! I’m jus-’

‘I TOLD YOU OUR KID WOULD BE A FUCKIN’ GOD AT TRANSFIGURATION!’ Came a proud voice of Remus Lupin, cutting your papa off. ‘LOOKS LIKE YOUR PAPA AND GODFATHER NEED TO REINSTATE YOU AS HEIR AFTER ALL, SWEETHEART!’

As Remus declared that, two very loud and audible sighs of disappointment left the lips of Fred and George. The howler continued, and the sound of a door being slammed open was heard before the voice of James Potter joined in the chorus.

‘WERE NONE OF YOU GOING TO TELL ME THAT THEY TRANSFIGURED SOMEONE?!’ James cried out incredulously and overdramatically, however, he quickly forgot his dramatics in favour of the Marauders’ legacy.

‘NOW ALL YOU NEED TO DO, PRIY, IS TO BECOME ANIMAG-’ the sound of skin hitting skin rung out as Lily slapped a hand over James’ mouth to stop him from accidentally revealing that they were illegal animagi, despite the fact that they legally could register, but they all couldn’t be bothered. James and your papa said it was funnier this way.

‘Darling, as impressive as it is, please don’t transfigure anyone else,’ Lily chastised you gently. She had to at least give off the illusion that they were disciplining you, but you could hear the pride underlining her words and the smirk on her lips.

‘Now, I think it’s best we end this now, hm?’ came the still sophisticated voice of your uncle Reg. ‘Unless we want the entire Hogwarts populous to know James’ social security number.’ There was a chuckle from both the howler and the Hogwarts students at that remark.

‘I want you to know that I am proud of you. The family needed something a little more…Slytherin.’ Regulus remarked before the Howler burst into flames and tore itself up.

Silence filled the Great Hall as everyone took a moment to stare at you and process what had just happened. You looked up and your eyes caught Harry’s.

‘Good job,’ he mouthed at you, giving you a bright smile and a thumbs up from the Gryffindor table, beside a very peeved Fred and George.

Maybe you weren’t so alone or fucked after all.

[eunbitchh]

saviour

-

*18+ MDNI*

word count: 2.3k

pairing: josh futturman x reader (gender not specified, only usage of you & your pronouns, but reader does use a strapon)

warnings: pegging, very light degradation, dumbification?, shitty writing (i’ve literally never written for a man before so bare w me lmao)

-

josh futturman is a whiny loser, but you can’t help but love that about him. he would do anything to please you, he really was truly desperate for your attention and your approval, and that was something so easy to get addicted to. it soon led you to a point that you had decided to have a conversation with him to try something new in the bedroom. while sex with him was amazing, with all the pathetic whimpers he made only spurring you on, you started to want something more.

“pegging?” josh asked sounding confused and tilting his head a bit, looking at you with those big brown eyes.

“yeah, pegging. basically i’m wondering if you would let me fuck you with a dildo?” it was a bit embarrassing to bring up but you knew at the end of the day, he would do anything to make you happy. he felt lucky you even wanted him at all in the first place.

“well.. i’ve never thought about it before.. but.. if it’s something you want- i.. i would be willing to try it” he seemed a bit unsure of himself. he did want to make you happy, he really did, but he just wasn’t sure how that would play out.

“i don’t want you to feel pressured at all, it’s completely okay if you don’t want to, josh. it’s just, i want to make you feel good and i think you’d really like it” you say rubbing his knee a bit to reassure him.

“no- i- i’ll try it.. but, will you walk me through it? and not be.. too rough?” he asked, a bit shy from the conversation at hand and that was obvious from the blush that coated his face.

“of course! i’ll start you off slowly and we can go from there, and we can use a safe word if at any point it’s too much and i’ll stop.” your voice did nothing to hide how giddy you were upon his agreement.

“how about ‘saviour’ for your safe word?”

he nods along, starting to become a bit more comfortable now knowing that you were taking precautions for his wellbeing. his heart actually fluttered a bit at how considerate you were being of him.

“yeah, saviour. sounds good” he said sending you a small smile

“do you.. have it? you know.. the.. dildo?” he asked

you nod at him with obvious enthusiasm “i do- i have everything i need actually. would you like to see it?” you question back. he nods, words seeming to escape him now that it hit him that this was really going to happen.

you get up from your spot on the sofa beside him and walk to your shared bedroom, before returning with a box in hand, opening it to reveal the contents inside

“so this-“ you begin, pulling out the black harness “is the harness, this part will hold the dildo.” you say pointing to the spot where it was meant to go.

“and this-“ you pull out the dildo. it was clear and pale pink in color “is the dildo. you can feel it if you’d like” you say pulling it out of the box and holding it out to him

he takes it from your hand, inspecting it a bit closely with widened eyes and blushing furiously. it wasn’t a very large one, but it definitely wasn’t small either. it was probably about the average size of a penis. he couldn’t help but feel a bit intimated again, he’d never had anything in his ass before and now after seeing the silicone toy he felt a bit anxious about it again.

“this is going.. inside me?” he sounded flabbergasted. you nodded before you answered him.

“yes, but don’t worry we’ll ease into it, i’ll prep you with my fingers first and we can continue from there?” you suggested softly, taking his hand in your own and running your thumb along his knuckles to calm him a bit.

“okay.. yeah.” he still sounded a bit unsure but he felt better from your comforting words and actions, and the two of you made your way to your shared bedroom.

you pull him in for a kiss, starting it off soft and slow but getting more needy by the second. your hands find their way to his hair, tugging lightly causing him to moan against your lips, you push him back and his knees hit the edge of the bed before falling back onto the soft mattress while you straddle him and continue to kiss him like it was the last thing you would do in your life.

his hands flew up to your hips, holding you closer to him and letting out a soft whimper when your body made contact with his clothed cock.

you trailed your hands down his chest to the hem of shirt and tugging it up his body to reveal the soft skin of his stomach, letting him finish the job of removing his shirt which he did, discarding it onto the hardwood floor beneath the bed.

often times if you wanted to, you could make him cum just from dry humping. however that wasn’t the plan for tonight. your hands now roamed across his exposed skin, trailing them up and down, while your lips moved to his jaw, then to his neck, then his chest, kissing the skin so tenderly but leaving a variety of hickeys in their trace. with each touch you gave him, he whined needily for you, a hand coming to the back of your head to hold you closer.

your mouth moved toward one of his nipples now, blowing cool air onto it causing him to whine loudly and arch towards your mouth, then whimpering when you took it into your mouth, biting down gently. you let one of your hands move up to his other nipple and pinched it gently between your index finger and your thumb, it was really too much for him, he hid his face beneath one of his arms and tried to muffle his sounds only for you to push it out of the way.

“let me hear you, pretty boy” you whisper to him, laying a soft kiss to his cheek. he nods at your words, silently agreeing to do so. your hands trail further down his stomach now to where the waistband of his pants were, unbuckling the belt and unlooping it from its secure place before unbuttoning and unzipping his pants next, waiting for him to remove them.

he lifted his hips off the bed for a minute to do so, discarding them in the same direction he had his shirt, and your eyes couldn’t help but be drawn to the obvious bulge that laid within his boxers. you raise your eyebrow at him playfully “somebodies excited” you tease.

“hard not to be when i’m with you” he responded.

you shed yourself of your own clothes now, letting yourself be completely bare in front of him and he watched you through very appreciative lust glazed eyes. he would never grow tired of seeing your body, that was for sure.

you then moved to remove the last of his clothing, his cock springing free from its confinement and slapping against his stomach, he hissed at the sensation of the cold air in the room that was now hitting it.

you pull him in for another heated kiss, which he eagerly returned before you pulled back and leaned towards your nightstand to pull out a bottle of lube. you opened the bottle and squeezed a bit out onto your finger, softly running it along his hole.

“i’ll go slow, okay?” you whisper to him. he couldn’t bring himself to say any coherent words at the time being so he opted to just nod in response, feeling your finger gently slide into him and begin probing the tight walls, causing him to inhale sharply.

“does it hurt?” you ask, monitoring his face closely for any sign of pain or discomfort. he shook his head ‘no’

“just.. feels weird” he spoke softly. you continued your ministrations with the one finger for a while longer, before removing it to apply some more lube and adding in a second. the sensation was still foreign to him, but he was starting to get a bit more used to it and enjoying himself while you continued to finger him. he began to softly moan from the feeling of your fingers stretching him open, pushing them further and further into him and pumping them in and out. oh.. he could definitely get used to this.

you pull your fingers back out of his hole and he whined at the loss of contact, opening his eyes and looking at you as if to silently plead you to continue. watching you squeeze more lube into your fingers did something to him, the sight was really arousing and then he felt you carefully slide 3 fingers into him, moaning loudly at the feeling of being so stretched open from your fingers

“feel good?” you ask softly, he nods in response, minds falling from between his lips constantly now

“s’good” he slurs out, too lost to the pleasured sensation running through his veins to form a full sentence.

“doing so good for me josh, sound so pretty for me” you encourage him, stroking his waist softly and continuing to prod at his greedy hole with your fingers before slowing pulling them out, he whines at the loss of contact

“you ready?” you ask as you step into the harness and secure it to your body. he nods furiously in respond

“please- i need more please” he begs you, his eyes beginning to fill with desperate tears. so pathetic. so cute.

you secure the dildo to its place within the harness apply lube to it, rubbing it along the tip and down the shaft while you were looking at him. the sight aroused him more than he expected it to, your hooded eyes staring at him while you stroked the silicone, thoroughly applying the lube to it.

“remember your safe word?” you asked him. he nodded

“saviour”. he answered, you smiled softly at him, running a thumb along his chin and kissing him softly

“good boy, make sure to use it if its ever too much okay?” he nods silently and watches you make your way between his legs, pushing them apart for easier access, caging him between your arms shortly after.

the tip of the silicone toy presses against his hole, he looks at you with those wide eyes again as you slowly begin to push in, inch by inch, his head falls back and his eyes roll as he lets out a loud moan as he feels you gradually bottom out inside him.

oh.. oh.

now he understood what you meant when you said you thought he’d like this. it felt amazing, he’s never felt this good before. his hips moved instinctively to try and match the slow pace you had set fucking him, trying to fuck himself onto you now. it was definitely a pleasant sight to see. you gradually began to snap your hips against him faster, a flurry of whimpers spilling from his lips from the new speed. he was getting so close to cummimg now. he was used to lasting longer, but he had never been fucked in the ass before, in his defence.

you knew he was close, as he was getting louder and loude by the second.

“you gonna cum for me josh? gonna cum from this pretty cock in your ass?” you spur him on, rubbing your thumbs in circles on his nipples now. he nodded wordlessly, looking at you pathetically

“yes- gonna cum for you- please!” he whined

you kiss him, a messy and completely lust driven kiss but that didn’t matter right now. you pull away and meet his glossy eyes, wiping the stray tears that rolled down his cheeks and leaving light kisses in their trace

“cum for me” you encourage, the speed of your hips pumping the silicone toy into him never faltering as he does just that. hot white ropes flying into his stomach and his chest while he moans your name.

you gradually slow your movements, eventually coming to a complete stop before slowing pulling out, he whines at the feeling of being so empty now, you press a soft kiss to his nose now and smile at him softly.

“did so good for me josh, such a good job” you speak in a much more gentle tone than before. he nods wordlessly at you, he felt like you fucked his ability to speak away.

you step out of the harness now and hold it in your hand as you get off the bed

“stay here, i’m gonna get you cleaned up” he nodded again at that, and he really didn’t think he could move if he tried to anyways.

you leave the bedroom and wash off the silicone toy with the proper soap and water before also wetting a wash cloth with warm water and returned to the bedroom where josh was still sprawled out on the bed.

you gently ran the cloth along his skin, wiping up any of the cum that was on him while softly planting an array of kisses all over his face. he smiled softly at that.

“did you enjoy it?” you asked softly

he nodded

“that was.. better than i expected. we should definitely do it again” he answered honestly, his voice was a bit ruined from how loud he had been but you wouldn’t have it any other way.

“i’d love to.” you say smiling softly to him and place a quick peck to his lips.

[totorolaughs]

could you write a drabble/ fic abt baking with denji? ty and have a good morning/night!

BAKING WITH DENJI warnings: fluff, gender-neutral reader,suggestive(?), reader gets called 'handsome' (1), no beta read, spelling/grammar mistakes will be fixed, ooc denji(? I tried my best) REQUESTS : OPENED - CLOSED

Denji used to not be a big fan of baking or even cooking for that matter until he met you, you were always cooking and baking for him. He remembered when you made him a cake and a batch of cookies for his birthday which almost made him start crying since no one had ever done that for him. . It was when Denji was watching TV when he began to smell the yummy scent of your baking. He went to investigate what you were doing in the kitchen. You stood in the kitchen with an apron wrapped around your waist as you grabbed a bowl that had the cake batter already as you began to pour it into a round cake pan. You didn't notice him until you felt his arms wrap around you as he rested his chin on your head.

Your body jolted when you realized it was just Denji.

“Don't scare me like that, Denji!” he ignored your small complaint by asking you a question “Whatcha doin’?” He asked.

“I’m just baking a cake” you smiled softly as you pressed a kiss to his cheek, his eyes sparked as he looked at you with a smile, if he had a tail it would definitely be wagging side to side.

“Can I help decorate it, pleaseee?!” Denji begged, Denji wasn't very good at decorating cakes, they were decent ugly whenever he would decorate but you couldn't bring yourself to say no to the boy, you sighed and nodded.

You put the round cake pan into the oven, you set the oven to 180 degrees so it could get baked.

You cleaned the counters that you were baking on while you waited as Denji sat on the floor watching the cake bake inside the oven. after 25 minutes, the ocean dinged signaling that the cake was ready. you carefully took the cake out the oven as Denji grabbed a big enough plate to fit the cake on, you carefully dumped the cake onto the plate. "Can we decorate it now?" Denji pouted as he looked at the cake that was fresh out the oven, you should tell him no so the cake could cool down so you could decorate the cake properly but once again you had a hard time saying no to denji. "Be a doll and go grab the icing you want to use" you smiled softly as Denji quickly went to get the icing, "can we put sprinkles pleasee!" Denji asked. "Of course!" Denji quickly came back as his arms were filled with different color frostings which were white,orange,blue,pink and black. "Wait here while I go get something, okay?" You said and Denji nodded, You were going to use piping bag but when you came back, Denji had already started decorating the cake (poorly) with a butter-knife. You set the piping bag down and grabbed a butter-knife like denji and began decorating, it was messy and sticky. Denji kept getting frosting on his arms and hands. You notice that Denji got white frosting on his fingers which gave you a small idea. "Denji" your tone was soft "Yes?"Denji turned his head to look at you, you grabbed his hand which was sticky with frosting. you gently licked on his white frosted covered fingers, you gently suckled on them some of the frosting getting on your lips. Denji felt his breath hitch as his face began to heat up as he watched you lick his fingers in a less innocent manner, he looked like he was to faint at any moment now. as you pulled Denjis finger out of your mouth, now clean. his fingers coated in your saliva. "I..I could have just washed m..my hands" Denjis voice hoarse, you laughed as you looked at Denji with a teasing smile "I know, but you prefer my mouth, no?" Denjis heart-felt like it was going to exploded. His cheeks red and flushed. "you're so handsome..fuck" Denji mumbled as he eye-ed you up and down with a flustered face. And after all of the messing around and teasing, the cake was finally finished! it was ugly, yes. but that didn't matter to you or Denji as long as you spend time with one-another, the cake was a mix of colors and had dumb doodles on it like tiny pochita made from orange icing and a poorly drawn stick figure of aki and power and the words 'I <3 COCK' and some silly cat doodles made by you (any of the ugly doodles or writing was made/written by Denji) and by the send of the night, Denji's face and hands were covered in frosting and cake.

[carefreecoffee]

Flufftober Day 31: Halloween costumes w/ Shota Aizawa

Word count: 660, gender-neutral reader

You called out from the bedroom eagerly, “Can I look now Sho?”

Aizawa was quiet for a moment, shuffling through from the bathroom opposite of you. "Ready. Don't laugh” You opened your eyes, taking in the sight before you.

Aizawa stood before you, dressed up as a vampire. A red vest with a fluffy collar and a long black cape adorned with black slacks. His hair really pulled it together– not to mention the fake blood dripping from his chin. The outfit was almost eerily accurate and he was dressed so…well. Handsome even.

"This was Hizashi's idea. Sorry if it's stupid," he muttered quickly, rubbing the back of his neck almost anxiously.

“Aw sho!” You walked up to him, wrapping your arms around his torso. “You look great, love”

His cheeks went pink at the unexpected compliment, eyes widening in surprise. "You think so…?" Aizawa returned the embrace, wrapping his arms around you to pull you against him.

“Mhm! Very” You ogle at him for a moment before letting go, “Okay, now i'm gonna go get mine, okay?” Aizawa nodded. "Alright…"

A few minutes passed by and Aizawa sat on the edge of the bed patiently, watching the door as you got changed. Moments of shuffling and putting together your outfit until you finally called out. “Are you ready, Shouta?”

"I am," He answered after a few seconds. Aizawa's heart was racing a little bit as he waited to see your costume.

You walked out in your costume, it's simple, really. A fluffy coat, fake fluffy ears, ripped jeans, a red shirt and black sneakers. You turn to show Shouta, “Ta-da! Werewolf!” You curl your hands into a claw like motion.

He had to admit, despite its simplicity, it was cute as hell. He smiled at you, his eyes widening as he looked over you. "You look great." Aizawa complimented, standing up. You smiled widely, leaning up to peck his lips.

He chuckled and gently took your chin in his hand, returning the kiss for a few seconds longer than usual. He hummed when he pulled away after a few moments, his hand lingering against your cheek. Before you could continue, the sound of the doorbell rang throughout your home.

“Oh! I think that's Mirio and the others!”

"The kids are here already…?" Aizawa mused, raising an eyebrow. He glanced toward the door, shoving his hands in his pockets. You get the door, opening it to see Mirio dressed as a pumpkin, Tamaki as a mummy and Eri as an adorable skeleton. You grin at the group,“Aw hey guys!” You crouch down, surprised, “Eri, your costume is sooo cute!” She gave out a quaint ‘thank you.’

Mirio, Tamaki and Eri all entered. Mirio smiled at you enthusiastically. "Hey Y/N!" Eri beamed, holding onto Mirio's hand as soon as she entered, looking around with big, curious eyes. Tamaki simply smiled and nodded at you awkwardly, mumbling a greeting.

Aizawa closed the door and leaned against the wall next to it, crossing his arms over his chest. He glanced over at Mirio and raised an eyebrow. "…pumpkin, really?"

Mirio chuckled sheepishly as you talked to Eri. "It was the only thing I could find at the last minute!" Tamaki huffed, still standing where he was awkwardly. "You could have at least tried to be creative with it."

You chuckle before reaching back and grabbing out a basket for Eri, “Here you go, love”

Eri grinned excitedly, taking the basket excitedly from your hands. "Thank you!" Mirio glanced down at her and ruffled her hair affectionately, chuckling. Aizawa stood near the wall quietly, listening with a small smile on his face.

Mirio perks up, “Ready guys?” You nod, walking to Aizawa, interlocking your hand with his.

Aizawa glanced down at your hand as you took his but didn't say anything, simply intertwining his fingers with yours and making sure his hold was tight.

Mirio smiled widely. "Alrighty let's go trick-or-treating~!!"

[system-to-the-madness]

Don't Freeze - Nakahara Chūya x Reader

Pairing: Nakahara Chūya x Reader (can be read as any gender, no pronouns used) Genre: fluff Word Count: 666 (hehe) Warnings: none Summary: Chūya offers you his hoodie Prompts: Hoodie weather

Autumn was usually warm and dry in Yokohama, but this year seemed determined to make you freeze. It was one of the rare days that the weather really was cold, at least compared to what you knew from the summer. And, of course, today of all days you had arranged to meet Chūya for your second date.

For the first date he had taken you to the Yokohama Marine Tower, presenting you with a fantastic view over the nighttime harbour. This time, Chūya had wanted to meet you at the Ōsanbashi pier, the wooden construction allowing cool autumn wind to blow over the wooden panels of the floor. You had already put on one layer more than you had thought necessary, but still you shivered, waiting for Chūya. He wasn’t late, but you were early.

“Cold?”

Surprised you looked up from where you had watched a harbour tour boat filled with tourists leave the docks and were met with the sight of Chūya standing before you. He wore the same cocky smile as always, or at least always when he was looking at you. Before you had agreed to go out with him, you had thought he wore that smile because he considered himself to be better than everyone else. It had taken getting to know him for you to realise that it was the exact opposite, and sometimes, when you looked carefully, you could see the vulnerability shimmer through the façade.

“Just a little,” you admitted, getting up from the bench you had been sitting on, giving Chūya a once over.

He wasn’t wearing his usual black suit and coat, instead dressed in simple jeans with a hoodie and a leather jacket on top. He looked casual, you noticed, and even though the clothes were very different from his usual style, it looked good on him. Really good.

“So, what do you want to do today,” you asked, pulling the cardigan you wore tighter around your body. “I was thinking we could take a walk over to the Warehouse and grab some coffee there… What are you doing?”

While you had been talking, Chūya had shrugged off his leather jacket and thrown it on the bench before taking off the hoodie, leaving his ginger hair somewhat dishevelled.

“Put this on,” he told you without meeting your eyes, shoving the hoodie against your chest.

“What?”

“I’m not gonna let you freeze, you hear,” he grumbled, a soft blush spreading over his cheeks.

Surprised you took the hoodie, Chūya quickly pulling his gloved hands away from you as if he had burned himself.

The fabric was still warm from is body heat, and gratefully you slipped it on.

“Thank you,” you smiled, trying to get your hair back into its original shape after having dishevelled it by slipping it on. The fabric was soft and the hoodie a little bit too big for you, even with Chūya ’s short stature, and it smelled faintly of him, making your own cheeks heat up.

“Don’t-” Chūya shot you a glance, choking up as he saw you peering over to his with half your face nuzzled into the collar of the hoodie. Quickly he averted his eyes again, the blush on his face deepening. “Don’t mention it,” he pressed out. “And don’t look at me like that.”

“Like what?”

Chūya put his leather jacket back on and zipped it closed.

“Like… whatever. Let’s go. Your wanted to go to the Warehouse, right?”

Expectantly he held his hand out to you, making you look between his hand and his face in confusion.

“Uh, you’re so dense,” Chūya sighed, his tone not laced with annoyance but something softer, warmer instead. “I said, let’s go.”

With that he took your bare hand in his gloved one, and began walking off the pier, you quickly following him, hiding your satisfied smile in the collar of the hoodie at the knowledge of just how flustered it had made Chūya to see you in his clothes.

[younmexreaders]

~~ Crocodile x Reader 18+ ~~

This is written for @quinloki, I hope you enjoy!

Only You

On the roof of Rain Dinners, you and Crocodile finally have a moment to talk about something you overheard, leading to your first time having sex with him.

Gender Neutral reader/Sir Crocodile | 2848 Words

Includes:

Hand job (Croc receiving)

Anal sex (reader receiving)

Degradation and praise

Croc has a big dick

First time with Crocodile

You had heard enough. 

From behind the door, you could hear his voice, dripping with charm and sweet-talking Ms. All Sunday. He called her soft things that you had foolishly thought were meant for you alone. You heard him pause suddenly when you stomped away. Perhaps he heard you or saw you, but whichever it was, you weren’t going to stick around.

Climbing the many stairs, you left for the office on the highest floor of Rain Dinners, going to the balcony to be alone in the fresh air. The desert was dry and cold, of course, but being out under the stars was exactly what you needed right now. 

The moon was hidden above the chin of the massive golden bananawani that sat on the very top of Rain Dinners, bathing you in a chilly shadow. Despite the discomfort you were beginning to feel, you refused to turn around. You needed to be away. If you had anywhere else to go, you would have left. There just… wasn’t anywhere else to be.

Perhaps that’s where some of the hurt was coming from. He used the pet names and the honeyed language so flippantly. You just couldn’t help feeling jealous - for lack of a better word. Maybe the better word is gullible. That was it. You felt stupid for believing his lies, for thinking those pet names meant something else when turned on you.

The glass door clicked shut behind you, making you tense and your thoughts pause. You refused to turn around.

Heavy footsteps approached, a very tall figure taking the space beside you. A massive, golden hook entered your view, cloaked immediately by a black overcoat hanging on his shoulders. You turned away from him, propping your cheek up on your arm. He was silent, the only indicator of his annoyance were the eyes burning into the back of your skull. Crocodile dug into his coat pocket for a cigar, holding it between his teeth as he used his lighter.

“Out with it,” he huffed, a cloud of smoke following his words.

You bit your lip, trying to muster the courage to speak. The words were stuck in your throat, a bitter mix of anger and hurt. Finally, you sighed, your shoulders dropping, unable to keep it bottled up any longer.

"You don't have to pretend with me, you know," you said quietly, staring out at the desert. "I heard you with Ms. All Sunday. The pet names, the sweet talk... It made me realize how easy it is for you to say those things without meaning them."

His eyes narrowed, a smirk playing on his lips. "Is that what's bothering you? You think I’m just playing games?"

"I don't know what to think," you replied, your voice trembling slightly. "I just... I just don’t want to be another pawn in whatever scheme you're running."

Crocodile took a long drag of his cigar, exhaling slowly. "You give yourself too much credit," he said, his tone harsh. "I don’t waste my time on things that don't matter."

You flinched at his words, but you couldn’t let it go. "Then what am I to you? Just another tool? Another means to an end?"

He turned to face you fully, his gaze intense. "You're more than that, but if you want to keep questioning everything, you’ll never see it."

Silence hung between you both, thick and suffocating. You felt a tear slip down your cheek, but you quickly wiped it away, not wanting to show any more weakness.

"I don’t know if I can believe you," you whispered.

Crocodile sighed, flicking the ash from his cigar. His next words were softer, almost begrudging. "The truth is, it has always been you. From the beginning. If I didn’t care, you wouldn't be here.”

Your breath hitched, heart pounding in your chest. You turned to look at him, seeing a rare vulnerability in his eyes.

He continued, keeping your gaze. "And you should know by now that I don’t let people I don’t care about stay. The fact you can call this place home should tell you everything.”

You let the words linger, watching his face for something that would betray him. But there was nothing. His eyes softened towards you, his demeanor less rigid than you had ever seen before. He placed his hand on your hip and pulled you away from the railing, pressing your waist into his.

“Understand now?” he asked, blowing a cloud of smoke out of the corner of his mouth, away from you.

“I do,” you nodded, your hands resting on his chest. His presence was wonderfully warm compared to the cold outside. You stepped closer to him, looking up at him with your glistening eyes still wet from your previous tears. Crocodile wrapped his coat around you, bringing you back inside to his office.

“Good…” he hummed, pausing by his desk and directing you to the door. “Lock that.”

You furrowed your brow, doing as he directed and closing the door, locking it and returning to find him snuffing his cigar in the ashtray, his coat resting on the back of the chair.

“You’ve caused a lot of stress, you know,” he sighed heavily, shaking his head.

“I know… I’m sorry,” you said, lowering your head. Crocodile’s hook entered your view, the point threatening your flesh as he lifted your chin to look at him. You met his mischievous gaze and his sinister grin.

“Show me you mean it.”

That glint in his eyes wasn’t new, you could tell what he was insinuating. As the warmth rushed to your face, you trailed your gaze down his broad chest to his belt, keeping your chin lifted to avoid his hook. 

“Get to it. I can see you salivating,” he said, releasing your chin.

Crocodile was a mountain of a man. You barely had to kneel to reach his pants, unbuckling his belt and opening his fly to access his hefty, flaccid cock. You gripped it firmly, rubbing it until it stiffened. As you did so, Crocodile undressed himself, leaving his vest, ascot, and shirt on the desk beside him.

You stroked Crocodile until he stood at attention. His cock was thick and heavy, standing tall from his pelvis. You tentatively licked the tip, kissing it softly from there to the base then back to the top. Once there, you wrapped your lips on the head and bobbed slowly onto it, taking more and more into your mouth with each pass. This wasn’t the first time Crocodile had you down on your knees. Metaphorically.

“That’s it. Cock hungry little slut,” Crocodile chuckled, watching you with darkened eyes.

You stroked him as you sucked, rubbing your saliva into every crease. You licked all along the shaft, looking up to catch his gaze with your half lidded eyes. You gripped his hip and bobbed on his cock, allowing it to slip into your throat. Hot and wet, you had to shut your eyes tight to focus.

Crocodile groaned softly, a curse hissing past his teeth. His noises made your heart flutter. You loved to hear him enjoying your throat. His hand settled on your head, following you as you bobbed and licked and sucked. His cock was coated until it glistened. It was as stiff as it could be, veins beginning to pulse along the length.

You reached under yourself. You grazed a hand up and along your sensitivity, moaning as you slathered your tongue all over Crocodile’s piece. You wanted to feel good with him. Desperate for friction on your own body.

“That’s enough,” he said suddenly. You halted and pulled away. “Undress. Get on the desk.”

You followed his direction, setting your clothes aside and climbing onto the desk, awaiting your next direction on all fours.

“You’re a greedy, impatient little thing. Keep going. I’ll take care of you,” he said, gesturing to his lap. You leaned down, stroking him once more. With your focus on his cock, you didn’t notice him wetting his fingers. He wrapped his arm around you and teased his thick fingers against your tight hole, making you squeak.

His dark chuckle made you shudder. You kissed his tip and stroked him quickly. Taking in his cock stuck your behind in the air, giving Crocodile the perfect opportunity to tease your hole. He pushed a finger in and you groaned, the sound vibrating your throat. His finger worked its way into your tightness, prodding around inside you. His thrusting was slow.

Your focus was split. The pleasure only increased as you felt your hole getting stretched by another finger. Both taking their time to explore and prod inside of you. You wanted to keep your pace, but you faltered and stuttered your work with every press deeper into you.

Watching you unwind made Crocodile’s cock throb. The strain in your brows as you tried to focus. The lecherous sounds you made as you slobbered all over him and moaned at the pleasure. A trickle of pre cum began to leak from his tip.

“Listen to you. You love the taste of my dick, don’t you? You’re so needy,” he panted softly, thrusting his fingers faster. “I love when you make that sound.”

His cock throbbed again and you tighten your grasp slightly. You did love his taste, nodding to tell him so. You couldn’t wait for him to burst so you could finally drink every drop he had.

“As much as I love your hunger, I want something a little more.”

You hesitated, looking up at him. He pulled his fingers out of your ass and gripped your meaty behind. You didn’t respond, burning hot but staying quiet. Crocodile’s smile fell.

“Are you still too nervous?” he asked.

“I… I want to try, I do,”

Crocodile slicked his hair back and took your hand, guiding you close to him. Leaning down, he pecked your lips. The smell of smoke was still on his breath. You sat up to feather kisses on the scar crossing the bridge of his nose. 

“If you ask me to be gentle, I might consider it,” Crocodile hummed close to your lips. “I want to see how tight you are.” You thought about it, idly pecking as you mulled it over. This step had to be taken eventually, right? And you loved him. How he felt and tasted and sounded. He would feel incredible inside you. You were sure of it.

You took a breath as you slid closer, feeling his warmth build your own into a raging fire of desire. 

You had come this far… and you wanted to try. At least once you wanted to try and show him why he was right to keep you around. Why you're the one who deserves all those beautiful little words.

“Crocodile, please,” you moaned, the sound low and desperate as you arch your back further into his grip. “Please, I need you inside me. Please, I want to feel you stretch me so deep inside,” you begged. “Please, be gentle with me. I want to see if you fit in my tight little ass,” you turned your half lidded eyes on his amused expression. 

“Such a cute little slut. You really know how to beg, don't you?” He asked, his hook resting just under your chin again as he made you tilt your head back even more. He loved the way you moved even in these tense moments. Your sweat dewed flesh bared and flushed for him. Only him. 

“Well then. If you put it that way, who am I to say no?” He smiled faintly, his brow cocked above the other. “Lay back,” he nudged you to lay flat on your back with your legs pinned up and apart. It was a demeaning position, but when his hot breath caressed your thighs you found you didn't really mind. 

“Try and relax for me, sweetheart,” he warned as he took a bottle of something slick and cold from the desk drawer and let it run between your ass cheeks and along your throbbing hole. You shuddered at the feeling, closing your eyes as you took a breath to steel yourself. 

The shudder turned to a jump as you felt his massive manhood settle between your cheeks, the tip visible to you between your own legs. If you didn't know better you would have thought there was an arm grinding against you at that moment from the pure length and girth of Crocodile’s cock. The heat of it reminded you otherwise though.

He took a moment to get himself and your ass thoroughly lubricated, holding your legs up as he rocked his hips back and forth. The veins of his equipment pulsed and were rubbing so deliciously against your hungry hole. It was building up into a grazing pleasure in the pit of your stomach, each second bringing more. 

Before you knew it you felt his hips shift and the tip of his thick cock kiss your hole. You knew dread wasn't going to help, so you turned all of your focus to maintaining your breathing. You just needed to stay calm and it might fit. Right? 

Your worry is written all over your face as you look down at the monster taking aim at your delicate hole.

You almost missed Crocodile's words until he stopped and grabbed your hand. “Hey! Look at me when I'm talking to you!” He snapped. His tone is sharp but his eyes show concern. That softness from earlier under the stars. “If you can't take it just tap out now.” He growled. “I'll try again when you're--”

“I can do it!” You reply, your eyes screwed shut as your hand tightens around his. “Just-” you suck in a breath to calm your frantic heart. “Just- oh fuck it-!” 

You lurched forward and caught his mouth in a deep kiss, pushing him inside of yourself without his help. You tensed up for a second at the intrusion. The heat was so much more intense than you imagined. Your chest froze for only a moment before you feel a careful hand scoop you up and support your weight.

“Breathe for me, sugar,” his honeyed voice whispered in your ear, his lips laying kisses on your neck. “Breathe. You're doing great" he soothed, rubbing circles on your back as you relax and find yourself slipping slowly further down his length with every breath.

Each moment brought another wave of unstoppable sensation. Incredible pleasure mixed with an indescribable feeling of fullness. You blindly searched and wrapped your arms around his shoulders, gasping and shuddering against his chest as you're overwhelmed with the feeling of being opened so wide and so deep.

“C-Croc-” you started to messily moan, trying to move your hips on your own. “Please~ it's so big-” you cried against his skin. You looked up and saw an unusual expression on his face. His eyes are wide in surprise, but he's biting his lip as he watches you move. He's never seen anything quite this sexy before. 

“You've done enough doll. I've got it from here.” 

You felt as he laid you back down on the desk. His hook dug into the wood as he braced himself and started to slowly thrust into you. You see stars with every press, the top of his length crushing something inside of you that felt so unbelievably new. What was that? You didn't have the time nor capacity to understand, only left to bask in the feeling of this new place getting claimed by Crocodile.

“You're so tight- I'm gonna cum already, baby.” He warned. You couldn't even respond in words, only crying out ecstatic moans while your hands clawed at the desk below you. 

It happened like an explosion. As Crocodile moaned lowly, you felt his cock twitch harder, then begin shooting thick ropes of cum deep inside of you. Your insides flooded with his seed and the feeling sent you toppling over your own edge. You curled around him while your hole twitched and seized around him, locking you two together for the duration of your mutual climax. 

You didn't even realize it was over until you felt him sit up. He slicks his hair back from his face, and slowly pulls his softened length from your hole. The motion causes the remainder of his lust to dribble out onto the now ruined surface of his desk. 

“Damn. Gonna need to get a new one now,” he muttered, stepping away to get something. You laid with your head in a daze, spent and winded from the event. You almost felt too empty without him inside you. Already, you were hoping he’d do it again.

You were suddenly picked up and wrapped in his cloak. You hadn't noticed him getting dressed beside you. Before you know it he's taken you to his room, laying you on his large bed. “What are you-” 

“Good job doll.” he says simply as he drops next to you, pulling you against his broad chest and pet your side. “That was incredible.”

[togegiri]

✎ᝰ ❛ Y/N'S DRAGON BUTLER ! ❜ — malleus draconia.

ੈ✩‧₊˚ featuring. malleus draconia x gender neutral reader.

.ೃ࿐ WARNINGS ! gender neutral reader. you/your and they/them pronouns is used. master is used but still is gender neutral reader. — not proofread ( 1.3k words )

content. You never knew that your drunken state would hire a dragon butler accidentally.

As the sun began to show up, the shine shoned at the blinds of your window. The alarm made a sound making you furrow your brows. Opening your eyes you slowly groaned as you stopped the beeping of your alarm as you got out of your bed. 

“Ahh… my head hurts,” you complained, feeling your head hurt from having a migraine like autopilot mode. You did your usual routine, like changing to your usual working clothes, eating a simple breakfast, brushing your teeth. 

Meanwhile, there a tall male looked at himself in the mirror, putting on an all black and cool looking butler uniform. On the table on the side there placed a magazine and there a male posing as a butler is seen. Looking at any imperfection he looks at himself, “there, good,” he huffs with a smile. Pride on his face as he feels that his looks are good enough.

“Ooh~ little malmal is all grown up now huh?” a small male said putting his weight on the door looking at the taller draconic like male before him. “Yes, well then I'll be on my way now.. I don't want my master to wait for me,” with that he opens the big windows. Feeling the cold winds of the day. 

“Well then good luck to your job little malmal,” the vampiric like male said waving at him as the male jumped at the window. Turning into a black dragon as they flew away. The pink-black haired person chuckles, “must be nice being a youth in love~” 

Back to you, you looked at the mess of your apartment that was filled with cans of beer making you sigh. Putting on a coat you take your bag as your eyes widen at the time, “uwah, I'm gonna be late.” you say as you make your way to the door of your apartment. 

The dragon male placing himself infront of your apartment, as you open the door your eyes widen. A gust of wind came to your face as your eyes met with a deep shade of green ones. Breathing heavily as you blinked your eyes. 'eh?’ you thought as the dragon disappeared. Appearing as a tall, handsome male with a butler uniform, “ehh…?” you say aloud.

Malleus smiled at you, “hello, It's me, malleus draconia your dragon butler from today onwards,” he closed his eyes. Suddenly sparkles went behind him as your brain tried to compute what just happened. Thus a reason came to your head, 'ah… a dream?’ 

“Please do come in,” 

You open the door for him, letting him walk in (hospitality is always good to have.) 

“Thank you,” malleus walked in as you followed him closing the door, you sat down at the chair as he too sat down. You looked at him weirdly as you bit our lower lip feeling awkward,  “so uhmm who are you?” 

His eyes widen, chuckling as he tilts his head to the side, “oh? I'm pretty sure I have introduced myself already (name),” he spoke in a matter-of-fact tone.

“y- yeah you did… but I'm pretty sure I didnt hire a… butler you know,” 

“oh…” his tone was laced with disappointment. 

“I even don't remember how we met,” 

His brows furrow as his lips curl up in a small pout, “you don't remember? we met in the mountains,” you tilt your head cluelessly at this, “mountains, mountains… mountains?” you repeated the words until your eyes widen remembering the events happened last night. 

—

“hehe… hehe~” you laugh, your face feeling hot as you stumble upon the rocky road on the mountain. The place was scary if said by a bystander. You didn't know that, you're drunk right now. With the fog on the mountain, the trees seemingly do not have any leaves and have pointy branches. 

“Oho? a human, tell me why have you come here?” malleus eyes widen seeing a human casually comes in the mountain, nevertheless in his territory. Especially in a very drunk state, “hmm? oooh? ah! hello! hello! want a drink?” you smile stupidly waving at him with alcohol on the other side of your hand. 

He lets out a chuckle amuse at your actions, “I supposed why not,” you smile as you take a cup in your pocket(why did you even put that there?). Pouring him the alcohol, “Hehehe! drink up! drink up!” you encourage with a big smile on your face. 

“I am, I am,” he chuckles as he drank all the alcohol in the cup in one go, “oooh! you know how to drink huh? I love it!” you giggled drunkenly patting his shoulder making his eyes widen at the contact. His surprised face turned into one with adoration. 

“hahaha what an interesting human you are,” he laughs as you cocked your head to the side, “I am..? hehe thank youuu~ say you know about butlers?” 

“hm? a little bit,” malleus tilts his head at the sudden topic about butler, “you should know alot more about them they—” thus you began a long rant about how great butlers and the many more facts about them. Rambling like a passionate mad man about butlers. 

“Say.. Why do you live here alone?” your sudden question caught the draconic male off guard, “haha how do you know I live alone?” he asks cocking his hide to side as you smile at him, “its easy to tell you look lonely after all…” 

His eyes widened at this as he smiled back at you, “well I do have some servants here but… It does get lonely from time to time, humans are… well quite scared of such things as, I,” malleus grip the cup with a little more strength as he looked down sadly. “live with me."

His green eyes looked at you with suprise as you smiled at him, “pardon me?” in his eyes suddenly you were bright and sparkling, “live with me, I'll make you meet with many people, and I promise you… you won't be lonely with me by your side malleus,” a warmth spread on his heart as he felt his face hot, “oh…” 

The sake is certainly not the one for this flustered state of his. 

—

“sorry but… I- …I can't keep that promise, I didn't even say I want a butler,” you mutter the last part though malleus heard it quite well. “Oh the butler part was my idea, I wanted to surprise you but… I- I see.. no worries (name), it was my fault for barging in so suddenly,” he looked down as he smiled at you sadly apologizing as he got up the chair. 

Your eyes linger towards his retreating figure seeing a tear forming in the corner of his eyes feeling guilt in the pit of your stomach, ‘wait if this isn't a dream… that means!’ your eyes widen looking, remembering something as you look at the clock in your arm. 

Running towards Malleus who was near the door, you yelled his name, “Malleus!”  you took his wrist as he looked back at you in surprise. “Yes?” 

“Can you fly?” 

“y- yes?” 

—

“Uwaaaah! too fast!” you say that as you feel the wind hit your face too hard. Making you close your eyes, “apologies, I didn't hear what you just said.” malleus says in his dragon form. There you sat on the back of a black dragon. “I say too fast!” he slows down. 

“Right, I'll try to not be too fast,” feeling the wind slow down you open your eyes seeing the great view of the city up here, “hmm… guess I can hire him.” You say aloud making the dragon perk up, “really?”

You let out a low chuckle, “so you can hear me,” making the dragon sweatdrop. Though soon your eyes widen as you feel a bone crack in your lower back, ‘ah… this kind of transportation hurts my back.' 

“oh well… I guess I could use some dragon butler plus I promise you that you won't be lonely, so might as well keep that,” 

The dragon underneath you smiles feeling the same warm feeling blooming in his heart. He shouldn't have doubted you from backing away from your promise. 

“Sorry for cowering away at first but I swear I'll do my best malleus,” 

“Me too, I'll do my best, master,” 

You smile looking at the sky. Today is a great day.

[opossumloverr]

✪ RAPHAEL HAMATO DATING HEADCANONS ✪

Summary:

Just some silly lil headcanons to start of the summa❗️🫶🏾

Warning(s):

None! all fluff up in here

A/N:

OKAY GUYS ITS SUMMER VAYCAY, IM BACK AND HAVE NOTHING TO DO FOR 75 DAYS, IM A FREE MAN, SO LET'S START IT OFF WITH MY FAVORITE BOY (Gender-neutral reader!)

I would like to start by saying this man loves you very much and would drop almost anything for you

You need help with a school project? Big red is on his way, you don't know what shoes will match the outfit you picked, oh what a coincidence! he just so happens to have a matching pair of shoes that fits you perfectly, you just want cuddles? lock and loaded baby, come at him

I think I can speak for everyone when I say we all need a Raph in our lives

He protects you from his brother's teasing, even if it's just playing or goofing, he is NOT taking any chances.

He loves to scoop you up randomly, you'll get used to it don't worry

Very cautious when picking you up though, doesn't want his spikes to hurt you, he will feel mad guilty if he was the one who caused you even a little bit of pain, even if it wasn't attentional (please comfort the man)

Appreciates the little moments he shares with you, oh my gosh I actually have the perfect scenario, just imagine...

After a long day full of fun cahoots and mysterious adventures, you two finally decided to go home, you usually go your separate ways after a day like this one, but it was rather late at night, and New York lets the creeps roam at this time, so he offered to ride the subway train with you, even though you were a bit hesitant but agreed cause there's no way your gonna allow yourself to get mugged in the middle of the night and like I said it was late at night so the subway cart that you guys were on was empty, he did wear a Hoodie and mask, just in case, the ride was silent, no noises but the constant screeching of the train tracks, but other than that it was just comfortable silence, Raph was lost in his thoughts, thinking about how the next day will be and how it will end, will it be a good or bad day? or something in the middle; what's the meaning of life? and what happens after death? Where does your soul go to, to heaven? or is it just pitch black forever, will today be his last day-- suddenly, he felt a lightweight on his shoulder, the thoughts that were coming in like a rapid wave started to smooth down to a calm stream of water, he glanced down at your sleeping figure, apparently you thought it was a perfect time to take a quick power nap, how cute! he coos softly at you, loving how you're so comfortable and calm around him. god, he loves you so much ♡,

"I promise I will always be here when you need me, you're my everything, sweetie"

Sorry guys I just felt a little kooky at the moment

If you like to play fight he's totally down, doesn't fight too hard obviously, and lets you win all the time, what a gentleman

He'll hold doors open for you, push your seat out, and then push it back in, hell, he would even do that thing where a guy puts his coat on a puddle so the lady could walk through it even though she's fully capable of walking around it

Takes so many pics of you and him at places, and has a particular folder on his phone with pictures of you guys

When it's family game night or movie night, he always invites you, you are practically a part of the family so why not? (The others don't mind)

It's so common to find you in the lair with how much you go down there on a daily basis

Yall have to do lovely dovey things in a private area cause of his brothers (mostly Leo, his bitchass) constantly changing the mood

Likes it when you watch him workout, it motivates him so much, sometimes he uses you as a weight

Loves to give you piggyback rides for some reason

He likes pickles, LISTEN LISTEN, if you don't like pickles in your burger you'll pick them out and give it to him cause you know he loves em (THE OLIVE THEORY ♡)

I GOT SOO MUCH MORE BECAUSE OF HOW MUCH I LOBE HIM BUT ILL KEEP IT INSIDE, FOR NOW, CAUSE ITS 5:08 AM RN 💀 sorry for being dead for 5 months, AGIAN, but imma be back on my grind now 🙏🏾 and I'll try to complete all of my 15 drafts 😓 and if you see any grammar mistakes, no you didn't.

[asclexe]

ughhh fine ill succumb to peer pressure smh

MY HOUSE MD OC :3

insp by @wilsons-three-legged-siamese @sillyhyperfixator @cherrishnoodles :3

⭐️ BASICS :3 ⭐️

name: dr. fluoxetine pearl/dr. pearl

full name: fluoxetine millicent maxine marvin pearl M.D.

nicknames: flu, flux, flo

gender: enby (they/them), afab, fluoxetine is their chosen name, pearl is their dead name but they legally changed it to be their last name.

age: 34

nationality/ethnicity: filipino/french american. born in pennsylvania technically but raised in BALTIMORE 🔥🔥🔥

they have a slight new jersey and baltimore accent but it’s mostly general american

ppth position: head of gynecology/obstetrics, but they have a lot of emergency medicine and diagnostics knowledge due to their residency so they help around there a lot. youngest gyno head ever!!!

sexuality: aromantic allosexual bisexual

personality: quiet and spacey but not shy, they keep to themself mostly. they seem rude/apathetic but they’re actually very friendly, especially to patients. they tend to be very negative and pessimistic at times. they’re also quite secretive and a kleptomaniac. miserable by themself. fantastic at negotiation, a bit creepy and brooding at times, even. but they’re mostly harmless! there always seems like there’s something else going on with them..something much more…

appearance: warmly-skinned 6’1 masc appearing person. they had top surgery, so they have a mostly flat body, except for their softly round tummy. they’re very lanky, but not skinny. they have a good amount of meat on their bones, and they’re softly muscular. their hair is a choppy, voluminous short black wolf cut with two tacky strands of bleach blonde that fits their sharp face. they have black eyes and light freckles everywhere that are slightly visible on their dark brown skin. they face is sharp, but also youthfully soft. they look a lot younger than they are.

style: they wear a tight dark vest with either a basic white button down or nothing underneath with dark pants with their doctor’s coat on top most days, and it’s quite stylish and slick. occasionally, especially on days they’re not feeling well or an administration heavy work day or in general when they don’t leave their office, they’ll wear a big graphic t-shirt and baggy pants with a cardigan to work. they carry around a stylish but small, washed out messenger bag to hold their prescription pad, pens, etc along with anything else they might personally need. they wear low-top converse that are beyond beaten up everyday. occasionally they’ll wear a sweater vest, or maybe a tie. depends how they feel that day.

ART BI MY SUPER COOL MEWTUAL @magicmarkerz SHE’S SO COOL GUYS

they have diagnosed BPD. they’re completely deaf in their left ear. and they have PTSD due to something in their backstory, which i’ll delve into soon. they are also actively, but unknown suicidal but don’t sh.

⭐️BACKSTORY :3⭐️

tw for death, slight gore/injury description, :3

lots of yapping :3

it all started on a freezing winter night on december 18th, 1970 when a very pregnant dolores alma torres and a jean-gabriel adrian marvin archambeau were driving late at night, in the middle of nowhere, to visit dolores’ friend’s baby shower on an extremely icy road when dolores when into labor. jean-gabriel re-routed to find her a hospital, but quickly got lost in the dark backroads of pennsylvania. as tension rose and dolores got more short with him, as labor isn’t fun, jean-gabriel didn’t notice the deer he was about to hit and swerved at the last second. he hit the deer anyway in the million spins he did in the ice, and crashed into a ditch diagonally, killing jean-gabriel on impact. dolores waited there for hours in labor, in the dark with a fractured rib slowly puncturing her organs and a bunch of glass cuts next to her dead husband, until a car finally passed by and a kind stranger got some help. she gave birth in the backseat of their car and died shortly after.

her last words were naming her baby girl, pearl alma torres-archambeau, and that she was sorry, god.

they were sent to their french grandparents in baltimore after being cleaned up at the closest hospital, where they were raised pretty much happily until they were six, when their grandfather died of a massive heart attack and their grandmother of a grand mal seizure a year of quiet later. they were then tossed around foster care for a bit, until permanently being sent to an orphanage. they were a very quiet child due to all the tragedy following them. they read a lot of books, which gave them an interest in medicine early on. this interest was amplified when they needed to go to the hospital when their appendix burst. they were also incredibly clever, and earned top marks in all their classes. they didn’t have many friends, however.

when they were sixteen, they emancipated themself from the orphanage and graduated high school early. they applied to norte dame of maryland to study biology and chemistry for their undergrad and got accepted, also giving them a place to stay. they worked odd jobs and side hustles to pay for any tuition left after scholarships and spent their time studying mostly, and they had earned enough credits to graduate at 19. they applied to johns hopkins for medical school, and also got in. at this point they could afford an apartment close. and things seemed to go quite well for them!

well, until there was an armed robbery (baltimore 🔥🔥) at the little corner store they worked at after class. they were shot in the shoulder and twice in their left ear, but their co-worker took the worst of it and died to a gunshot in their heart. the er patched them up, unable to save their ear, and the robber was caught and jailed, but they quit their job and buckled down on school, spiraling mentally.

they graduated med school, started their residency, and changed their name. until the dean of medicine at princeton plainsboro teaching hospital had reached out to them, offering them a position in the gynecology department as that was their decided specialty. they got their top surgery there and was quickly offered be the ob/gyn department head due to their excellent performance :3

⭐️FUN FACTS :3⭐️

they’re left-handed!

they have a really weak stomach, despite their occupation

can speak french pretty fluently as well as english

they have genetic weak hormones, so they take hrt

they have two cats, morphine and xanax :3

besties with benefits with thirteen

sea shell/pearl collector!

i’ll prob be adding to this as i think about more things/their place in canon/the other ocverse :3

[fairy-writes]

Hey

Congratulations on a big figure, if you don't mind, I will become reader number 901

Can I ask you for an event Noe from vanitas no carte from - 14 “The universe loves a stubborn heart.”. I think this phrase is very suitable for him 🤔

THE UNIVERSE LOVES A STUBBORN HEART

Reblogs and Comments are greatly appreciated!!

__________________________________________________________________________

Fandom(s): The Case Study of Vanitas

Pairing(s): Noé Archiviste x Gender Neutral!Reader

Prompt: “The universe loves a stubborn heart.” (Dialogue Prompt #14)

Notes: This is before Noé and Reader get together :)

ALSO, FLORIOGRAPHY IS MY JAM

__________________________________________________________________________

He was back at it again.

The mysterious boy whose name you still didn’t know. 

He was back at your little flower shop, perusing the flowers with fingers holding his chin, violet eyes scanning the petals. He was your age and dressed immaculately in a pair of pressed white trousers that matched his hair, a black button-down, and a vest with a long white overcoat over his arm. 

He had been here for the last five days, sometimes with his raven-haired friend, who looked less than pleased to be there. Occasionally, he would have a little book in hand, flipping through the pages whenever he stumbled upon a flower he didn’t recognize. 

Every time you approached him, he’d get flustered and hide his book, saying he was “just looking for now” and didn’t need any help. 

Eventually, he approaches you, a question in his eyes and a friendly smile on his lips. 

“What do these flowers mean?” He asks, and you look up from your inventory book, taking in the small bouquet of flowers in his hand. 

Apple blossoms. Preference.

Pansies. You occupy my thoughts.

Together? Thinking of you.

“Apple blossoms mean preference. Pansies mean you occupy my thoughts. Together they mean thinking of you.” You explain, and the young man nods as he takes in the information. His smile turns warm.

“I’ll take them!” You smile and wrap the flowers up in a silken ribbon and some brown paper. 

“Are they for a special someone?” You ask, and his brain seems to stall before his cheeks flush, and he shrugs,

“Something like that.” He says as his fingers brush yours while taking the bouquet. You smile at him, and his cheeks darken slightly, 

“How much do I owe you?” He stutters, and your own smile widens,

“It’s on the house. Consider it a thank you for brightening my day.” You say, and he looks like he’s about to say something when his friend calls loudly from the door that he’s waiting to leave. 

The bouquet shows up on your flower shop porch a day later. Tied in the same silken ribbon and sitting pretty in a glass vase that looks like a swan. 

Was it from him?

Part of you hoped so.

It was safe to say you had a little crush. 

You didn’t see the young man for weeks after. But another bouquet shows up six days later. 

A gathering of lilacs, tulips, and buttercups.

Lilacs. “First love.”

Tulips. “I declare my love for you.”

Together they meant being in love for the first time.

You hoped it was him.

The young man shows up in your shop three weeks after purchasing the flowers and (hopefully) dropping them off on your doorstep. He looks sheepish, ruffling a hand through his alabaster strands and removing his white tophat. He sheds his long overcoat and leaves both his hat and coat on the new coat rack you had just installed. 

“Back again?” You say, and he freezes, almost tripping over his step.

“You remember me?” He asks, and you grin, 

“You are pretty memorable.” Is all you say. 

He meanders through the shop and picks out a few flowers before returning to the front counter with his choices. 

Buttercups. “You are radiant with charm.”

Cowslips. “Winning grace.”

Together they meant “Newfound affection.”

You hold back a flustered smile as you wrap up the flowers and hand them to him.

Only for him to hand them back.

You pause, confusion evident on your face, and the young man turns his head away to hide his flushed cheeks. 

“They’re for you. You know what they mean, right?” He mumbles, and your flustered smile erupts onto your face. 

“Yes. I know what they mean. But why?” You ask, and he turns to look at you, obviously fighting the blush warming his face. 

“I was hoping… well… I was hoping to take you out to dinner sometime… If you’ll let me.” He says, and you have to stop yourself from squealing. 

“I don’t even know your name.” You find yourself saying, and his eyes widen before he smacks his forehead. You flinch at the action and almost drop the flowers. 

“My name is Noé Archiviste. May I have your name?” He replies, and you bury your mouth in the flowers to hide the smile growing. You introduce yourself, and he smiles that smile that got your heart racing when you first saw him. 

“And what makes you think I’ll accept Mr. Noé Archiviste?” You tease, and his smile turns mischievous. 

“Well… I’ve heard that the universe loves a stubborn heart. And I would really really like to take you out somewhere. Even if it’s just a night on the town one time.” He says, extending a hand to you. 

You find yourself taking his hand, almost hiding your face in the flowers when he raises your hand to his lips and presses a gentle kiss to it. 

“How does tonight sound?” You say and he grins, 

“Perfect.”

[fallingdownhell]

Hiii!!

I saw your poly Cyno/reader/Tighnari fic and wanted to request a poly relationship between Childe and Diluc (a rare pair, I know) with a reader who's a seamstress.

A rare pair it may be, but it's a rare pair with FLAVOUR! I like it!

Content: gender neutral reader; nothing else really;

Word count: 770 words

This one came out more about headcanons than an actual fic or drabble. I just couldn't come up with a good and long enough of a scenario to make it happen. Hope that that is okay with you.

Please enjoy your order<3

I think that Childe and Diluc would need a really, really long time to warm up to one another, especially from Diluc's side. They do love you and want to be with you, but you just can't choose between them

you make it work somehow, but the beginning is definitely off to a very rocky start

I would say that you stay mostly with Diluc in Mondstadt, where it's safe and you're not too close to the fatui. Childe would come by and visit as often as he can manage. You do go to Shenznayha with him from time to time, like meeting his family, but never stay for an extended period of time. Neither of your lovers want you to.

They both will forever be grateful to the Archons above for your chosen profession

Because, as you are well aware, your two boyfriends often engage in fights and what not, so of course most of the time their clothes are gonna end up with holes or some other form of destruction put upon them

Diluc really appreciates the work you put into it when you fix things for him. He doesn't really show it, but his black coat does have some sentimental value to him, and the first time he saw a hole in it, he was devastated. He thought he had to throw it out now, until you jumped in and fixed it for him.

That day he worshipped the ground you were walking on. He quite literally fell on his knees in front of you and almost didn't stop showering you with gratitude

Diluc is a person that prefers more simplistic designs. He doesn't like to try new things, so if you fix something for him, just stay with the original colour and Diluc will be happy. Not a big fan of any designs or anything else on his clothes, like I said, he prefers it simple.

Now, on the other hand, if you were to make him something all by yourself, and it just so happened to have a lot of cliché designs on it... he still wears it, just not outside. He still prefers not to be seen by too many people, so he only wears it inside the mansion. He already get enough teasing from you, Childe and Adelinde. He doesn't need anything more.

But regardless of what it is, if you handmade something for him to wear, he WILL wear it. And he will keep it safe forever, asking you to fix little holes that developed over the time. You always offered to just make a new one, but Diluc refuses. He wants to keep this one and never get rid of it

Childe, on the other hand, is a little bit more... "adventurous" with his clothes, if you can say it like that

he would actually come to you with very specific requests for some designs he thought of, and asks you to put them over the holes in his shirts or pants. And he will wear them proudly, whereever he goes.

Actually wore one of those "altered" pants when visiting his family and his siblings wouldn't shut up about it. So, when he came back to you and Diluc, he had two full outfits from each of his siblings, all wanting to have something similar done with their clothes. You didn't mind doing it, but it took you a lot of time to finish this much work

But it's not just fixing their clothes for them that you do. You actually did a few other things

Some cute little pillows laying either on the couch or on the beds were made by you, and the boys love it

You even made an entire blanket all by yourself. However, Childe confiscated that one all for himself, so you had to make a second one for Diluc as well

You love making cute little gifts for Childe, like a scarf to wear when he goes back home, or a pair of gloves

Diluc is more of a practical man, so he is just fine when you gift him a specially made pillow or something like that

Over the time of your relationship, the two boys actually also grew closer together. Not as close as you would sometimes hope, but you could clearly see a sort of bond now between them

they do still bicker and stuff, but now it's all fun and games, never anything serious anymore

Overall, the two are very deeply in love with you, and they appreciate all the hard work you put in for them. Maybe a reward was well-deserved....

[tobiasdrake]

I've been asked about my gender a couple of times. Once today, even. And I always freeze up when asked about that because. Like.

The reality is that I have a long and complicated relationship with gender. For years, I've just said "cis-male" because that's the easy answer. It felt like a noncommittal default answer. It's only recently that I've become less comfortable with that because. Well. Identifying as cis is still identifying, still committing to something.

But it's hard to commit because my situation is... messy.

I don't know if anyone is interested to hear me ramble about gender so I'm going to put this all after a jump. But since I'm having a mid-life crisis introspection day, here is my long, convoluted history with my gender identity.

If you saw my "characters who raised me" post, you might have noticed that an overwhelming majority of them were women. I have always felt more comfortable in the spaces that femininity creates than masculinity.

When I picture myself, when I close my eyes and see myself as the person I want to be, as the image I want to project out into the world, I see a young woman in her 20's with long brown hair tied back in a ponytail. Like Sailor Moon's Makoto Kino, a decade older.

My parents weren't around very much, so these women were my earliest teachers. They taught me how to walk. How to sit. Where to put my hands when I'm moving. And then adults made me unlearn all of that because you're not supposed to carry yourself like that or walk like that or sit like that if you're a boy. Learn to cross your legs in a masculine way!

To this day, I still often walk on the balls of my feet by habit, simply because my legs naturally imitate the posture of wearing heels. But I tell people it's because I watched a lot of Gargoyles as a kid and also really liked the X-Man Nightcrawler. (Which I did and do, and they're great.)

My favorite color is red. The reason my favorite color is red is because it's actually pink, but you're not allowed to like pink if you're a boy. My parents made that clear when they made me stop wearing my big pink winter coat that I loved so very much.

I spent the rest of my childhood and much of my adulthood dressing in black instead. Nobody cares if you're a boy or a girl if you're wearing black. (It also color-coordinates well with pink. That is a fire combination.)

I didn't really know what I was doing as a kid. I just knew that I was doing it wrong. Because people kept telling me I was doing it wrong. Gotta be a man. Gotta man up. Gotta like the things that boys like. Gotta put away the girly things because real men don't like girly things; In fact, "real men" aggressively hate girly things!

Gotta get money. Gotta get women. Gotta be aggressive and violent and not take no for an answer. That's how you be a real man. These are the things I started to internalize as the way I'm supposed to behave, as the space I'm meant to be in.

And I should note that this is not a fair reflection of masculinity. This is toxic masculinity. But it's what I was learning and it's the person I started becoming. Because I stopped listening to women, stopped respecting women, reframed my relationship to femininity as one of desire and power and control.

And I was miserable. I became a mediocre boy with pent-up aggression, prone to lashing out at the slightest indignity or disrespect because gotta assert my manhood. And I was tremendously unsuccessful at getting money and women. Women didn't like being around me very much. Can you possibly guess why? Probably because I was visibly unsafe to be around.

I hated it. I hated doing it. I hated the consequences of it. I was miserable.

Then I discovered that there were LGBT spaces. And I felt saved. My school's Gay-Straight Alliance became my sanctuary, where I could escape into a new world that nobody ever told me about. Where I could let it all of those pressures go and just say, "I am a trans woman."

This was not the end of my journey, though. You might not see the problem there. The thing that undermined my coming out. But for me, looking back, it's clear as day.

I was not coming out because I was more comfortable in the spaces that femininity built than masculinity. Even though I am. My mind was too poisoned by that point for a reason that good.

I was coming out because I was uncomfortable in the spaces that patriarchy built. And I thought being a transwoman would free me from that.

It did not. We are not, any of us, free from the pressures that patriarchy built. I had just traded one set of manacles for a different set. One that I hadn't been socialized in, one that is deeper and more complicated than I knew and that I didn't have the patience to learn because I was just trying to escape.

I wasn't trying to be a woman. I was trying to be what toxic masculinity thinks women are. The grass looked greener on the other side. It looked easier (and holy shit is it not). By that point in my life, I no longer respected women enough to be one.

It was two years before I gave up. Because I was still miserable. Being a woman (or my toxic impression of one) hadn't cured my soul-sickness. I was still angry. I was still lonely. So I went back to full-throated raging masculinity. I wrote those two years off as "experimenting" and I doubled down on toxic masculinity because now I was compensating for something.

I got a career because I'd dropped out of high school and wasn't going to college so I needed to have something. I moved out at 18 and got my own shitty apartment because a real man's gotta have his man pad. I refocused myself: Get rich, get women, be successful as a man. I spent the next years of my life as an angry libertarian incel issuing social darwinist screeds and ranting about how women are all bitches 'cause they won't sleep with me.

Then I started to meet people who were worse off than I was. Who showed me entire facets of the world I never knew existed. And I started to soften. Then I started to learn. And then I started to heal. To find acceptance for the parts of me I'd buried a decade ago.

People I can sit around and watch a TV show with, and see a snooty rich woman on the screen and go, "That one! That one's me. My character is Tahani. ^_^" and they won't judge me or tell me I'm wrong and I need to pick a different one.

Well, they'll judge me a little but only because my characters are always the fucking worst. Not because they're women. In my heart of hearts, I am an egotistic, entitled, prissy bitch and I own it.

I'm happier now than I ever was before, either as a man or a toxic man's perception of what a woman is supposed to be. And maybe my pronouns should be she/her. I don't know. Looking back over my journey, it's hard to feel like any set of pronouns really fits me - but I feel weird being they/them. Nothing feels right to me at all anymore.

I feel more comfortable in the spaces that femininity creates than the ones that masculinity does. Even healthy masculinity just doesn't call out to me the way femininity does, because femininity defined so much of my formative years. Most of the things in my childhood that were good are gendered female.

But I also don't know why they have to be. Why you have to be a woman to like pink, or to wear a pretty dress, or to enjoy cooking, or to cross your legs in a particular way. I don't want to believe that I can't be male but enjoy the things that I enjoy. That I'm not allowed to just decide for myself what masculinity means for me.

And yet, whenever I close my eyes and picture myself, I see a woman in her twenties with brown hair tied back in a ponytail. If I could start it all over again and be that woman from the very beginning, I would.

I don't know.

What I do know is that during my time as a libertarian incel, I started a career. That career has become my family's lifeline. I'm a high school dropout whose main skillset is knowing how computers work and being proficient at Microsoft Office, and I make more money than the rest of my family combined.

I feel like anyone in my age bracket can do my job. But they pay me to do it. Because I'm white, male, and clean-cut. We're forced to live under capitalism, and my family's future depends on the money my privilege earns. Because I'm aesthetically hirable.

So I go to work in the spaces that masculinity built. Then I come home to my LGBT family where it simply doesn't matter because everyone is accepted for who they are individually, no matter what box they fit in.